Boneyard (33 page)

He’d lost all sense of time and place. He could’ve been gone for days; it certainly felt like it. Part of him almost hoped the crazy guy would come back soon. Sitting down here, alone in the dark, he felt like he was starting to lose his mind. Every small sound was magnified. He stiffened at each one, trying to determine if it was another rat or something far worse.

Shafts of light suddenly appeared around the corner of the room, driving the shadows into corners. He went rigid. Was this going to be it? Zach started muttering under his breath, words of goodbye to Gina and his mother and everyone else he’d ever known. If this was death coming for him, he hoped it would be quick.

Light suddenly flooded the room, and Zach twisted his head to the side, blinking. He heard a sharp wail, and the brightness charged toward him. He cowered with fear, curling into as small a shape as possible, bracing for the blow. When none came, his eyes opened and he gasped.

The lantern had been dropped and lay on its side on the floor, casting a halo of light toward the ceiling. Next to it, a discarded backpack lay on the tile. A man knelt on the ground, a different man this time, larger and dressed in camouflage, a black knit cap on his head and a complicated tool belt strapped around his waist. In his arms he clutched the old lady. Her body was stiff, rigid; in the stark lighting she almost glowed like polished marble. She was dead.

The man raised his eyes to meet Zach. He was younger than the other guy, maybe in his thirties, unshaven and wild-eyed. At his expression Zach recoiled.

“Where is he?” the man spit.

“He’s gone,” Zach said. It took a minute to register that this was someone else, someone who could save him, and with that realization his words tumbled out in a rush. “Do you have a phone, could you call nine-one-one? My mom’s a cop, they’ll come right away. Can you get these chains off me? Maybe you can break the showerhead, bust a pipe or something.”

The man watched silently as Zach babbled on, becoming increasingly frantic with every moment that passed. “Please, man, get me out of here. He could come back at any minute, we gotta go…”

“He didn’t tell you nothing?” The guy’s eyes narrowed.

“What? No. Listen, he’s going to kill me, too. Please, get me out of here.”

Seemingly satisfied at his response, the man turned back to the woman in his arms. Gently, he smoothed back a few strands of hair from her battered face. Carefully laying her back down, he dug something out of his pack—a dark sweater—and draped it over her, covering her head and upper torso. Digging into his pocket, he withdrew a handful of change and carefully stacked it in a tier by her outstretched hand. Zach watched, stunned into silence.

Abruptly, the guy stood and slung his backpack over one shoulder. Zach watched him, puzzled. “Are—are you going for help?” he asked after a moment.

The guy didn’t answer. With his free hand, he picked up the lantern.

“Hey! Where are you going? You can’t just leave me here!” Zach struggled against his chains, his breath coming in gasps as his panic mounted again. “What the fuck! Please, please call someone for help!”

The man didn’t answer, just turned and left the room, the light sweeping out with him. As it faded to a point in the darkness, then vanished entirely, Zach started to scream.

Thirty-Four

“That’s everywhere you can think of?”

Chris Santoli nodded. “Sam and I weren’t really that close. I mean, hell, we had a beer every once in a while after training sessions, but that was about it. He was one of those guys kept to himself, you know?”

Kelly nodded as she glanced at her notebook. “Sure. But these are all of the sites where you trained?”

Chris nodded. “Yeah, far as I can remember. But I’ve only been with the unit a few years, since I left Morgan Stanley. Some of the other guys might be able to tell you more. Sam liked to mix it up, said it kept us on our toes. Ran it more like a military unit than a search and rescue. We trained a hell of a lot. Sam had us doing survival stuff out in the woods, obstacle courses and drills, that sort of thing. I was an ROTC guy myself, so I didn’t mind, but some guys grumbled about it.”

“All right, thanks.” Kelly’s phone rang, and she glanced at the number before saying, “Would you excuse me for a moment?”

Chris sighed heavily and flipped his hands palms up, aggravated. “Yeah, sure. You still need me, I’ll be watching the game. Sox are down by three, they get another hit they could come back.”

“Wow, when did we enter Neverland?” Jake commented. At the scowl on Chris’s face he held up his hands defensively. “Hey, not that I’m one to talk. I’m a Rangers fan.”

“Rangers suck,” Chris said sympathetically. “But at least they’re not the Yankees.” As they started to rattle off stats and records, Kelly stepped out of the room.

