Wake the Devil (29 page)

Jack finally managed to open the lock. Got in. Started the engine.

“Greek food. Hair and eye color are the same as Courtney’s photo, so’s his height from the British police report, plus the tobacco’s a close match. Everything is misdirection. The Sandman’s going for Rachel. How far away are you?”

“Wait a minute. Greek food?”

“Walpole told us he and his friend had Greek food last night. How far away are you?”

“Thirty minutes.”

“Shit. I’m en route now.”

“Let’s call Milner and—”

“Absolutely not!”

“Why?”

Before Jack could answer, his phone beeped, showing Beth was trying to call in. He told Pappas to hold.

“Beth—”

“Todd Milner is dead. At least the real one is. I’m here with the Phoenix cops. We just took his body out of the ground. A detective who knows him made a positive ID.”

Jack jammed the accelerator pedal to the floor and began flashing his lights as he cut across three lanes of traffic. “I’m ten minutes from the safehouse. No time to talk. Pappas is on the other line. I need you to call Glen Sheeley.”

Jack broke the call and returned to Pappas. “Dan, listen, Milner’s the Sandman. I don’t have time to get into details. That was Beth. She’s calling Sheeley. Get there as fast as you can.”

*

Beth phoned the Atlanta switchboard and asked to be connected to the SWAT commander. She reached Lieutenant Carl Garvey, Sheeley’s second in command.

“Sheeley’s in the field right now, Detective. What’s up?”

“I need an emergency response team at the federal safehouse right now. The man posing as Agent Milner is a fake. He’s the killer, and he’s going for the witnesses.”

“Say that again.”

“I’m telling you he’s not Milner. He’s the Sandman.”

Garvey hesitated. “Look, the feds assumed jurisdiction this morning. We’re off the case. I’ll put a call in to—”

“Did you just hear me? I said the Sandman’s about to kill the witnesses.”

“I heard you. But it’s out of our hands. The order came down from the commissioner’s office. The feds want to run with the ball. There’s not much we can do. I’ll be happy to call them if you—”

Beth wanted to scream at him.

“Jack Kale’s on his way right now. So is Dan Pappas. Dwayne Stafford’s already on site. Their lives are in danger. Officers needing assistance override everything.”

“Goddammit,” Garvey said under his breath. “You sure about this?”

“Positive. I’m looking at the real Milner’s body.”

One Hour to the Grand Jury

A
s soon as Dan Pappas broke the connection, he reached under the seat, slapped a magnetic blue light on the dashboard, and swung a U-turn on Roswell Road, cutting off a delivery truck. One wheel of his cruiser jumped the curb and took out a trash can. Angry drivers in both directions began sounding their horns at him as he raced back toward the highway.

Milner the Sandman? He was definitely living in a nut house.

Even with no traffic, the trip would take him twenty minutes. He said a silent prayer he’d be in time.

*

Dwayne Stafford stared at Beth’s text message in disbelief and read it again.

Milner is the Sandman. Get Rachel and Walpole out of there!! Calling SWAT. Jack and Pappas en route. Move now!!

It took another moment to recover from the shock. He immediately started looking around the room for a weapon. Saw nothing. His own gun had been locked away in a safe by the marshals when they arrived. Dwayne gave up and stepped into the hallway. The house was unnaturally quiet. By rights, he should have heard conversations in progress or at least people moving around. Suddenly it felt like his mouth was filled with cotton. The first priority was getting Rachel and Lenny Walpole to safety. Accomplishing that would be another matter. The bedroom Rachel was using was directly across from his. Walpole’s was at the opposite end of the house.

He paused and listened again. Directly above him was the command center with all its electronic gadgets the marshals used to monitor the house and surrounding property. Two of them should have been on duty up there, another one on the lower level, and one out walking the grounds.

A second before his hand closed on the door knob something stopped him, the sound of a heavy thud coming from the floor above, as if a body had hit the ground. His heart began to beat harder. With a quick tap, he opened the door and went in.

Rachel was lying on her side on the bed, propped up on one elbow. She was already dressed for her grand jury appearance and waiting for the marshals to let her know when they had to leave.

“Dwayne, what—”

The detective put his finger over his lips and moved to her side.

“Miss Rachel, don’t say anything. We’re in trouble. I need to get you out of here.”

“What’s happening?” Rachel whispered, swinging her feet to the floor.

“Todd Milner’s the Sandman.”

“That’s impossible.”

“I wish it were. Beth Sturgis just sent me a text message saying he is. Our SWAT team’s on the way now. Trust me. She ain’t the kind to joke about something like this and we don’t have time to discuss it. You think you can climb out that window over there?”

