Jack Slade, page 9
As the officers holstered their weapons and complied, Connolly waded through the weeds toward Slade. He glanced around at the carnage, shook his head, and observed, “It seems you’ve made some headway on the case. Let’s go back to the station and talk about it.”
The air was charged as they entered the chief’s office. Connolly went behind his desk and sat down, as Slade dropped into one of the guest chairs. Slade crossed his legs and gazed somberly across at the other, who was still dressed in his business suit. But his tie was loose, the top button of the shirt was unfastened, and a day’s growth of pale beard covered his cheeks.
The two men stared at each other in silence for a long moment. Connolly finally grunted, “Well?”
Slade blew a gust of air out between his teeth. “I spent the evening prowling around the bars of the Sioux section, as I told you I would, and I found out something that put my life in danger. Those gunmen were sent out to make sure I didn’t reveal what I know.”
“Really. And what did you find out?”
“That what’s going on in Crawford is bigger than simple tension between the two communities. The killings are bigger than the random ravagings of a wolf.”
“You’ve captured my interest. I’m listening.”
“What’s planned is a full-blown rebellion of the Sioux in the city, slaughter of all the whites, the proclamation of Crawford as a Sioux stronghold, and the reclaiming of ancient Sioux tribal lands.”
“Good god, Slade! Have you been taking peyote? Such a ridiculous thing could never happen. I credited you with more common sense than to be taken in by an idea like that.”
“Then you’ve heard that idea before, and you’ve disproved it to your satisfaction.”
Connolly shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “No, but then no one before you would have the nerve to bring such a preposterous idea to my attention.”
“But you admit that the tensions between the whites and the Sioux in Crawford are escalating.”
“Yes,” Connolly grudgingly replied. He leaned forward and rested his arms on the desk. “Let’s put that idea aside for the moment and get to the second part of your story. How do you know that the killings haven’t been perpetrated by a wolf?”
“I’ve known that all along...”
Connolly’s jaw dropped.
“...but I hadn’t yet put all the pieces together, so there was no point in burdening you with more preposterous ideas. The information I got tonight allowed me to see the big picture.”
“Help me to see the big picture.”
“This is the set-up.” Slade leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “You have a very powerful shaman or brujo here in Crawford who plans to take over the city and slaughter all the whites. He’s able to shape shift into the form of a wolf, and it’s in that form that he commits the murders. The killings serve two purposes. One, the police running around searching for a wolf or wolves throws you off his trail. Two, the Sioux population knows that he’s the perpetrator of the killings. It enhances his power over them and convinces them that he’s some kind of messiah with the power to lead them back to the good old days before their land was stolen from them.”
Connolly stared at him in silence for a long time, the fingers of one hand drumming on the desktop. “Your story doesn’t explain the killings themselves,” he stated, finally. “Why kill four young men, a real estate developer, and an old Sioux who never harmed anybody? Are you saying he did all that as a demonstration of power?”
Slade didn’t think it’d further the narrative if he revealed the fact that there were two killers. It would needlessly clutter the issue. He raised his hands in a shrug. “I admit that that’s where you’ve got me, Chief. There must be a purpose to the killings. I don’t believe they were merely random murders to demonstrate power. What that purpose is…what connects the victims…escapes me at the moment.”
Connelly nodded. “All right. Let’s say, for the moment, that your story is accurate. How did you come by this information?”
“There are Sioux within the community who don’t want to go along with the shaman’s plan. They believe it will end, not only in slaughter of the whites, but will bring about their own destruction. I got it from one of them.”
“Why did they bring this information to you instead of to the police?”
Slade’s wide mouth twisted sardonically. “Now who isn’t being real?”
Connolly’s eyes went flat.
Slade shrugged. “The police are stumbling around in the dark. They came to me because they know I have some experience in these matters.”
“Just who are you, Slade?”
“Just a guy trying to prevent disaster from descending on Crawford.”
This time it was Connolly’s mouth that twisted sardonically. Then, “Okay, just who is this man of power?”
Slade shook his head. “No one knows. He works through agents to conceal his identity. But that fact tells me something important.” He lifted a finger. “Guarding his identity that carefully can only mean he’s well known around the city.”
Connolly opened his mouth to speak, then closed it as the phone on his desk rang. He picked up the receiver. “Yes?” Alarm flamed in his blue eyes. “What?” he shouted, then listened as what was said was repeated. “Get all available squad cars out there immediately. Get a car out front. I’m coming out now.”
He hung up and stared at Slade, his face suddenly haggard.
“Frank Elmwood’s house was broken into. Helen has been kidnapped.”
9
It took every bit of Slade’s self-control to follow Connolly’s police car out to Frank Elmwood’s house in the Jaguar. Every fiber of his being screamed for him to race through the streets at top speed to get to the estate as quickly as possible. He was as distressed as the chief over this new development. Why Helen would be kidnapped was beyond his comprehension. What in the world did she have to do with anything?
