Show of Evil

Thirty-Eight

An exhausted young surgeon walked out of operating room three. He was surprisingly young, a tall, lean man with his long black hair tucked up under his green surgical cap. His surgical gown and shoe mittens were blood-spattered. His eyes were bloodshot. He pulled off his mask and breathed a sigh of relief. Vail approached him.

'Doctor? I'm Martin Vail. Any news?'

The young doctor smiled and held out a large hand with long, delicate fingers. 'It's a pleasure, Mr Vail. I'm Alex Rosenbloom. Your man Stenner is one tough cookie.'

'He's going to make it, then?'

Rosenbloom nodded. 'But an hour ago I wouldn't have bet on it. We almost lost him twice.'

'Thank you, sir. Thank you very much.'

The young doctor slapped Vail on the shoulder. 'I'm thankful I didn't have to bring bad news out,' he said. 'Look, I know you've been very patient. They're taking him into Recovery now. You can stick your head in for just a minute.'

'Thanks. There are a lot of us here that thank you.'

'I heard the whole DA's staff is here,' Rosenbloom said. 'He must be a very special person.'

'Yes, he is.'

Vail entered the small recovery room. Stenner seemed frighteningly tiny and frail. He looked grey and vulnerable with his arms attached to a half-dozen IV tubes and various machines beeping and humming beside his bed. Vail took his hand.

'Welcome back,' he said softly.

Stenner groaned.

'Can you hear me, Abel?'

Stenner's eyes opened a hair and he stared, unfocused, at his friend. He blinked his eyes once.

'You're going to be okay, my friend. And so is Janie. Thank you. Thank you.'

Stenner slowly blinked his eyes again.

'We've got Stampler in our sights,' Vail lied. 'Just a matter of time.'

Under the oxygen mask, he saw Stenner's lips form the word 'Good.' Then his hand slipped out of Vail's and he fell asleep.

Vail stood by the window, staring out at the first red signs of dawn. It was nearing 5 A.M. and everyone was exhausted. But the crisis seemed to be over. Both Stenner and Venable were holding their own and for that Vail was grateful. He gathered the troops together.

'I think it's safe to call it a night - or a morning,' he said with an attempt at a smile. 'I'd like to work in shifts, keep somebody here around the clock. Naomi, work up a schedule, okay? I'm going to hang in here for a while longer.'

'I ain't goin' nowheres,' St Claire said emphatically.

'Me neither,' Meyer joined in.

'Look, we all need to get some rest,' Naomi said, taking command. 'Let's not forget we still have an office to run.'

'I'm going outside and have a cigarette,' Vail said. He went down the long hallway and out on the emergency dock. There was very little activity. The chaos of the night before had been replaced by an eerie calm. He lit up and watched the sky begin to brighten. Parver and Flaherty joined him.

'I hate to bring this up,' Parver said, 'but Stoddard is up for arraignment tomorrow. What're we going to do?'

'Postpone it until we see how Jane is doing. Hell, I don't want to deal with that right now.'

'I'm sorry,' she answered. 'I'll take care of it.'

'You're still having mixed feelings about Stoddard, aren't you?'

She thought for a minute and nodded. 'After finding that stuff in that closet room, I…' She hesitated for a moment, then finished the sentence. 'Don't worry, I'll handle it properly.'

'I know you will.' He smiled at Flaherty, who stood quietly by, holding her hand. 'You two take care of each other. Time has a bad habit of running out when you least expect it.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Better go home and get some shut-eye.'

The emergency doors swung open and St Claire peered out.

'I think we got us a break,' he said.

Buddy Harris was on the phone. The state police officer had been up all night, fielding false alarms and the usual nut calls that result from an APB. It seemed everybody in the city of Chicago had seen Stampler during the long night.

