CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Kate drove through the suburban streets with DeMarco in the passenger seat, the exact opposite of how their travels were put together most of the time.
A tension seemed to have them coiled upright like tight springs.
They'd met at a gas station halfway between Kate's house and the Pemberton address, with DeMarco quickly transferring from her sedan into Kate's car to save time.
Kate had walked her through everything she’d learned during the morning. As she drove, DeMarco was looking for anything else relevant to Margaret Holloway on her smart pad. So far, there was nothing new.
Kate navigated through the increasingly upscale neighborhood, noting the larger lots and more elaborate landscaping that marked their approach to the Pemberton residence.
"The whole interior design approach is sort of manically brilliant,” DeMarco said.
“It would allow her to spend time alone in their bedrooms, bathrooms, anywhere they kept their medications. "
"The psychological profile makes sense, too," Kate said. "A mother who loses her adult child just as that child is seeking help and support. The trauma could easily trigger a delusional belief system where she thinks she's protecting other parents from inevitable disappointment."
"By killing them before their children can let them down again," DeMarco finished in a tone that almost had a touch of sympathy. "In her mind, she's preserving the hope and love instead of letting it turn into frustration and enabling."
They turned onto Ambler Lane, a tree-lined street where houses sat on multi-acre lots behind wrought iron gates and carefully maintained stone walls.
The address they were looking for was at the end of a circular drive, a massive colonial that probably dated back to the 1920s, but had been updated with modern amenities while maintaining its historical character.
Kate slowed as they approached the house, scanning for any sign that her hunch might be right.
As they came to the driveway, she spotted a white van with simple, yet elegant script on the double back doors: New Beginnings Home Design.
It was written in elegant blue lettering, really popping from the white body.
Just as Kate was pulling into the driveway behind the van, the front door of the Pemberton house opened, and a woman emerged.
She was average height with shoulder-length brown hair pulled back in a neat ponytail.
She wore loose slacks and a professional-looking blouse under a light cardigan.
She carried a wheeled case, and what looked to be a roll of some sort of tapestry was tucked beneath her arm.
“Is that her?” DeMarco asked.
“I think so,” Kate said, recalling the single picture she’d seen of the woman on the website. And from this angle, she looked like a small, sweet, middle-aged woman who was simply at work, tending to her business. Nothing about her appearance suggested someone capable of methodical murder.
Kate parked the car, taking another look at the large home.
It had to be valued at a minimum of two million dollars, and she'd have no problems imagining a large expanse of sprawling gardens out in the back.
When Kate and DeMarco got out of the car, Margaret looked up and noticed them.
She was walking toward her van and stopped for just a single moment as she spotted them.
Kate saw the moment of recognition in Margaret's eyes, the instant when she realized that these two professionally dressed women emerging from an unmarked sedan probably weren't potential clients who had somehow tracked her down.
She seemed to understand the danger and the weight of the moment right away.
The reaction was immediate and telling. Instead of approaching with the curious friendliness of someone wondering if she could help them, she dropped her wheeled case and roll of fabric. She then bolted toward her van.
"Margaret Holloway, stop! FBI!" Kate called out. But Margaret was already fumbling with her keys, her hands shaking as she tried to unlock the driver's door.
"She's running," DeMarco said, pulling out her badge as they both moved quickly toward the van.
Margaret managed to get her van door open just as Kate and DeMarco reached the back of the van.
The driver's side door slammed, and the engine turned over.
DeMarco's hand went to her holstered Glock, but the van lurched forward instantly.
And because the Pemberton driveway was circular, Margaret would be able to get away from them without much of a problem.
But apparently, Margaret had other plans in mind.
She had thrown the van into reverse. And with a sudden rev of the engine, it came rocketing back toward them.
Kate grabbed DeMarco's arm and pulled her aside as the van lurched backward, its rear bumper missing them by inches.
Margaret spun the wheel hard to the left, trying to navigate around Kate's sedan, but there wasn't enough room for the maneuver.
"She's going to go through the yard," Kate said, watching Margaret's increasingly erratic driving.
Sure enough, Margaret gunned the engine and drove the van directly across the Pemberton's meticulously maintained front lawn, leaving deep tire ruts in the grass as she headed for the street.
Kate and DeMarco ran back to Kate's sedan, jumping in just as Margaret's van bounced over the curb and onto the roadway.
Kate started her engine and backed up rapidly, preparing to follow Margaret's path across the lawn. She didn’t even have time to wonder if perhaps it might be a better idea to let DeMarco drive.
"Hold on," she warned DeMarco as she turned the wheel hard to the right and accelerated.
The sedan's low clearance made the transition from driveway to lawn more jarring than it had been for Margaret's van.
Kate felt the car's undercarriage scrape against the decorative stone edging as they crossed the flower beds, and she had to steer carefully to avoid the large oak tree that dominated the center of the front yard.
She looked back in her rearview and saw someone come out to the front porch of the house, yelling.
When they reached the street, Kate had to swerve sharply to avoid a municipal trash truck that was making its way down the residential street on its weekly collection route.
