Chapter Forty-Two
Thunder roared in the darkened sky. A thick stream of water rushed down the steep street. Detective Grant grasped the steering wheel with white knuckles.
“There’s the bridge.” Mark pointed toward the canal. “That must be where his truck was.”
Detective Grant could feel his eyes boring into him, even as he pointed toward the canal. Grant thought about the surroundings, and the location of Greer’s truck. He turned up the hill toward the bridge and pulled over just before the entrance.
“What’re you doing? We’re losing time,” Mark asked. “That maniac has probably got her.”
Detective Grant stared at the bridge, narrowing his deep, blue eyes as if he were watching a scene unfold before him. What was within walking distance from the bridge? The power plant. Roland’s obsession was all falling into its ugly place.
“Grant?”
Detective Grant sighed, then dropped his gaze to the dashboard, contemplating calling for backup, thinking about how, if Roland had Kara, he’d let Mimi down.
Guilt clawed at his shoulders, pulling the muscles tight across his neck.
There was no proof Greer had Kara—yet. He lifted his gaze and threw the car into reverse.
Grant knew better than to raise a false alarm.
He had to see if Greer was headed for Kara, then he’d call for backup.
The dark brick of the plant blended into the blackened sky. A crack of lightning illuminated the broken windows and skeleton-like stairways that climbed the right side of the building.
Grant stepped from the car, pulling the hood of his slicker over his head. Sergeant Agnew jogged up to him.
“Can you get in?” Agnew asked.
Grant drew his eyebrows together and lifted one side of his mouth with a sarcastic shrug. They pushed the button on the gated entrance. Nothing happened.
“No power,” Agnew said.
“No shit.” Grant didn’t mean to sound like an asshole, he just didn’t have the patience to control his annoyance. Every muscle in his body was pulled as tight as violin strings. A sinking feeling settled in his gut. “Over?” He lifted his chin toward the gate.
Mark’s eyes grew wide. “Really? Isn’t there another entrance?”
“You’re what, thirty? You’re tellin’ me you can’t climb?” He strode angrily toward the side of the building as a car sped into the parking lot and abruptly came to a stop.
Grant moved into the shadow of the trees, pulling his gun from its holster. “Get back,” he ordered.
Mark withdrew his gun. “No way. I’ve got your back.”
Ted stepped from the car and headed for the gate.
Detective Grant recognized his swagger. “Ted?”
Ted turned in his direction, shielding his eyes from the driving rain. “Mitch?”
“Shit, I thought you were—what’re you doing here?” Grant tucked his gun back into his holster, wiping the rain from his eyes.
Ted hunched his shoulders against the pounding rain and jogged over to them, giving Mark a quick glance before asking, “I went to get sandwiches. Mimi’s inside with Jackson. Why are you here?” He looked from Mark to Mitch, then back again. “What the hell’s going on?”
Grant pulled his shoulders back, lowered his chin, and looked down at Ted. “Possible situation. You’re best waiting in your car.”
“My wife is in there. I’ll be damned if I’m waiting in my car,” he retorted.
“Ted. This isn’t a game. We don’t know what’s going on in there.” The sound of the rain filled the space between them.
“What makes you think anything is going on in there?” He took a step closer. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Grant weighed his options. He owed it to Mimi to keep her secret.
He owed it to Kara to get in there as quickly as possible.
If Mimi was in trouble, Grant would be damned if he would let Ted come to her rescue.
That was his role. “Police business. Just get back in your goddamned car and wait there.”
“Hey—”
“Ted, this isn’t personal. This is real.”
Mitch watched Ted slink back to his car. His vehemence left an acidic taste in his mouth. There was no time to worry about hurt feelings. He headed toward the rear of the building.
Grant wasn’t taking any chances. If Greer was in there, they needed the element of surprise, and if he wasn’t, they had to rethink their path.
Police surrounding the building would bring the whole town down to the plant.
He’d postpone calling backup until he was certain Greer was inside.
He headed for the back stairs that led to the roof—top to bottom, that was the best course of action.
Rain whipped against Detective Grant’s face and chest. Gusts of wind pushed against his sternum.
His foot slipped from the metal steps. He cursed his muddy shoes.
His muscles tensed with each treacherous step as he pulled himself up the stairs toward the roof.
He held tight to the last bit of railing, looking over the unprotected edge of the roof. Williamsport fell away in the distance.
“There’s no way in hell this guy is up here. What’s the plan?” Sergeant Agnew hollered.
“Find the son of a bitch.”
“Right.”
The wet gravel crunched beneath their feet as they moved, guns drawn, behind a maze of massive ductwork, surveying the surrounding rooftop.
Without a flashlight, the rain and darkness melded together.
Grant pushed his back against the wet steel, taking the cold air into his lungs in deep breaths.
He felt his way along the edge of the duct to where it met the roof.
Before them were two enormous metal tanks.
Where the tanks ended lay the expanse of the roof.
Detective Grant crouched, letting the bulk of the duct take the beating of the rain. Mark crouched beside him.
Grant scrunched his nose. “Smell that?”
Mark shook his head.
Grant breathed in through his nose again. “Burning flesh. Can’t be mistaken for anything else.” Grant surveyed the roof, looking for where the smell might be originating from. The flashing red light of the stack that sprung up behind them cast an eerie blinking shadow over the roof.
