I snatched up my walkie-talkie. “Subject is mobile. Heading eastbound toward highway 240. Unit one in pursuit. Please advise.”
“Unit two here,” Brent replied. “I’m close. I’ll back you up. Over.”
Vanessa cruised down Merrimon Avenue and then turned onto East Chestnut.
Lien-hua was keeping her distance, staying just close enough so we wouldn’t lose her, sliding and gliding through traffic like a pro.
Suddenly, Vanessa made a sharp left, racing through a red light. Lien-hua screeched the tires, pulling into the left lane and roaring into the intersection toward an oncoming truck. I was sure he was going to slam into us-into me-but Lien-hua swung the car over the rise of the curb, across someone’s no-longer-quite-so-immaculate-lawn, whipped past the truck, and bounced us back onto the road.
“You drive with an attitude,” I said.
“Comes from having two older brothers with ATVs.”
We’d both taken the events of the stakeout and slid them away into a silent drawer. Closed it tight. Nothing happened. Life was back to normal.
No. It wasn’t.
I radioed Brent Tucker. “Subject turned left onto Charlotte. She might have seen us.”
“Got her,” Tucker’s voice came back. “I’m right behind her.”
Lien-hua made the turn, and we saw the taillights of Tucker’s sedan slide out of sight a quarter mile ahead of us.
“She’s really moving,” I said.
Lien-hua slammed her foot to the floor, and we swooped around the bend.
“She’s entering the Stratford Golf Course,” Tucker called. “I’ve got the east entrance. Go north, cut off the northbound exit.”
Ahead of us the road split.
“Which way?” shouted Lien-hua. “Right or left?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Decide!”
I scanned the streets, tree lines, layout of the neighborhood. “Right.”
She spun the wheel, and we jolted into the right lane. It led us along a narrow strip of county road and deposited us at the north entrance of the golf course.
“How did you know?” she asked as we jumped out of the car, grabbing our walkie-talkies.
“Travel theory. Urban design. I’ll explain later-”
“Male suspect.” It was Tucker’s voice. “In pursuit.”
“Male?” said Lien-hua. “Grolin?”
“Unknown,” came the reply.
Lien-hua and I sprinted across the fairway toward hole 17. I started wishing maybe we’d chosen those mic patches.
“Vanessa’s on foot!” yelled Tucker. “Heading for the clubhouse.”
“Go east,” I said to Lien-hua. “Flare out and see if we can find Grolin before he finds her.” Lien-hua bolted out of sight to the left, and I darted through the trees to the right, up and over a sand trap.
I could see a figure about fifty meters in front of me, crouched low and sneaking toward the clubhouse. I hit the button on the walkie-talkie. “Tucker, where are you?”
“West of the clubhouse.”
“I think I see him,” I said.
“Where?”
“By the golf carts on the south side of the-”
The figure stepped forward, floated into the shadows. Disappeared.
“Wait! I just lost him,” I yelled. I raced forward, pulling my gun out of its holster in midstride. “He’s gotta be close to you.”
“He’s by the west entrance,” came Tucker’s reply. “I’m going in.”
“Wait for Lien-hua!” I yelled.
The Illusionist slipped through the shadows along the tree line and up to the clubhouse. He’d had to change his plans for tonight, adapt, but he was confident it would all work out in the end.
Oh, it would work out beautifully.
Look in this hand while I hide the coin in the other.
I remembered the explosion from earlier in the day. Is this another trap?
“Wait for backup,” I told Brent through my walkie-talkie.
“We’ve got this guy,” Tucker responded. “Let’s take him down.” Before I could say another word, Tucker eased through the shadows like a knife and disappeared through a slit in the fence.
Too many people on the scene… poor communication… someone’s going to get hurt.
“Pull back!” I said. “Contain the area!”
The Illusionist unholstered his weapon. Sat in the shadows. Waited.
I heard the glisten of breaking glass and rounded the corner. An alarm began to howl. “He’s inside. I repeat, he’s inside.”
I ran forward, stepped through the shattered window. Listened. “Tucker?”
A gunshot.
No!
The emergency lights burst on, red-filtered, coating the room in pulsing scarlet. The alarm siren throbbed through the night. It felt like I was inside a beating heart.
Brum, brum. Brum, brum… Brum, brum. Brum, brum…
I flew around the corner.
Brum, brum. Brum, brum…
The killer. He’s here.
Then movement woven into the shadows. “Who’s there?” I yelled. I snapped on my Maglite and swept the room, flashlight in my left hand, gun in my right. “Who is it?”
Brum, brum…
Deep grunts. A fight. Two figures in the corner, in the dark. Movement blurring movement.
Blurring movement.
One of them was a woman. Lien-hua. I saw her spin and kick someone. He fell to the floor. She whipped out her weapon, crouched low, ready to move in.
Then a gunshot. She flew for cover.
I ducked into the shadows. “Lien-hua!” I yelled.
Another shot. From the next room.
My adrenaline was going through the roof. “Lien-hua, are you all right?”
“I’m OK!”
“Tucker, where are you?”
Brum, brum. Brum, brum…
Then the person Lien-hua had been fighting was standing up, waving two guns, one in each hand, rushing toward me. Everything was a blur, a red blur. “Drop your weapons,” I screamed, swinging my gun into position. It was too dark to see him clearly; all I could see was his outline against the window. Muffled sounds. “Now. Drop them!”
No reply. He was aiming the guns toward me, coming fast- Take him down, Pat, or you’re dead.
Before I could pull the trigger I heard two rapid gunshots from my left, and the figure jerked backward into the air and crashed to the ground.
Suddenly the lights were on and Tucker was rushing through the door, waving his gun. “I got him,” he cried. “I got Grolin.” Red light still pulsing.
Pulsing.
We stared at the other side of the room. Two bodies lay on the floor.
One was Vanessa Mueller, shot in the neck.
The other was Joseph Grolin, bleeding from the chest.
A strip of black gaffer’s tape was secured over Grolin’s mouth. Both of his hands were tightly taped, thoroughly taped, around the grips of handguns.
Toy handguns.