“Morgan’s not here.” she said, keeping her voice low. “I’ve got units checking the other SAR members’ houses. We’re still hoping he’ll turn up somewhere. Chris Santoli gave us a list of training sites they used, we’re going to check those next.”

“Kelly? I’m worried about Zach,” Monica’s concern was palpable.

“Why?”

“He’s not home, and I’ve called all his friends and his girlfriend, and he’s not there either. And his cell phone is sitting right here on the kitchen table. He never goes anywhere without it, it would be like him leaving the house without his head. I think something might really be wrong….”

Kelly glanced toward the living room. Through the doorway she could see the two men talking baseball, arms waving as the discussion grew more heated. “You’re sure? He’s a teenager, he might just be somewhere blowing off steam.”

“My living room looked like a tornado hit it when I got home, and the door was unlocked. He forgets sometimes, but lately I’ve been so paranoid, he’s been really good about locking it.” Monica paused, then continued. “Kelly, I know this sounds like some stupid women’s intuition thing, but I just know something is wrong.”

Kelly pursed her lips. Could Morgan have taken Zach? But why the hell would he do that? It was completely outside his MO. “Does Zach have a car?”

“No, he only just got his learner’s permit.”

“All right. E-mail me a recent photo, we’ll put out an alert. Why don’t you stay at home, wait and see if he comes back?”

“I can’t, I’ll go nuts just hanging around. Howie is coming over, he’ll call us if Zach turns up. Where are you going next?”

Kelly checked her pad. “The National Guard Armory in Pittsfield.”

“All right, I’ll meet you there.”

Kelly clicked the phone shut, but almost instantly it rang again. She clicked it open with a sigh. “Jones.”

“Agent Jones? Lieutenant Peters here.” The young cop sounded excited. He was still back at the station, manning the command center during the search for Sam Morgan. “We got results back on the prints from Lieutenant Doyle’s car, and one pair stuck out as unusual.”

“Someone with a record?”

“Not exactly—he was printed by a private security firm.” Kelly heard the sound of paper rustling through the receiver. “Looks like Lieutenant Doyle was abducted by one Dwight Sullivan, thirty-four years old. I pulled his license photo and he looks like a mean son of a bitch. Faxed it to the hospital for Doyle’s confirmation, but I bet this is our guy.”

“Excellent. Thanks, Lieutenant.” Monica had been right, once one of their own was involved, the Massachusetts state lab had proved remarkably efficient. Kelly hoped that continued. “Let’s put an APB out for his car. I’ll head over to his house with a backup unit. I need you to make sure there’s a warrant waiting for me there. Include detached structures, drawers, everything. And let’s send photos of Sullivan and Morgan out to the media, start getting the public involved.”

“You sure about that?” Colin said doubtfully. “We did that in a case I worked last year, the phone lines were tied up for days.”

“I’d prefer that to getting blamed for not warning the public if someone else gets hurt. Send copies to border patrol in New York and Vermont, too. I think one or both of them will head for the border.”

“Got it. Anything else?”

“Yeah, Monica’s going to send you a photo of her son. Add it to the announcement.”

Colin was silent for a minute, before saying, “Do I want to know?”

“It’s probably nothing. We’re just erring on the safe side.” She snapped the phone shut and returned to the living room. “Mr. Santoli, do you know a Dwight Sullivan?”

“Bright Dwight? Sure, I know him.” Santoli sounded puzzled. “Guy’s kind of an asshole, he was in the unit for, like, a minute when I first joined up. Nickname’s kind of a joke. He’s not the brightest bulb in the batch, you know what I mean?”

“Any reason he might have a grudge against Mr. Morgan?”

Santoli chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“Could you elaborate?” Kelly asked impatiently.

“Dwight was a little off, you know the type. Nice enough guy, but obsessed with the training. Claimed he was waiting to hear back from the Navy Seals about joining up, then the next month it was the CIA. The CIA, you believe that? A few guys used to tease him about it, asked if he could do them a favor once he got in, get them Osama’s phone number, stuff like that. I don’t think he even got that they were messing with him.”

“Sam Morgan one of those guys?” Jake asked.

“Nah, Sam’s too nice. He just kind of nudged Dwight out of the SAR, said he should probably focus his energy on the application process. Dwight worshipped the guy, called him the Captain.”

“All right, thanks.”

