The Shadowkiller (30 page)

T
he fire department and police investigators carefully photographed the wreckage of Russ's shop after determining, through cursory invasion of the charred rubble, that neither Russ nor his mortal remains were present. They concluded that the building had partially collapsed prior to burning and that the front door—with most of the attached wall—had caved
out.
No one could explain that type of destruction, nor could they even speculate as to what really happened to Russ Tardif. The fact that it took three men to right Russ's sizable table saw merely confirmed that, according to an assistant fire chief on scene, “whatever went on here was pretty goddamned weird.”

Because of the growing frenzy over the “serial killer on the loose,” the statement released to the press simply said there had been an unexplained fire. Pending an outcome of the investigation, as well as notification of next of kin, information that the building had been ransacked, and that the resident was missing and presumed dead, was withheld from public consumption.

Ronnie had not spoken a word to Ty as she readied for work. Ty knew that whatever came next was Ronnie's call. He said a prayer that she wouldn't lower the boom. After she left for work, he breathed a sigh of relief. Having a bad chemistry day, he stared at his drawer, the location of his magic mood elevators. But what stayed his hand was his promise to the old man. In just one evening Ben had become his best friend and a father figure. Ty's own father had died in a car accident years ago. Ty wanted—
needed
—to find relief from the horror show in his head. His mind was telling him bad things, running awful images on his inner screen, and he cringed with despair over everything's going up in smoke. His marriage, his family, everything…
phhhht.
Gone.

So he stared at that drawer and parsed his words to Ben as a lawyer might, looking for an out. But a promise was a promise. As a reward for being so steadfast, the lucid part of his brain told him his rebuke of temptation had just made him stronger. Hopefully strong enough, because Ben said he'd need all his strength for what was coming.

And what was coming? He didn't know and neither did Ben. Track it down? Then what? Shoot it? Drug it? Throw a sheet over it and hit it with a five iron? Could they even find it? Ty's inclination was to swarm the problem with technology and money. Break out all that dusty gear—the infrared sensors, the army issue night vision goggles, the motion detectors—and send as much data feeding into computers as needed to boil the problem down to one answer:
here it is, go get it.

But Ben, that crafty—or crazy—old actor, had a different plan. He said the thing could evade them if they went after it en masse, bristling with the science of a twenty-first-century army. Ben wanted to take the approach he knew or, as he admitted, the approach he only recently reacquainted himself with. Ty emotionally understood Ben's “inner eye” concept, but he just couldn't get an intellectual handle on it. He was as open-minded as the next person, but the idea that Ben could contact this thing via ESP was a challenge to him. And then what if he could? Use it to locate it like a homing beacon? Or maybe somehow get it to come to them? Ty didn't know and wasn't so sure Ben even knew.

But he decided to shake off his skepticism and accept that Ben was not full of crap. Something about the man, actually many things, told Ty that Ben Campbell, a.k.a. Chief Ben Eagleclaw, was not only a good actor but a real Indian. Ty had always been intrigued by Native American mysticism. Now he might be staking his life on it.

B
en arrived at Ty's home just before ten a.m., and they set up shop in Ty's office. After taping Ty's maps to the wall, they used the information they had acquired to determine where each person disappeared. They stuck a pushpin in each of those points. Around one p.m. Greta knocked and asked if they wanted lunch. Having lost track of time and suddenly feeling hungry, Ty told her they'd be right there.

Ty looked at the map, which now had a pin at each known vanishing. “It's moving west.”

Ben eyed the pins, trying to divine a pattern. “I think maybe it's settled in. He could range an easy twenty miles a night. I'm not sure, but I think he's probably staked out his territory and is movin' out from there.”

“Where?” asked Ty.

Ben's creased brow deepened. “Don't know. Tried callin' him up this mornin'. Nothin'.”

Ty visually measured the area in question. “Probably twenty, twenty-five miles by fifteen miles. That's three, maybe four hundred square miles. Where do we start?”

Ben patted Ty's back. “Let's eat on it.”

As they walked down the lofty hallway to the kitchen, the doorbell chimed. Ty motioned for Ben to continue. “I'll get it,” he said.

The double front doors had ornate stained glass panels but other than a profile they obscured any view of the visitor. As he approached, Ty assumed it was another reporter. He swung it open and was immediately wary. This time the man extended his hand to Ty.

“Mr. Greenwood? Mac Schneider. Remember me, from—”

“Yeah, I remember,” said Ty, cautiously taking his hand. “What can I do for you? Want to search my house again?”

