Stolen Lives: A Detective Mystery Series SuperBoxset (46 page)

“Christ, Detective, what are we looking for?”

“I’ll tell you when we find it.” The combination of security guards and police officers gave them a force of fifty men, which had to search nearly three hundred sections of ballpark. “We’ll start at the top and work our way down. I want eyes everywhere.” She looked to the head security guard. “You have your men watching the cameras?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Let’s get to work!” Cooper clapped her hands, and the teams dispersed. Cooper and Hart descended into the lower levels, watching the units climb the stairs.

The noise in the stadium was deafening. The crack of bats, the taunts, boos, and cheers, all of it offered a level of electricity that brought the stadium to life. She peered through the rounded view of the binoculars, while Hart manned the radio.

“You really think he’s here?” Hart yelled over the crowd, letting a cotton candy vendor squeeze by. “This seems out of his MO. And we don’t even know what he looks like.”

Cooper kept the binoculars glued to her face. “Up until now he’s made us believe he’s killed only women. But the message he made Beth write tells us that he’s killed men too. He wants us to know that no one is off limits.” She spotted one of the K-9 units to the far right of the stadium clear its first section then lowered her binoculars.

“How do you know the woman’s husband was killed by our guy?”

Some of the fans had already noticed the heightened security presence, and Cooper felt the anxiousness of the crowd. “He wouldn’t have sent it to us if he hadn’t.”

Hart looked around to the thousands crammed into the stadium. “You think he has something big planned? Some kind of killing spree?”

“No.” She lifted the binoculars again and found another K-9 unit working its way through the empty rows of seats near the upper deck. “He may kill both men and women, but he only does one at a time. Whatever’s here is just meant to get our attention. He’s tired of his work going unnoticed.”

It wasn’t long before the first three innings passed and the K-9 units had worked their way to the more-crowded lower levels, where the nervous whispers and anxious glances had spread like a virus. The head of security walked over, his face red from the hot afternoon sun. “Hey, we’re getting a lot of questions from the crowd.” He looked around timidly. “I don’t know what we’re supposed to tell them.”

“Training exercise,” Cooper replied. “That’s all they need to know.” The loud crack of the bat shifted Cooper’s attention to the field, and she watched the batter sprint to first base, where the umpire called him safe and the crowd booed. She lifted the binoculars and scanned the outfield, wondering if the killer had planted something on the field for her to see, but found nothing. “Something’s not right. It’s taking too long.”

Hart shrugged as Cooper lowered the binoculars. “Maybe we missed something in the letter?”

Cooper shook her head. “This was a special place to the victims, which means it’s also a special place for the killer. He inserts himself into his victims’ lives. And if he’s the type of psychopath that I think he is, then we’re in the right place.” She turned back to the stands, locating one of the K-9 units working down a row of spectators as they stood from their seats.

“Hey, did you see that?” One of the fans next to Cooper pointed toward the Jumbotron. “It looked like a woman with a sign.”

Cooper shifted the binoculars to the screen but saw nothing but the stats of the batter at the plate. She grabbed Hart’s attention. “Keep an eye on that.” She located the man decked out in Oriole gear who’d pointed at the screen in the first place and flashed her badge in his face. “Baltimore PD.” She pulled out her phone and swiped through her pictures until she found one of Beth. “Is this the woman you saw?”

The man squinted his eyes and shielded the glare from the sun with his hands to get a better look. “I’m not sure. It was only up there for a second.”

Cooper lowered the phone and before the man could ask any more questions she rejoined Hart, whose eyes were glued to the screen in the outfield. “See anything?”

“Nothing but concession advertisements.”

The afternoon sun had dipped lower in the sky as the game progressed. They were running out of time. Cooper radioed security, but their units had found nothing. She felt desperation gaining momentum.
Something’s supposed to be here. I know it is.
She kept her eyes glued to the Jumbotron screen, and just when she felt her pupils go dry from staring, a picture flashed on the screen, only for a moment.

“Christ, did you see that?” Hart asked.

