Agnes Hahn (29 page)

He turned the handle again and moved the door. It was well balanced and not heavy at all. With little effort, the door slid upward, disappearing into the garage.

He spotted the grill inside the garage at the same moment the engine howled to life. A flash of black. He dodged to his left. Tires screeched. All he saw was black and chrome. He dove, but the bumper caught his right foot, spinning him to the ground. His head thumped the pavement and a rear tire screamed past. Less than six inches from his forehead.

The GTO gained traction through the turn and accelerated toward the gate. Hard braking started a four-wheel skid that brought the car to a stop next to the gate, which whirred into its slow slide open, obviously activated by an electric eye.

The car lurched forward. It didn’t wait for the gate to open all the way and the right fender clipped the gate, nearly throwing the car into a spin. It corrected and screeched into a left turn on the road. The low growl of the engine warned Jason not to follow.

He scrambled to his feet and nearly collapsed. A stinging sensation radiated upward from his ankle. He tried to put his weight on the leg but drew it back to toe contact when the pain objected.

He couldn’t see the intersection with Reese Drive, but he could hear the unique rumble of the GTO’s engine. It roared away to the north.

Jason pulled the cell phone from his pocket and took a chance. Bransome answered on the second ring.

“It’s Jason. I found the GTO. It was in the U-Store behind Agnes’s house. It just took off. North on Reese Drive. Hurry.”

“Get in here. To the station. Now.” Bransome’s phrases came through the phone like a series of pants, like he was running.

“Can I do anything?”

Bransome hung up without saying another word.

Jason limped into the garage. His foot hurt, but not enough to prevent him from putting some of his weight on it. The trunks, furniture, and boxes were all there, pushed to the back and side walls of the space.

The experience in crime scene data collection told him to leave the garage contents alone. A flick of the lock and the garage door slid down and sealed. He tested the handle. It was locked. He’d get Bransome out to work the site later. Right now he wanted to get to the police station as fast as he could. But he hesitated. Fifteen yards to his right, the chain-link fence loomed, separating the U-Store lot from Agnes’s fence. It was every bit of six feet in height, and the coiled razor wire on its top made it look like a prison fence from this side. He walked to the barrier.

In both directions it looked sound. He meshed his fingers and gave it a strong shake. Solid. Was there any way Agnes could get through? The question warranted an inspection.

At the far right of Agnes’s yard, her wooden fence came within three inches of the chain link. Another shake confirmed the integrity of the fence. He looked closely for breaks, cut links, or other evidence of trespass. There were none. He walked along the fence, from pole to pole, checking each section. No more than six inches separated the fences, and both were completely intact.

At the other end of Agnes’s yard, the wooden fence posted even closer to the chain link—only an inch or two of separation. The U-Store fence was solid, uncompromised.

He couldn’t see a way Agnes could get through the fence to the garage. No human could climb over through the razor wire, and the asphalt had been spread after the fence was erected. It embedded the chain link at least a couple of inches at the bottom. He had kicked at the bottom of each section. None gave a hint of a gap.

A flood of questions swamped his mind. Was Lilin that close all along? Was that how she kept an eye on Agnes? And why did Agnes keep paying the bill? Had she ever visited the U-Store? He limped to the front gate.

Who was behind the wheel of the GTO? Obviously, Agnes wasn’t around to answer the questions. Was she still alive? It didn’t look like there had been two people in the car.

Sirens wailed in the distance. It sounded like they headed north, presumably in search of the GTO. It would be easy to spot, but too many side roads split from the highway to Fort Bragg. They’d have to be lucky.

Jason reached the front gate, and this time his luck was running. A car pulled from the street to the entrance of the U-Store and the driver carded the receptacle. Jason gave a wave as the car passed and ambled through the gate before it closed. His right foot hurt now—the driving foot. It might take a while to get to the station.

Jason pulled into the police station parking lot and grimaced when he pumped the brake pedal. Pushing on the gas didn’t hurt, but braking was another story. He’d driven slowly all the way, under twenty-five, taking advantage of the lower gears of the automatic transmission to slow the car when approaching traffic lights or stop signs. He tried to let his mind work between twinges of pain.

If that was Lilin, what was she doing in the garage? Did she sleep there, in the car? It couldn’t have been Agnes. Even if she had a way to get through the fence, why would she stay in the garage? She could have snuck back into her house without anyone knowing, and as long as she didn’t disturb the lighting trap Bransome had set, she could have gone about her activities, undetected.

A terrible thought stopped him from getting out of his car. He pictured Agnes, lying in her own house, blood oozing from Lilin’s razor slices. Only one person in the GTO. The other taking her last breaths while the police, and everyone else, pursued the driver.

A call to Officer Wilson wouldn’t do any good. He had undoubtedly joined in the chase. Jason thought about driving to Agnes’s house and breaking in, but Bransome’s tone was unmistakable. Besides, his foot hurt, and he didn’t want to miss any news about the GTO.

He pulled himself from the car and hobbled into the station directly into the detective’s workroom. He clipped on his ID badge. Recognized and accepted, he had free run of most of the building. Too bad he didn’t know where they kept the fingerprint data from Inverness. He could start processing it.

A computer printout lay on the blotter of Bransome’s desk. Jason plopped in Bransome’s chair and lifted the single sheet.

“Mother of God.”