The truck driver blared his horn as Kate's sedan slid sideways across the asphalt, her tires squealing as she fought to regain control.
"Jesus, Kate!" DeMarco braced herself against the dashboard as the car straightened out.
“Sorry,” Kate said through gritted teeth.
Kate accelerated hard, trying to spot Margaret's van among the morning traffic.
The residential streets clearly had not been designed with high-speed pursuits in mind.
There were stop signs at every intersection and children's toys scattered on front lawns that suggested this was a neighborhood where people didn't expect to see vehicles racing past at dangerous speeds.
"There she is," DeMarco said, pointing ahead to where Margaret's white van was visible about two blocks ahead. It was currently weaving between slower-moving vehicles as it headed toward a larger arterial road.
Kate pressed the accelerator to the floor, her sedan's engine responding with a surge of power that closed the distance rapidly. As the car lurched forward, the engine purring in a way she hadn’t heard in a while, DeMarco placed a call on her phone.
Kate listened, barely aware of what was being said because she was so focused on the road.
"This is Agent DeMarco, badge number 4721. I'm in pursuit of a suspect vehicle, a white cargo van with the New Beginnings Home Design logo, heading eastbound on Ambler Lane toward Grove Avenue. Requesting immediate backup and roadblock assistance."
Kate forged on as she spotted Margaret's van running through a stop sign at the intersection ahead.
This caused a small sedan to brake hard and swerve onto the shoulder to avoid a collision.
Kate followed through the same intersection less than ten seconds later, constantly closing the distance between them.
As the chase continued and increased speed, it appeared that Margaret having a bit of trouble with the tight confines of the suburban streets.
Kate watched as the larger vehicle scraped against a row of parked cars, leaving a trail of scraped paint and damaged side mirrors in its wake.
A BMW's driver-side mirror exploded in a shower of glass and plastic as Margaret's van sideswiped it without slowing down.
"She's destroying everything in her path," DeMarco observed, watching the van careen between parked vehicles like a pinball bouncing between bumpers.
Kate had to swerve hard to the right to avoid a jogger who had stopped on the sidewalk to stare at the chase in disbelief. The woman pressed herself against a brick mailbox as Kate's sedan flew past, close enough that Kate could see the shock and fear on her face.
At her age, Kate thought suddenly, she really couldn't afford to be acting so recklessly.
The realization struck her as she took a corner at twice the safe speed, feeling her tires slide on the asphalt before regaining traction.
She was nearly sixty years old with a young son at home and a fiancé who was counting on her to come back safely.
The days when she could throw herself into dangerous situations without considering the consequences were behind her.
But even as the thought crossed her mind, Kate knew she couldn't back off now. Margaret Holloway had killed three innocent people and would likely kill more if they didn't stop her today. The risk to Kate's own safety had to be weighed against the risk to potential future victims.
"She's heading for the highway," DeMarco observed. "If she gets onto I-95, this could get really complicated."
Kate nodded, knowing that a high-speed chase on the interstate would involve multiple jurisdictions and create risks for dozens of innocent drivers.
They needed to stop Margaret before she reached the on-ramp, but the van was still about half a block ahead of them, and Margaret was driving with the desperation of someone who knew that capture meant life in prison.
Ahead of them, the van swerved around a slow-moving truck that was hauling construction materials on a flatbed trailer.
Kate had to make a split-second decision about whether to follow the same dangerous maneuver or find an alternate route.
She chose to swing into the oncoming traffic lane, passing both the truck and Margaret's van in a move that required precise timing and considerable nerve.
"Kate, you’re overshooting it," DeMarco said, her voice tight with concern.
"I know. I'm trying to get ahead of her so we can set up a controlled stop before someone gets hurt."
Kate pulled back into the correct lane just ahead of Margaret's van, then began gradually reducing her speed to force Margaret to slow down as well.
It was a risky strategy that required her to maintain position despite Margaret's attempts to ram her sedan from behind.
The hope was that it would trap Margaret between them and the truck hauling the flatbed.
But once again, Margaret had no intention of remaining trapped. She sped up a bit, her van striking the rear of Kate's sedan, giving it a little nudge. Kate fought to maintain control as her steering wheel jerked in her hands.
“Jesus!” she hissed through her teeth.
“You okay?” DeMarco asked, whipping her head around to keep tabs on Margaret.
“For now, yeah.”
"Are you okay?" Kate asked DeMarco, who was shaking her head to clear the effects of the collision.
"I'm fine. Keep going."
Kate pressed the accelerator again, trying to stay ahead of Margaret despite the damage to her sedan's rear end. Behind them, she could hear the distant sound of sirens as backup units responded to DeMarco’s call.
But she wasn't sure they would arrive in time to prevent Margaret from reaching the highway entrance that was now visible just ahead.
The chase had become a dangerous gamble with innocent lives at stake, and Kate knew they were running out of time to resolve it safely. Not only could Margaret potentially escape if she made it to the exit… she could unintentionally claim even more lives before she was caught.