They turned onto the driveway, drove up around the curve, and stopped at the front door. Four squad cars sat with lights flashing on the drive and in front of the garage. All lights were on in the house. Slade leaped out of the car and followed Connolly onto the porch and through the front door. Uniformed cops were everywhere, and Connolly stopped to talk to an officer with sergeants stripes on his sleeves.
Slade moved past him into the living room.
Kate Elmwood huddled pitifully on the couch in a white robe, her face in her hands, her long black hair fanned over her back, sobbing hysterically. Martha sat beside her, also in a robe, her broad face stained with tears, a comforting arm thrown across Kate’s shaking shoulders. An officer stood over them with a pad and pencil in his hands, taking their statements.
Frank was standing before the fireplace, talking to a group of officers, a dark blue robe thrown over his pajamas. He glanced around as Slade came in. Slade was shocked at the desolation in his eyes and the deep lines of suffering that cut his cheeks.
“Slade!” He reached out to him with shaking hands. “Do you know anything? Has Jeff got any leads?”
Connolly heard the last question and stepped up beside Slade. “We just heard the news, Frank. We got here as fast as we could. Tell us what happened.”
“You should hear it straight from Martha. She discovered what happened.”
They moved over to the couch, and the uniform stepped aside.
“I’m sorry to have to ask you to repeat your story, Martha,” Connolly said kindly. “But would you please tell us what happened.”
Kate glanced up, her dark eyes swollen, her face twisted with grief, and recognized Slade. Her eyes flamed with fury. “You!” She pointed at him with a long quivering finger. “You caused this! It’s because of you that this happened.”
Everyone stared at her in surprise.
“What do you mean?” Frank cried.
“You’re mistaken, Kate,” Connolly replied soothingly. “Slade was with me when this happened. We heard about it together.”
“I don’t care where you were.” She continued to stare at Slade, her voice shrill with panic. “It’s because of you that this happened. I saw it earlier today when I met you. You are dark, dangerous, and it’s dangerous for anyone to be around you. It’s because of you that my daughter was kidnapped.”
Frank sat down beside her and put his arm comfortingly around her slender shoulders. “Try to calm down, dear. Accusing Slade isn’t going to help clear things up. He wasn’t anywhere near here. Let Martha tell her story.”
“I was asleep in my room beside Helen’s,” Martha said in a small, shaking voice. “I woke up to hear a commotion going on in her room. It sounded like muffled screams and a struggle. I jumped out of bed and ran to the door of her room and knocked, then called her name. All I heard was more commotion. I opened the door in time to see three or four men—I was too terrified to make an exact count—carrying her out the glass door that leads onto her private patio. I ran across the room and got to the door in time to see them lift her over the fence. Then the men went over after her and disappeared.” She paused to wipe her nose with a handkerchief. “Then I ran screaming down the hall to tell Mr. and Mrs. Elmwood.”
“What I saw corroborates her story,” Frank added. “When I got to Helen’s room, I saw the same thing she described. There was a hole cut into the glass door that allowed them to stick a hand through and unlock it.”
Connolly glanced at Slade. “Let’s go take a look.”
Kate’s smoldering eyes followed Slade as he left the living room and moved down the hall. His face was bleak as he stared unseeingly at the broad shoulders moving in front of him. Although he had remained silent during the poor woman’s diatribe, he knew all too well that what she said was accurate. In fact, he had told Helen the same thing earlier in the day. Just being around him put other people’s lives in danger. It was why he led a solitary life. But, he wondered, as they passed through the door and moved into the bedroom, what connection could he possibly have with Helen’s kidnapping?
He snapped back into the present as Connolly stopped in the middle of the room.
He looked around at an overturned table, a lamp lying on the floor, rumpled sheets, and twisted blankets. A forensics man was on his knees dusting the glass door for fingerprints. A uniform stood guard out on the patio.
“Getting anything, Al?” Connolly asked.
The man glanced up and shook his head. “I’m not pulling any prints off the glass, Chief. My guess is they were wearing rubber gloves.”
Slade walked out onto the patio, nodded to the cop, then studied the grass between the cement slab and the wooden fence. The ground was so churned up there were no discernible footprints, but he guessed the men were wearing boots. Standing at the edge of the patio, his back to the others, hands stuffed in his trousers pockets, he closed his eyes. The etheric stresses in the air flared immediately, and he watched the scene unfold as clearly as if he were watching it on a movie screen.
Four men with masks pulled over their heads came furtively over the fence and approached the glass door. One of them produced a glasscutter, made a hole in the door, reached through, and unlocked it. They went into the bedroom where Helen lay with her back to them, fast asleep. They grabbed her. She awakened and began to struggle. As the others held her down, a man tied a scarf around her mouth, another over her eyes, then bound her hands behind her with masking tape. When they lifted her, she was turning and twisting so violently that they knocked over the table and the lamp. They carried her outside and lifted her over the fence and into the waiting arms of men on the other side. After throwing her into a plain black van without any license plates, they raced down the road and disappeared into the night. Slade watched Martha rush into the room, see what was happening, then run screaming down the hall.
A voice beside him spoke, and he opened his eyes.
“Are you seeing anything?”
