HOSTAGE (To Love A Killer) (9 page)

              Sarah’s gut told her that the sequence of events that led to the murders had more to do with self-defense than anything else. But Sarah Voss couldn’t prove anything with hunches. Feelings weren’t facts, the Lieutenant had once told her and as patronizing at that had been, he was right.

              The call that came in alerted Sarah to the fact that Hunter Mann had used her debit card in Connecticut at a motel just off Interstate 93. It would seem Ms. Mann was headed up north, and Sarah knew it was no coincidence that the particular highway Hunter had chosen cut straight through the state of New Hampshire, leading decisively back to the farmhouse, her prior residence.

              The New Hampshire men had come after Hunter, Sarah thought, and now Hunter was striking back. The only problem was that she had left the state and Sarah wouldn’t be authorized to follow. This case was going to go federal, which was the last thing she wanted.

              It was then that Detective Sarah Voss decided to go it alone, even if it meant losing her badge, her pension, and the respect of the department. Sarah would rather walk away from her life than walk away from Hunter Mann.

              Hunter was more like Sarah than she could have ever expected.

              Sarah rose to her feet, the empty coffee mug in her hand, and prepared to head into the Gowanus. 

              She needed a smoke screen to get Linden preoccupied and the department off her back so she could head up north alone, and she knew one such smoke screen that just might work.

*              *              *

              “This is a terrible idea,” said Linden before washing his doughnut-filled mouth down with three slurps of coffee. “We have an I.D. on almost everyone including the tenant, Hunter Mann. We don’t need to be here. They’re not going to tell us anything we don’t already know.”

              “It’s called a thorough investigation, Charlie. Why are you always so desperate to cut corners?” asked Sarah without looking at her partner.

              “It’s actually called not spreading the department’s resources so thin,” he countered, sounding intelligent for once in his life. “This is a waste of our time.”

              Sarah pounded on the apartment door the second they reached it.

              “NYPD, open the door,” she shouted.

              “What’s your secret agenda, Voss?” he asked, as they waited to the faint sounds of drug dealers scuffling around on the other side of the door.

              “What are you talking about?” she asked with a snort of laughter.

              “You’re after something, I can smell it,” he said.

              She could feel his eyes on him even after turning back towards the door and giving it another pound.

              “Oh yeah?” she responded finally with sarcasm. “And what might that be?” Sarah had to admit to herself that Linden was making her uncomfortable. She had asked to be partnered with him last year because he was notorious for being a doughboy, someone who was more interested in getting through the day without incident than going the extra mile to solve murders. And Sarah had liked that about him. It had given her a wealth of freedom to work as she pleased, often without him after hours, and do things her way. If Linden was going to start using his brain now, especially on this case that Sarah had been growing attached to for her own personal reasons, then the whole deck of cards would come crashing down around her.

              Why was he staring at her like that?

              “Two birds, one stone,” he said.

              Was he seriously going to let that hang between them? Since when was Linden the master of riddles?

              Christ.

              Sarah slowly turned towards him and met his gaze with a dull, “I’m not amused by this” expression.

              “You want to pin the street guns on the gang,” he said excitedly. “Get a little boost in your pension from another crime solved.”

              Sarah smiled smugly to herself.

              Good ol’ Linden, she thought, he’s terrible at what he does.

              Finally the door opened just shy of a crack, restrained by the chain lock on the other side of the door.

              “The fuck are you?” said an enormous, dark-skinned black man after swallowing the first word of his question.

              “Homicide,” said Sarah in a deep tone. “Open the door, let’s talk.”

              “The fuck is this shit?” said the man, as he closed the door momentarily to unhook the chain lock, and swung the door open.

              Marijuana smoke billowed through the open door, and clouds of it still hung thick against the ceiling.

              A few thugs attempted to fan away the smoke. They had done a good job of hiding their shit. The apartment looked dingy, but drug free. A video game was playing on a giant TV screen, a little too loudly for Sarah’s taste, but she was picking her battles this morning.

              “Relax,” she said sternly. “We don’t give a shit about your pot. We’re homicide.”

              Linden seemed reluctant to fully enter the apartment. Maybe he’d feel less vulnerable if he had left the doughnuts in the car, she thought.

              The man who had let them in crossed to the far side of the room and addressed someone in the next room. After a moment, a thin man with light brown skin, and beady eyes entered along with an extremely tall black man who reminded Sarah of a linebacker.

              This was Tiny and the latter was known as “The Chef.” Sarah had dealt with them both several times, never turning them over to Narcotics, but rather keeping them in her back pocket for favors. Information that could help solve a murder, she had always justified, was more important than throwing petty pot dealers in prison.

              They liked her as much as any thug could like a cop, but Linden didn’t know that.

              “Chef, have you seen this girl?” asked Sarah, holding up the photo of Hunter Mann.

              “You know I’m not gonna talk to you unless you spell it out for me, the pros and cons,” he said in a soft, melodic tone that Sarah at times mistook for seductive.

              “I can’t tell you that this time. It would compromise an investigation,” said Sarah, nearly barking.

              Linden’s eyes grew wide at his partner’s moxy. He probably wouldn’t be so blunt with a three hundred pound gangbanger if the roles were reversed.

              “I seen a lot of bitches. These streets are full of ‘em,” said The Chef, shrugging his shoulders and lighting a cigarette.

              “I hate to be an asshole,” said Sarah, “but the fact that I haven’t turned you over to Narcotics has been a privilege, not a right. I can revoke that privilege any time I want to.”

