John: The Senior Killer (19 page)

Brad walked the streets
along with he didn’t know how many other agents mixing in with the
ever increasing people flocking to the festival. Mostly young
people he noticed and not so many old people. Maybe the old folks
decided to let this one go by as they were no doubt afraid of the
killer still at large. About nine am Brad approached Denny’s and
went in for a cup of tea and some breakfast He wasn’t hungry but
realized he needed some fuel to face the long day ahead. He noticed
the sleek Harley sitting near the front door as he walked in. Nancy
was sitting by herself looking at some files drinking coffee. He
walked up and asked if he could join her. She smiled up at him and
told him she would love some company. Unknown to both of them
sitting in the next booth was John the Senior Killer. He was just
another middle aged man reading the paper drinking
coffee.

Brad and Nancy talked about
this and that and nothing really important. She told him all was in
place and now it was the waiting that was the hardest. Brad was
still disguised in his looks, but John when he saw him knew right
away who it was. It was half way through Brad’s omelet when John
got up to leave. He dropped his newspaper next to their booth and
Brad reached down and picked it up, handed to him as the man said,
“Sorry, but forgive me,” as he looked at his files on the table,
“but I couldn’t but overhear your conversation about the serial
killer. Are you law enforcement agents?”

“Yes we are and be careful
out there today.”

“I will and hope you catch
the guy soon. My parents are over eighty and they refuse to leave
their house. I have to go shopping for them and do all their
errands like the doctor and pharmacy. Things like that.” Brad was
focusing intently on this guy, but nothing about him raised any
special attention. He looked at his hands and they didn’t look like
the hands he remembered from the pig farm. The guy moved off and
they returned to their breakfast. John hopped onto this bike and
went for a ride around town to show them he wasn’t
loitering.

Mike wandered around town
for hours waiting for someone to invite him for a killing. He
bought some things for the kids and Julie. Anacortes was a town of
culture. Art and artists were everywhere. A town bent upon culture
and tourist dollars made the place attractive.

Wendy, agent Jones and
Billy did the same as Mike. After a couple of hours of wandering
around they hit the motels and bed and breakfast for a double check
of guests coming or going. Check out time was usually by eleven or
so and that is when they started from one end of town to the other.
By four o’clock they had a complete list of guests. They sat in the
ferry terminal going over the lists. First they checked off couples
and anyone under the age of fifty. That left about a hundred of
guests who were either checking in or staying for the next night
and or until the weekend was over. Nothing they noticed was out of
the ordinary or suspicious. Billy told them the Canadian ferry was
due to leave at five thirty. Cars were driving onto the ferry as
they looked out the window. A special roped off area let walk on
passenger load while cars and an occasional truck drove onto the
ferry. Billy had purchased three tickets for them in case they were
needed. None of them wanted to use their ID to make the ferry staff
nervous.

At around noon Terry Adams
rode his bike back to Denny’s restaurant. He had a bite to eat and
watched as people flocked in for lunch. The place was filling up
and he looked for a likely mark. He could see his bike out front
and when someone looked at it, he eyed them carefully. About the
time he finished his sandwich he noticed a gray haired man stop and
carefully look his bike over. Ah, he thought my man was here at
last. He had a second cup of coffee and then left to hang around
wiping his bike off waiting to see if the guy would stop and
talk.

As he figured, the guy came
out and told him what a fine scooter he had. The conversation went
as John planned and they made an appointment for 4:30 that
afternoon to look at John’s photo album at the San Juan
Motel.

Brad met Nancy again at
Denny’s for lunch and to see how it was going. She told him all was
well and in place. Something was digging at the Brad brain. Walking
since the parking lot where he had parked his car he saw the tail
end of the meeting between the Harley rider and a tall gray haired
man. The bike rider took off to the east and the other man walked
back the opposite way. Nancy was asking him a question and finally
he came back to the present and said, “I’m sorry, what were you
saying?”

“I was asking you how Sujin
was doing.”

“She has a little morning
sickness, but other than that, she is not happy not being here
when, or if something comes down. Nancy do you have the list of
motels and RV parks with you?”

“No, I left them in the
trailer van. Is there something I should know about or help you
with,” she asked with a very concerned look on her face. She knew
if there was something on his mind it was important.

“Yes, I want to know if
there is a guest or an RV that drives or rides a large Harley
motorcycle. The license on the bike should be different than a
car’s license.”

“I’ll check on that for you
after lunch when I get back to the trailer,” she said.

Brad nodded and ate his
vegetable soup and a stack of whole wheat toast. They left to go
their separate ways and when Nancy got back to the trailer with
full intentions of doing what Brad asked for when a problem arose
with a road block outside of town. She looked at her watch and it
was just after two pm. By the time she took care of a farmer who
complained about the road being blocked and some other fires to put
out it was close to four when she finally got back to locating the
list of guests and in particular one with a registration license
number for a motorcycle.

Brad meanwhile had an
earpiece stuck in his ear waiting for Nancy’s call about the biker.
Nothing else was going on and all was quiet on the airwaves too.
Mike sat in the harbor watching the boats coming in and out and the
crowds of people having a good time at a festival when his phone
rang. He looked at his watch and it was just after four
thirty.

At the east end of town, at
just exactly four thirty Terry heard a knock on his motel door.
He’d changed clothes to a tear off disguise in case he had to make
a run for it. In a small ice chest he had a few cans of coke, beer
and a bottle of vodka with some orange juice for his guest. In his
pocket he had some knock out pill he planned to use of the
unsuspecting bike lover.