Grant pointed to two small buildings built into the roof, one on either side, both with accessible doors. Neither could be the source of the smell. They were too far away. He remained crouched, and moved in small steps around the immense duct. The smell became stronger on the opposite side.
Mark inhaled deeply. “How’d you know it’s flesh?”
“Had a guy torch himself once, right in front of me.” He looked away, then back again. “Druggie. High on meth. You never forget that smell.”
“The meth or the flesh?”
Grant shook his head. He followed the duct across the back of the roof as it snaked over another story that protruded from the roof like a top hat. The duct trailed around the side, and then back toward the center of the roof again.
Mark followed, gun drawn, covering Grant.
Grant followed the duct to where it met the roof. The nauseatingly sweet and rancid pungent odor assaulted his senses. He buried his face in the crook of his elbow.
“It smells like burnt steak, or…or leather being tanned over a fire.” Mark said, covering his nose.
“You’ll never forget that smell. The question is, who’s in there?” Grant’s stomach sunk. Kara? The possibility sent a wave of nausea through him. He put his hand on the duct. The heat of it against the cold of the night brought a shiver to his spine.
“Let’s open it up.” Mark moved toward the metal hatch.
Grant knew he had to open the duct, but the thought sickened him. If Kara was in there, he didn’t want to know. He held up his hand, warding off Mark. “I’ll do it.” He slid in front of Mark, eyeing the hatch. “When I open this, the stench is going to be overwhelming.”
“It’s frickin’ cold. Let’s just get it over with,” Mark said.
Grant took a deep breath and tried to pull the hatch up. It was jammed. “Gimme a hand,” he said to Mark.
Mark put his gun in his holster and placed his hands on the hatch.
Grant nodded. They pushed their fingertips under the hatch, and heaved upward. The hatch pushed open. A rush of heat seared through their wet clothing, wafting up their necks. Both men jumped back. The hatch slid down, stopping a few inches from the bottom.
“Shit.” Mark brushed his shirt off, as if he could brush away the heat and stench. “That smell is nasty.”
“Trust me, this isn’t the type of smell you ever get rid of.” Grant pulled his shirt over his nose. “Help me,” he said.
The hatch lifted with their efforts, revealing a badly scorched man, his hair singed to the root. The smell of sulfur and burnt flesh filtered out of the duct, stealing the air around them. Relief swept through Grant, followed by a wave of guilt, heavy and unshakable.
“Ugh, Jesus,” Mark said, taking three steps backwards.
“We gotta get him outta there.”
“It’s evidence, man. We’re tampering with evidence.” Mark protested.
“If we don’t, there’ll be no evidence to verify.”
Mark ran his hand through his hair and coughed.
“Let’s get this shit over with,” Grant said.
Mark pulled his shirt over his nose, his face pinched with distaste.
Grant looked at the beet red skin on his hands, the hair already singed and shriveled, then let his eyes shift to the smoking, scorched body before him.
“Poor son of a bitch.” He rubbed a mixture of sweat and rain from his face, and breathed a heavy sigh.
His heartbeat was slowing to normal. He looked around for someplace to put the disfigured body where it wouldn’t be rained on.
Beneath the duct appeared to be the only viable option.
Its massive breadth would provide an ample umbrella.
Grant leaned over, resting his hands on his knees while he caught his breath. Moving the body had proven to be far more trying than they had imagined. The victim’s skin sloughed off where touched. The driving rain made it difficult to keep a grip on his body.
“Shouldn’t we call for backup?” Mark asked.
Grant could no longer hope this was nothing more than a scare. “Call it in.” He tossed Mark his cell phone.
Mark reached out with one hand and caught the phone. “Right.” He dialed 911 just as thunder crashed above, and two great flashes of lightning lit up the interior of the plant, vanishing as quickly as they had come. He pulled the phone from his ear with a yelp.
Grant turned around.
Mark rubbed his ear. “That can’t be good. Damn thing made a piercing sound.”
The discovery of the body had shifted Grant’s worry into overdrive.
His senses heightened. The smell of the burning body had taken up residency in his nose.
Every sound echoed in his ears—the cars on the road outside the perimeter of the plant grounds, the rushing water of the canal.
Grant heard each sound as if it were magnified.
He calculated his next move. The two structures needed to be secured. “We’re on our own here.” Grant nodded toward the building.
Mark must have read his mind. He turned to Grant and said, “You want to take one? I’ll take the other?”
Grant shook his head and drew his eyebrows together, as if the statement had no credibility.
“I don’t know what you learned in Chambersburg, but around here, you don’t fly solo on these missions.
” He tapped his head. “This guy’s no dummy.
He staked out his territory. We need to figure out where he’s hiding.
” He looked around the enormous rooftop. “A frickin’ needle in a haystack.”
Mark sighed. “Basement?”
Grant shook his head. “We work top down. Where’d you learn police work?
” He motioned with his gun for Mark to follow his lead, and dashed across the roof to the first door.
They pressed their backs against the brick of the next level of the building, out of breath and shivering, guns pointing at the sky.
Mark glanced beyond the edge of the structure. The rooftop had no railing. “If I fall, it’s on your shoulders.”
Grant rolled his eyes, swiftly moving to the other side of the door. He looked down toward the parking lot and saw Ted step from his car.