              “You tough, Sarah,” he said not nearly as sarcastically as Sarah had expected. “She get killed or something?” he asked, ignoring the fact Sarah had just stated she couldn’t tell him anything.

              “Other way around,” she said, returning the photo to her pocket.

              “Good for her,” said The Chef.

              “Did she say anything to you, indicate at all why she needed to buy these guns?” she asked.

              “Yeah, bitch be like her life story like I gave a shit. She didn’t say shit or do shit except hand me cash.”

              “Linden,” said Sarah, “take them downtown, all of them, and get their statements.”

              “What?” said The Chef, suddenly aggressive.

              “I wasn’t talking to you,” said Sarah to The Chef. “Linden? Now.”

              Linden stared at her equally confused.

              “That ain’t our deal,” said The Chef with a raised voice. “I told you what I know and now you gotsta leave.”

              “Linden, this is important,” Sarah reiterated, but Linden wasn’t budging. She needed him to get tied up in paperwork for the rest of the day so she could go up north alone. He wasn’t taking the bait, though. He loved paperwork, it meant sitting on his fat ass and leaving promptly at six. She didn’t need this right now.

              “Waste of time, Voss,” said Linden finally. “Thanks, fellas,” he added before opening the door and stepping into the hallway.

              The Chef was eyeing Sarah hard. She had just made an enemy. Shit.

              Sarah held the man’s gaze, narrowing her eyes to stand her ground, then followed Linden out the door.

              “Don’t leave town,” she said to The Chef before slamming the door behind her.

              “The fuck would I leave town, bitch?” she heard The Chef remark through the closed door.

              As Sarah and Charlie Linden made their way down the piss-stained corridor and out the building, Sarah sensed Linden’s newfound excitement and it immediately grated on her nerves.

              “She’s a monster,” said Linden.

              “Who’s a monster?”

              “Hunter Mann. The entire thing was premeditated. She went out on the street, bought guns to kill, and executed her plan,” he said. “Serial killer, do you think?”

              “Hardly,” said Sarah. “She was scared. She needed to protect herself. The only thing she’s guilty of is protecting herself too well.”

              Linden shook his head at that.

              “You’re wrong this time, Sarah,” he said. “We’ve got ourselves a brutal killer, and she’s taking her thirst for blood up north. We’ve got a potential massacre on our hands if we don’t go up and stop her.”

              This was exactly what Sarah was trying to avoid.

              “I need you watching The Chef and his gang in case Hunter comes back for more weapons,” said Sarah.

              “Forget it, Voss,” he said. “I’m going after Mann. I’m going to nail that bitch to the ground. You think I didn’t get a call this morning as well? I know she’s midway to New Hampshire by now. Let’s go.”

              Linden popped the passenger’s side door of Sarah’s vehicle open and poured himself into the seat.

              “This case is going to make our careers,” he said with an odd smirk before struggling his way around his own stomach to get his seatbelt fastened and shut the door.

              That went less according to plan than she had hoped.

              How was she supposed to lose Linden now? 

*              *              *

              The blinds did little to prevent the stark afternoon sun from spilling through the motel room, making it too bright to sleep. Hunter opened her eyes, squinting, careful not to be blinded by the sun’s glare. The weight of Ash’s arm across her collarbone was soothing. He had held her close all morning, spooning her, making her feel safe, protected, and by afternoon their snuggling had evolved into its current shape. Hunter was positioned in repose, leaning into Ash, back to front, as though she was partially on top of him. She had never been more comfortable in her life, and for a long moment, this was all there was: only Ash, his warm embrace, their cool motel room, and the peace of the afternoon sun. Hunter wanted this moment to last forever.

              But it didn’t.

              Dread crept in slowly as she lay there, riveting her with a low thrum of anxiety, putting her on edge, making her feel agitated and restless. She needed a pill. This was not the time to go sober, but she had nothing to set her mind at ease. Nothing but Ash.

              Her anxious thoughts drifted towards her sister, Blair. Where was Blair at this very moment, Hunter wondered? Hunter was already scared to see how broken down her sister might be. The farmhouse could turn a lively and spirited child into an empty shell in no time. Was Hunter strong enough to see her sister like that? She certainly hadn’t been before. She hadn’t been able to bear the sight, the thought. She had left Blair behind for a million reasons even though she had every reason to bring her along, every reason to smuggle her out of the farmhouse when she had escaped.

              Hunter had been so selfish, and the pain she must have caused Blair was unthinkable. Suddenly, Hunter burst out crying. She quickly covered her mouth in attempts to muffle the sobs, but it barely helped.

              Ash took a sharp breath in, waking. Hunter needed to stop crying, stop her body from shaking from the tears, but the floodgates had opened. She couldn’t hold it back.

              Sensing something was wrong as he awakened, Ash held Hunter close, stabilizing her so her body could quake freely, releasing the pent up emotions. He would be her support until she could hold herself up again.

              “What’s wrong?” he asked quietly.

              “Everything,” she said through her sobs.

              “We’ll get her back,” he said. “We’ll get all the girls back.”

              “I don’t see how we’re going to do that, Ash,” she said, her tears finally drying up enough to speak clearly.

              “We’re going to plan it out,” he said. “We’re going to get up there and case the farmhouse, make a plan of attack based on that. We won’t know exactly how to get in and get out with the girls, then defeat the entire operation until we’re there, can we?”