Hollywood Lust (26 page)

After landing in Boston the FBI sent a car that took me directly to a taskforce meeting at their local headquarters. Joe Dawson met me on the street and walked with me into the building, asking, “How was the flight?”

“No sleep, lots of worry.”

“At least we’ve got a trail to follow now. Nice work piecing things together.”

We got in the elevator. “I can’t believe that asshole was right in front of me and I didn’t know it.”

“No one would have thought about a cop being involved. Stop beating yourself up over it, Buttercup.”

When the elevator doors opened on the sixth floor, we went over to a coffee cart where Joe bought me a latte and a cup of black coffee for himself. He handed me the cup, lifting his. “Cheers. I think we could be in for a long day.”

I took a sip and then said, “I just hope it’s the day we find my sister.”

When we got to the meeting room, most of the original taskforce was assembled there, along with John Greer and Jeremy Spender. There was also a high-ranking Boston cop that Greer introduced as the meeting began.

“As you all know, we’ve identified a former police officer, Wade Dempsey, as potentially being involved in this situation. I’ve asked Aston Long, the chief of Boston PD’s Bureau of Internal Investigations to give us some background on our suspect.”

Long was a big man, with a full head of graying hair and pensive dark eyes. He was full of nervous energy as he shuffled his notes and began with some assurances of cooperation, before getting down to business.

“I’ll cut to the chase on this because we all know time is of the essence. Mr. Dempsey joined BPD a little over two years ago. He worked patrol. There’s nothing noteworthy in his personnel file regarding either accomplishments or discipline.” He took a moment with his notes before going on. “Dempsey is married and lives in Brighton. I pulled the background investigation report when he was hired, and…” He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid there are some discrepancies. It was done by a contract investigator who appears to have fabricated Dempsey’s background. We’ve launched a criminal investigation into that matter. I’m afraid there isn’t much else to go on. To our knowledge, Dempsey has no criminal record.” The chief put his paperwork aside. “We’ve had our officers watching the residence in unmarked cars since receiving word of his possible involvement. No one appears to have entered or left the house during that time.”

“So why did he suddenly resign a couple of days ago?” Dawson asked.

“He said it was for personal reasons. I talked to his former partner last night. He described Dempsey as…” He took a moment, maybe choosing his words carefully. “…a bit of a loose cannon, someone who he didn’t think fit in very well with the department. He also said Dempsey has a fascination with firearms, so we need to be prepared for resistance.”

John Greer took over again as a wave of depression overwhelmed me at the possibility our suspect was armed. “A warrant to search his house came through early this morning. We’re going to stage down the street from the residence and make entry behind our SWAT teams. Further details will be given when we get to the scene.” His gaze swept over the gathering. “Are there any questions?”

Jeremy Spender spoke up. “He’s been planning this.”

“What are you talking about, Jer?” Dawson asked. “Did you and Dempsey go out for a beer last night?”

Spender didn’t acknowledge him, instead he addressed Greer, “My group of consultants believes he’s already left the area with his victim. He’s probably holding her in a secluded location where he’s in the process of indoctrinating her.”

A cold chill ran down my spine as Dawson said something about Spender’s consultants being a group of mind-reading psychics.

Greer concluded the meeting, telling everyone, “We clear Dempsey’s house and take things from there. If he’s not there, maybe his wife can tell us where he went.”

***

The area where Wade Dempsey lived was just off the 90 Freeway, west of Boston. I rode with Dawson, who said he knew the Brighton area. “It’s a mixed bag, some college kids and young families. There’s a lot of apartment buildings and a few houses, along with a business district. It’s bound to be congested.”

“You seem to know a lot about the area.”

“Worked at the local office here for a couple of years. Not my favorite place.”

I knew the Boston winters could be bad. “Because of the weather?”

He glanced at me. “Politics. I’ll tell you about it the next time I have an attack of self-pity.”

I didn’t respond, knowing that Dawson had his share of conflicts with almost everyone over the years, including his bosses and coworkers. After a moment, I said, “What do you think about Spender’s theory that Dempsey’s already taken Lindsay somewhere and he’s indoctrinating her?”

He released a breath and looked back at me. “Jerry’s a dipshit, but we both know he could be right. If he and your sister aren’t in the house, all we can do is hope we find a trail to follow.”

The taskforce assembled in a commercial area a block up the street from the single family home where Dempsey and his wife Marianne lived. After lots of planning and talk, we finally went down the street just before noon, following the FBI’s SWAT teams. Dawson and I were on the street about forty yards from the house when the teams entered the residence. That’s when we realized Wade Dempsey had left us a calling card.

A thundering explosion split the air and his house exploded.

“Three dead on our side and a couple of serious injuries,” John Greer told us after the fire department and medical examiner had arrived at what was left of the house. The wounded had been taken away in ambulances earlier. “It looks like the house was vacant and the explosions were set sometime in the past twenty-four hours, before the local police began their surveillance.

I breathed a sigh of relief that Lindsay hadn’t been in the inferno, at the same time being angry as hell over the senseless loss of life. “What about Dempsey’s wife? Do we have any idea where she’s living?”

“According to a neighbor, the couple had been separated several weeks. His wife’s living with her mother over in Quincy. We sent a team there to talk to her.”

I walked away as Dawson and Greer talked about what happened. Both men knew one of the agents on the SWAT team who had been killed and were still trying to come to terms with the loss. The media was also staged down the street, along with several TV news ’copters that were droning overhead. It wouldn’t surprise me if the explosion had already garnered national attention.

