Chapter Twenty-Nine #2
She finally finished blabbing, and dropped her phone into her purse.
As she loaded the groceries in the car, the dog watched her, tail wagging. She gave him some sort of dog treat.
Enjoy, Dustin thought. It’ll be your last.
He waited until she’d backed out of her slot, turned toward the exit. He knew where she’d go, so followed at a safe distance.
And smiled, as he knew just how he’d handle the rest.
He could hardly wait to see the surprise on her face.
Gideon talked to the front desk clerk and the manager on duty. They had nine single male guests, three more coming in.
“We have the photo, Chief Riley,” the manager assured him. “The staff’s been briefed, and under orders to alert security if they see this man. Not to confront him.”
“No one who looks like that has checked in while I’ve been on duty,” the desk clerk told Gideon.
“And when you’re off, who else works the desk?”
The manager sighed a little. “I’ll get you that information.”
“He has to know the authorities are looking for him, so he may have changed his appearance. Changed his hair, maybe a beard, glasses.”
He took names, the single male guests he’d run, the other staff to talk to.
He pushed a little more, asked to talk to the housekeeping staff that would have cleaned the rooms of the singles.
Nothing popped there, but he took two more names of staff who had the day off.
He spoke with the concierge, and nothing.
He studied the lobby. Fairly busy—some wine club coming in.
Classy, Gideon thought. The lobby, a wine store, bar, coffee shop, gift shop. All leaned toward classy pulling up right at the edge of ornate.
Dubecki would want this.
I know you, you son of a bitch, he thought. You’d want this. Not the charming, cozy coffee in the kitchen, not the discount chains, the off-ramp motels.
No, Gideon thought, if Dubecki aimed here, this would be his last stop before The Retreat. He wouldn’t settle for midrange. High-end, it had to be. With a day or two to stalk.
Frustrated, he crossed the lobby to the bell desk.
“Hey, Gideon.”
Reg’s cousin Mark gave him a quick salute. “Or should I say Chief?”
“I’ve got the key ring to prove it.” Gideon dangled it.
“Sweet.”
“Listen, I’m following up on the fugitive we’re hunting.”
“Got his picture right here.” Mark reached under the desk, took it out. “We’re all keeping an eye out for him, for the car.”
“You’ve had some male guests, traveling solo, check in over the last couple days. He may look a little different from the picture.”
Gideon went through the routine while Mark nodded. “I see what you’re saying, wish I could help. Trust me, we don’t want anyone like this guy around here.”
“Let’s try this. Black Tumi bags.” The ones his mother had bought for him the day after his release. “Wheeled bags, pullman, garment bag, weekender.”
“Well, jeez, Gideon, do you know how many bags we handle any given day?”
“New ones,” Gideon pressed as another bellman came up—one that couldn’t be old enough to buy a legal beer.
“Is this about that crazy killer guy?”
“Take it down, Jack, guests don’t like hearing crazy killer.”
“Just saying. We’re all watching for him. Gives me the willies.”
“New, black Tumi luggage,” Gideon repeated. “Pullman, garment bag, weekender—all wheeled. He might not want it all unloaded. He’d have a laptop case, black leather. Driving a dark gray ’25 Mercedes C-Class sedan.”
“Wish I could say: Hey, I know that guy, especially if there’s a reward. I took a couple of bags, looked new, I guess, out of a Mercedes yesterday. But a blue one. Pretty blue.”
“Traveling alone?”
“Yeah, for a while, I think. But he had dark hair—really dark, like seriously black and sort of a beard.”
Gideon felt the heat in his blood join the buzz. “Sort of?”
“Mostly like he hadn’t shaved in a couple, three weeks. Needed some style.”
Gideon pulled out a pen. “Look at this again,” he ordered as he darkened the hair with the pen, scribbled on what passed for a beard.
“I … I don’t know.” Nerves shook in Jack’s voice. “I guess. Maybe.”
“Jack.” Mark put a hand on his shoulder. “This is important. Take a couple of breaths, then think.”
“Trying. I mean, we’ve been pretty busy, and he didn’t look like the picture, and the car wasn’t gray. Holy sh—cow, Mark.”
“You’d have asked him where he came in from,” Gideon prompted. “How was his trip.”
“Um. There’s been so many, but yeah. Yeah! He said he’d been traveling on business. I think … nearly done, he’d be heading home soon. He, um, he, um, wanted me to get some ice when we got up to his room, so I did, and he tipped me, like, I think twenty.”
“What room?”
“Eighteenth floor. It has its own concierge and lounge. I think … 1804, it’s a suite.”
“Where’s the car?”
“He didn’t want to valet it. I remember that. Said he might need it later. I told him how he could call for it at any time, but he didn’t want the valet. Parked it himself while I waited with the bags.”
“Plates? Did you see his license plate?”