However, when Terry opened
the door there were two of them standing there and the gray hair
older man said hello and introduced his son as a bike lover too.
Terry took it in stride and asked them both in and sit down and
have some refreshments. Terry quickly found another glass and made
ready his knock out pills as both asked for a beer as it was a warm
day even for the usual cool Anacortes location next to Puget Sound.
Terry poured them a glass full and watched the foam rise from the
pills. Next he took the glasses over and sat them on the small
round table that had two photo albums of someone that resembled him
but many years younger. Both the guys took a long swallow of beer
and Terry smiled. In only a few minutes, he thought, they will be
out cold for a while and the old one will never see the light of
day or another bike in this lifetime, he thought.

Brad listened to Nancy tell
him that she found two motels where someone had used a bike license
plate for registration. One place had four bikes registered and the
other motel, San Juan Motel on 6
^th
St. Had only one guest registered with a bike. His name was
Terry Adams from Everett and his ID and bike registration was
checked twice by agents and apparently he checked out
ok.

By now Brad was on full
alert and told him to have some agents check out the four guys at
the one motel and he was going to the San Juan Motel and to have
some back-up meet him there. He looked at his watch and it was ten
to five. On the way there after running for his car, he called
Wendy and agent Jones inform them of his whereabouts and to be on
the alert for anything suspicious in the ferry terminal.

Back at the motel Terry
watched as the young man fell to the rug and when the old guy
started to feel woozy, he held onto him and placed his spike next
to the where the spine entered the head and shoved it in feeling it
is going past the spinal column up into the brain making a sight
sound of metal to the bone and then less force as it made its way
into the soft brain. John the serial killer had struck once more as
he took a few seconds to relish his satisfaction on a job well
done. Then, he quickly left the motel once again leaving all the
evidence behind. He’d taken a bouquet of tulips and put them in the
dead man’s hands. He smiled at the thought of flowers on his dead
victim as he headed to the ferry terminal on his bike. He drove the
speed limit and looked at his watch. It was five fifteen and plenty
of time to catch the ferry to Canada. He had his ticket and
reservation number of a few weeks ago when he booked passage with a
small cabin for privacy.

Racing into the parking lot
of the San Juan Motel he hit the office at a run asking what room a
Terry Adams was in. The flustered desk clerk looked at her book and
told him it was room 121 at the end of the first floor. He asked
for a passkey showing the clerk his federal ID and took the key
lives on the run. There was no bike in sight as he fitted the key
into the motel door and with guns drawn went in low and rolling to
the left of the door seeing no movement anywhere. Lying on the
floor were two men with one on his back by the small table with
flowers in his hand and the other sprawled on the floor in a fetal
position. Brad jumped up and checked the bathroom and found it
empty as the backup team arrived. He pulled out his phone and
called his team at the ferry terminal to alert them. The other two
agents called into Nancy to put out an alert for all to be on the
lookout for a bike rider on a Harley Davison. Agent Jones saw the
bike rider cross onto the ferry. Due to it being a bike it was
parked next to the railing at the other end of the ferry so
off-loading could take place without accident. John moved slowly
but efficiently and hurried upstairs to the porter who looked at
his reservation and showed him his cabin. On the way up the stairs,
making sure no one saw him; he ripped his cover disguise to match
his new ID. His new look was of a middle aged balding man with a
hearing aid glasses and clothes to match an old man. Stage players
and movie actors, in addition to magicians used the relatively new
disguise to quickly change clothes. John had stuffed his old
disguise in a bag and when safely tucked into his cabin, he opened
the porthole window and tossed the Marlin Spike into the Puget
Sound along with his old disguise. The weight of the spike would
sink the clothes in a matter of seconds. Only a fluke of someone
seeing or hearing a splash would draw attention, but as the sump
pumps spilled out bilge water, a small risk indeed. Standing in
front of a small mirror he checked his appearance and made sure all
was in place. He had no intention of venturing out of his cabin
until someone knocked on his door to check his credentials. From
out of his bag he took another wallet and a fanny pack. In the
fanny pack he had a bona fide American passport complete with
picture and a driver’s license that was current showing a Mr. Alex
Windslow from Seattle who had left his car in the parking lot and
walked on board. He was to go to Victoria Islands to see the
flowers.

Back at the ferry slip
agents Jones and Wendy along with Billy ran to the ferry. Billy
lagged behind due to a shortness of breath from too many years of
lungs full of brown nicotine. The two other FBI agents, each
receiving a call and the news of a Harley bike rider ran to the
front of the ferry and one stood guard while the other one ran
upstairs to see a member of the staff who had seen someone matching
the latest description of the fugitive.

Back at the ferry slip Brad
showed the men manning the slip his I.D. and to cast off and let no
one in or off. They had been briefed beforehand and one cool man
spoke into his handheld radio to the captain to depart immediately
on orders from the FBI. The ferry slowly pulled away from the ferry
slip and made its way to Canada.

Brad’s heart was pounding
and felt they had John trapped on board the ferry. He realized that
a new disguise was being used, but somehow they must get some
fingerprints from each passenger who even came close to fitting the
elusive John the Senior Killer. But first he must go topside and
calm the passengers before panic set in with the other agents
probably frantically looking for John. Climbing the stairs two at a
time he reached the main floor and walked calmly through the
swinging doors. He found his team and two suited FBI agents in a
pow wow with a half dozen staff and what looked like maybe a second
officer in command.

Brad took command and
quietly, but firmly told his people to calm down and let’s proceed
with caution and above all be calm so as not to alarm the
passengers any more than they already were. He told the second in
command to produce a passenger list and then he would divide the
passengers by last name for interviews by the agents.