Chapter Fifty
“Greer’s got an entire arsenal of information on ways to kill without signs—mostly poisons.
” Grant listened to his officer relay the message from Lieutenant Huang.
“They said he’s got notebooks stacked twelve high with information about someone named Marissa, which, near as I can tell from the photo of the house, is Kara Knight. ”
“Right, I know.”
“Who’s Marissa?” The young officer didn’t wait for a response. “They found a calendar, Detective, and today’s date is circled in red with an “X” across it. It’s Greer’s birthday.”
Grant covered his eyes. “Shit.”
Jackson sat in the passenger seat, shivering beneath the heavy police blanket. The firehouse alarm rang out in the distance, loud and rhythmic.
“Where the hell’s the FBI?” Grant asked.
“On their way, I think. They called to assess, and we hadn’t heard from you, so we thought it wasn’t urgent. Then Huang called a few minutes ago, and—”
“Jesus. Who’ve I got for backup?”
“Morris and me. The Lodge convention was tonight. I called over there. He’s the only one sober enough.”
The high pitched ambulance sirens sounded in the distance. Grant shook his head. “Well, get your ass over here. Tell Morris he’s got two minutes.” He looked at Jackson. “Do me a favor, will ya? Have dispatch call Nancy Darner.”
Jackson shook his head vehemently.
Grant covered the mouthpiece and lifted his eyebrows.
“No. I don’t want her anywhere near here. I’ll wait here, in the car. Or, or I can drive myself home. Please, don’t call her.”
Grant listened to Jackson’s fret-filled plea with a heavy heart. He eyed the inside of the vehicle, then glanced back at the plant. With a sigh he said, “Fine, but don’t you get out of this car for anything.” He lowered his chin, staring up with a serious glare. “Not one step.”
Jackson shook his head so fast his cheeks shook. “No. No, I won’t.”
“Nix the call,” he said into the receiver.
Grant stood outside the patrol car in the pouring rain, watching the flashing red lights of the ambulance above the trees.
His heart thumped against his chest. He was too pumped with adrenaline to remain confined in the vehicle, and too smart, now that he knew the situation, to go inside the plant without backup.
Grant knew every second counted. He also knew that the ambulance siren might alert Greer and hasten his actions.
Grant would be no good to Mimi and Kara dead.
He’d have a better chance with backup. They’d move swiftly, now that Jackson had filled him in on where to enter the building—a frickin’ broken window, how clichéd could you get?
The siren silenced as the ambulance drove down the long driveway to the plant. Heavy, rain-soaked branches scraped the top of the large vehicle.
Morris’s champagne colored Mercury Marquis sped down the driveway behind the ambulance, whipping into the parking place beside Grant’s car.
Morris stepped out, gun in hand. “Okay, boss, whatcha’ got?
” He reached up and pulled off his tie, tossing it onto the front seat.
He pulled a blue police slicker over his dress shirt and zipped it up.
Officer Smith’s car came into view.
“Didn’t Smitty fill you in?”
Morris shoved his hands in his pocket. “Chambersburg cop is laid up out back, killer’s inside with Mimi Stone and Kara Knight.” He lowered his voice, leaned his shoulder toward Grant. “What’s behind it?”
“Guy’s a maniac.” Grant shook his head. “It’s his birthday. This is his birthday present, killing his twin sister.”
“Word travels fast. The whole town will know about this in an hour, and then we’ll have civilians to contend with.”
Smitty jogged to the men, pulling a hood over his head, and ducking so his eyes could meet theirs.
Grant looked up at him. He was dwarfed by the six-foot-seven officer. Smitty was just a kid, twenty-eight years old, and one of the most reliable cops on staff.
Smitty took a step and stumbled. Morris grabbed his arm and shot a look of concern at Grant, who shrugged. He was clumsy, but still a great officer.
He filled in the EMTs about Sergeant Agnew’s whereabouts, and instructed them to wait until Grant and his men could cover them before heading within the fence’s perimeter to get Mark.
Grant, Smitty, and Morris jogged down the path toward the makeshift entrance. Grant looked at his watch. It had been seventeen minutes since he’d left Mark. He hoped that seventeen minutes hadn’t cost Mimi or the others their lives.
Grant stood just outside the sill of the broken window with his back to the building, gun held close to his chest, the barrel pointing up toward the crying clouds. Morris stood ready on the other side of the opening.
Smitty moved in an arc around them, his legs bent at the knees, his gun stretched out before him.
A small area just inside the broken window was barely visible in the moonlight, but the rest of the room remained dark.
Smitty signaled the EMTs. The three men ran in an even, practiced trot under the umbrella of the trees, their shoulders hunched, stretchers and medical bags in hand.
Smitty fell back to cover them as they made their way to the back of the building.
The four men moved the tree limb with relative ease.
Mark let out a yelp, then clenched his teeth and sucked in a breath when the weight lifted from his broken leg.
Smitty remained with them while they ran Mark’s vital signs and prepped him for the stretcher. Once securely strapped down, Smitty headed back to the side of the building and followed the same arcing path, making sure the EMTs were out of danger. Grant and Morris were nowhere in sight.