“I grew up with three brothers,” Rachel said, slipping her shoes on. “I can climb anything.”

“Great. Soon as you’re outside make for that house next door. It’s just the other end of those trees at the bottom of the hill.”

“What about you?”

“I need to find Mr. Walpole. With any luck, there’s still a marshal—”

The rest of what he was about to say was interrupted by a sound he recognized. Someone had just fired a silenced weapon on the second floor.

“Oh, Lordy,” he said to himself. “This ain’t good.”

Both of them froze and listened to footsteps going down the back staircase. It was followed by a door closing. Dwayne told Rachel to
stay where she was. He darted into the hallway and checked the safe, praying it was open. No luck there either. Returning to the bedroom, he motioned her over to the window and carefully slid it open.

“Look,” she said, pointing.

At the rear corner of the property, close to where the trees began, one of the marshals was lying on the ground. Standing above him, Todd Milner was in the process of pulling the man’s windbreaker off. The trick Thom Courtney had used at the safehouse when he disguised himself as a SWAT officer flashed into Dwayne’s mind.

That ain’t gonna work again, fella.

“Change of plans,” he said. “Let’s use the front door. He’ll be coming around back. If we time it correctly, you’ll be down the hill in a second.”

Leonard Walpole was reading a book in the living room. The moment he saw them he started to complain about something, but stopped when he noticed the detective’s expression.

He stood up. “Wh . . . what’s wrong?”

“I need to get you out of here, sir. The killer’s on his way. There ain’t no time to explain, so just follow me.”

At the front door, Dwayne told them, “When I give you the signal, you both hightail it over to the neighbor’s house. Don’t look back. Don’t stop. When you get there, lock yourselves in. Our people should be here any minute.”

“What will you be doing?” Rachel asked.

“Gonna see if I can find me a weapon and have a word with the Sandman.”

“No, Dwayne—”

“There’s no time to discuss this, ma’am,” he said, moving to the living room window.

The Sandman was halfway up the hill and he was carrying the marshal’s rifle. Dwayne held his hand up to them. He just needed to wait a few seconds longer.

“Go!”

After Rachel and Lenny were out the door, he ran into the kitchen hoping to find a knife. What he found was one of the U.S. Marshals lying dead on the floor with a gaping wound where his right eye
should have been. The man’s service weapon was next to him, but the clip was missing.

Cursing under his breath, he began checking for a backup. Almost every law enforcement officer he knew carried one. It was in an ankle holster: a five-shot .38-caliber revolver with a two-and-a-half-inch barrel.

He was in the process of checking the cylinders when Todd Milner’s face appeared in the kitchen door. His momentary surprise showed. Dwayne fired off two shots, destroying a glass pane. Both missed. The detective turned and ran for the front door. He needed to buy some time. Certain he hadn’t hit the Sandman, he only had three shots left. Two bullets crashed into the wooden doorframe behind him as he left the house. The Sandman would follow, but he’d have to do so cautiously knowing he was armed.

Oddly, he didn’t. Whatever the killer was planning wouldn’t be obvious. Dwayne raced for the second marshal. Patted him down and found his backup weapon, a 9 mm semiautomatic with eight shots in the magazine. Better still.

There was still no sign of the Sandman. Maybe he had decided to run rather than risking a firefight with a police officer. When he turned toward the trees to make sure Rachel and Walpole were safely away, his heart stopped. Instead of going to the neighbor’s house, they were waiting for him.

No!

He was waving at them to get back when a puff of dirt kicked up inches from his ankle, followed by the sound of a rifle’s report. Instead of following him, the Sandman had gone around the house. He shifted the barrel away from the detective and was now sighting in on the witnesses. Frantic, Dwayne fired two more shots and started running, yelling for Rachel and Walpole to run as well.

*

Jack Kale dodged between cars on I-75, the speedometer edging over one hundred miles per hour. A rickety flatbed in front of him refused to move. Jack swung his car onto the shoulder and passed, destroying the paint on his BMW and a good portion of the side panel when he scraped the highway’s retaining wall. He fought to keep
the car under control. Two miles ahead lay the Moores Mill Road exit. He was traveling too fast to answer the telephone when it rang. His hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles showed white. He jerked the steering wheel hard over and slid back into the traffic again. The exit was now less than a mile away.

His car shot up the exit ramp, fishtailing as he took the corner on two wheels. His BMW looked like it had been through a demolition derby. Jack cursed and righted the vehicle.

The moment he turned onto the street where the safehouse was located the sound of gunshots reached him. Some part of his mind registered they were different in character, one small arms, the other some type of rifle. Without bothering to slow down he drove straight across the lawn toward the house, skidding to a halt and throwing the door open. If the sensors picked him up, so much the better.