'But I think we got a live one,' he told Vail. 'I just got a call from the Indiana HP. They think they've tumbled on a stolen car with Illinois plates and an MD's tag. Probably wouldn't have noticed it for hours except the dumb bastard parked in a handicapped space next to a diner. It was spotted by a waitress a little after two A.M., so it's been parked there for a couple of hours. They ran the registration. It's owned by a Dr Steven Rifkin. There's no answer at his house, so I called the University Medical Center. They say he checked out of there about ten-thirty last night. Apparently he had a really hard day and was going straight home to bed.'

'You say Indiana has the car?'

'Yeah. In a place outside Indianapolis called Shelbyville.'

Vail thought for a moment. The name struck a chord.

Then he remembered the shrink at the Justine Clinic telling him Rene Hutchinson had taken computer lessons in Shelbyville.

'Jesus, Buddy, that's only a few miles from the Justine Clinic. My God! He's going after Molly Arrington. Call the Indiana patrol, tell them to get an address on a Dr Molly Arrington in Winthrop and get over there on the double. I'm going out to the airport and fly down there.'

'Hell, that isn't necessary, Marty, they got—'

'I'll call you from the airport. Just get on it, Buddy.' Vail turned to Naomi. 'Call Hawk Permar and tell him we need the chopper. There's going to be three of us and we're going about thirty miles southeast of Indianapolis, a town called Winthrop. If he starts bitching, tell him I'll personally throw in a two-hundred-dollar bonus.'

'Three passengers?' St Clare said. 'You, me, and Flaherty. We're going down there to find that son of a bitch and bring him back.'

They were airborne, swinging south from the airport and following Interstate 65 towards Indianapolis. The pilot, Matt Permar, who had earned the nickname Hawk flying choppers in Vietnam, was grumbling about not getting enough sleep as he followed the interstate straight towards Indianapolis. A chunky, good-humoured man, he was an excellent pilot who loved to gripe - a hangover from his army days.

'What'ya mumblin' about?' St Claire asked.

'Cockamamie DA, never does anything at normal hours. It's always the middle of the night or dawn. Always spur of the moment - '

'Blah, blah, blah,' said Vail. 'You can always say no.'

'You pay too well,' Hawk answered.

'Then stop bellyaching,' Vail said.

'Bellyaching is good. Bellyaching is normal. I love to bellyache. If I didn't bellyache, I'd be a fruitcake by now.'

'Ain't nobody ever told ya, Hawk. You are a fruitcake,'

St Claire said, and stuffed a wad of tobacco under his lip.

The gripe session was cut short by the squawk of the radio. It was Harris, who was still on duty.

'I got some bad news from Winthrop, Marty,' he said, his voice getting hoarse from lack of sleep.

'I'm prepared for that. Lay it on me.'

'Molly Arrington's dead, Martin. Spread-eagled on her bed, body mutilated, probably was raped. The weirdest thing about it is, he pumped her full of enough morphine to kill her even if he hadn't cut her up. He also printed in blood on her torso the words "I'm waiting". Does any of that make sense to you?'

Vail was thinking about Molly. Gentle Molly, who had never hurt a soul in her life. 'Nothing that bastard does makes any sense,' he said angrily.

'He stole her car, probably been on the road at least two, maybe three hours. There's nothing you can do there, Marty. The creep could be anywhere.'

Vail did not answer immediately. He thought about the message.

'I'm waiting.' And then suddenly it did make sense. There was only one place Stampler could go. He couldn't go back to Chicago and by now the whole country knew the story. He would go back to where it had started. Vail grabbed the sectional map and traced a path with his finger south from Shelbyville. His finger finally found what he was looking for.

'I know where to find him,' he said. 'We'll pass on Winthrop. Head for Crikside, Kentucky.'

'Huh?' Hawk said.

'Where?' Harris said.

'Crikside, spelling C-r-i-k-s-i-d-e. Call the Kentucky HP and fill them in. Hold on a minute.' He made an arch with his thumb and forefinger and measured the distance south of Indianapolis.