Mac looked chagrined. “That was Carillo's doing, not mine.”

Ty impatiently held the door half open and made it clear he was not going to be as solicitous as the last time. “What do you want?”

“I'm here unofficially. You might be interested in what I've got. And the reverse may be true. I need help in finding this thing and I think you could give it to me.”

Mac saw curiosity on Ty's face, but it was also mixed with some skepticism. Mac tossed out some more bait. “I know you're interested in it,” he said. “I'm pretty sure it's out there. It's gotta be stopped. I need some backup so I can stop it. Interested?”

Ty stepped back and gestured him inside. He was both surprised and suspicious but decided he would observe the man's actions, then maybe they could talk. Ty could also rely on Ben's radar to decide if he was friend or foe.

“You hungry?” asked Ty. “We were just sitting down to lunch.”

“Okay, sure. Thanks.”

Mac was impressed that Ty Greenwood didn't seem to hold their somewhat hostile first meeting against him. But Mac had no illusions and understood intense curiosity was feeding much if not all of Ty Greenwood's hospitality.

On the way to the kitchen Ty noticed Mac's grocery sack. “What's that?”

“Something you'll find interesting,” said Mac with a slight smile.

When a surprised Mac saw Ben, the detective excitedly launched into a recitation of Ben's filmography as well as career highlights. Ben was flattered, though a bit embarrassed by the level of detail Mac went into. Nevertheless, Ben let him continue, as he'd taken an immediate liking to Mac. They spoke no business during lunch.

Afterward the three men went into the office and settled into chairs. Ty opened the discussion. “Ben is also looking for it. We've just teamed up to find it. So your timing's perfect.”

Mac nodded when Ty mentioned teaming up to “find it.” Mac hadn't told them yet, but he had to be the guy who found it, not them. He had correctly guessed that Ty was going to look for it, but he hadn't planned on Ben's involvement. This was going to be harder than Mac had planned.

Ty turned to Ben. “Mac was one of the detectives I told you about.”

Ben was surprised, since Ty had described the cops as unpleasant.

Mac read his expression. “My partner and I were a little aggressive. I apologize.”

Ben pointed his finger and exclaimed, “Hey, that reporter on TV, you're the guy she interviewed. That's it. That's how I know the voice.”

Mac sighed. “Yeah. Only that tape she made was butchered. She cut out the most important part of what I said.”

“Which was?” Ty asked.

Mac pulled out the huge foot casting and handed it to Ty. “That this is who did it.”

Ty's jaw dropped. “God almighty…”

Ben looked at it, less awed. “Yup. That's him. For sure.”

Mac gave Ben a curious look.

Ben pointed at the casting. “I saw his track the other day. A partial. Same as that, left foot too. Favors his left. He's a lefty.”

“Where did you get this?” asked Ty.

“Up where the lawyers disappeared,” said Mac. “I saw a heel print first then looked a little off trail. Found this. This is what Carillo is convinced you're making.”

Ty understood. “The search. He was looking for what made this.”

“Right.” Mac knew he had to gain their trust and quickly. “I think I had a close encounter with it. Last week. I swear it was right behind me. Fired my gun a few times to try and scare it off, then got into my car. Strange feeling, like…”

“A warm breeze?” Ben continued,“Or like that feelin' you get when somebody comes into a room and though you didn't hear 'em, you know they're there?” Mac was nodding in total understanding, so Ben continued. “Or maybe like sunlight, just a ray or two that makes the hair stand up on your neck? Something like that?”

Mac was fascinated how the old man knew so much about this thing.

Ben tipped his head toward Mac. “Oh-Mah. He was near you. You were real lucky.”

“Ben, is that what you were talking about?” Ty asked. “Being able to feel him?”

Ben ventured an explanation. “I think it's some of that undeveloped extra sense we've got but don't use. His mental energy on the other hand is real strong…It's focused, like a beam of light and we can actually feel it. That's when we know he's there.”

“And he senses that we know?” Mac asked.

Ben nodded. “I think so.”

Ever the technician, Ty asked,“What's the range, any idea?”

“I don't have any idea,” Ben said. “But like I said, I felt him in Portland. And that's what, two hundred miles? Yet, I can't conjure him here, at least not clearly. You know, I've read stories about psychic stuff. People know a loved one's in danger from across the country. Or a dog travels a thousand miles and finds its master. Or somebody knows somethin's gonna take place ahead of time and it does. There's lots of crackpots to muddy things up, but real psychic experiences happen for sure.”

