Watch Me (17 page)

Taylor considered this, then said, ‘Thanks, Winter.’

‘Anytime.’

30

I slowed up when we reached the abandoned refinery. There was something about the way it loomed out of the darkness that called to me. The west end was dominated by the old storage tanks, fourteen in total, all massive. They had to be at least a hundred feet high and sixty feet in diameter. The middle of the facility was dominated by the snaking pipes and towers of the distillation units. I switched off the flashing lights, hit the turn signal and left the interstate. The access road we turned onto led to the main gate.

‘Small detour,’ I said in response to Taylor’s questioning look.

‘Shepherd’s expecting us back at the station house.’

‘No, what Shepherd’s expecting is a miracle, and he’s looking for us to produce it, and that’s not going to happen because miracles don’t exist.’

Taylor gave me the look.

‘We’ve got under two hours until the countdown runs out. Now, we’re agreed that when that happens there’s a good chance this unsub will kill again?’

Taylor nodded.

‘Which means that he must have already kidnapped his next victim?’

Another nod.

‘In that case we’re better off out here doing something, rather than being stuck in the station house doing nothing. You were there earlier. You saw what the atmosphere was like. Take that and multiply it by ten and that’s what the atmosphere will be like now. Multiply it by a hundred and that’s what it’ll be like an hour from now. Multiply it by a thousand and you’ve got what it’s going to be like as we close in on midnight. The tension is growing exponentially. Everybody’s just waiting for the unsub to make his next move. They’re sat there drinking coffee and getting strung out on caffeine and talking themselves around in circles. I know because I’ve seen it all before. Give me proactive over reactive any day.’

Before Taylor had a chance to respond, his cell rang. He took it out and looked at the screen. ‘It’s Shepherd. He’s going to want to know where the hell we are, and what we’re doing. What do you want me to tell him?’

‘Tell him we’re chasing down a lead and we’ll be there soon.’

‘He’s going to want details.’

‘So tell him I’ll fill him in when we get there.’

Taylor didn’t look convinced. He glanced over one last time then connected the call. It didn’t last long. He hung up and put the phone away.

‘Don’t look so worried, Herman. If Shepherd needs an ass to kick I’ll make sure it’s mine, not yours.’

‘It’s not Herman, and why don’t I feel even remotely reassured by that?’

I stopped in front of the main gates and got out. The cool breeze blowing up from the south was welcome after the fierce heat of the day, but I was glad I’d brought my leather jacket. I lit a cigarette, then walked over to the big double gates. Ten-foot-tall chain-link with razor wire on the top and wheels along the bottom.

The gates were clearly newer than the main fence and my guess was that they’d been installed when the facility was decommissioned. A lot of years had passed since then but it was easy to see where they’d been grafted onto the original fence.

Large signs made it clear what would happen to trespassers. None of what was promised sounded good. One of the signs had a large Alsatian on it. The dog looked feral. Sharp teeth and wildness in its eyes. That sign was worrying. Some places used dogs that had had their vocal cords removed. Stealth dogs. A patter of feet, then you’re flat on your ass, razor-sharp teeth ripping into your throat.

I listened carefully. No barking or snuffling. The only sound was the soft whisper of the wind blowing around large buildings and structures, and pushing through narrow spaces, and whistling around the miles of pipework, a discordant chord that blended a dozen or so out-of-tune notes, some high, some low. The overall effect was eerie enough to send a shiver running up my spine.

The gates were secured with a thick chain and a large padlock. The lock looked heavy and daunting, but it was all for show. Inside there were a couple of small metal pins that needed to be persuaded to move aside. You’re talking pins that were smaller than a quarter-inch. Learning to pick locks had been one of the more fun things I’d done during my time at Quantico. Locks are just puzzles that exist in the physical world rather than the cerebral. I love puzzles, love the challenge.

This lock had been oiled recently so all the parts moved smoothly. It took less than thirty seconds to pick.