“So we’re done here?” When Kelly nodded, Chris plopped back into his chair with a sigh and picked up the remote, ramping up the volume. “Let yourselves out. I’ll deal with the door after the game.”

As they walked to the car, Jake asked, “So Dwight’s one of your killers?”

“Looks like it. Apparently something happened when he was in the search and rescue unit that Sam Morgan heads. Maybe he developed a grudge against Morgan, and is trying to set him up by kidnapping Doyle and dumping him at his house.”

“So Morgan might be the other killer, the more experienced one.”

“Maybe,” she acknowledged. “But for now we have to operate on the assumption that he could be another victim, possibly a hostage.”

“But they’re both in the wind, and Zach’s missing, too.” Jake shook his head. “Shit. I hate cases like this.”

Kelly nodded. “I’m thinking you should head back to the bed-and-breakfast. I can have a unit drive you there,” she said, staring straight ahead.

“No way,” Jake replied.

“Jake—”

“Look around you, Kelly. You’re looking for not one but two killers, and you’re surrounded by what I’ll politely refer to as yokels. And most of them have made it plain that they don’t care if you leave here dead or alive.”

“The situation has changed. Since one of their own was taken, they’ve become surprisingly motivated,” Kelly noted drily. “Besides, I arranged for some other state police units to join us, and the Bureau is sending a hostage negotiation team.”

“And we all know how ineffective they can be. This smells bad, Kelly.”

“Should I have you hauled off in cuffs?”

He glared at her. “Don’t do this, Jones. You need me here watching your back. You know I can handle myself. Don’t make me spend the night sitting in a hotel room, wondering what the hell is happening to you.”

Kelly was surprised by the vehemence in his voice. He was right, on all accounts. She didn’t have a partner here to watch her back, and the situation seemed to be quickly spiraling out of her grasp. The added element of Zach’s disappearance meant that Monica could no longer be relied upon, not in the state she was in. Having Jake accompany her was against Bureau policy, but she was unsupervised. No one else had to know, she reasoned, then caught herself. Funny, how lately she no longer cared about following procedure to the letter. After debating for a minute, Kelly turned back to the car. “Fine,” she said. “But no more pushing in front of me when we enter a scene. And if you start to get in the way, I’m sending you home. And I do mean home, not the hotel.”

Jake slid into the passenger seat of the car and turned to her. “Wow, you sure do know how to make a guy feel special.”

“Don’t push your luck,” she said warningly. “I’m this close to changing my mind.”

“Nah, you’re not. I know you that well by now.”

She didn’t say anything, just stared through the windshield as she punched another address into the GPS system.

“Jones, you okay?” Jake asked, lightly stroking her cheek with one finger.

She shook off his hand. “I’m not losing these monsters,” she said fiercely.

“Mr. Doyle? Mr. Doyle, I’m going to have to ask you to get back into bed!” the nurse said sternly as she rushed into the room.

Doyle didn’t respond. He was standing unevenly, wires still dangling from strands of tape on his chest. He had disconnected the last few, sending the beeping in the room to an even higher crescendo. “Where the hell are my pants?” he demanded, glancing around.

“Mr. Doyle, the doctor recommended we hold you for observation.” The nurse crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I’m going to have to ask you to lie back down.”

“Screw that. I’m fine, just get me my damn pants,” he muttered.

They stared each other down for a minute. The nurse started to say something else, then snapped her mouth shut and shrugged. “Fine, it’s your life. I don’t get paid enough to argue with you. Have a seat, I’ll be right back.”

Doyle remained standing, self-consciously holding the back of his robe closed with one hand as he waited. A minute later the nurse returned holding a plastic bag. “Your uniform is pretty filthy. Do you want me to me call someone, have them bring you some clean clothes?” she asked, eyeing him.

He shook his head and peered into the bag. “These are fine. I’m going back to work.”

“All right. Stay here, I need you to sign a form saying that you’re checking out against medical advice.” As she closed the door, she rolled her eyes at another nurse coming down the hall and said, “Cops.”

“Nothing?”

“Well, we got a confirmed crazy here, that’s for sure. You should see some of his letters to Cheney, Santa probably gets fewer bold requests,” Jake said, holding up a stack of letters. “This guy wrote to everyone—NSA, CIA, Army, Navy, French Foreign Legion. You gotta give him credit for persistence, that’s for sure.”