Fragmented (31 page)

60

Thursday –
6:59 p.m.

The hallway
walls reflected the flashing blues and reds from the vehicles outside, as the tactical team stormed the unit. By then, Colfax was already dead, and Youngblood had whispered his last words, leaving Jack without the answers he came looking for. He had ordered teams of agents and officers to trail behind the tactical team. Once a room was cleared, they were to strip the walls down to their studs looking for Jessica Baker, in case she’d met the same fate as Grace Holloway, stuffed in a hole in the wall. Slamming crowbars reverberated down the long hall, followed by the creak of nails wretched from wood as the team worked in a fevered pitch.

“Under the cross of God,” Jack said. “A church, maybe.”

Marquez shook her head. “I thought of that. There are dozens, maybe more, in the area.”

“Cooper was here. My guess is he’s got our victim close. If she’s not in this space, she’s in a church somewhere nearby.” Jack walked over to a patrol car where an officer sat in the front seat taking notes. The cops looked up, gaze locked on Jack’s bloodstained clothes.

“Are you familiar with the area?” Jack asked.

The officer nodded. “I patrol this sector.”

“Any churches, even abandoned ones, close to here?”

The officer didn’t hesitate. “Got ’em all around. Probably a handful just within a five-block radius.”

Jack instructed the officer to get units out to those locations, and to be careful: Alvin Cooper may be there as well. The officer radioed in to the command post.

“There is a big church a couple of blocks from here,” the officer said to Jack. “
St. Paul
’s Episcopal down on 14
^th
.”

“Is it abandoned?”

The officer shook his head. “No. This place has been around since the early 1900s. Made of all white granite from the same quarry used to build Folsom Prison.”

Just then, Chris Hoskin approached with Marquez. He was covered in dust and sweat, wearing a pair of leather work gloves, a heavy crowbar clutched in his right hand.

“Looks like the building space has been vacant for several years.” Hoskin gestured toward the door. “The dust is pretty thick in the rooms except for one down the hall.”

Jack’s stomach twisted into a tight knot.

“Found rope and tape, restraining devices. I think we found where Cooper held your victim,” Hoskin said. “Sorry, Jack. We’re a little late.”

“Tighten the perimeter,” Jack said.

Hoskin nodded and returned to his team. The patrol officer called the command post for a full search of the surrounding buildings. If Jessica Baker was close by, they were going to find her. Her chance of surviving another day, in this heat, was impossible.

Jack glanced down the alleyway. “The church, is it down that way?”

The officer nodded. “I can take you there.”

Jack climbed in the back of the cruiser, and Marquez slid next to him.

61

Thursday –
7:31 p.m.

St. Paul
’s
Episcopal Church was located on the corner of 15
^th
and
J Street
. An impressive structure that stood out from the surrounding modern buildings, the granite walls and slate roof resembled a 16
^th
Century English castle.

Everyone bailed from the cruiser. Jack and Marquez made their way up the front steps, as the officer walked around back toward the parking lot. Jack pulled on the handle. Locked. He knocked. The latch twisted and the door pulled open, revealing a wisp of a woman, barely five feet tall, in her seventies. She smiled at Jack and Marquez.

“We were just closing up for the evening.”

Jack offered his credentials and identified himself. The woman held her smile, apparently unfazed by the unexpected guests.

Jack explained why they were there, and asked for permission to search the area.

“You can certainly look around,” the old woman said, pulling the door wide, “but I doubt you’ll find anyone. I know every inch of this church and there would be no way of hiding a young girl here.”

Jack reached in his notebook and extracted a picture of Cooper and another of Youngblood. He held them up for the woman to see. “Have you seen either of these men before?”

The woman stared at the photos before shaking her head. “No, they don’t look familiar.”

“See
anything
unusual around the church lately? Maybe an old white pickup truck with a camper shell parked nearby?”

“No, nothing like that.”

