Her Last Breath, page 18
***
Rachel could tell that Jack had been hesitant to let her drive off in a car, given her condition. Well, that, and considering the fact that he’d been in a car with her while she’d been driving and the tumor had decided to have its say. Since then, though, she’d been fine. She’d driven all around town back home, running errands here and there. She knew there was always a chance that she’d have another little episode, but she saw it as no more of a risk than blowing a tire or being rear-ended.
It was a strange, sobering feeling to follow him out of Murphy’s Crossing and out to I-95 where they’d both head slightly south before splitting off their separate ways. There were several uncertainties to the case, most notably what would happen if the State PD did indeed show up before they had found the killer. The bureau would likely fight hard to stay on the case, as there were already four bodies. But she also knew that working in tandem with the State PD was going to make a man as worried about his power and position as Borden was quite the task.
Over the course of the forty-eight mile drive into Alexandria, she ran in and out of a light sprinkle of rain, little spits of it falling sporadically as she made her way along. It had stopped completely by the time she got off of the interstate and wound her way through the eastern rim of the city towards Reggie Shelton’s address.
When she came to the address, she found a quaint little row of townhomes situated around a semi-circle lot. A few growing trees decorated the edge of the property and a few stood in the small strips of yard alongside each home. She came to Shelton’s home and parked in the guest spot alongside a black Subaru. She picked up her phone when she parked, noting that it was 6:31.
She sent a quick text to Jack: At Shelton’s. About to head in.
Rachel stepped out of the car and headed up the brick stairs, to the front door. She knocked, taking a quick look around at her surroundings. All the way to the left, six houses down along the edge of the parking lot, a woman was walking her dog. Across the street, where another road led to what appeared to be more townhomes, the road was mostly empty. A few cars were coming and going, the remnants left over from the area’s meager rush hour traffic. Still more cars were parked on the side, likely visitors to the townhomes. In other words, there appeared to be nothing out of the ordinary.
She knew this meant nothing, though. Someone that put out so much planning into their deadly work would know how to blend in—would know how to seem like they were part of the everyday scenery. She kept her eyes and ears open as she waited for someone to come to the door. She wondered what she may have to do if no one answered it. Would she call in backup? Would she just kick the door in and go ahead? She wasn’t sure and, as it turned out, these thoughts were unnecessary.
The door was answered several seconds later by a man that appeared to be in his sixties. He’d lost most of his hair and sported a scraggly beard that seemed to fit him quite well. He was dressed in a collared shirt and a pair of khakis. A little badge was clipped to his shirt; it showed his smiling face and his name at the bottom: Reggie Shelton. Rachel found this odd, as Angelica had said he’d been retired for the last few months.
“Yes?” Shelton asked. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, sir,” Rachel said. She showed her badge slowly, still trying to gauge the situation. “I’m Special Agent Rachel Gift, with the FBI. I was hoping to have a word with you.”
Shelton smiled nervously, studying the badge. “Yeah, sure. You mind if I ask what it’s about?”
Rachel wasn’t sure how much to tell him, and she certainly didn’t want him to freak out about his life being in danger. “Could I come inside and explain?”
His smile turned into a frown when he said, “I’m sorry, but I need to at least know why. I used to work in law enforcement, so I get a bit particular about these sorts of things.”
“I understand that,” she said. “Three years ago, you were working at the Rappahannock Jail, correct?”
“I was?” he said, a worried look now spreading across his face.
“Do you recall the execution of a man named Jonathan Hartlett?”
Pained recognition crossed his face and he nodded. “Ah, I see.” He sighed deeply and then stepped to the side, opening the door. “Come on inside, Agent Gift.”
She stepped inside, entering a brightly lit hallway with what looked like brand new carpet on the floors. Beyond the faint smell of paint, she also smelled something spicy, maybe chicken. It was accompanied by the sound of a microwave.
“Something else come up in that case?” Shelton asked as he led her down the hallway, past a bedroom, and into the living room. The kitchen was attached, the microwave whirring his dinner.
“No, not exactly,” she said. “But there have been a series of murders in the Annapolis and Murphy’s Crossing areas up in Maryland that all seem to be connected to that execution. People that were involved with it have been killed and we’re trying to make sure those that have not yet been targeted remain safe.”
“What do you mean by ‘people connected to the execution?’” he asked.
“Another guard, a parole officer, a—”
“The only other guard there that night was a fella named Dylan Tharpe. Are you telling me he’s dead?”
“I’m sorry, but yes.”
Shelton sat down with a heavy thump onto his sofa. Almost absently, he plucked the little nametag ID from his shirt and tossed it onto a small, cluttered coffee table.
“You still work?” she asked, nodding to the badge. “Our records are showing that you retired.”
“I did,” he said absently, clearly still hung up on the news about Tharpe—and that he may also be in trouble. “Right now, I’m just doing some volunteer work at a local corrections center. Education based stuff mostly, and some light clerical work just to help out.”
