Saving the World (19 page)

Bryant’s face softened. “Look, I appreciate what you’re doing, but I’m not crazy and I don’t have a death wish. I’ll be cautious and I’ll be smart.” Bryant held up his right hand to Meltzer. “I promise.”

Meltzer was about to say something when a second set of flashing red and white lights swept across their open doorway. He shook his head, slapped his hands onto his knees and pushed himself up from the bed. As he walked outside to greet the local police officer, he said, “We’ll continue this fun conversation in a minute.”

Chapter 27

Lieutenant Jacob Kilborn was four hours into his graveyard shift at the Chandler Police Department, and his eyes were beginning to droop as he leaned back in his chair behind his desk. He was scrolling through the latest reports on his computer when a pair of headlights glanced off the front window and immediately disappeared once the engine was turned off. There was normally a skeleton crew this time of the morning, an hour before the sun even came up. A crew that consisted of Kilborn and no one else.

When he worked by himself he typically locked the civilian entrance and watched the front door through a monitor hanging on the outside wall. A bright light illuminated the entrance where puddles were accumulating in the rainstorm. He paid close attention as a man in a black suit approached the entrance, looked up at the camera and held up a gold shield for Kilborn to see. He stood there with a bleak expression as the raindrops flattened his hair. Kilborn pushed a button and buzzed the door open. The man entered the reception area and made his way to the counter where Kilborn was already waiting. The man wore a white shirt and jacket with no tie. His shirt appeared disheveled and his jacket looked like he’d sat on it while driving over.

The man nodded to Kilborn in a professional manner. From the other side of the bulletproof glass partition, he held up a leather case with his credentials dropping down from the bottom so Kilborn could get a clear look. He leaned over to speak through the small opening in the partition. “FBI agent Ron Turkle.”

Kilborn had been with the Chandler PD for over a decade, and he’d never seen an FBI agent work past 6:00 at night unless there was something really serious going on.

“How can I help you?” Kilborn asked, carefully examining the man’s credentials.

The man’s face softened. He put away his shield and shrugged. “I woke up an hour ago in a sweat because I messed up. The SAC asked me to pick up Jeff Davenport and bring him over to the field office late this afternoon and I completely spaced it. When he shows up to work in a couple of hours and that kid’s not there, I’m screwed.”

Kilborn understood the concept. He’d been in a similar spot several times himself. He had nothing against helping a fellow officer of the law, but he needed to cover his own behind first.

“What do the Feds need with Jeff?”

“Well, apparently the bank is wanting retribution and the press is getting testy. Since he took prisoners in a federally-insured bank, it’s our jurisdiction. My boss doesn’t want this to coming back to bite us in the ass.”

Kilborn was going to ask for a warrant but then the FBI was one of the only departments which didn’t require one and this guy was correct about jurisdiction.

“Listen,” Kilborn said. “I have no problem with this. Just let me check with Detective Meltzer first. He was the one who took the boy in.”

Turkle nodded while pulling out his cell phone. He pushed a couple of buttons, then pressed it against the window for Kilborn to see the last person in Turkle’s recent call list. At the top of the list was an outgoing call just ten minutes ago to Detective Sam Meltzer.

“I just spoke with him about this,” Turkle said, his eyes wide with understanding. “He knows about my predicament. Don’t worry, I didn’t wake him up. Apparently he’s on the west side of town tracking down a criminal.”

Kilborn’s suspicions were calmed when he heard Turkle’s knowledge of Meltzer’s whereabouts. The detective was just in the office a couple of hours ago and said something about heading out to the west side.

Kilborn pushed a button under the counter and a hinged portion of the partition sprung open. “Come on in,” he said to the FBI agent.

The man walked through the opening and gestured down a long corridor. “He down there?”

Kilborn nodded, then grabbed a set of keys from a hook on the wall and searched for the one he needed. As he passed the agent he said, “I’m sure the kid’s asleep.”

“What kind of prisoner has he been?”

Kilborn found the key, then turned on the overhead lights in the corridor. “Jeff? He’s a model citizen. Just a little mixed up, that’s all.”

“Sure,” the agent agreed, sounding as if he wanted the conversation to end quickly.

They walked past a couple of empty cells until they got to the only one that was closed. Kilborn unlocked the door with a metal-on-metal scrape and swung it open. “Hey, Jeff, time to get up.”

