Chapter 30
THIRTY
This was the first time Amanda and Trent were seeing Bill Johnson’s house.
A modest gray-brick bungalow, at least thirty years old.
The garden beds were full of flowering perennials and being strangled by weeds that were left to grow.
A privacy fence lined the property, blocking out the view of the backyard, but the roofline of a shed was visible.
They passed Jensen’s cruiser, and Trent pulled into the driveway behind Bill’s black cargo van. If he got the harebrained idea to run, it would be on foot.
Trent banged on Bill’s door, and called out, “PWCPD. Open up.”
Nothing. Though criminals rarely did what they were told.
Trent repeated the process, and said, “We know you’re in there.”
More silence.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” she said.
Just after she spoke, squeaky hinges rang through the air from a gate in the backyard. “He’s making a run for it.”
Trent scurried toward the front gate while she asked him to toss her the key fob for the department car.
She got behind the wheel, turned on the in-vehicle camera, and drove around the block to the street in the back.
Ahead about fifty feet, she spotted Bill Johnson running.
He took a left, going down a side street, and Amanda followed.
She turned the sirens on, and Bill stumbled.
His arms pinwheeled, and she imagined him falling face-first, but he managed to stay upright.
He was running while looking over his shoulder now, gauging her progress on him.
Trent came out of the nearby yard and waved for her to keep going.
She eased up behind Johnson as he slowed his pace. Another turn to look at her, and he made a sudden juke to the left. She cranked the wheel and pressed the gas a bit harder.
Bill ran into the side of the car’s hood and let out a scream. She silenced the sirens, parked the vehicle, and got out to apprehend him.
“Bill Johnson, PWCPD. Stay put,” she called as she bridged the distance between them.
He seemed stunned but otherwise uninjured. It helped that the impact was made at his speed, not hers. His eyes shifted to hers, then a spark lit in them.
“Don’t even think about it.” She picked up her pace. He was off and running again before she reached him.
But Bill failed to account for Trent, who turned up in front of him. Bill lost his footing and crashed to the ground. Trent was right on top of him, pinning him there.
“What the hell, man?” Bill’s cheek was smushed against the pavement.
People had stepped out of their homes to gawk at what was going on. This was the most exciting thing to ever happen in this sleepy neighborhood.
“Did everyone see that? Police brutality,” Bill yelled out.
Amanda saw some people had their cell phones on them, likely recording everything. “Time for you to come with us, Mr. Johnson. We need to have a little chat.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you. I know my rights,” he rattled off as Trent hauled him to his feet and cuffed his hands behind his back.
Amanda was face to face with Bill when Trent spun him around. Officer Jensen pulled up and came over.
“Someone need a ride to Central?” he asked.
“You bet,” Amanda told the officer.
“Hey, everyone saw that right?” Bill was saying. “That cop drove right into me.” To Amanda, he said, “I’m going to sue you and the police department. You’ll lose your badge.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so.” She let his threat roll off her. In the heated climate against law enforcement, the in-car video system would have captured everything and have her back. She pointed toward the vehicle. “The camera caught everything. Technically, you ran into me.”
Bill grimaced. Had he put it together that she could charge him for damages done to the car?
Trent handed Bill Johnson over to Jensen, who put him against the hood of his cruiser and patted him down before feeding him into the back.
Amanda and Trent got into their car and returned to Johnson’s house.
They couldn’t just head to Central without a quick check of his premises.
Not when Valerie and Brooke could be stowed away somewhere on the property.
The fact Bill Johnson ran gave them exigent circumstances to justify a quick look around without a warrant.
They first inspected the back shed. It was small, and a peek through the window showed it was full from the floor to the rafters. They called out again and were met with no reply. The dead can’t talk… But it wouldn’t serve her to give in to that thought.
The front door of the house was locked, but the rear one Johnson had fled through was open and unlocked. She announced herself and Trent as police and stepped inside.
“Valerie? Brooke?” she called out as she walked through the home with Trent.
Nothing but the ticking of a clock and the rumbling of ductwork as the central air blew cold air out of the vents.
She stopped in the media room in the basement and looked around.
Based on the dirty dishes and a discarded pizza box on a coffee table, this was where Johnson spent most of his time.
There was a large flat-screen television and a gaming console. One controller was on the couch.
“I don’t think they’re here, Amanda.”
Trent’s words made it through, but she didn’t want to accept them. “I still think he could be behind this.”
“I’m not saying he’s not, just if he took them, where are they? Being held at his mother’s or…?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m not going there. We’ll find them alive.” We have to…
After waiting on another officer to watch the home, they loaded into the department car for Central.
As Trent backed out of the driveway, she was staring at Johnson’s black Ford Transit cargo van.
Top priority was getting a search warrant for it and Johnson’s house.
If he had done any planning to abduct the Archers, proof of that might exist within these walls. But one step at a time.