T
HE COT IN THE HOLDING CELL WAS A WELCOME SIGHT.
Jason’s head swirled and his foot hurt. He had to think this through. It didn’t make sense.

The scene in the cabin had seemed strange, different from all of the other murders. There was more blood, more of a mess. Compared to the other sites, it reeked of inefficiency and carelessness.

And the prints—none had been left at any of the other murder scenes. Why now? Why so messy? Why so different? He’d rationalized that earlier, but was he just kidding himself? The prints in Inverness were Agnes’s. Bransome had come in early and processed some of them. The printout confirmed it, without a doubt.

Jason had trouble catching his breath. Agnes had killed Eddie. But why? Was she working with Lilin all along? Her performance was Oscar worthy if so. But what if Lilin had forced Agnes to kill Eddie? That easily fit in his conceptualized view of Lilin and her desire to get even. And what if all of the prints were planted, and the change in technique was just a frame job? With the U-Store connection, Agnes could be blamed for all the murders. Lilin could go back into the woodwork and vanish.

But then, where was Agnes? Surely, Lilin hadn’t planned to be surprised at the U-Store. And now that she was on the run, what would become of her twin sister, unless her fate had already been sealed?

Jason gasped. What if Agnes hadn’t even been in Inverness? Lilin could have planted Agnes’s fingerprints. A severed finger? No. Some of the prints were of all five digits, complete with a palm print. Jason’s next gasp echoed in the holding cell.

Would Lilin know that identical twins have different fingerprints? She’d have to if she’d intended the planted fingerprints to point at Agnes. Maybe Agnes’s hands were safe, intact. But the information about the fingerprints of twins was hardly a secret. It could be found on a number of Web sites. Lilin seemed to be thorough, prepared. And smart. Very smart. She knew Agnes had been released following the initial arrest. There had to be a reason for that. Just how much did Lilin know about the details of the case?

A picture of Agnes, her throat slit from ear to ear, one hand severed, came to Jason—all too real. He turned on the cot and groaned. He’d give Bransome the rest of the day. If there wasn’t any news by late afternoon, he’d break into Agnes’s house again.

Jason startled awake. A commotion in the station stirred the air with sound and energy. He’d dozed off, but for how long? A pull on the shirtsleeve exposed his watch. It was one thirty.

Bransome stomped in and rattled the bars before Jason could get up.

“We got her. We got Lilin Hahn.”

Jason swiveled to a sitting position and rubbed his eyes. “You caught up to her?”

“She started out heading to Fort Bragg, but I had a hunch she might have turned on Highway 20 to get to 101. That would be the best way to disappear quickly. I was right. I caught up to her just outside of Willits. Another ten minutes, and who knows where she’d be.”

“Is it Lilin?”

“It sure doesn’t look like Agnes. I mean, it does, but Agnes wouldn’t dress like that or act like that.”

“Act like what?”

“She fought us the whole way, and you wouldn’t believe her mouth. I’ve never heard language like that from a woman. And then, once she calmed down in the backseat, she started offering me all kinds of sexual treats if I’d let her go. If my wife heard what she offered me, well …” He wiped his brow. “I bet Agnes has never even dreamed about some of the things this woman wanted to do with me. At my age, I don’t even know if some of them are possible.”

“Tempting, huh?”

Bransome laughed. “The next time with the wife isn’t going to be the same. I won’t be able to get some of the visuals out of my mind for a while.”

Jason stood up and immediately favored his left leg.

“You all right? You want a doctor?”

“Bumper caught me when she peeled out of the garage. It’s bruised, but I’ll be okay.” He limped forward. “What are you going to do with Lilin?”

“After I Mirandized her, I started asking questions. She clammed up. Now she won’t talk. At all. I’ll try again in a little while, but I’m not optimistic. She turned on a dime. We’ve got a call in to the shrink who talked to Agnes earlier. Maybe she can help. Wilson suggested we put her on a suicide watch. We don’t want to blow this case.”

“Has she been booked?”

“Going on right now.”

“Did she say anything about where Agnes is?”

“Not a word. That was my first question, and that’s when she went silent. Sorry, but we don’t have a clue about where she might be.”

“I have a hunch. Could you send someone out to check Agnes’s house again? I have a bad feeling about it.”

“Good idea. I’ll have Wilson stop by on his way to the U-Store. I want him to secure the garage. What space was it?”

“E-24. I didn’t touch anything, but I did look inside. I don’t think you’ll find much.”

Bransome shook his head. “This is weird.”

“What’s weird?”

“I’ve never been on a case like this. Where I’ve been so schizophrenic about the suspect. It’s Agnes. It’s Lilin. It’s Agnes. It’s Lilin. I’ve always had a clear suspect in mind. On a few occasions I was surprised, but even then, there was the surprise and then it was done. None of this back and forth crap. And I’m still as confused as I was weeks ago.” He took a deep breath. “You know about the prints from Inverness?”

“Sorry. I saw the printout on your desk.”

“I left it there for you to see. Even with Agnes’s prints, I’m having trouble running with my initial gut feeling about her. Even if she was involved in Inverness, I’m not so sure she did the other murders.”

“Sounds like a flip-flop to me.”

“Yeah, but ten minutes from now, I’ll probably be back on the other side of the fence.”

“When do you plan to talk to Lilin again?”

“After the shrink gets here and has a go at her.”

Jason fingered his chin. “If nothing else works, you mind if I have a try?”