“So you have a sense of him around here?” Mac asked.

“Yeah, but like I said to Ty, I couldn't tell you where.”

Ty pointed at their taped-up maps.

“We're plotting his path, but we don't really see a pattern. Ben thinks he's made a camp and is operating out of it. We're trying to figure out where that is. That's where we'll start.”

Mac realized they wouldn't be content with anything less than actively looking for it. Ben Campbell might be old as well as an actor, but he knew a great deal about it and also seemed resolute. Ty Greenwood had a history of searching for it and came across as a driven man who could throw his vast finances behind his quest.

As the discussion continued, Mac's brain went into overdrive to come up with an option they would go for. But whatever it was, it had to have one result: Mac absolutely had to be the one who found this thing, because he was convinced that was the only way he could save his credibility and career. But Mac felt desperation disrupting his thoughts and remembered the saying his training officer drilled into him when he was an LAPD rookie, “Never play poker with scared money, kid. You'll lose every time.” Mac knew that advice had nothing to do with poker and everything to do with life.

“The old couple. Think that's related, Mac?” Ty asked.

Mac continued staring at the maps for a moment, lost in thought. “Huh? Oh, yeah, the Krinkels. I read the report. Old man Krinkel was missing and it seemed his wife was
pulled
through the window from her bed. Investigators also said their dogs seemed pretty spooked. The forensics people are totally stymied, probably because they have a lot of answers but don't have a clue as to what the big question is.”

Mac took a pushpin from the box and stuck it in the map.

“Russell Tardif. Probably happened last week, they're not sure. They just discovered the man's workshop, fifty percent burned, but he's missing. According to a report, which was not released to the media, it appears his shop was smashed before it caught fire.”

“It broke in?” Ty guessed. “Maybe a short caused the fire.”

“Maybe,” Mac said. “They're not even sure he was in the shop when it went down.”

Ben stood abruptly, went to the window, and stared, glassy-eyed. “This shop's by a creek,” he said, his voice hollow, distant, as if in a light trance.

Mac, momentarily confused, looked to Ty. “Yeah, he's right. It is.”

“Happened coupla weeks ago. Fella was sawin' wood. 'Bout thirty years old, I'd guess. It was rainin'. Come in and got him. Oh-Mah,” he nodded, just as if he'd seen it on TV.

The two men looked at Ben. Mac was so taken off guard, he recited from memory parts of the confidential file Suzy had faxed him.

“You're right. He was thirty-one. They found an overturned table saw with the power switch in the on position. And the saw being overturned wouldn't happen in a fire. This saw was a big industrial model, weighed several hundred pounds.”

Ben nodded thoughtfully. “Yup. Wrote it off as a bad dream when it happened. Just another scary movie in my brain starrin' somebody I never saw before. Guess this one happened, huh?”

Mac was astonished by Ben's accuracy. “You had any other…dreams?”

“Nope,” he said, turning back, the distant look gone. “But I'll let you know when I do.”

Mac had waited more than half an hour for his opportunity to state his case. Ty was discussing the details of how they would conduct their search and specifics like which trailhead would be the best starting point. Finally Mac couldn't stand it anymore and interrupted him.

“Guys, listen to me, I appreciate what you're doing here, but you can't really go after this thing on your own. I know you know that.”

Ty, his brow furrowed over this out-of-left-field comment, looked to Mac. “What?”

“I'm serious. This is not a job for laypeople. You're talking about tracking down something that will require manpower, and more than that, expertise.”

Ben was intrigued by Mac's sudden turnaround and leaned back on the couch. He could see Ty's body language change and figured he'd let Ty address the situation.

Ty was baffled and slightly annoyed. “Expertise? What are you talking about? I mounted several formal expeditions to find this thing. I know what I'm doing.”

“And did you find it?” asked Mac.

Ty leveled his gaze at Mac, trying to understand what the hell had happened to this guy in the last twenty seconds. Ty felt his irritation welling and realized his surprise and growing anger would be pretty easy to read. He forced himself to calm down. “So what are you saying? You want our help, but you want the police to do the actual work? Hell, they think I'm the guy running around planting fake tracks. They're idiots.”

Mac shook his head. “Listen, I know, what I…If you can funnel me all you know, act behind the scenes, sort of run the unofficial command, I'll lead the investigation. I have some autonomy on what I can do, I have resources—”

“So do we,” Ty responded. “Frankly, I probably have more money than your entire department does for this kind of investigation. You're suggesting we plant ourselves in this office and let you run the thing down?”