I put the worn leather wrap containing my lock picks back into the inside pocket of my jacket‚ then tugged at the chain and rattled it off. Taylor grabbed the gate and dragged it open until it was wide enough for us to drive through. The gate moved easily and my guess was that this had nothing to do with Taylor’s strength and size, and everything to do with the wheels having been oiled at the same time as the padlock.

We got back into the car and rolled slowly through the gap. Ten yards in we came to a barrier and a guardhouse. The barrier was up and we moved slowly past it. We hung a left and followed the perimeter road. Chain-link fencing stretched far into the distance on my side, shadowy grey structures rose up on Taylor’s.

‘Keep your eyes open for any signs of life,’ I told him. ‘Especially any vehicles. We’re way off the beaten track here. Eagle Creek is a dozen or so miles to the north-east, and Shreveport’s a dozen or so miles to the west, and in between those two points you’ve got a whole lot of nothing. I can’t see our unsub walking or hitchhiking, can you?’

‘You think he’s here now?’

Taylor was almost whispering, as if the unsub might be hiding in the back of the car just waiting for an opportunity to stab us in the back.

‘He’s got to be somewhere. Unless he’s mastered multidimensional travel.’

‘Why here?’

It was a good question. There was no evidence to suggest he was here. Except for the film clip of Sam Galloway going up in flames, and that computerised countdown, there was no evidence, period. This unsub had been careful to leave nothing behind. Except that wasn’t entirely correct. Somewhere out there was a grey concrete place that would stink of charred flesh and gasoline. The reason we didn’t have any real evidence was not because there wasn’t any, it was because we hadn’t found it yet.

‘Why here?’ Taylor asked again.

‘Because it feels right.’

‘
Feels right
? What happened to facts and proof? You know, the sort of thing you can take to court.’

‘Sometimes you need to put two and two together to make five, remember. You need to take that leap of faith.’

Taylor shook his head. ‘That’s not the whole story, though, is it?’

‘Okay, you’ve got me there.’ I smiled. ‘So what do we know about this unsub? We know he has a strong sense of drama. That film he produced for us was scripted right down to the last detail. He would have scouted out the location like he was making a Hollywood blockbuster. He’d want a place that conveyed his vision.’

‘Somewhere like this?’

‘Somewhere like this,’ I agreed. ‘Think about it. You’re not going to find Dracula slumming it in a trailer park, are you? No way. He’s going to have a big castle somewhere high on a cliff. And you can bet your ass that it’s going to be in an area that gets more than its fair share of thunderstorms.’

Taylor had his thinking face on.

‘What?’

‘I was just wondering if there was anywhere else around here that fit that description, but nothing springs to mind.’

‘No abandoned industrial parks? No old disused churches? No castles on cliffs?’

Taylor shook his head. ‘There are a few abandoned places, but nowhere dramatic enough for our unsub.’

‘If anything springs to mind, let me know and we can go check it out.’

‘Sure. So what now?’

‘Now we search every square inch of this place looking for a car. When we find the car, we find the unsub, and so long as we find him in time, we save someone from being burnt alive.’

We drove around the perimeter first, and ten minutes later we arrived back at the guardhouse. I gently pressed the brake pedal and the car drifted to a stop. No car. No guard dogs. No signs of life.

‘Now what?’ asked Taylor.

‘Now we run a grid. We’ll use the guardhouse as our start point. We’ll go west to east to start with. If we find nothing there, we’ll try going east to west.’

We spent the best part of an hour and a half driving back and forth, burning gas while we searched every square inch. Anywhere big enough to hide a car, we checked out. The structures were all different sizes. Some were big enough to house a jumbo jet while others were so small you’d struggle to fit a desk inside. Some were positioned so close to their neighbours that there was barely enough space for a person to squeeze between, others were a football field apart.

Some of the roads we drove down were wide, some were narrow, some were dead ends. The one thing they had in common was that they were all as deserted as Morrow Street. No cars, no signs of life.

I pulled to a stop next to the guardhouse.

‘We must have missed a turning in the dark,’ I said.

‘Or, how about this? Maybe the unsub isn’t here.’

‘Or maybe he’s somewhere big enough to drive his car in.’