“I don’t know. God, I feel a little sick. I carried his bags, and he kills people.” Then his eyes popped wide. “Idaho!”
“Gideon.” Mark kept his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “I didn’t get a good look, but black hair, scruffy beard, sunglasses. He walked out about an hour ago. I don’t think he’s come back.”
“Call security, have them check his room. Now!”
He ran out to scan the lot. And pulled out his phone to call Arden.
She didn’t answer.
Rain began to splatter as Arden pulled into her driveway.
“We didn’t get lucky this time, Zorro. Hold on, let me get some bags out while I ask myself why I bought enough for two trips.”
She grabbed her purse, tossed up the hood on her jacket. She slid out, ducked her head as she rounded to the back. Her phone rang as she opened the cargo area, grabbed two bags, one for each arm.
“You hold on, too,” she muttered. Then moved to the rear side door to open it for Zorro.
“All right, okay,” she said as he started barking. “Give me a second!”
She heard something, or felt something, turned.
Dubecki grinned. “Hello, Arden.”
He hit her twice, not a slap, but with his fist. Right, then left.
It felt so good! Felt even better when she dropped, when groceries spilled everywhere. He kicked her purse with its ringing phone aside. She wouldn’t need it. Then hauled her up over his shoulder.
Inside the car, the dog went wild. Barking, scrabbling at the window, leaping over the seat, and snarling.
Dubecki’s grin only widened. He pulled the gun holstered on hip, pointed it, said, “Bang. This is your lucky day, pooch. I don’t have to waste a bullet.”
He hitched Arden more securely on his shoulder.
“We’re going home, honey.” He carried her to the car he’d left running on the side of the road at the edge of her driveway. He opened the trunk.
Someone shouted, and he jerked so hard he nearly dropped her.
He spun around, saw some man and another damn dog, one of those little yappy ones, running toward him.
“Die, bastard.”
He pulled the gun, shot, but the man kept running.
Dubecki dumped Arden in the trunk, slammed it. As he ran for the driver’s seat, he fired over his shoulder. And shaking with rage, fear, delight, punched the gas.
“Oh God, my God, oh God.” With hands cold and shaking with horror, Jamie took out his phone.
His fingers betrayed him as he tried to open it, get to contacts, but he finally pushed Gideon’s number.
“He’s got her!” He shouted it before Gideon could speak. “He’s got Arden.”
“Where are you?”
“I—He—I was walking up to meet her at your house, and I saw … He had her, he was carrying her, she wasn’t moving. He has a gun. He shot at me.”
“Are you hit?”
“No, no. Zorro. I have to get him out of the car. He’s still in the car. It wasn’t gray. The car. Cerulean blue, a deep cerulean blue. I couldn’t see the plate. I didn’t think—”
“Which way did he go?”
“Um, um, it’s away from town. West! That’s west, I think.”
“Get the dog, go home. I know where he’s going.”
“He put her in the trunk. He just, just threw her in the trunk, and I was too far away. I couldn’t stop him.”
“I will.”
He was already in his car, and hit the sirens as he called the station.
“Dubecki’s in a blue Mercedes sedan, Idaho plates.
Heading west on Valley View Road. He has Arden in the trunk, unconscious, possibly injured.
He’s armed. Do not fire at the vehicle. Contact the state police, set up roadblocks.
I’m in pursuit, but he has ten, maybe fifteen minutes on me.
Send two officers to the North Western Hotel.
It’s room 1804. He didn’t have his luggage, laptop.
“Roll out, we’re going to cut him off.”
He had to get through town, across the river. No way around that unless he took more time to bypass. The rain decided to pour instead of splatter. Gideon told himself it would slow Dubecki down.
Panic. He’d panicked, and driven the wrong way. He’d need to take back roads, work his way back around to I-5 to head north.
He hadn’t killed her. Why put her in the trunk if he’d already killed her? No, he still had his eyes on the goal. Take her to The Retreat in Washington.
“You’re not going to get there.”
He snapped at his phone when it signaled. “Riley.”
“We’re on our way to you, Chief.”
“He’s got her. Son of a bitch,” he cursed as he swerved around a car slow to pull over. “I’m in pursuit. Blue, not gray, Mercedes, Idaho plates. She’s in the goddamn trunk. He’s armed, shot at a civilian. Missed.”
“We’re on I-5,” Brill told him. “GPS says sixty-eight minutes to Riverbend.”
“Not anymore,” Venmar said, and floored it.
“We’ll contact the Washington State Police, get roadblocks, and we’ll continue south on this route. He won’t get past us, Chief.”
He got past me, Gideon thought. By minutes. By goddamn minutes.
He crossed the bridge and raced on.
He took the curving road leading up at eighty, barely slowing when the car fishtailed.
The rain brought the gloom, and the fog. Dark would come early.