CHAPTER NINETEEN
Faith and Jessica had just pulled into the parking lot of their hotel when Faith got the call.
“Special Agent Bold?”
“Speaking.”
“This is Sergeant Wilkins with Metropolitan Police Department.”
Faith’s eyes widened. She put the phone on speaker. “Go ahead, Sergeant.”
“I’m on scene at the chapel of Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling,” Wilkins continued. “We interrupted the attempted strangulation of a chaplain here. My partner is currently in pursuit of the assailant.”
Faith pumped her fist. “Yeah. Hell yeah! We’re on our way.”
She spun the wheel, and the Prius shot out of the parking lot with a lot more pep than Faith would have expected. Turk barked excitedly, tail wagging, as the team rushed toward southwest Washington where the joint Navy, Air Force installation was.
“This might be the first time that a security blanket actually worked,” Jessica said.
“Color me just as surprised,” Faith replied.
“I wonder why he attacked the chaplain at the chapel?” Jessica said. “That doesn’t fit with his MO. He should have waited for someone alone at a memorial during pre-dawn.”
“He’s escalating,” Faith said. “And he escalated right into our trap.”
She pumped her fist again, grinning like a fool. Too many cases, she had chased murderers past a series of bodies. This time, they had stopped the killer early. Damn, that felt good.
They reached Anacostia in record time. If Metropolitan PD wasn’t busy focusing on the chase and the near murder in their jurisdiction, they would probably have pulled Jessica over and taken her license, but despite the multiple traffic laws she broke to get them to the base, they reached it without incident.
Emergency services were already there when they arrived.
Three police cruisers were parked in a trident formation in front of a late model Mercedes sedan.
Two paramedics vans were parked nearby, one of them tending to a woman of around thirty wearing an ecclesiastical garment and another tending to a uniformed officer.
There was no sign of a suspect.
Faith’s elation softened somewhat. She jumped out of the car, and Turk immediately shot past her, barking madly as he rushed toward the only other vehicle in the lot, an old Buick Lacrosse with faded red paint and a scratch extending across one of the rear windows.
He stopped in front of the car, sniffing and barking loudly.
“That’s the killer’s car, all right,” a uniformed police sergeant said, approaching the FBI agents.
Her badge informed them that this was the Sergeant Wilkins who called to report the attack.
“Fucker abandoned it when he took off.” She glanced at the chaplain and said, “Damn. I need to remember to watch my language.”
Faith looked at the officer in the other van while Jessica approached the car Turk was examining. “Is he all right?”
“He’s fine. He tripped into a ditch when he was chasing the perp. Twisted his ankle really bad. Probably a sprain.”
Faith pursed her lips. “And the suspect is still at large, I assume?”
Wilkins sighed and nodded. “I’m afraid so. We got his description, though, and obviously we have his car. We’ll look up the license plate and get a name and address, all that good stuff. There’s nowhere for him to go.”
“A male, then?”
“Yes. Six-two, one hundred ninety pounds, athletic build. Age around forty, give or take. Caucasian but heavily tanned, so he could pass for Middle Eastern if he needed to. Has a full beard too, dark hair, dark eyes. Sorry, I know that was a little disjointed. We’re still kind of up, you know?”
“That’s perfect,” Faith said, painting the killer’s image in her mind. “Walk me through what happened.”
“Well, my partner and I—that’s the dumbass getting his ankle wrapped for forgetting he’s not a track star—were observing the parking lot from across the street while Chaplain Brennan—that’s the young lady trying to insist that she’s fine when she’s got a ligature mark on her neck thick enough to set a coffee mug on it—conversed with a gentleman in front of the chapel.
We assumed it was a member of Chaplain Brennan’s congregation because she didn’t act alarmed or anything, so we didn’t approach.
Then the killer rushed her and started choking her. ”
“He didn’t see you?”
“We parked away from the lights and used night vision,” Wilkins replied. “Just in case our presence scared a potential killer away.” She looked at that ambulance and frowned. “I think that was a mistake in hindsight.”
“You came closer to stopping this guy than anyone so far,” Faith replied. “What happened after the attack began?”
“Well, Harris and I—that’s my partner—we jumped out our cruiser and sprinted over.
I shouted at him to release Sarah. He did, and he just hopped the fence and ran off, didn’t go for his car or anything.