Jack didn’t want to push any further. It was best to wrap up and start searching other places, other churches. He was ready to thank the woman for her time when their eyes met.

“Yes?” Jack said.

Her hung mouth opened, the fingers of her hand strumming her lower lip. “It’s not a truck….”

“What’s not a truck?”

“The car in our lot. It’s not a truck but there’s been someone using our parking lot since yesterday. We called to have it towed.”

“Where is the car now?”

The woman glanced behind Jack. “May still be around back. I called about an hour ago. I would think they already towed it.”

“Can you show me?”

The woman led them through the church, out the back to the parking lot. The officer who drove them waited there, shaking his head.

Jack ignored the officer, his attention focused instead on the tow truck hitching up the old car, the front end already lifted into the air as the driver secured the safety chains.

Jack called out, pointing toward the ground. “Put her down!”

The driver paused, confused at first, before realizing he was surrounded by guns and badges. He swiveled to the back of his truck and released one of a dozen levers sprouting from a metal box. Hydraulic pistons hissed as the front end of the car bounced back to earth. It was a silver Chevy Caprice Classic, four door, late-’70s model. Weathered and dusty but otherwise clean.

Jack slid on a pair of gloves and tried the driver’s side but it was locked. He used his flashlight to check inside. Fast food bags, cups, and wrappers, not much else. He called to the tow truck driver. “Can you pop the lock?”

The driver nodded. “You care if I break the tumblers?”

“I don’t care if you take the door off its hinges. Just get it open.”

The driver retrieved a toolbox from the back of his truck.

Marquez walked around the car with the officer, her flashlight painting the back and underside with light. Jack aimed his flashlight as well, fishing around the interior from a different angle. It was difficult to see inside, windows blanketed in a layer of dust. Something caught his attention on the hood of the trunk, though. Someone had run a finger through the grime. At first, Jack thought it was an X but then realized it wasn’t. More like a . . . cross.

Jack turned to the tow truck driver. “Get me a crow bar!”

The driver brought him a heavy steel bar, about two feet long. Jack snatched it and shoved one of the ends under the trunk and pried. The metal strained and stretched but wouldn’t break. He pulled out the bar and rammed the sharp blade straight into the lock. The latch broke and the trunk popped up. Jack dropped the bar and stared into the dark interior, trunk filled with burlap sacks, blankets, and trash. Marquez and the officer took out their flashlights and lit up the trunk. Jack tore deep, rifling through the garbage. His hand hit something different, something warm.

Then a muffled cough.

Everyone froze. The old church woman walked up behind Jack, both hands over her mouth. She spoke in a whisper but everyone heard her.

62

Thursday –
7:43 p.m.

At first
, Jack could only see her hair. When he pulled away the blankets stuffed around her head her face, he was as pale as a sheet of paper, eyes closed, a rag tied around her mouth and hogtied. Based on her placement and what she was buried in, tomorrow’s summer heat would have certainly killed her. It was obvious Jessica Baker was not meant to survive.

Jack flung everything off of her, giving her body a chance to cool down. Using a knife, he cut the rope and silver duct tape that bound her hands and legs. She reflexively straightened but her body was limp and didn’t respond to Jack’s touch. He removed the rag from her mouth, her lips dry and chapped. It had been several days since she had her insulin and, according to her doctors, they would be surprised if she hadn’t fallen into a catatonic shock.

Carefully lifting her out of the trunk, Jack carried Jessica into the church, setting her on the office couch. Jack checked her vitals. Unconscious, breathing shallow, but at least it was regular, stable. Marquez had immediately gotten on the phone, and the medics would be there soon. Jack knelt next to the young girl, his stare locked on her. He knew it was crazy to think, but he was afraid that if he were to look away, she would disappear. For the past three days, Jessica Baker had been all that mattered, all he could think about. It came down to this: rescue her or live with failure. And for Jack, failure wasn’t an option. But his victory came at a heavy cost. His hunt for Cooper had to wait.