She let that hang for a moment, allowing him to catch up with his thoughts. During this little bit of time, the microwave beeped behind them, indicating that his dinner was done. When it was clear that he was waiting for her to continue, she looked around at the house for any signs of an intruder. After all, the killer had struck while the victims were home. Yet, here Reggie Shelton was, home and unharmed.
“Mr. Shelton, the working theory here is that you and Warden Borden may also be in this killer’s sights. Being that you worked in law enforcement, I hope you understand why we think it’s a good idea to put you under police surveillance until we find him. And if you two are the last on his list, I think there’s a very good chance that police presence would go a long way to not only keeping you safe, but luring him directly into our hands.”
“I don’t…I don’t understand. I mean…I do, but it’s just a bit much. How many have died?”
“Four so far.”
“Jesus.”
At that, Rachel’s phone rang. She checked it and saw that it was Jack. “Sorry, excuse me,” she said to Shelton. “This is my partner. I need to take this.”
Shelton nodded and slowly got up to get his dinner from the microwave.
“How are things over there?” Rachel asked, forgoing a standard greeting.
“Well, I’ve already won over Borden. He even let me go ahead and run a search of his house.”
“No, really. What happened?”
“He Google searched the murders we’re covering and saw how serious it was. Made some of the connections on his own. He did ask that he could choose the police that kept him under protection and I figured there was no harm in that.”
“And what did Anderson say about it when you called him?”
“He was fine. Thought it was a bit overblown on Borden’s part. But, Rachel…none of that is important right now. I’ve searched the house and the property and there’s no killer here.”
“Same here.”
“Well, Anderson had me go ahead and contact the PD there in Alexandria, too. You should have units at Shelton’s residence soon. Have you checked the place over yet?”
“No, not yet.” Giving that answer, Rachel grew suddenly uneasy. She thought of the other murders and where they’d occurred. With Tharpe, he’d been waiting out in the small work shed. With Stern, he’d been hiding the garage. He’d been hiding in Samantha Nelson’s basement. And while the murder of Devon Hancock seemed to have been a little less concealed, it was clear that some planning and tracking had gone on.
“Rachel?”
“I’m still here. I’m going to get off of the phone and look the place over now.”
“Yeah, do that. You good?”
“I am,” she said. It was really all she could say because there was no way she could properly explain the unsettled feeling that was quickly filling her gut. “I’ll check back in when the cops get here.”
She ended the call and looked back over into the kitchen. Shelton was eating his dinner from the small kitchen bar, watching her.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Probably nothing,” she said. “But I’m going to look the place over, just to be safe. I’d really like it if you’d take your dinner outside. You’re welcome to sit in my car.”
“Are you for real?” he asked. He sounded baffled at first but the moment the entire comment was out of his mouth, she also heard concern there as well.
“Yes, sir. Just give me five minutes to look the place over. Soon after that, a few local cops will show up just to watch over the place until we can get some more answers.”
“Yeah, okay,” he said. She wondered if he could sense the urgent tone in her voice and expression just because of his history of working in law enforcement. “Are you sure this is all necessary?”
“Just being careful, sir. In fact, I’d like for you to get in the passenger seat of the black sedan out there. And lock the doors.”
“Really?” he asked, slightly fearful.
“Just in case.”
He nodded and hurried down the hallway. He looked back to her quickly as he opened the door and stepped outside, his look of confusion and concern growing by the moment.
“Thank you, Mr. Shelton.”
Rachel tuned back into the hallway and closed the door behind her. Then, alone in Reggie Shelton’s home, she couldn’t help but feel as if she wasn’t truly alone at all.
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
With Shelton out of the house, Rachel could feel a vague tension settling in over her. She did believe the stories of agents that sometimes had gut feelings that led them down the right path to catching a suspect. She’d even been in that situation a few times. But what she felt as she walked back down Reggie Shelton’s carpeted hall wasn’t a gut reaction; it was an instinct she’d been able to hone over several years with the bureau. She was somehow certain that she was not the only person in the house. She fully understood that it would sound crazy to anyone that had never staked out a house before or had chased down killers in secluded locations. But it was a certainty that grew stronger as she came back to the end of the hall, standing in Shelton’s living room again.
She stood there for a moment, looking the place over. She thought of the strategy and planning that had gone into the killer’s previous murders. He’d thought it all out so perfectly. She looked the house over through a killer’s eyes, trying to determine how they’d get inside undetected. There was a Ring doorbell at the front, so that was out. The only window was in the kitchen, and when she walked over to it, she saw that it was easily twelve feet from the ground, which would make it tricky to crawl through.
That left just the back door. It sat all the way in the back of the kitchen, a simple wooden door with a window that looked out onto a small stretch of grass that served as a backyard of sorts for the residents. It was separated by the vacant lot that sat behind the facility by a scraggly growth of trees and underbrush.
She opened the door and when she pushed it open, she hesitated. Shelton had just gotten home from work; he’d been in for such a short amount of time that he’d not yet taken off his little nametag. Would he have already unlocked his back door? Or maybe he was just the sort that wasn’t very security conscious and never locked all his doors. Only…that probably wasn’t the case, given the camera-based doorbell at the front.