“Yeah.” Cooper reached for the radio. “All units, keep an eye on the screen in the outfield.” Cooper gripped the railing tight, nearly tipping over the edge as she leaned closer. The image appeared again, only for another second, but Cooper recognized Beth’s face. She held a sign like the Orioles fan said, but the picture flashed so quickly that she couldn’t make out what the paper read.

When the image appeared again it remained on screen for a few seconds longer, this time catching the attention of more fans in the stadium. Cooper felt hands on her back, and when she turned around a few members of the crowd had left their seats and circled around her. “Hey, what’s going on?” A man gestured to the converging K-9 units and extra security guards. “Is there something we need to know about?”

Another man added his worry behind the Orioles fan, dressed in the opposing team’s colors. “Hey, I’ve got my kids here. What the hell are you people doing?” The dissent grew along with the crowd’s voices, and Cooper felt the grip of control loosen.

“Sir, everything is fine,” Cooper said, the crowd around her growing. “I need everyone to either return to their seats or leave the stadium. But do either in an orderly fashion.”

“Hey, look!” One of the spectators in the crowd pointed toward the Jumbotron screen, and a series of gasps erupted from the stands.

When Cooper turned around she lunged forward into the railing, white-knuckling the steel as her heart sank to her stomach. The image of Beth on the screen was ghostly. Her skin was pale, and her cheeks and forehead were shiny with sweat. Her hair was tangled in knots, and the mascara around her eyes had run from crying. In her trembling hands she held a white piece of paper with letters and numbers written on it, but Cooper was so paralyzed by the image it was Hart who made the connection of the message’s meaning.

“It’s a seat number in the stadium.” Hart relayed the call over for the radio. “All units converge to section thirty-nine, row eighteen, seat forty-nine immediately.” He grabbed Cooper’s arm and pulled her away from the railing. “C’mon!” Cooper sprinted with Hart through the thick crowds, the K-9 units barking loudly as every officer and security guard converged on the seat’s location.

There wasn’t a seat in the stadium filled at that point; everyone was standing and pointing at Beth on the screen. The umpires had stopped the game, and the players trotted off the field. Panic gripped the masses, and everyone looked one thread away from descending into chaos.

Cooper radioed stadium security. “I need someone over the PA system to tell everyone to remain seated and calm. The last thing we need is a stampede to the exit. We don’t know what we’re dealing with, and I don’t want to cause any unnecessary casualties.”

“What the hell do you want us to say?”

“That we’re handling the situation.” Cooper clicked the radio off and sprinted up the steps of section thirty-nine. Arms stretched from the aisles as people tried to get her attention, accompanied with questions screamed in desperation.

A collective gasp erupted from the crowd, and Cooper turned around to watch a gun enter the frame of the screen’s picture. Though no audio played, tears streamed down Beth’s face and she trembled. Cooper found herself walking back down the steps, but stopped, knowing that whatever was under the seat had the potential to keep the killer from pulling the trigger.

Stadium security and the K-9 units had blocked the row, and the crowd in the area had grown aggressively panicked. “Where’s the seat?” Cooper asked, panting heavily from the long run up.

One of the lieutenants pointed toward the middle of the row. “Seat thirty-nine. The gentleman in the white hat.”

Cooper looked to Hart before she took her first step and whispered so only he could hear. “Tell security to be prepared to evacuate. I want everyone ready now.” Hart nodded and found the head security detail then passed the word to the K-9 units.

Cooper shuffled down the row, stepping over spilled drinks and popcorn, candy wrappers, and feet. Every person she passed shouted panicked questions, but she responded to them all the same: “Everyone remain calm.” The masses were on the edge of hysteria, and it wouldn’t take much to push them over that ledge. When she reached seat thirty-nine the man in the white hat looked nearly as pale as Beth. He held up his hands, his arms shaking as much as his voice.

“I-I haven’t moved.” The man looked around to the officers on either side of the row. “I didn’t do anything. I swear.” The people next to him leaned away as though they could catch whatever was wrong with him, and a quiet hush fell over the crowd.

The space for Cooper to examine was limited, and she didn’t want to risk moving anyone in case it would trigger the killer into action. She awkwardly knelt and ran her fingers around the base of the seat. “Sir, where did you purchase your tickets for today’s game?”