As I stared at the smoldering ruins, and the crowd of spectators, my hope of ever finding my sister had been pushed into that dark place in my soul. Then my phone rang.

“Kate, it’s me.” My sister’s voice sounded small, fragile.

I turned around, for some reason thinking I might see her in the crowd. I saw that Dawson and Greer were still talking but there was no sign of her. “Lindsay, where are you?”

She didn’t answer right away. I heard a jostling sound before another, now familiar voice came on the line. It was Ice, or the man we now knew as Wade Dempsey. “Listen carefully, Detective. If you ever want to see your sister alive again, come to this address.” He took a moment, telling me where to go and saying it was an abandoned schoolhouse about an hour west of the city. He then said, “You need to leave now and come alone, without any of your FBI buddies or the police. Do exactly as I say, or…”

There was a lengthy pause and I thought the call might have been dropped. Then I heard my sister.

She was screaming.

Desperation gripped me. I needed to leave now, but had no transportation. I was scanning the area and even had a thought about stealing a car when I realized Dawson was standing next to me.

“What gives, Buttercup?”

He must have sensed my despair. I realized I had no choice but to tell him what was going on. I went over what Dempsey had said, and then added, “I’m supposed to come alone or Lindsay dies.”

Dawson shook his head. “Not going to happen.” He tossed me his car keys. “You drive, when we get close to the area, we can evaluate things from there.”

I knew I had no other choice than to do as he said. “Let’s go.”

Dawson went over and told Greer something about us taking a break, before we got to his car. I wasted no time, taking the surface streets to the interstate.

My big FBI partner gave me his thoughts as I drove. “An abandoned schoolhouse, your sister, and Wade Dempsey. This is an ambush waiting to happen.”

I couldn’t disagree with what he said but then had another thought. “If that’s the case, why do they want me there?”

He glanced at me. “The truth?” I nodded. “They want a spectacle. You were involved in the deaths of two of the original seven. They’re making this personal.”

I sighed. “Whatever happens, it will probably all be broadcast over the Internet for the viewing pleasure of The Swarm and several million other people.”

Dawson glanced at me. “I always knew you had star potential, since you’re from Hollywood.”

I grimaced. “Did I ever mention that I hate stardom?”

“Once or twice.”

We found the abandoned schoolhouse outside the town of Sutton, on a dirt road. Under any other circumstances the building would have brought to mind a Norman Rockwell painting of a simpler era of small towns and one-room schoolhouses. Based on what I knew was probably waiting for me inside the white-washed building, the structure became something forlorn and forbidding.

I pulled the car to the side of the road. We were still at least a half-mile from the building. I turned to Dawson and saw that he was already out of the car. “Where are you going?”

He bent down to the open window. “Nice day for a walk.” He held on my eyes. “Watch yourself, Buttercup. In case you haven’t figured it out, you’re starting to grow on me.”

He turned and made his way over to a tree line. I then put the car into gear and cautiously moved forward. The dirt road was rutted, and I bounced my way up to the schoolhouse, stopping in a dirt area that had probably been a parking lot at one time. I took a moment, making sure my gun was loaded, at the same time noticing that the weather was changing. A stiff wind had begun to rake the area, and clouds were gathering. I put my gun in my shoulder holster, said a silent prayer for Lindsay, and began moving toward the building.

When I got to the front steps, I stopped and listened. Hearing nothing, I pushed on the door and it creaked open. I moved forward cautiously, slowly becoming aware of the grisly scene that had been left for me. Bile rose in my stomach as I examined the walls of the small schoolhouse. They were covered with gruesome photographs of nearly every murder Azazel, Taylor, and the others had been involved in. This was a rogue’s gallery of terror, probably intended as much for those watching the proceedings on the Internet, as it was for me.

I was at the back of the schoolhouse, full of disgust over the horrific photographs, when I heard a voice. It was coming from somewhere above me. That’s when I saw Ice, or Wade Dempsey. He was standing in a loft area with a gun pointed at me.

“Nice of you to stop by,” he said.

I swept my blazer partially back so that I could reach for my gun if given the opportunity. “Where’s my sister?”

His dark eyes were fixed on me. “You no longer have a sister.”

The dread of what he’d said moved through me. “What are you talking about?”

He laughed. “Lindsay belongs to us now. We are her family.”

The rage that had consumed me earlier began to boil over. “You tell me where she is, or…”

“Or what?” He waved his gun to a corner of the room. I saw there was a camera set up there. “It’s over, Detective. Your killing spree ends right here, right now.”

“
My
killing spree,” I spat. “
You’re
the one doing the killing.”

There was derisive laughter. “I guess it’s all a matter of perspective.” The gun was trained on me again as he said, “Just so you know, your death will be a signal for our group to take up arms. You can go to your grave, knowing that the end of everything you know was brought about because of your failure.” His hand tensed on the weapon. “Any last words?”

I was about to respond when I heard Joe Dawson’s deep voice. I realized he’d somehow managed to get up the stairway into the loft and was standing a few feet away from Ice. “I believe the last word is mine and it’s going to be bang, asshole.”

Ice moved his weapon toward Dawson, at the same time I drew my own weapon. The monster who had taken my sister and been responsible for countless deaths went down in a hail of gunfire as we both unloaded our weapons.

When it was over, Dawson came down the stairs. He went over and smashed the Internet camera, before coming over to me. “You okay?”

I nodded. At the same time we heard a roar overhead. It grew louder with each passing second. “What the hell is that?”

Dawson began moving toward the door. “I’m not sure but I have a bad feeling this isn’t over yet.”