Rachel bent down to look at the knob. It was and old, and littered with nicks and scratches. She looked closely around the key slot for any signs of recent scratches but it was hard to see much of anything on the old, worn surface. She stepped back inside, quietly closing the door behind her. If the killer was inside, there was nowhere to hide in the kitchen or the living room. She knew there was a bedroom along the hallway and then a set of narrow stairs that led to a second floor.
She started with the bedroom, drawing her Glock as she nudged the door open. She pivoted inside, gun raised, but found only an empty room. A bed, a nightstand, some dirty clothes scattered on the floor. There was a medium-sized closet, the door closed, to the right. She reached for the doorknob, her heart now thumping a bit harder.
She pulled the door open, her nerves tense and rigid, her finger on the trigger and ready to act if necessary.
But the closet, like the bedroom, was empty. She also checked the master bath but that was also just as quiet as the rest of the house and, like the kitchen, offered nowhere to hide.
She retraced her steps back out of the bedroom and went up the flight of stairs that separated the hallway from the living room. She took them quickly, pausing only when she came to the top of the stairs. The second floor was rather short, consisting of a secondary bedroom, a powder room, and a small office space. Rachel checked them one by one and found them empty.
The office space was the last room she checked, and after clearing the empty closet, she sighed. She’d been so certain the killer had been here. Had she missed a hiding place? Had he been here and then took off running when someone had come knocking at Reggie Shelton’s door?
Slowly, she walked back out into the hallway. She headed for the stairs, thinking she might need to check out the small backyard. And if he wasn’t there, then maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe this would come down to the State PD surveilling the houses of the two remaining people on the log sheet after all.
She started for the stairs and just as she was about to take her first step down, she heard something move behind her. She turned quickly and caught just the slightest glimpse of movement in the hallway, but then she was falling backwards, down the stairs, as an intense pain slashed its way through her body.
***
He waited for the FBI woman to step out of the small upstairs bedroom. Watching through the office door, Andrew Hartlett couldn’t deny the spike of excitement that wound its way through him. If she came to the office next, he was caught. If she came to the office next, he’d have to kill her.
Ah, but maybe he’d kill her anyway. He had the taser and the knife. He knew that killing an FBI agent would be serious business, that some real heat would come down on him. But he also knew he’d be crossing a whole new line when he killed Borden. Borden was next, the last on his list, but this woman…she was interfering and in his way.
Then take her out. His father’s voice was here, even in Reggie Shelton’s house. And if anything, it sounded louder than ever.
He reached into his pocket, readying the taser. But then he noticed her moving to the powder room next. When she opened the door and stepped inside, he just couldn’t help himself. Why kill her right away when there could be some fun to be had? Rather than simply attacking her from behind, Andrew moved quietly to the bedroom. He had to bite back a maniacal giggle as he made the move. He damn near ran into the doorframe, but narrowly avoided it at the last second. And when he was behind the bedroom door, he waited once again. Panting and feeling his heartbeat through his entire body, he felt a euphoric wave pass through him. God, this was going to be good.
Maybe I will continue to do this after Borden, he thought Maybe I finally found something I’m truly good at.
From the bedroom door, peering through, he could not see the FBI woman in the powder room, but he was able to see her as she moved across the hall, coming slightly back towards him, to peek into the office. Andrew wondered if she’d sense that he’d been there. Would she smell him? He was sweating a bit and exuding whatever scent came off of highly excited people.
She was in the office for only a few seconds. She was apparently growing frustrated because he could hear her let out a deep, heavy sigh. He smiled, waiting for her to come back by. He was trembling with excitement and anticipation. Gripping the taser in his right hand, he drew the knife out of the waistband of his pants as he peered through the crack in the door. She came out of the office and started down the hall.
He shuddered as the FBI woman passed by the bedroom door. And the moment she was out of his sight, he stuck the toe of his shoe into the door and pulled it open slightly. He took a deep breath, placed all of his weight on his feet, and sprang out.
The FBI woman turned almost right away, taking a slight step back. And when Andrew brought the taser up and saw the stairway long like a pit behind her, he couldn’t help but let out a laugh.
***
The pain, Rachel realized as she fought for balance while falling backwards, was electricity. The bastard had a taser in his hand—likely the same one he’d used on Devon Hancock. A jolt of electricity passed through her in a sudden rush and for a moment, her body went numb. Her saving grace, though, was that there was a lot of open space behind her. As she went falling backwards, she fell out of the taser’s range. The impact of the shock faded instantly but still left her slightly scrambled.
Falling backwards, gravity claiming her, all she could do was numbly reach her left arm out, hoping to grab the railing. She grabbed it, but her shocked body was still not fully capable of grabbing it. The sudden halt to the fall, though, was just enough to keep her from going head-over-heels down the stairs. She partially collapsed down three stairs, her right knee on one and an awkwardly bent foot on another.
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