CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Laura hit the brakes hard, sending Agent Moore almost flying through the windshield if it wasn’t for her seatbelt. “Sorry,” she threw out, but the word was probably lost on the wind; both of them already had their doors open and belts off before the engine had even stopped purring, running toward the door of the building ahead of them as fast as they could.
Agent Moore arrived first, having the advantage of stepping out of the passenger side of the car. She hammered on the door immediately, making a surprisingly loud noise for such a petite and naïve-looking woman. “Open up!” she shouted. “FBI!”
Laura joined her on the step, feeling the adrenaline shooting through her. Her senses were on high alert. There didn’t appear to be any backyards in this street, with the houses shoved in close together, small and cramped and run-down. Still, she didn’t discard the possibility of him trying to run, maybe climbing out of a window at the back of the house. She was straining her ears for any sign of movement, trying to catch shadows moving through the windows, anything to tell her what to expect next.
There was nothing. Only an eerie silence that left her feeling more convinced than ever they were on the right track. Something about that empty house, lonely and falling apart, seemed like a good metaphor for the kind of person who would lose their mind and carry out a rampage like this.
“FBI! Open up or we’re coming in!” Agent Moore yelled. Laura found herself blinking. There was a surprising amount of ferocity coming out of the rookie, her auburn ponytail flashing from side to side with the strength of her heavy knocks. She looked stern, all of a sudden. Even foreboding.
Laura was starting to get an inkling of what it might have been that the assessors in the academy had seen in her.
“There’s no one here,” Laura muttered. She thought about it for a moment. “We need to get in there. Right now. Someone could be in danger. If the killer is preparing an attack right now—he might even lure someone to him, rather than visiting them. If that’s the case, it’s our duty to break the door down and get inside to save them.”
Agent Moore looked back at her with what appeared to be a very clear understanding of what Laura was saying. “I can’t be absolutely sure, but I think I may have just heard a scream,” she said. “If that helps.”
“It certainly does,” Laura replied. She turned back to the door, analyzing it. Breaking down doors wasn’t actually that hard. It was all about physics. You just had to use the right amount of force to hit the door at the weakest point—which wasn’t going to be hard, since this one looked like it was made of mostly rotting and, in some places, warped wood—and then…
With the wrenching sound of splintering boards, the door burst inward and away from Laura’s extended kick, leaving the entrance to the house open enough for the two of them to step through.
“Wow,” Agent Moore said with a look that was not dissimilar to hero-worship on her face. It had the effect of utterly dispelling the increased confidence Laura had just started to feel in her abilities.
“Come on,” Laura said. “We’d better look around, and quick. I’ll go upstairs. Be careful. Keep your gun easy to access, just in case he is home after all.”
Agent Moore nodded eagerly and sprang inside the house, pausing only to perform the proper safety checks before heading into the room on the left.
Laura tried to calm her racing heartbeat, telling herself that the rookie knew enough not to get herself in danger—and that she didn’t believe anyone was home, anyway. In her experience, even people who were pretending to be out made some kind of audible reaction when their front door burst inward unexpectedly. It was going to be fine.
She moved up the stairs cautiously but fast, keeping an eye on the upstairs landing and twisting as she rose in order to check there was no one hiding in the spots she couldn’t see. Just because the killer had been using a scythe didn’t mean he didn’t also have a gun. When she reached the top floor safely, she began to check each room in turn: a bathroom, which failed to manifest anyone standing behind her when she looked into the mirror. A bedroom, with the covers left in disarray from the previous night’s sleep. A second, much smaller bedroom which appeared to be in use as some kind of study, though the furniture was sparse and cheap-looking.
That was it; the home was small enough for Laura’s search of the first floor to be concluded in minutes, and it was deserted. She raced back down the stairs to check on Agent Moore and found her just coming out of what looked like an open living room/dining room, with a small two-seater sofa crouched in front of a television.
“No one,” Agent Moore said. “You?”
“Nothing at all,” Laura replied. “You didn’t come across a basement door?”
Agent Moore shook her head. “I did find something interesting, though! Come look!”
Laura followed her across to the coffee table, which at first seemed to be strewn with a mess of different papers—most of them bills or unopened mail. There was a packet right on top of the rest, however, which had been opened and the contents spread about, notable for the yellow company logo at the top of each page.