“I-I’m a season t-ticket holder-r.” He kept his hands in the air as he spoke, and the anxiousness in his voice exacerbated the fear of the crowd. He pointed to the screen, screaming, “I don’t even know who that woman is!”

The man’s sudden jolt of anger spilled over into the fans around him. The pent-up fear and desperation erupted from the horde’s lips, leaving Cooper powerless to control the teeming masses.

“Why can’t we leave?”

“What aren’t you telling us?”

“What is going on?”

Each angered voice that joined the thickening madness of the crowd only clouded Cooper’s thoughts as she struggled to find answers. She spotted Hart in the chaos and circled her finger in the air, which signaled the rest of the officers to step in for crowd control.

The ballpark visitors were forced back into their seats, and fear quickly shifted to anger. The man in the seat Beth had written on the paper stood up, pointing to the massive screen and shouting, “I don’t know her! I don’t know what’s going on!” Cooper turned back to the screen, where Beth continued to cry, the gun still pressed to her head. But the paper with the seat number had been replaced with another note.
Let the bomb explode, or I kill your sister.
A clock appeared below the letter. And it was counting down from thirty seconds.

The stadium erupted into madness. Stampedes rushed to the exits, and Cooper was caught in the flood of bodies sprinting to escape. The sheer momentum knocked her to her knees, and she smacked away the limbs trying to keep her down, feeling the harsh blows of their panicked escape. The radio in her ear grew loud with chatter from both the K-9 units and the security force, all of them overwhelmed.

Cooper was shoved, spilling over into the row beneath her, and smacked into another woman as she landed on legs, feet, and popcorn. A series of hands and arms shoved her to the ground, with only a few that helped her up. Blood trickled down the side of her face, and Cooper felt a sharp pain in her right leg as she finally got her feet under her. And with seat number forty-nine now empty, Cooper now had a perfect view from the row below of the ticking clock that was strapped to a brick of plastic explosive.

Fresh blood dripped from the gashes on her forehead and cheek. Cooper grabbed one of the arm rests and pulled herself up. She saw Hart fight against the flow of the crowd, trying to get to her, but the number of bodies was too many to overcome.

The clock on the explosive dwindled down to thirty seconds, and Cooper hobbled forward, her ankle badly twisted, but stopped when she heard the soft moan of a child. She looked two rows down and saw a young boy, alone, curled in ball on the concrete, his face red and tears streaming down his cheeks.

Cooper leapt over the first row, but her weak ankle collapsed on the landing, and she smacked hard against the ground, wet and dirty from the forgotten beverages and snacks left behind. When she lifted her head the clock ticked down to fifteen seconds, and she jumped over the last row, scooping the young boy in her arms. He clung tight around her neck, and Cooper limped forward, her hobbled sprint sending a jolt of pain from her right ankle to her hip with every step. In her peripherals she saw the clock tick down to ten seconds, the gun still to Beth’s head.

The section of the stadium where the bomb was placed was nearly empty now, and the remaining spectators funneled closely into the exits, jam-packed like sardines. But the exit was too far for Cooper to make it in her condition. She sprinted down the steps, aiming for the dugout.

The downward slope and momentum helped with her speed as Cooper leapt over the railing and onto the field. She ducked behind the dugout’s concrete structure, clutching the boy tight to her body. She pinned the two of them in the corner, using the concrete walls of the dugout to shield them. She closed her eyes and tucked the two of them into a ball as tight as she could, her pulse racing a mile a minute.

The clock on the stadium reached zero, and the explosion rocked the lower levels, sending a mushroom of concrete, steel, and debris fifty feet into the air. The percussion of the blast was left a whine in her ears, and dust sprinkled from the dugout ceiling as the young boy screamed into her shoulder, crying for his mother.

***

The lights from the emergency vehicles drenched the outside of the stadium. The parking lot had been closed off, and everyone that hadn’t been able to flee before they locked the area down was gridlocked. Paramedics and EMS workers distributed water and blankets, treating anyone with wounds sustained from the blast or the stampede that preceded it. All in all, when the tally was done, the only death had been from the panicked evacuation, with no casualties or injuries from the actual blast.