At the base of the hill, he spotted Dwayne Stafford trying to herd the witnesses to the safety of the trees. Directly above the detective’s head a branch exploded. Rachel Lawrence and Lenny Walpole both flinched. Stafford returned the fire, but was too far away to do any good. Jack knew at once the situation was hopeless. There was insufficient cover and Milner had a rifle. He thought rapidly. After being removed from the case, it was pretty much over as far as he was concerned. It also meant he hadn’t brought a weapon to the funeral. As another shot rang out, Stafford’s body twisted abruptly and he went down. Jack felt his heart stop.

In the next second, something happened that would stay with him for the rest of his life. Incredibly, Dwayne Stafford regained his feet, turned, and began charging up the hill firing his guns with either hand.

Jack broke into a run as the Sandman calmly took aim. Another shot exploded from the rifle. Stafford staggered, twisted sideways, and nearly went down, but righted himself, and kept coming, screaming as he fired. At that moment, he was the most dangerous thing in the world, a man who no longer had any regard for his own safety. The Sandman forgot about him, swung his rifle around, and took aim at Rachel Lawrence. After three more steps, Dwayne Stafford collapsed face down on the ground and didn’t move again.

The next shot went over Rachel’s head as Jack came flying around the corner of the house and smashed headlong into the bogus FBI agent. Both men went down, recovered, and got to their feet. The killer hadn’t lost his rifle but recognized there wasn’t enough space or time for him to aim it. Instead, he swung it like a club, catching Jack on the shoulder.

Jack stepped in and threw the overhand right he’d been saving since his Golden Glove days, connecting with the side of the Sandman’s head. Ducked under a left, and hit him again. The killer was stunned. A leg lashed out and caught the side of Jack’s knee almost dropping him. The Sandman went for his gun again. Using the side of the hill to gain momentum Jack hit him with an open field tackle his high school coach would have been proud of.

They both rolled partway down the rise in a tangle with the killer coming out on top. At the last moment, Jack saw the knife. He managed to block it. His opponent responded by pressing down with all his weight, forcing the knife’s point nearer and nearer to Jack’s chest. Jack’s hand came into contact with a rock lying next to him. Grabbed it and swung, knocking the imposter off his stomach. Both men scrambled to their feet. The Sandman’s face was covered in blood. Despite his injuries, he still had the knife.

The best Jack could do was partially deflect the next thrust at his stomach. Pain tore through his insides. A lung collapsed, and as the killer drew back for another stab, Jack stepped in and swung his elbow at the side of the Sandman’s head. Bone connected with bone. A second blow to the opposite of his head hurt him badly and he went down. Jack got on top of him and hit him three more times. He was about to land another punch when he realized he was hitting an unconscious man. He looked down to see his shirt covered in blood. That pause was a mistake.

The moment he let his guard down a searing pain blossomed in his thigh. The Sandman had been acting. Before he could withdraw the blade for another thrust, Jack reached forward, grabbed the opposite sides of his collar, and brought the edge of his forearm across the killer’s throat. Pinning him in place, he pressed down with all his weight, shutting off the carotid artery and blood flow to the Sandman’s brain. Seconds later, Milner’s mouth opened and his tongue
started to loll. He finally went silent. This time he stayed that way. Maybe he was dead, maybe he wasn’t. Jack didn’t care.

“You lose,” he said, rolling off him. The knife was still embedded in his thigh.

It was becoming harder to think. He knew the adrenalin that had been sustaining him was about to disappear. In moments, he would lose consciousness. He started crawling toward Dwayne Stafford. Dialed 9-1-1. His hands were shaking badly.

“This is Jack Kale,” he gasped. “Officer down. I need assistance and an ambulance.”

“Sir, what’s your location?”

“Stafford’s dying. We need . . . medical . . .”

The young man’s face was white as a sheet. No way to tell if he was dead or alive. Two yards from the detective, Jack’s strength gave out. His arms collapsed. He rolled over onto his back and looked up at the clouds. His breathing was labored and shallow. Through the haze, he could see an old sailing ship pulling slowly away from the shore into the open sea, water slapping against its sides, its intricate lines reminiscent of a spider’s web. His fingers moved over the deck’s polished teakwood as Constance Belasco walked toward him, her hand outstretched, face serene and at peace. Eyes kind. Jack reached for her. The colorless ocean merged with a white sky at the horizon. At its center was an area of darkness growing ever larger as they sailed on. It was time.

Letting the rise and fall of the ship take him, his head fell back onto the deck. Like a clock winding down his heart slowed . . . and slowed, and eventually came to a stop. The objects around him faded and became indistinct until there was nothing left but the dark.