The Depth of Darkness (Mitch Tanner #1) (24 page)

“You leave my child out of this!”

“Do you understand, Detective?” McCree’s
voice rose in anger.

I understood lots of things. How someone
could do such a thing, that was beyond me. But I had to play my
part. The time to put these guys away wasn’t now. This was the time
to rescue the kids. Forcing myself to cast my anger aside, I said,
“I understand.” Then I dropped the bag next to my feet and took a
few steps back.

Roy Miller-Michael Lipsky squatted down,
keeping his gaze fixed on me, and grabbed the bag. He rose and
said, “Got it,” while taking it off speaker. He winked at me as he
passed. “Nice working with you detective.”

“What about the kid?” I said, taking a step
back and blocking his path.

He leaned to the side, his smile widening. He
held out the phone for me. I reached for it and he pulled back,
shaking his head. “Put your ear to the speaker.”

“Detective,” the other man said. “In one hour
we will call the Hollands’s house phone with the location of their
son. I want to speak only with Mr. or Mrs. Holland. Understand? If
anyone else answers, the boy will never be found. You can take that
any way you want. Goodbye, Detective.”

My brain dumped every other thought as it
processed what McCree had just told me. It must’ve shown on my
face, because Roy-Michael laughed at me as he backed away.

The Hollands weren’t at their home. They’d
left in a helicopter right after Bridget and me. They were here, at
the Pentagon, unless the FBI had moved them to the J. Edgar Hoover
Building. I had to find out and warn Bridget. I pulled out my phone
and called her.

“Get them back to Philly,” I said after she
answered.

“What? Mitch, did you make the exchange?”

“I thought you guys were watching?”

“We have agents watching, but no one has
reported in yet.”

“The money’s been handed over, but the boy is
elsewhere.”

“You gave them the money without the
kid?”

“They threatened to kill him, and the girl,
and Ella.”

“Okay, okay, we can make this work.” Bridget
paused for a few seconds, during which time I glanced around and
noticed what looked like an FBI agent approaching me. “What else
did they say?”

“Guy on the phone said he’d call the
Holland’s house in one hour with the location of Bernard. Said if
he didn’t speak with either of them, we’ll never find the kid.”

“This isn’t good, Mitch.”

I started walking east. “What isn’t?”

“They just left in a car.”

“The Hollands?”

“Yes.”

“Well, get them back.”

“I have to get off the phone with you to do
that.”

“Okay.” I pulled the phone away from my head.
“Wait, where are you?”

“Hoover Building.”

“What’s the fastest way there?”

“Down the lawn, cut across the Ellipse
between the White House and Washington Memorial, then east on
Pennsylvania Avenue.”

I hung up, pushed my way through the crowd
and began to run. I estimated I had a mile to go, give or take. I
figured that by the time I reached the Hoover Building, the
Hollands would be in the air and the next helicopter would be ready
to go. I hoped they’d be, at least.

I ran straight down the middle of
Pennsylvania Avenue, ignoring the stares, gestures and honking
cars. A man in a dark suit stood on the corner of 10th and
Pennsylvania. When he saw me, he started waving his arms.

“This way, Detective.”

He led me inside the Hoover Building. We
bypassed security, and then took an express elevator to the roof. I
heard the thumping of a helicopter’s rotors and the whine of its
turbine before I saw the contraption. As I rounded the small
elevator room, I saw Bridget standing between me and the
chopper.

“Did they get off yet?” I asked after jogging
to her position.

“They left five minutes ago.”

I glanced at my watch. We were cutting it
close. No chance Bridget and I would make it on time. I had serious
doubts the Hollands would, either.

“Can we forward their phone to a cell?” I
asked.

Bridget nodded, then shook her head. “They’ll
know, Mitch. You were just inside a helicopter. Can’t hardly think,
let alone talk.”

She was right. We were screwed. The kids were
in immediate danger.

“Come on, Mitch.” She grabbed my hand and
pulled me toward the helicopter. We sat down, placing the headgear
over our ears. Bridget instructed the pilot to get us there as fast
as possible, emphasizing that this was a life or death
situation.