The kid was curled up under a blanket and moved slowly, his hands covering his eyes to protect them from the sudden intrusion of light. “What’s going on?”

“We need to transfer you, is all,” Kilborn said, not wanting to spook the kid.

“Transfer?” the boy’s voice cracked from sleep, or nerves, or just lack of use. “Where am I being transferred to?”

“It’s okay, Jeff,” Kilborn said. “We’re just taking you over to the federal building where the facilities are a little more accommodating.”

Jeff rolled to the side of his cot and placed his feet on the ground, then looked up at the stranger in his cell. “Who’s he?”

Kilborn placed a hand on Turkle’s arm. “This here is Agent Turkle. He’s going to transport you.”

“Agent? What kind of an agent?”

“Don’t worry. He’s an FBI agent who will safely take you to a new cell. One with better air conditioning and better food too.”

Jeff scratched the back of his head, but kept a wary eye on the agent. “I like the food here. What if I don’t want to leave?”

“You don’t have a choice, son.” Turkle spoke in a voice which induced a clear sense of alarm in the kid’s eyes.

Kilborn could see the boy beginning to lose his cool. He’d pulled his feet under the cot and grabbed the metal railing which kept the mattress in place.

“I’m not going,” the kid stared at Turkle with pure dread.

“Listen,” Kilborn lowered his voice into a smooth paternal tone. “You’re going to be completely fine, Jeff. There’s no reason to be afraid.”

“But I am a-a-fraid,” the kid stammered. He leaned back and pointed at Turkle. “I don’t like him.”

“But, Jeff—”

“I want my mom!” the kid cried out. “Please call my mom and let her know what’s going on. I need her to come down here, right now.”

The FBI agent’s jaw tightened just a bit, and Kilborn could see a flare of heat emerge from his eyes. Turkle withdrew the gun from his holster and pointed it directly at Kilborn. He held out his free hand and curled his fingers. “Give me your gun and your cell phone.”

Jeff Davenport squealed. “Don’t.”

Kilborn felt a surge of adrenalin rush through his veins. He considered his options.

“Are you really going to shoot me?” Kilborn said, putting the thought in the guy’s head.

Agent Turkle glared at the police officer with a fierce determination in his eyes. “You bet your sweet ass I will.”

The way the man leered at him, Kilborn understood he was dealing with an unstable personality. He slowly removed his gun and handed it handle-first to the agent. Then he reached into his pocket and handed him the cell phone.

Jeff had squirmed his way into the back wall as if he were trying to disappear.

Turkle motioned for Kilborn to move farther inside the cell. “Sit down.”

Kilborn didn’t move. This was the damndest thing he’d ever seen. An FBI agent stealing a prisoner from a holding cell. “What do you want with him?”

Jeff slid down the wall until he was on the floor, knees to his face.

Turkle grunted while pointing the gun at the kid. “Get up. Now!”

Kilborn could sense Turkle becoming unhinged and couldn’t predict what the man would do next.

Kilborn leaned over and touched Jeff’s shoulder. “Stay put. My partner will be here any minute and take care of this moron.”

Kilborn was trying to put the agent over the top and force him into making a mistake. Unfortunately, the insult seemed to ignite a rage that Kilborn wasn’t prepared for. Before he could even turn to face Turkle head-on, he caught the glimpse of something flashing his way, then a moment of hard metal impacting his head.

Then nothing.

Chapter 28

Bryant came down the hill from the cemetery with a quiet energy to his gait. Somehow visiting his girls gave him a sense of accomplishment. This time he remembered to leave a candy Kiss on Megan’s headstone and place flowers on Kate’s. Meltzer had dropped him off thirty minutes earlier, then left to take Margo to a safe house. Now he was back waiting for him on Warner Road, his car idling in the rain. When Bryant opened the passenger door of the large sedan, the detective had a bagel in one hand and a coffee in the other.

“Here,” Meltzer said, taking a second cup of steaming coffee from the cup holder and handing it to him.

“Thanks,” Bryant said, popping off the lid and taking a shallow sip. Meltzer let the car run while they drank their coffees. The sun tried to brighten the horizon, but the rain clouds were keeping it from making a formal appearance.

