Race to Save Her (Detective Katie Scott #16)

Chapter 1

ONE

The rural neighborhood, scattered with older homes and trailers along gravel streets, was on official police lockdown.

Residents had been told to shelter in place while a half dozen patrol officers maintained a tight perimeter of the area as SWAT zeroed in on the highly dangerous situation that was brewing.

The house of interest was a small, single-wide trailer with one man inside who had just committed a violent robbery. There had been a high-speed chase throughout the city, ending here. The man was now refusing to come out peacefully.

Dense trees and a dilapidated fence surrounded the dwelling.

A tattered swing tied to a tree branch swayed slightly.

The trees, along with overgrown weeds, partially masked a direct view for the officers.

The front door, the only main point of entry, and two windows faced the street, with four more windows around back.

A navy, four-door sedan remained parked where it had come to rest after the police pursuit.

The breeze suddenly stopped, as if on cue, revealing the warmth of the afternoon. It was strangely quiet.

The commanding SWAT sergeant scrutinized the situation, moving cautiously, and listened to his headset, where he could hear the negotiator trying to defuse the situation and convince the subject to surrender without incident.

Eight fully geared SWAT operators had paired off to cover any of the possible escape routes, and were ready for the order to breach their focus, weapons drawn.

As well, two sniper teams were in position, expertly camouflaged, lying on their stomachs in between low-lying bushes and large trees, creating a secure location perimeter—waiting to receive, if necessary, the go-ahead for the kill shot.

Tensions were high as the well-trained team waited in anticipation for anything… and everything.

There was a white van parked out of sight down the street that accommodated the incident response team. Inside, one officer jotted down notes on a board, detailing the background of the robbery and the weapons they knew belonged to the suspect. The SWAT negotiator was in the thick of things.

They all watched the outline of a man pacing behind the windows.

The primary police negotiator, Jack Devlin, addressed him.

“Brandon, think about Sara and Emma,” he said.

He’d been conversing with the unstable subject for some time, strategically building rapport.

He was dealing with a man who had just robbed a store and shot the owner, before taking the police on a high-speed chase, and now home, was threatening to use a gun against the officers on his property.

The man was not giving up. SWAT’s job was to bring things safely to an end.

“Don’t bring my daughters into this,” said Brandon Bates, raising his voice over the phone.

“They’ve already lost their mother. They don’t deserve to lose you too.”

“Their grandparents took them from me,” he barely whispered. “From their own dad…”

“Brandon, how can we resolve this?” said Jack, redirecting the conversation, but staying on point. He kept his voice calm and personable, a technique he had honed flawlessly over several years, making him very effective in talking down individuals threatening to shoot themselves or the police.

He adjusted his headset, glancing to the secondary negotiator listening in. She gave a subtle nod in return.

Devlin continued. “We can figure this out, Brandon. But you have to help me to help you.”

Brandon went from being angry to hysterically crying. “Doesn’t matter, you’re going to kill me anyway. Just get it over with.”

“Listen to me… We don’t want to kill you.”

“You cops always kill people.”

“You’re safe with us, just as long as you don’t do anything crazy. All you have to do is come out and show us your hands. That’s it. You’ll be fine.”

“I can’t…”

“You can.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know you’re scared. We can end this in a good place.”

There was a pause. Devlin heard the unmistakable metallic racking of a gun—readying it for firing.

“Brandon? Brandon, you’re not going to do something stupid that you can’t take back?”

The suspect said something, but it wasn’t clear.

“Brandon, you with me?”

“Yeah,” he said slowly.

“First, put down the gun.”

The scribe updated the board:

liquor store owner is alive and stable,

video of suspect and car coming and going

search warrant in place for house and car, looking for all weapons, drugs, money from robbery

“Brandon, the liquor store owner is alive.”

“He’s dead. You weren’t there… I saw him—”

“No, Brandon, he’s alive and in a stable condition.”

There was a pause.

“We can work this out.”

“It’s too late for me.”

“It’s not. I’ll help you.”

“No, it’s too late.”

“You have people who care about you. Your daughters. Think about how this will affect the rest of their lives.”

“I…”

“Brandon, can you put the gun down?” Devlin listened for anything else in the background that could indicate Brandon was readying himself to shoot. The SWAT team’s safety was Devlin’s primary concern. No one was going to die today. “Brandon, take the first step. Put down the gun.”

A pause. “Okay…”

“Good,” said Devlin, breathing a silent sigh of relief. “That’s a good start.”

“They need to back away from my property. They’re too close.”

“We can’t do that, Brandon. You know that.”

“That’s the only way I’m coming out alive.”

“Give us something first. Open your door with your hands up.”

Agonizing seconds passed.

“Nah… I… I… can’t do that.”

“You can. And then this will be over.”

The connection went click.

Devlin tried to retrieve the number several times and it went straight to voicemail.

“Dammit!”

The police radio rattled with commands from the SWAT sergeant to breach.

Devlin flung open the door to the van and jumped out. He looked toward Brandon’s house. After the front windows smashed, Devlin heard the flash-bangs detonate. Smoke filled the air. He kept moving toward the residence.

The front door flew open and a man in a white T-shirt and black jeans emerged. His hands were in the air as he coughed with intensity.

The SWAT operators kept a tight formation, yelling, “Keep your hands up! Get down on the ground! Now! Get down on the ground!” A strong wall of armed enforcement descended upon the man.

Devlin watched for what seemed like forever as the team secured Brandon and put him in custody. Everyone was safe. He wondered if Brandon would ever see his kids again—or if they would ever want to see him.

His work was done here.

Devlin continued to watch as some of the officers went inside the trailer and began carrying out long guns and pistols.

“Sarge!” yelled one of the operators. “You need to see this!”

The sergeant hurried over.

Devlin’s curiosity got the better of him.

He was drawn to the front door, where he heard the sergeant’s immediate request for forensics and homicide.

Devlin leaned in and saw there was a trap door that had been hidden under a rug in the middle of the home—it was now pulled back and open.

A broken lock lay on the side. He expected to see stored weaponry, but what he saw instead stopped him cold.

He stared dumbfounded at the items that had been wrapped in layers of heavy plastic and then jammed into the hiding space.

He felt sick. He saw a human arm, bent slightly, hand still attached with all five digits curled in an odd way.

The skin was a ghastly shade of grayish purple.

Beside it were what appeared to be other removed human appendages—each with ragged tears at the joints.

It was unclear if they came from the same body.

“Devlin, we’ve got to vacate,” barked the sergeant. “It’s forensics’ problem now.”

“Do we know—”

“We don’t know anything yet. Your guess is as good as mine. Let’s go.” The sergeant caught the attention of a patrol officer. “Tape off the trailer and keep everybody out. It’s a crime scene now.”