Now, off the top of my head, I had no idea
how to estimate the speed at which the helicopter traveled. When I
glanced at my watch, I saw the return trip took seven minutes less
than our flight to D.C. Presumably, that meant we flew pretty fast.
We’d made it back before the call was due to come in, which meant
the Hollands had as well. Bridget’s car still idled in the middle
of the street. I half-expected to see a parking ticket plastered to
the windshield. There wasn’t one. We both got inside as the
helicopter lifted into the air. Bridget circled around in the space
the chopper had occupied. A few seconds and four squealing tires
later we were in front of the Hollands’s house.

“Bridget,” I said moments after we exited the
car.

She glanced over her shoulder. “Yeah?”

“I had no choice. I couldn’t risk the lives
of those children. These men are killers. They’d stop at nothing
to—”

“I know, Mitch.”

“I mean it. They threatened the boy, and the
girl, and then Ella. I can’t lose her, Bridget. She’s all I got
left.”

Bridget turned and stepped closer to me. She
placed a hand on my chest. Our eyes, our lips were inches apart.
Her hot breath washed over my skin. “You did nothing wrong, Mitch.
This doesn’t end until we find these guys. Regardless of what
happens, today was just one more piece in the puzzle. And none of
it is your fault. Okay?”

“Okay,” I said.

We entered the house. It was silent except
for the ticking of an antique grandfather clock. I followed Bridget
to the kitchen where Mr. and Mrs. Holland had resumed their
positions at the kitchen table. Her eyes were wet. He smiled at me
and then looked away. The anticipation in the room was thick enough
that you had to wade through it. No matter what happened in the
next few minutes, their ordeal wouldn’t be over. Whether they found
their son or not, this nightmare would be relived for years to
come.

The phone rang and nearly everyone in the
room jumped.

“It’s ‘go’ time,” Bridget said, reaching for
the speaker button.

Mr. Holland leaned forward and said, “Where’s
our son?”

“What? No hello or how you doing? You’re not
even going to ask how I plan on spending your money?” Brad McCree
said.

“Hello, how are you, would you like for me to
pay for you to go to a ballgame? Take ‘em all, sir. Now tell me
where my son is!” Mr. Holland hovered over the phone and had to be
restrained by Bridget.

The man on the other end laughed. “Is
Detective Tanner there?”

“I’m here,” I said.

“Detective, you had a chance to prevent all
this. Did you know that?”

I took a step forward, placed both hands on
the table and leaned over. “Not sure what you mean.”

“My partner had cold feet. See, an
unfortunate incident occurred in his home last week. His darling
Dusty Anne discovered our plans. She threatened to go to the
police. Michael said she wouldn’t, but I had my doubts. Frankly, I
had them about her from the beginning. She didn’t know Michael, not
the way I did. She knew Roy Miller and the lies that surrounded
him. Anyway, he kept her from leaving while I raced over. Together,
we shut that whore up.” McCree paused. No one spoke up to fill the
void. “That was your case, right, Detective?”

I glanced around the table. My stare met Mrs.
Holland’s and remained there. “I was assigned to the investigation
of the death of Dusty Anne Miller. That is correct.”

“And what happened on Friday night,
Detective?” McCree asked.

“I went back to ask Roy Miller, or Michael
Lipsky as we know him now, a few more questions. On the way out, I
noticed some blood on the hedges that wrapped around the porch.
He’d followed me out, stood in front of the door. I guess he knew
what I saw. When I turned, he’d bolted. I followed him through the
house, the backyard, a few more yards. He ran inside an old
abandoned water tower. I chased him up to the top.”

“And he threatened to kill himself, didn’t
he, Detective?”

I felt Mr. Holland’s stare burning a hole
through me. Tears dripped off his wife’s chin, their tracks
staining her cheeks. “He climbed over the railing, but I had no
idea if the intent was to jump or to get me to back off. I had no
intentions of allowing him the easy way out, not after he murdered
his wife.”

“He was scared, Detective. And angry and
depressed. He’d just lost his wife. I’m sure you can relate.”

I didn’t reply. McCree had done his homework
on me and was trying to get me to bite.

“And he had cold feet about what we were
going to do,” McCree said. “I firmly believe that he left the
evidence out there for his wife to find.”

