Full Tilt (24 page)

57

Greater Minneapolis, Minnesota

T
wenty-five minutes after landing, Kate watched Minneapolis blurring by her window as Pete Driscoll, a reporter with Newslead’s Minneapolis bureau, pushed his Jeep Wrangler over the limit.

The bureau had been tipped to the failed abduction of a teenage girl, which had happened earlier that afternoon. Law enforcement sources suspected the fugitive abductor was Carl Nelson.

“The information we have is spotty,” Driscoll said. “The girl got away, ran for help to a house in Blue Jay Creek. I’ve got a name and an address.”

“That’s where we’re going now?”

“Yeah. They’ve taken the girl away. I think she’s fourteen. They’re not releasing her name but we can talk to the person who helped her, a woman by the name of Evelyn Hines.”

“Good, okay.”

“We’ve got a shooter heading there, too. But we have to move. If I’ve got the name, you can bet the competition’s onto it, too.”

Kate had been wrapping up her story in Pine Mills when New York called her with the news out of Minneapolis. She’d called Ed Brennan. He wouldn’t confirm or deny anything but suggested she get to Minneapolis ASAP.

She got the first plane she could.

Kate’s stomach lifted as Driscoll sailed along the expressways. The whole time he made calls and sent messages to sources with his hands-free, voice-activated system. Kate called her sources with the FBI and other agencies, pressing them for more information.

The Bungalows of Blue Jay Creek was a new subdivision at the edge of Hennepin County. Evelyn Hines lived at 104 Apple Blossom Trail. They were relieved that no news or police vehicles were parked out front when they arrived. Kate rang the bell and a woman in her early seventies answered.

She looked at Kate, then Driscoll.

“Yes?”

“Are you Evelyn Hines?” Kate asked.

“Yes.”

“I’m Kate Page, this is Pete Driscoll. We’re reporters with Newslead the newswire service.” Kate held up her ID. “May we talk to you, please? It’s about a teenage girl. We understand you helped her?”

Worry clouded Evelyn’s face as she considered the request.

“It’s terrible, but it’s true,” she said. “The paramedics took the girl and the police just left. I saw something on the TV news. I suppose this is what you’d call a big story. Come in.”

Driscoll took Kate aside and tapped his phone.

“Kate, we just got word, there’s police activity near here. You take the interview, I’ll check it out. Our photographer is on her way.”

Driscoll left and Kate joined Evelyn, walking through her neat-as-a-pin home to the backyard.

“Thank you for agreeing to talk to me, Mrs. Hines.” Kate took out her notebook and recorder. “Can you tell me about yourself and what happened?”

“Well, like I told the police, I’ve been living here on my own since my husband passed away three years ago. My daughter and grandson live in California. I volunteer at the hospital and I keep busy with my garden.”

“It’s beautiful,” Kate said.

“Thank you. The azaleas, daylilies and rosebushes are coming along. I’m thinking of adding a fountain and a gazebo, to make things more calming, more serene.”

“So what happened today?”

“I was working out here when I heard a faint cry in the distance.” She indicated the vast fields behind the fence of her property. “It was high-pitched, I thought it might be a dog, or something. Then I saw a person running toward me, shouting, ‘Help! Help!’”

“What did you do?”

“At first, I wasn’t sure what to do. I saw what turned out to be a young girl running and shouting for help. She was running in an odd way, with her hands together. I thought it was a trick, or kids playing, but her tone was one of genuine fear, so I opened my gate.”

“Then what happened?”

“The girl was sobbing. Her jacket and shirt were torn, streaked with grime. Her hair was frazzled. What I thought was a necklace turned out to be tape she’d clawed from around her mouth. Her hands were bound with tape. I was scared for her. ‘Dear God,’ I said. ‘What happened to you?’ She begged me to call 911.”

“What else do you remember?”

“I got her inside. She was delirious, clinging to me, afraid she was being chased, but there was no one. I cut away the tape. Police took that.”

“What did she tell you?”

“She said her name was Ashley. That she was fourteen. That she lived in Edina. Then she was nearly incoherent, saying things like, ‘She was my friend, but he’s a man, a freak! He tried to abduct me—then he took another woman, she saved me! Her name’s Vanessa!’”

Kate froze.