“You okay?” Meltzer said in a soft tone.

“I always feel a little better whenever I visit. At least for a while.”

Meltzer seemed to realize there weren’t any words which could offer comfort so he kept quiet and ate his bagel and sipped his coffee. Finally after a minute of silence, Meltzer said, “Are you ready for this?”

Bryant took a deep breath. “I guess.”

Meltzer took the last bite of his bagel, washed it down with a sip of coffee, then crushed the bagel wrapper and tossed it into the back seat. He flipped on his wipers, then shifted the car into drive and said, “All right then.”

Bryant glanced out the side mirror to see behind them.

“He’s not there,” Meltzer said.

“How can you be so sure?” Bryant said, suddenly not caring whether Meltzer caught him looking over his shoulder at the cars behind them.

“Because I know.”

“I’m telling you, Sam, there’s something malevolent about that guy. I was completely off the grid, and he still tracked us down.”

Meltzer stared straight ahead while he drove through down the four-lane road, constantly slowing down as the traffic lights kept the early morning rush hour to a standstill.

“He’s not the wizard you think he is,” Meltzer said. “He’s just an FBI agent with contacts.”

“Sam, I . . .” Bryant found himself searching for the right words. He could feel the pulse pounding the vein in his temple. “He’s dangerous.”

Meltzer gave him a sideways glimpse, then smiled.

“What’s so funny?”

“You,” Meltzer said. “You actually care about your safety.”

“I care about Margo.”

“But Margo’s not here. She’s in a safe house. You’re concerned for your own safety.”

“So what’s your point?”

Meltzer’s smile widened. “Nothing.”

But Bryant understood the sentiment. His friend was glad to see Bryant have emotion. Any emotion. Apathy was a killer for the depressed.

The traffic light turned red and Meltzer rolled to a stop. His phone chirped and he pulled it from his pocket to examine the screen. After reading the text message, he dropped the phone on the console and shook his head.

“What?” Bryant asked.

“They found a tiny GPS device inside one of Margo’s shoes.” The detective turned to face Bryant. “See? He’s just an FBI agent with a serious mental problem.”

“He’s more than that.”

“That’s right. He’s a bully. And I hate bullies.”

The light changed and they drove in Chandler traffic for almost five minutes before Bryant said, “What exactly do you expect from me?”

“I just want your professional opinion, that’s all,” Meltzer said, merging into the left lane and resigning himself to the sea of red brake lights ahead of them.

“I’m not exactly at the top of my game,” Bryant said, carefully holding his coffee between his legs to avoid spilling in his lap.

“I’ll take you at fifty percent over anyone else in your profession.”

“You don’t trust psychiatrists?”

“Not really.”

Bryant sipped his coffee and looked out his window at the bleak morning haze. “Can’t say I blame you.”

Meltzer pulled down a residential street where puddles seemed to accumulate easier than on the main road. He drove slowly and craned his neck searching for addresses. The trees were large and the bushes mature, denoting an older community. There were no signs of bicycles or portable basketball hoops standing out by the curb. Finally Meltzer rolled to a stop in front of a tan stucco home with a red-tiled roof. It was the one home on the block which didn’t appear as kept up as the rest. The lawn was slightly overgrown and the azaleas drooped.

Meltzer turned off the car and stared at the front door. “Listen, if you suspect I’m being lied to, give me a sign. I need to know if she’s complicit.”

They walked toward the front door on wobbly pavers etched into the unruly grass and weeds. Meltzer’s cell phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket, saw the number on the screen, then pressed a button to shut it off. He rang the doorbell, then immediately knocked as well. The place seemed abandoned and Bryant wasn’t sure anyone had been here for a while.

Meltzer knocked once again.

After a few seconds, the detective placed his hand on the doorknob and began to twist.

“What are you doing?” Bryant asked.

Before Meltzer could answer, a woman’s voice snapped. “Who are you?”

Meltzer reached for his credentials and held it up to a peephole which might’ve been popular thirty years ago when the house was built.

“Detective Sam Meltzer, ma’am. I just wanted a few minutes of your time.”

“No.”

Meltzer nodded as if he’d expected the response and was going through his checklist of options. He stood there and waited. And waited. He appeared in no rush and Bryant felt a little uncomfortable as the time passed.