“What’s this got to do with the boy, McCree?”
I asked, tiring of the game he was playing.

“You can find the boy in the same place you
found Michael that night, Detective. You’d better hurry, though. A
child as weak as him, and with a broken arm nonetheless, no telling
how much longer he can hold on.”

I had the image of Bernard Holland,
struggling to maintain his balance at the top of the water tower,
burned into my brain. McCree’s heavy breathing through the speaker
was the only sound in the room. I grabbed Bridget by her wrist and
dragged her out of the house. Behind us, I heard McCree start to
laugh. He sounded exactly like his brother.

We exited the house with the Hollands right
behind us. They bombarded me with questions. I tuned them out.

“Give me your keys,” I said to Bridget.

“Where are we going?” she asked

“Just give me your keys,” I said.

She pulled them from her pocket and tossed
them to me. “Now will you tell me?”

“Get in the car.” I stood outside the
driver’s side and pointed at the Hollands, who’d stopped halfway
down the driveway. “You two coming with us?”

They didn’t need to be asked twice. Mr.
Holland opened the rear passenger door and ushered his wife into
the backseat. The car dipped to the right as he sat down behind
Bridget.

“Where’s the lights and sirens?” I asked,
dropping the shifter from Park to Drive.

Bridget leaned over, reached across me and
turned them on. “How far is this place?”

“About ten minutes or so. I’m going to get us
there in less than five.”

“What was all that about? On the phone?”

“Miller led me up that water tower and out
onto this rickety walkway. I mean, it was decrepit. Every step I
took, I thought it was one more step closer to my death. And not to
mention, I hate heights.”

“Hard to believe,” she said.

“Right, anyway. The guy climbed over the
railing, like he was about to jump. I pulled him back over. He
landed on his head. That’s how he ended up in the hospital.”

“So this guy,” Mr. Holland said, “could have
taken his own life. Instead, you save him and he takes my son?”

“Sir, with all due respect, that was going
down one way or another. Miller is nothing but a patsy. You heard
the way the guy on the phone talked about him. I wouldn’t be
surprised if he turns on Miller and gives us his location after the
money hits his hands.”

Holland glared at me through the rear-view
mirror. I ignored it and focused on the road. I was there to help
them, dammit. At the same time, I understood their anger and
frustration. How many times do we lament a lenient sentence handed
out to a repeat offender and then have to watch as he returns to
the street and kills? This situation had plenty of similarities. A
few minutes later I slammed on the brakes and jerked the car into
the water tower parking lot.

“Where is he?” Bridget said, getting out of
the car.

“I don’t see him,” I said.

“He said he might not be able to hang on much
longer.” She started to run. “Please don’t let him be on the
ground.”

I started after her when I heard a small
voice. I shielded my eyes with my hands and looked up. “He’s up
there,” I shouted. “Clutching to the rails.”

Bridget met me at the door that led inside.
“It’s locked.”

I kicked the door three times before the
deadbolt snapped. Then I plowed into it with my shoulder, breaking
the door from the frame. I took the stairs two at a time, full
speed, until I reached the top. “Dammit,” I shouted.

Bridget was a few paces behind me. “What is
it?”

“Chain and padlock,” I called back.

She appeared a few moments later with her gun
drawn. “Stand back, Mitch.”

Shooting a metal lock inside a building with
corrugated steel walls wouldn’t be considered the best idea. We
didn’t have the luxury of choice or time though. General fatigue
could set in and cause the boy to lose his grip. A solid gust of
wind could blow by and knock Bernard off the platform, sending him
sailing to his death.

Bridget fired four rounds before declaring
victory over the lock. She unhooked it from the chain and let it
fall. A few seconds later it banged against the ground floor. The
chain slithered through the door handle and an eye bolt on the
wall. She pulled the door open. A heavy gust of wind blew inside.
Bernard’s cries for help rode the gust and echoed throughout the
hollow building.

I stepped out ahead of Bridget, proceeding
along the weathered planks with caution. “Don’t move, Bernard.”

He only glanced in my direction to
acknowledge me. His skin looked ashen, his right arm grossly
disfigured and dangling by his side. He wrapped his good one around
the railing. If he slipped, it was sure to snap as well.