'About one hundred and seventy-five miles and we're still one hundred miles from Indianapolis. How about it, Matt, how long?'

'What, two hundred and seventy-five miles? Hour and a half, maybe two. What's the weather like down there?'

'Who cares?' said Vail.

'I care!' Hawk hunched down in his seat and shoved the throttles forward. 'I know the weather's for shit,' he said.

'Just keep flying south towards Louisville.'

'You really think that's where the son-bitch's headin'?' St Claire said.

'There's no place else left for him to go,' Vail said. 'He had this thing planned out perfectly. He sneaked out of the halfway house. His plan was to kill Jane and me while Rebecca killed Shoat. She sneaks back to her place, he sneaks back into the halfway house, and we would be his alibi.'

'How about Rebecca takin' off Shoat's head?'

'She collected trophies, remember?' said Flaherty. 'It's what serial killers do, just like hunters collect antlers or animal heads. That was her trophy, Harve. She was going to send it to Abel, the way she left the photo of Linda Balfour when she killed Alex Lincoln.'

'Stampler only made one mistake,' said Vail.

'The call to the hospital,' said Flaherty.

'Right,' agreed Vail. 'And he underestimated Jane Venable. When he couldn't kill her, he was on the run, his plan was blown. His face is on every TV station in the country by now. My guess is, he's playing head games with me now.'

'And he killed Molly Arrington -' Flaherty started to say.

'To goad me. He's finished and he knows it.' Vail finished the sentence. 'He's going to make catching him as tough as he can. Let's say he snatched the doctor's car at eleven, eleven-thirty. That put him in Shelbyville at around two A.M., about the time a waitress spotted the car parked in a handicapped zone. Winthrop's just outside the outskirts of Shelbyville. He could've walked to Arrington's house from there in, say, half an hour. That puts him at Arrington's at between two-thirty and three. An hour to do his dirty work and get out with her car. From there to Louisville is about a hundred miles, say another two hours.'

'So he was in Louisville maybe half an hour ago,' Hawk calculated.

'It's another one hundred and twenty miles to Crikside. If he gets through the weather he could be in Crikside, say, two and a half, three hours from now. With luck we may just catch him while he's still on the road.'

'We gotta stop and refuel,' Hawk said.

'Do it in Louisville,' said Vail.

'Mind if I ask a question?' Flaherty said.

'What's that?' Vail answered.

'We don't even have a warrant for Stampler. Is this legal?'

'I'm making a citizen's arrest,' said Vail.

'Citizen's arrest?'

'That's right. I'm arresting him for stealing Molly Arrington's car. We'll charge him with the rest of his sins when we get him back to Chicago.'

'Citizen's arrest.' St Claire laughed. 'You sound like Barney Fife.'

'Sounds like kidnapping to me,' grumbled Hawk.

'Well, keep that notion to yourself,' Vail said.

The radio squawked to life again. Harris's calm voice reported the latest developments. 'We've alerted the Kentucky state cops and the sheriff of the county, but they got traffic problems down there. They got themselves a spring snowstorm and a lot of traffic problems.'

'A snowstorm! I knew it. I knew it!' Hawk howled.

'Just keep flying,' said Vail.

'They aren't all steamed up over the possibility that he might have killed a woman and he might be on his way to Crikside,' Harris continued. They said they'll get somebody over to check it out by noon or one o'clock.

'Shit,' Vail snapped.

'I got some more bad news,' Harris went on. 'Indiana HP popped the trunk on that car. The doctor's body was inside. Broken neck.'

'That makes three so far he's personally killed,' Vail said bitterly.

'One other thing, Arrington's car is a '93 black Camaro two-door, licence: J32 576. Got that?'

'Got it.'

'And be careful, you're flying into the Cumberland Mountains down there. Good luck.'

'Thanks for the help, Buddy. Over and out.'

'Snow and mountains,' Hawk groaned.'Two of my favourite things. All we need now's a little ground fire to make this a dream vacation.'