CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“James Caldwell isn’t home, Special Agent.”
“What?” Faith exclaimed. “Shit.”
Jessica didn’t need to ask. “He’s not at home, is he?”
“No,” Faith said, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “No one saw him leave? No one knows where he went?’
"We just got here," Sergeant Rain Oliver of the Arlington Police Department replied. "I'll send two deputies to ask the neighbors while my partner and I search his apartment. We're playing a little fast and loose with probable cause, but I think we can justify it considering the urgency."
“Do it,” Faith replied. “Stay on the radio and let me know what you find.”
She hit the gas, and the rental car surged forward. Its acceleration was more polite than powerful, but her old Crown Victoria police interceptor was lucky to crack an eight second zero-to-sixty, so Faith didn’t have a good reason to complain about the acceleration of her Nissan Rogue econobox.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit. I fucking knew it.”
“Calm down, Faith,” Jessica replied, the most oft-given and oft-ignored advice in history. “We’re on our way there now.”
“And he’s on his way to kill someone else,” Faith snapped.
She ran her head through her hair and dropped her hand to the steering wheel. “Okay, we need to figure out who his next target is. Pull up Hunter’s records.”
Jessica opened her laptop and pulled up records from each of the animal shelters involved.
The minutes ticked by as she navigated the various systems each shelter used.
Plano and Tarrant County used government systems tied into their animal control records, so it was straightforward to get to their information if tedious, but Dallas Doghouse was a private facility and only required to report basic information.
That information was stored on a general county records system that was full of everything from the last time a politician was caught with a prostitute to every time a maintenance worker changed a bulb in a streetlight.
Faith focused on her breathing, trying to keep herself calm. She did an okay job. She managed not to shout at traffic or get into an accident trying to drive the crossover like a sports car.
Turk whined softly, sharing his own frustration with the group. “I know boy,” Jessica said. “I’m working as fast as I can.”
Faith’s hands tightened around the steering wheel, and she loosened them again with an effort.
This wasn’t Jessica’s fault either. This was the typical ebb and flow of a case like this, and with spree killers, it was almost a guarantee that they’d be on their way to another victim by the time they figured the situation out.
“Okay,” Jessica finally said. “It looks like Hunter passed a DoD program for retired K9s intended to help them reintegrate into civilian life. Caldwell was allowed to adopt him, but after he bit someone, he was taken away. Dallas Doghouse volunteered to take Hunter rather than sending him to a kill shelter. Matthew Brooks authorized the transfer to the Plano Animal Shelter citing failure to progress. I assume that means Hunter didn’t get better. ”
“Okay, that’s connection to victim two.”
“Yes. At Plano, Sarah Garrett left some detailed notes that all basically mean the same thing. Hunter wasn’t progressing no matter how hard she worked with him.
They put him up for adoption noting that he needed an experienced handler and an isolated living situation.
Only one family expressed interest, and since it was a ten-year-old kid, and not an isolated living situation, they denied the application.
Sarah lobbied against the transfer to a kill shelter, but the Pruitts overruled her, and Hunter was sent to the Tarrant County Animal Shelter. ”
Faith found it bitterly ironic that the killer had murdered a woman who had fought hard to save Hunter’s life and left the people who signed off on his death alive. Not that she had anything against the Pruitts. They were doing their best at a very shitty job.
“Once in Tarrant County, Hunter was placed on the kill list and per local policy, seven days were allowed for someone to claim him. It looks like James Caldwell tried twice and was denied both times due to his diagnosis. Hunter was euthanized exactly sixty days after his release from the Army.”
Faith sighed. “Okay. So that’s the motive. I’m assuming Linda Hale was the one who denied James Caldwell’s application?”
“No, it says here it was a woman named Dr. Patricia Houston.”
Faith stiffened. “That’s it. That’s his target. Call Tarrant County Sheriff’s Office and get her address.”
The phone rang twice before it was answered by a mild-mannered desk officer. “Tarrant County Sheriff’s Office.”
“This is Special Agent Jessica Torres of the FBI,” Jessica replied. “We’re here investigating the animal shelter killings. We need an address for Dr. Patricia Houston. She’s the facility director at the Tarrant County Animal Shelter.”
The officer paused, then asked, “Who are you again?”
“Oh, for God’s…” Faith exclaimed. “Officer, we’re the FBI. We’re investigating a spree killing, and Patricia Houston either is or soon will be victim number four. What’s her damned address?”
After another pause, the officer said, “One moment.”
Faith rolled her eyes and checked the distance remaining to Caldwell’s address. Twenty minutes. Not that it would matter if it turned out that Houston lived somewhere else entirely.
“Okay, are you still there?” the officer asked.
Where the hell else would I be? Faith thought irritably.
“We’re here,” Jessica answered.
“It looks like Dr. Houston left the Tarrant County Animal Shelter last year. As per county policy, her personal records have been terminated from the system.”
Faith stared blankly through the windshield while Jessica voiced both of their surprise. “Are you serious? What the hell kind of policy is that?”
“I’m so sorry, Special Agent. I wish I could help you.” At least she sounded genuine. “Maybe check the DMV?”