“Are you certain that she said the name Vanessa?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Did she say where the man and Vanessa went?”

“No, just that he took the woman Vanessa, that she’d saved her, is what she told me.”

Kate struggled to process what she’d just heard.

Maintaining a hold on her composure, on her incredulity, she continued asking Evelyn questions until Casey Mulvane, the photographer, arrived. After quick introductions, Casey took over, quickly, professionally, getting shots of Evelyn in her backyard by her open gate, looking at the field. The whole time Kate contended with the tectonic shift of her emotions.

We’re close, so close to Vanessa.

Later, in Casey’s car, they sped through the neighborhood.

“Look, those are the TV networks.” Casey pointed to at least three helicopters circling over a distant acreage, a wrecking yard and a cluster of buildings. “It’s crazy there!”

After traveling a half mile down an empty rural road they came to the entrance, blocked with yellow tape and by clusters of police vehicles. Dozens of news cars and trucks had gathered there with a steady stream of new arrivals. There were more press here than Kate had seen in Pine Mills. Down the long driveway, near the house, were forensic trucks and other emergency vehicles. Investigators and technicians were working among the various buildings. News cameras were aimed at the activity, reporters were making calls. Others were trying in vain to squeeze more information from police at the cordon.

After Casey parked they found Pete Driscoll, who took them aside.

“Okay, this is what I know from calling my sources and a buddy in Homicide that I spotted in there.” Driscoll flipped through his notes.

“Homicide?” Kate repeated.

“I don’t think they’ve found any victims in there, Kate. After the girl got away, and the 911 call, they started to canvass the area and found this place abandoned. They found the van in the garage, that 2013 silver Chevy Class B camper, the one sought in the murders in Rampart, New York. The VIN matched.”

“Anything else?”

“They found a small cell in the basement that appears as if someone broke out of it.”

Kate stood there, absorbing every word as Driscoll continued.

“At this point, they think this started at the Mall of America, where the teen was supposed to meet an online friend who turned out to be the abductor. We’ve got people from our bureau there. Anyway, they’re pretty sure it’s Nelson, the guy behind the sixteen murders from New York.”

“This is wild,” Casey said. “I need my long lens and tripod to get shots of the house.”

“Excuse me? You’re Kate Page, with Newslead?”

She turned, nodding.

“Phil Topley, producer with NBC. Would you give us a few minutes for an on-camera interview concerning your search for your sister?”

“Hi, Kate.” A woman shouldered in with a card. “Kelly Vanmeer, FOX. We’d like to talk to you for a live interview.”

Within minutes, Kate was besieged with requests by national and local news organizations. Amid the chaos, the emotional upheaval and her exhaustion, she found a point of crystalline clarity.

My sister was here, in this area, a few hours ago, saving a girl’s life. Vanessa’s alive and fighting. I’ve got to help her. I’ve got to keep the pressure on Zurrn. My God, he’s going to kill her anyway. My silence would only help him. I have to scream for Vanessa!

One by one Kate granted all interviews, telling the world everything she knew about Vanessa, about Sorin Zurrn, Jerome Fell, Carl Nelson. She offered condolences for all of his victims. She found the strength to keep it together, for this was a battle and Vanessa’s life was at stake.

You don’t get this one.
We know who you are; we know what you are and we’re going to stop you!

58

Somewhere in the United States

A
fter driving more than four hundred miles, Sorin Zurrn’s body was still tight with rage.

When he’d finally stopped at a cast-off, godforsaken motel called The Slumbering Timbers, he nearly lost it with the clerk, who took too long to respond to the desk bell. Something to do with his hearing, he’d apologized when he’d emerged from the back, cigar in the corner of his mouth. Pleased to have a guest, he attempted to make amends after glancing through the window at Zurrn’s vehicle as he registered.

“Betcha you don’t get many complaints in your line of work.”

Zurrn stared at the clerk long enough to make him uncomfortable. Then he tossed cash onto the counter to cover the night and snatched his key.

In his room Zurrn set up his laptops and started to work.

He had to think, but it was hard to concentrate in the wake of the day’s events. He removed his thick-framed glasses, wig and goatee, then took a shower. Under the needles of hot water, he pounded his fists to the side of his head.