Slade turned to Connolly, who watched him with a frown on his face, and replied, “Everything happened just as Martha described it. There were four men on this side, and two men on the other side. They gagged her, put a scarf over her eyes, and taped her hands behind her. Then they lifted her over the fence, threw her into a black van, minus license plates, and drove away. They wore full head masks and rubber gloves, so I couldn’t tell whether they were white men or Native Americans.”
“Damn!” Connolly swore savagely. “That leaves us nowhere.” The eyes he rolled toward Slade were bloodshot, his face haggard with suffering. “I can’t stand the thought of anything happening to Helen. The mere thought tortures me beyond endurance.”
Slade placed a hand on his shoulder. “My guess is they don’t intend to kill her. If that was their intention, they wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of concealing their identities, nor would they have put a blindfold over her eyes. No,” he concluded. “They had a purpose in taking her. They want something. We’ll just have to wait and see what it is.”
Connolly glared at him. “Wait?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Slade smiled. “You can look for the van. See if anyone witnessed it driving through the city. All the usual police work. You may come up with something. But we’ll have to wait until we get the demands of the kidnappers before we know what this is all about.”
When they reached the living room, Frank, Kate, and Martha still sat miserably on the couch. The officers were standing around in groups, talking. Connolly stopped beside the sergeant.
“Assign four men to guard the perimeter at all times. Have the rest of the officers return to their posts.”
“Yes, sir.”
Frank looked up hopefully. “Did you discover anything?”
Slade stood beside Connolly as he answered, silently returning Kate’s malevolent glare.
“We don’t have anything, yet. The kidnappers covered their tracks too well. We know they took Helen away in a black van. We’ll be searching the city for the vehicle. In the meantime, we’ll have to wait and see what they demand. We won’t know anything until then.”
Frank’s shoulders slumped. It was awful to see the agony twist his face as he stared despairingly into space.
Still staring at Slade, Kate demanded, “What are you going to do to get my daughter back?”
“Everything I can.”
“You said my father brought you here.”
“Yes.”
“There must be a reason.”
The others glanced at Slade, waiting for his answer.
“As I told you earlier, I have some experience in these matters.”
“My father has great power. Why does he need you?”
“I have expertise.”
Connolly spoke up. “There seems to be some unusual angles to the killings that’ve been rocking the city. Apparently, Slade is qualified to deal with them.” Panic flared in Frank’s eyes, and he hastily held up his hand. “Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not saying that your daughter’s kidnapping is connected to the killings. Don’t forget, Slade was with me when we heard about it. But the unusual angles may help to explain his presence.”
Kate’s eyes had never left Slade’s face. She shook her head, and her long black hair shimmered in the lamplight. “It is all connected. I feel it. And you are at the center of it.”
“Tell me what you feel.”
Her eyes took on an introspective expression. “You have immense power. Dark, terrible power. You’re a hunter. You hunt demons. You’re a demon hunter. That’s why my father called you here. These killings are the work of a demon—a shape shifter. He asked you here because only a hunter as terrible as the prey he stalks will have the power and skill to destroy it.” She paused, and everyone waited for her to continue. “But your very presence places everyone around you in danger. Black demons claw at your heels every second of every day, trying to drag you down. You have the power to fight them off, but those around you are not so powerful. Without knowing it, they become caught up in the battle that is your life. And they suffer.” Her eyes cleared, and she focused on Slade. “My daughter was kidnapped because of you. Because of the peril that follows you wherever you go. When we get their demands, it will have something to do with you.”
Connolly stared at Slade with lifted brows, scrutinizing him as if he were just then seeing him. A uniform standing nearby gazed at him with eyes wide with wonder.
Frank peered up at him uncomprehendingly, and Martha regarded him in stark horror.
“Thank you for giving me the benefit of your vision,” Slade said quietly. “You could be right. The kidnapping may have something to do with me. I don’t yet see the connection, but my hope is that clarity will come when we receive the demands.” He placed a comforting hand on Frank’s shoulder. “In the meantime, you all need to get some rest before you have a nervous breakdown. Know that we’re on the case and doing everything we can to get Helen back.”
Slade and Connolly walked outside to their cars.
“That was quite a story Kate told back there.” A grin split the chief’s handsome face. “I believe I’m finally getting a clearer picture of just who you are.”
Slade grunted.
Connolly leaned his hips against the squad car and crossed his legs at the ankles. “I’ll get my electronics expert over here right away to monitor all calls. That way, if the Elmwoods are contacted by phone, we can hopefully trace the call.”
“Good idea, but I’ll be surprised if you’re able to get anything.”
“Why?”
“Because whoever did the kidnapping is too savvy to get caught by making such an amateur mistake. Look how carefully the men were disguised. And the license plate had been removed from the van. This guy thinks things through.” An idea came to him. “It’s at least interesting to consider that the shaman who’s fomenting rebellion hides his identity. And here we have kidnappers whose identity has been carefully concealed.” He glanced meaningfully at the chief. “Could there be a connection?”
“If there is, then Kate’s story was accurate. The connecting link is you.”