“Yeah, probably should have done that to begin with,” Jessica muttered under her breath. “All right, thank—”
“Wait!” the officer interrupted. “Patty Houston! I remember now. My cousin knows her. She has a Pharaoh Hound, and she takes it to Patty’s new shelter in Arlington. It’s kind of like a Dobermann but a little smaller and not as aggress—”
“The address, officer.”
“Right. Hold on. Let me call her.”
She hung up, and Faith took a deep breath and released it slowly through her nose. She began tapping the steering wheel, but a frown from Jessica caused her to stop.
The seconds ticked by. Faith glanced at the GPS and was shocked to see they’d only been driving for three minutes. Seventeen still remained before they reached the address that wouldn’t matter in a few minutes.
The radio crackled. “Okay, I’ve got it.”
“Thank God,” Faith said. “Give it to us.”
Jessica punched the new address into the GPS as the officer provided it. The GPS recalculated and told Faith that they would reach their new destination in eighteen minutes. That wasn’t too much of an increase.
She glanced at the screen and saw that Houston lived in Arlington but on the southeastern edge of town away from downtown. After Jessica hung up on the officer, Faith said, “Jessica, calculate the drive time between Caldwell’s house and Patricia Houston’s.”
Jessica did that and reported, “Nine minutes.”
Faith’s face fell. He was definitely there already, which meant they were definitely too late.
Still, they had no choice but to do their best and cling to hope. “Call Oliver. Tell her to get officers to Patricia Houston’s home ASAP. We’ll be there shortly after them.”
“Will do.”
Jessica called Oliver and passed the information along while Faith drove as fast as she dared and tried to convince herself that everything could be okay.
She didn’t quite succeed, but when she glanced at Turk, she saw no fear in his eyes, only focus and determination. They were going to catch this bad guy.
She reached back to ruffle his fur and clung tightly to the thin thread of hope he gave her.
***
David’s heart thumped as the black SUV pulled in front of the gate of the annex and pulled into the testing facility beyond.
While Marine Base Quantico officially owned all of the land in the area aside from the FBI Academy and the small town of Quantico, they used only a small percentage of it.
This annex was technically part of the main base, but several miles of empty land lay between it and the rest of the active base.
He was parked in a stand of trees inside of that no-man’s land a few hundred yards outside of the fence.
And now he was watching Sergeant Whitaker and Colonel Chastain step out of the SUV with Sierra in tow.
Whitaker looked pissed. Sierra looked downcast. Her head was down, her tail tucked in between her legs.
When she didn’t move as fast as Whitaker wanted, the handler jerked the leash, nearly pulling Sierra off balance.
“You bitch,” David muttered, taking pictures of the three. “You fucking bitch.”
It didn’t really accomplish anything to be angry like this, but it made David feel better. He would feel a lot better once he had enough information to put them all behind bars.
He hoped for something that would prove wrongdoing, like maybe new dogs in muzzles or more overt abuse on the part of Whitaker. Maybe if he waited a little longer.
Chastain paused briefly in front of the door and looked directly at David. David’s heart sank to his feet, but the colonel’s eyes didn’t rest on him, instead moving over him as though scanning for threats. David watched, holding his breath.
After a few seconds, Chastain said something to Whitaker, and the two humans and their captive dog entered the facility. David released the breath he was holding and packed his camera. He had only a little bit of footage, not enough to come forward yet, but it was progress.
They weren’t going to stop him. He would come back every night and spy on them until he had enough to bring them to justice.
He would find justice for these dogs no matter how hard they tried to stop him.
They could break into his office, send him threatening emails, hell, they could send bruisers to hurt him.
He didn’t care. He wasn’t going to give up on Sierra or any of the other dogs the 93rd Testing Brigade was using.
He switched the engine on and pulled carefully forward.
With all of his lights off, he couldn’t see anything past his windshield, so he was relying on feel to tell when he left the dirt and pulled not the asphalt.
Leaves and rocks crunched under his tires, snapping every few seconds with a jarring crack.
After a couple minutes, he felt his front tires grab something solid.
He pushed the gas down a little harder, and after a brief chirp, the rear wheels caught and pushed him up onto the road.
He turned north, rolling down his window and looking outside to make sure he was pointed the right direction before accelerating away.
He would keep his lights off until he crested the top of the hill. Past that, no one could see him from the facility, and he’d be fine to return home.
He frowned. Maybe not home. It might be better for him to call Rogers and Hammerton and tell them about the break-in at the Academy now.
He didn’t need to tell them about his little adventure after, but he should probably take steps to keep himself safe, just in case there was a hitman out looking for him.
Lights illuminated him from the rear. He glanced in his rearview mirror and saw the bright spots of aftermarket LEDs. He rolled his eyes and switched his own lights on. No point in keeping them off anymore.
The lights of the truck behind him brightened as the asshat driving switched his brights on. David cursed and flashed his hazards, then pulled to the side. “Fucking asshole.”
He waited for the special boy to pass him, but the headlights remained pointed directly at him. His brow furrowed, and a small alarm sounded in his mind.
The truck kept coming. Its headlights should have curved to follow the road.
Instead, they remained pointed directly at David.
The alarm in his head turned into a screaming siren.
“Oh, sh—” he cried, slamming his foot into the accelerator.
Too late. The truck hit him first, lifting his Subaru completely off of the road. It sailed fifty feet through the air before crashing into the slope and rolling six times before coming to rest on its mangled roof.