“What is this?” Laura asked, bending over them. She was careful not to touch the pages. There was a strong possibility that they might trigger a vision, but she couldn’t risk contaminating potential evidence. She had touched the door, after all, and gripped the banister as she ran up the stairs, and that contact hadn’t triggered anything. Besides, if they already had him, she didn’t need to see anything more.
“It’s a genealogy report,” Agent Moore said. “I’ve seen them on these online ads—you just put in your info, send a swab with your DNA, and they can tell you about all of your relatives and your ancestry. I’ve always wanted to do one. I bet I have some Irish in me with this hair.”
Laura glanced at her auburn locks without comment. “This is a list of local matches,” she said, peering at one of the pages closely. “And one of them is circled. Red ink, no less.”
“His next victim?” Agent Moore asked, her eyes wide with excitement and adrenaline and a little hint of fear.
“Very likely,” Laura said, grabbing her phone out of her pocket. “We need to go, now.” She called the Sheriff’s station to get the address as she ran back out to the car.
“It’s Agent Frost,” she said, as soon as the line connected, dispensing with pleasantries as she hurled herself back into the driver’s seat. “I need you to look up a name for me. And after I get off the line, you need to send someone to Allan McLean’s registered address. He’s got a broken front door needs watching until we secure the scene. Everyone else needs to converge on the address you’re about to give me.”
She switched on the engine and threw the car into drive, ready to hit the accelerator pedal hard as soon as the GPS loaded the address.
***
Laura barreled out of the car for a second time, narrowly missing a collision with a young man who must have been the most enthusiastic of the deputies. Behind him she saw the Sheriff and another deputy, a woman. It was nice to finally get to see the other people working out of the station for once, but there was no time to focus on that.
Time always seemed to slow in these situations. Details became more clear. There was an intensity to everything, to every moment. Laura could see crystal-clear, hear every sound. She saw the house in front of them, the staff they had available, and made the necessary decisions in what must have been mere split seconds.
“You two, around the back,” she barked quickly, gesturing at the fastest deputy and Agent Moore. “Watch the exits, intercept anyone who tries to leave. You others, with me. Guns drawn. Be ready.”
That was it—the whole of the briefing she had time to give. If the killer was inside the home, then the screeching of tires as two cars pulled up outside, one marked with the Sheriff’s colors and one plain, would have alerted him to their presence. He would be on the move—or worse, taking his victim now because he knew they were about to stop him. They had to move, and now.
Laura wasted no time, rushing to the door and hammering on it quickly. “FBI!” she yelled, as loud as she could. “For your own safety, open the door and show us your hands!”
There was a pause, and Laura decided she didn’t want to wait any longer. Anything could be happening in there. Maybe the next victim was being held hostage. Maybe the scythe had made the first slash and he was bleeding out, waiting for the medical help that could save his life in only the next ten seconds. She checked out the door; it was stronger than the last one, better built, but nothing that she couldn’t handle. She would have to take it. She took a step back, gearing up—
And nearly rushed right inside when the man opened the door, a startled expression already on his face.
His look didn’t improve when Laura shoved past him and down the hall, shouting an order at the Sheriff to keep him contained. She moved into the kitchen with her gun pointed ahead of her, where there were two coffee mugs on the counter, one of them spilled—like someone had dropped it and run—there was movement—the back door was swinging open—
And Agent Moore stepped inside, pushing another man who looked scared half to death in front of her.
“He tried to run,” she reported cheerfully. She had his hands in a vise grip, clicking a pair of handcuffs over them as though it was something she had done a thousand times before. She didn’t appear out of breath or flustered in any way. It was like she’d only been out for an afternoon stroll and bumped into a friendly neighbor.
“Excellent,” Laura said, with relish. She did like it when they tried to run. It made it that much easier to get the confession out of them in the interview room. A guilty person didn’t try to escape the police. “Allan McLean, I’m arresting you on suspicion of murder. Agent Moore, read him his rights and get him in the car.”
After what had felt like a long and difficult beginning to the case, they had finally gotten their man. That had been so easy!
Almost too easy, Laura thought, with a unwelcome shiver of doubt running down her spine.