‘Or maybe you’re clutching at straws because you can’t bear to admit that you might be wrong. Face it, Winter. There’s no one here.’

I sighed, then drove through the gate and rolled to a stop. While Taylor pulled the gate closed, I dealt with the padlock. The wind had blown a thin layer of dirt and dust across the road surface and the faint outline of the gate’s wheels was visible. I followed the tracks to the end of the gate then hunkered down and brushed a yard-long section of the dust flat. If anyone came through here after us, we’d know. What we wouldn’t know was who that someone was. Still, right now I’d take all the information I could get.

‘What?’ I said in response to Taylor’s questioning look. ‘Didn’t you ever play spies when you were a kid?’

He gave me a
whatever
shrug, then got back into the car. I climbed into the driver seat and started the engine.

‘Okay, let’s go see if Shepherd’s given himself a stroke yet.’

31

It was eleven minutes to midnight when we arrived back at the station house. Eleven minutes until zero hour and that clock was ticking louder than ever. Every parking slot was taken. A line of police vehicles sat gleaming under the sodiums. Most belonged to the sheriff’s department, but there were a few tan-coloured ones from the Eagle Creek PD.

In addition there were a couple of dozen civilian cars. Three stood out because there was no way a cop could afford them, not unless they were doing something illegal. If that was the case, they wouldn’t be doing it much longer. The golden rule: don’t flash the cash around, not unless you want to end up doing some serious prison time.

The three cars that stood out were a top-of-the-range Bentley, a bright red 1950s Cadillac Coup De Ville and a Porsche 911. The Caddy was well loved, the bodywork pristine. It was difficult to tell for sure in this light, but my guess was that it was in as good condition as the day it had rolled off the production line. I was also betting that both the Bentley and the Porsche were brand new. There was something about the way they sat there that made me think of car showrooms.

The media were here too. Three people can keep a secret, but only if two of them are dead, and there were a hell of a lot more than two people who knew about Sam Galloway. If you wanted proof of that you didn’t have to look much further than Sergeant Gomez over in Shreveport.

For the moment there was just the one van. It was parked out on Main Street, as close to the station house as possible. A camera had been pointed at us as we drove past, but I doubt they got much, certainly nothing worthy of airtime. I hadn’t recognised the acronym, but chances were it was a station broadcasting out of Shreveport. That’s the way this game worked. The local media got hold of the story first, then, if it was big enough, it would go national. The next step was international, but there weren’t many stories big enough to make that leap. What happened next would determine where this one stalled. If victim number two was another lawyer then the story wouldn’t get much past Shreveport.

I abandoned our car as close as possible to the station house‚ then got out. Taylor got out the passenger side, slammed his door shut and started towards the building.

‘Hold it a second,’ I called over.

He executed a neat about-turn and came back.

‘Enemy territory.’ I nodded towards the station house. ‘We need a plan.’

‘What have you got in mind?’

I stared past Taylor’s shoulder while I played out some moves in my head. Whenever I was short of cash at college I’d challenge my buddies to beat me at chess. On one memorable occasion I took on ten people at the same time. Ten games happening simultaneously, ten battlefields. The deal was that if any one of my buddies beat me, just one, I’d cough up twenty bucks to each competitor. If they all lost they’d pay me ten bucks each. That had been a good day. Any day where you end up richer than when you started was going to be a good day.

‘There are nineteen suspects on the whiteboard back at my room.’ I nodded at the station house again. ‘This is the only show in town tonight. Anyone who’s anyone will be here.’

Taylor stood for a moment, thinking this over, waiting for me to say something else. I gave him all the time he needed. His eyes widened when the realisation finally hit.

‘The unsub can’t be in two places at the same time.’

‘Not unless he’s working outside the four dimensions that keep the rest of us tied to this reality. Okay, time to play spy. I need you to use your cellphone to get pictures of any white males aged thirty to forty who’ve come to watch the show.’

Taylor grinned. ‘And we compare those pictures with the list of suspects. Whoever’s missing is our guy. That’s brilliant, and so simple. This guy’s really screwed up, and the beauty is that he doesn’t even know it.’