Harris fired three rounds, but none of them struck the suspect.
He continued the pursuit on foot and called it in while I saw to Miss Brennan. ”
She looked at Faith in amazement. “You know the first thing she said to me when I asked her if she was all right? Don’t shoot him.
Can you believe that? Motherfucker tries to kill her, and her first words are please don’t shoot.
” She shook her head. “I’ll tell you, if that man knew the kind of woman he was trying to kill. ”
“He knows,” Faith said. “I think that’s part of what he hates about them.”
The sergeant whistled. “Well, he’s a messed-up son of a bitch, that’s for sure.”
Faith moved off to talk to Chaplain Sarah Brennan. She was rubbing her neck and nodding at the paramedic talking to her. She was tall, maybe an inch taller than Faith’s five-eight, and statuesque with a regal build, noble features, and long shimmering brown hair framing honey-colored eyes.
It wasn’t her beauty that struck Faith, however, but the kindness in her eyes. She smiled warmly at Faith, and if not for the welt around her neck—which really was extremely thick and ugly—Faith would never have guessed she was looking at a woman who only minutes ago had grappled with a murderer.
Faith nodded. “Ma’am, I’m Special Agent Faith Bold, and—”
“And you will be finished in five minutes,” the paramedic interrupted, “at which point, we will be transporting Chaplain Brennan to the hospital.”
“I won’t even need that long,” Faith said. She smiled at Sarah. “How are you holding up, Chaplain?”
“I’m alive,” Sarah said, her voice hoarse. “Praise God. I wouldn’t be if it wasn’t for the brave actions of those police officers.”
“I’m glad they were here,” Faith replied. “Can you tell me what happened?”
Sarah sighed. “I was leaving the chapel after the service, and the gentleman struck up a conversation with me.”
Faith wouldn’t describe the killer as a gentleman, but she didn’t bring that point up. “Can you tell me the nature of your conversation?”
“He complimented me on the service. I mentioned that we hadn’t met before, and he asked if I knew every member of my congregation.
I could tell he was upset, so I asked if he would like to pray with me.
He grew very distressed. I believe he was angry that I wasn’t behaving fearfully or angrily myself.
He attacked me, and… I think I blacked out for a moment.
When I came to, he was gone, and the officers were tending to me. ”
“He didn’t mention anything about why he was doing this? Any names?”
Sarah took a breath and massaged her throat. Faith felt a touch of guilt at making her speak, exacerbated when the paramedic stepped forward. “All right. That’s enough for now. Chaplain, we’re—”
“No,” Sarah said, shaking her head. “It’s all right. I was just thinking.” She took another breath and fixed eyes filled with grief on Faith. “He asked me if I remembered the attack on Killi.”
“Killi? I’m not familiar.”
“It’s a town in Syria,” Sarah replied. “There was a major US-led operation in the region three years ago. The fighting around the town was severe. The allied coalition won the battle, but losses were heavy. The man who attacked me said he was there. He said it was the last time he saw a false prophet pray over someone dying in his arms.”
Faith’s heartbeat quickened. This could be the lead they needed. It meant the killer was avenging more than just the battle of Tarinkot, but that wasn’t much of a stretch. Plenty of service members served in more than one theater, especially if they stayed in the military for more than one tour.
“Were you that false prophet?” she asked Brennan?
She shook her head. “No. I spoke to the Marines in my unit before they went to battle, but I didn’t pray over any of the ones who didn’t make it. Everyone brought back wounded survived. The dead were gone before they arrived back at the forward operating base.”
Faith’s excitement waned slightly, but this was still a good lead. “I see. So, you didn’t recognize him?”
“Not by name. He looked familiar, but vaguely.”
Faith nodded. She handed Sarah a business card and said, “If you remember anything else, please let me know.”
“She will,” the paramedic said brusquely, stepping in between them. “Come on, Chaplain. We really need to get you to the hospital. You could be bleeding internally.”
Sarah smiled tolerantly and allowed the paramedic to lower her onto the stretcher. Faith turned to leave, but Sarah seized her wrist and said, “Promise me, Special Agent. When you find him, don’t kill him. He’s just lost.”
Faith thought of the bodies of two innocent men and the third victim saved only an instant before her own death. She made Sarah the only promise she could. “I’ll do my best.”