* * *

After showering, he dressed and walked across the empty parking lot. He’d parked in a remote, dimly lit section that bordered on a wooded area. His vehicle stood alone, hidden in the shadows. He glanced back at the motel. No one else was in sight. His keys jingled as he went to the passenger side of the black van with tinted glass and a small silver cross affixed to each rear window. Signs on the front doors read Vitalee & Denridder Mortuary Services.

A low rumble sounded as he rolled open the side door.

The rear interior was filled with heavy tarp. He threw it back to a reveal a steel casket, secured with a chain and lock. The lock clicked as he opened it and raised the top half of the two-piece lid.

In the darkness, the whites of Vanessa’s eyes glowed as she looked up.

Her mouth was taped.

Her hands and ankles were bound.

“You know what you did, don’t you?”

She stared at him.

“Answer me!”

Vanessa blinked, tears filled her eyes and she nodded.

“You broke the cardinal rule! I was in the process of cultivating a new specimen,
and you destroyed that, too
!”

Vanessa sobbed.

“After all of our time together, after all I’ve done for you, you betray me!”

He dropped the lid. Secured the chains then returned to his room.

* * *

Energized by his visit with his most cherished specimen, Zurrn resumed work on his laptops, reviewing details, making preparations, activating stages that needed activating.

Near him, the motel TV flickered with the latest on the breaking news out of Minnesota and its connection to the case in Rampart, New York. The case was a lead story across the country. He viewed a special report with caution, concern and a sense of pride.

Carl Nelson was the most wanted man in America.

Variations of his appearance were displayed on the screen.

Zurrn had no concerns. Few people paid attention and he changed his disguises constantly.

“The suspect known as Carl Nelson is believed to be responsible for the murders of sixteen people, possibly more, according to the FBI...”

Photos of the identified victims with locator maps and timelines of their disappearances filled the screen.

My beautiful specimens.
Zurrn marveled at his collection.

The story zigzagged with images from the Lost River State Forest to Minneapolis and the Mall of America, then the property in a corner of Hennepin County. There was a range of long shots and aerial footage of the house and garage at Hennepin.

“...sources tell us that a fourteen-year-old girl from suburban Minneapolis was lured to a meeting with an online friend at the Mall of America. That friend turned out to be the wanted suspect, and after abducting the teen and driving to this remote property, they came upon another female victim who’d escaped. In the chaos that ensued, the teen says the woman helped her escape to tell her story. However, police sources tell us, the woman was recaptured by the suspect and remains missing...”

Zurrn turned the volume up for the next segment of the report.

“...this story continues to evolve with one remarkable development after another. Sources tell us that police believe the escaped woman is Vanessa Page, also known as Tara Dawn Mae, a girl missing for fifteen years from Alberta, Canada. Now, one of the reporters covering this story is Vanessa’s sister, Kate Page, with Newslead. Kate has been on a lifelong pursuit to learn the truth behind her sister’s disappearance, a story that reaches back to a tragic car crash in the Canadian Rockies. The tragedy, which Kate Page survived, led her on a journalistic investigation that has recently resulted in several stunning revelations...”

Kate Page appeared on the screen.

“...Kate Page reports today for Newslead that Carl Nelson had resided in Denver under the name Jerome Fell when he’d abducted Tara Dawn Mae. Prior to that, Fell was actually Sorin Zurrn, who grew up in Chicago...”

Zurrn froze.

Images swam on the screen, images of the life he’d buried, images of Zurrn as a teen, then images of his mother, of their home in Chicago, his school, his mother’s grave, and the park where Tonya Plesivsky died.

Zurrn stared at Kate Page.

How dare she trespass on my pain!

Then came something about the FBI, the RCMP and warrants. There were images of police forensic units at addresses in Chicago, in Denver, in Alberta.

Zurrn groaned with rage and anguish as he glared at Kate Page.

She’d ripped open an ancient wound.

How dare she do this?

The camera tightened on the reporter as she stared into it.

“Now the world knows the truth about Sorin Zurrn. Now I know the truth about my brave, beautiful sister, Vanessa. For too long there’s been too much fear and pain. We love you, Vanessa. We’re coming for you.”

Zurrn slammed his fists on the table.

“I’ll show you pain! I’ll show the whole world!”