Marquez walked in. She stood next to Jack, staring at Jessica.

“She going to be okay?”

“I hope so.”

Marquez held out a plastic bag containing several spiral notebooks. “Got these out of the trunk. I gave them a quick look. They’re Cooper’s.”

“Anything?” Jack asked.

“Yeah. From what I saw, it looks like he’s laying out what happened with her.” Marquez pointed at Jessica. “There was also stuff about Grace Holloway.”

“What about?”

“About how it was Youngblood’s idea to kidnap her. That it was Eric Youngblood who let Grace Holloway die.”

Every law enforcement officer, agent, and detective in the area was scouring for Cooper, tightening the circle around the city. But Jack didn’t hold out much hope. This guy was good at stealing identities; he was a survivor. It wouldn’t be that difficult for him to morph into someone else and make his way out of this trap.

Jack slipped on a pair of gloves and pulled one of the notebooks from the plastic bag, flipping it open, and started to read. He’d barely cracked the book when the medics arrived. They started Jessica on oxygen and threaded an IV line into her arm. Jack explained her diabetic condition and that hadn’t been on her insulin for several days. Her vitals recorded, they placed her on a gurney and loaded her into the ambulance. Marquez went with her to the ER. Jack wanted to join her, but he stayed to preside over the hunt for Cooper.

At a large wooden table in the church room, Jack leafed through the notebooks. He found the right timeline and read. Thirty minutes and three journals later, Jack knew everything he needed to know.

He closed the cover of the third book and settled back in the chair, taking a moment to absorb what he had just read. Now that knew what had happened, Agent Jack Paris knew what he had to do.

By the following morning, ERT had finished processing the crime scenes: The old Victorian where Detective Bernard Conrad was killed, the warehouse where Detective Mark Colfax was slain, and the MoMo Lounge where Detective Clayton Browning was murdered. Three detectives dead. They also processed the vehicle where they had found and rescued Jessica Baker. Jack stood outside the church doors, sipping a hot cup of coffee. One of the officers brought over trays of tall coffees from Peet’s, the parking lot turned into a secondary command post to coordinate all the evidence collected from the crime scene. As people scurried about, Jack just watched. The radio chatter sounded like air tower transmissions at O’Hare International.

A car pulled into the lot. A familiar face got out. He pulled off his Ray Bans and nodded at Jack.

“I spoke to Agent Marquez,” Agent Tom Cannon said, strutting over. “She’s at
U.C.
Medical
Center
. Jessica is going to be okay.”

Jack smiled through his fatigue. “That’s good to hear.”

“Any leads on your suspect, Cooper?”

Jack shook his head. “Doesn’t sound promising.”

“Look, Jack, if you need any leads shaken out, I’d be happy to help.”

“You married?”

Cannon shook his head. “Maybe someday.”

Jack bit down on his tongue. “Be careful, Agent Cannon. This kind of work can mess with your personal life and will get your hands dirty.”

Cannon smiled. “I don’t mind getting dirty. Let me know.”

Jack returned a reassuring nod.

                                               
*

The ride out to
U.C.
Med
Center
was quiet, radio on but the volume low. Diana Krall was playing “Cry Me a River,” her fingers smoothly dancing across the keys. It lulled him into a daydream state, made his world feel safe. He parked and went inside where he met up with Marquez, who was curled in a chair outside Jessica Baker’s room. Jessica’s father was inside now, and she wanted to give them this time together. Marquez stretched out her arms and legs and drew a huge yawn that would make most cats cry.

“Is she awake?” Jack asked.

“On and off,” Marquez said. “Right now, she’s so doped up, I’m guessing she’s off.”

“I read the notebooks.”

Marquez held quiet, waiting for Jack to continue.

“I’m heading down to
Orange
County
this morning.”

“You learn something we should all know about?”

Jack nodded. “I’ll fill you in by the afternoon. I should have my answers by then.”

“See you when you get back.”