Hearts Afire Pt. 04

Slumped in three of the overstuffed leather lounge chairs, with feet resting upon ottomans in a semi-circle array before the open fire, Em and Roger were dozing lightly, with Mac engaged in similar pursuit. Several of the staff took it upon themselves to watch over their two superiors and their friend, running interference should anyone try to disrupt their much-needed respite. An authoritative figure—tall, slim, balding and with fine patrician features—observed the exhausted trio from the shadows of a quiet corner, his back to a window through which snow could be seen falling once again.

Detective Sgt. Ramsey was the senior homicide detective in charge of this particularly gruesome case and, as such, privy to some of the more detailed facts of the murder being purposefully kept from the media. Ramsey had neither the patience nor time to incorporate the needs of the media into any of the cases of which he found himself in charge. To the detective, they were nothing but jackals, living off the misfortunes of others.

If, as was necessary in most cases, fabrication was needed to flesh-out a story, to give it some bloody detail with which to bring it alive for the hungry public—and their editor—then so be it. What was it they said? Never let truth stand in the way of a good story? Well, he was in charge ... again. And Ramsey wasn't about to throw scraps of any sort to the snuffling jackals encamped outside. The innocent had suffered enough already.

A uniformed cop approached Ramsey; he waved an official-looking report under the detective's nose.

"You were right ... again. There seems to be enough evidence from this one to tie it to the earlier murder over in Fort Collins. CSI confirms the same type of wire garrote was used on both vics; both were in the throes of being sexually assaulted when they were strangled. Seems the perp gets his rocks off doing them as they cum." The cop followed the gaze of his superior to the sleeping threesome. "Want us to extend the road blocks? Or do you think the perp has skipped out altogether?"

"Yes, do that. Expand the search out to a 5 mile radius from here. Set up a major road block where 34 and 36 meet in the National Park, and all other roads leading out of town. I want this area shut down—locked tight." Ramsey's voice was deep, resonant. He continued, but his eyes never left the sleepers. "At first light, call in all the choppers available; have them scour the area for side roads, tracks ... anything that a vehicle can use to bypass the main roads."

"Then, you think the guy's still around here somewhere? Hasn't skipped out? Why?"

"Because I suspect he has still more killing on his mind," mused the detective quietly.

**********

Dawn broke, and with it came the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee, toast, eggs, pancakes, bacon, and sausage. The kitchen staff was hard at work preparing a hearty fare for the police drifting in from the cold, stamping their boots free of snow, and clapping gloved hands to encourage circulation back into frozen fingers. Outside, the carpark was a frantic scene of cruisers coming and going as search teams cycled shifts.

Cops had been called in from Fort Collins to assist the local police department. It was obvious to Em that many of the cops knew each other despite the demarcation of their departmental jurisdictions. She quietly watched the scores of men coming and going while she sipped a steamy cup of coffee.

"Good morning, Miss Hunter." Em recognized the voice and looked up into the serious brown eyes of Sgt. Ramsey. In one hand he held a sheaf of papers, presumably reports; the other carried a steaming cup.

"Good morning, Sgt. Ramsey. Please join me." Em scooted over to make room for the tired-looking detective, and he dropped thankfully onto the leather 2-seater lounge. "Have you had any sleep at all, Detective? I can arrange a quiet room for you if you'd like to catch at least a few hours sleep..."

The middle-aged man rubbed his bald scalp, smiled at her, acknowledging her kind offer. He gazed out the window and took a deep draft of his drink. The rich aroma of hot chocolate wafted Em's way and she couldn't help a look of surprise.

"Yes ... hot chocolate, I'm afraid. Doctor's orders. Long years on this job and far too many cups of coffee. I'm assured that this will give me the same amount of caffeine while being easier on my rather delicate system. So my doctor says ...and my wife insists." The detective had an air of gentle strength, intellect, and almost infinite patience and Em could well imagine it would take a lot to ruffle this guy's feathers. Yet, watching him closely while they talked last night, she could also see the pain behind those brown eyes, as if they held back years of tortured sorrow having to oversee the trauma left behind by maniacal killers and unrepentant criminals.

"Have you had a chance to think over what you saw last night? Recalled any details you may have left out?"

"About the figure in camos, you mean? No, I've told you everything I could remember." Em trembled slightly, as a chill ran up her spine.

"Have you had any leads, yet? And what about that poor woman's friend who was staying with her?"

"No, no leads ... yet. And the victim's friend is in hospital, sedated and under observation. She took it pretty badly."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that ... but I'm not surprised. Something like that would shock anyone. I should drop by and pay her my condolences ... on behalf of the resort. It's the least I can do."

"Damage control?"

Em glanced at the detective but saw no hint of cynicism in his eyes. They looked back at her, full of tired sorrow. No person's eyes should look like that ... as if all hope were abandoned and life held no meaning, only pain and endless torment. Her heart went out to the Detective Sergeant.

"I suppose ... in a way. The resort hasn't been opened all that long, and any kind of 'bad' publicity could hurt us terribly. My first priority is public relations. I need to let the poor woman know that we care about her ... sincerely. And I need to let her know I care about her." Silence fell between them both as they sipped at their drinks and watched as more police vehicles pulled out of the resort.

"Do you think the killer is still in the area? Wouldn't he be long gone by now?"

"Not necessarily. There are some indications that this ... person is somewhat arrogant, that he is toying with us. But sooner or later they all slip up somewhere along the line. Never fails."

"Sarge! We may have something!" A rumpled, older detective loomed up, trailing a smoke screen. Ramsey's partner was a very imposing figure. The man must have been all of 6 feet tall and looked like an inverted triangle—extremely wide shoulders and narrow at the hips. The suit he was trying to wear was stretched tight over his massive biceps and shoulders. His grubby shirt was faring no better as it strained to contain the barrel chest and thick neck.

"You still sucking on those things, 'Bear'? You know they'll kill you one of these days."

"Sure, Sarge, sure ... if the wife doesn't beat them to it. Miss Hunter," the older cop touched the rim of his beat-up hat, acknowledging Em. "Hmm ... anyways, a call just came in; seems a cruiser noticed tire tracks heading off the highway onto some sort of fire trail, looks like—about two miles from here."

"And they just this minute noticed them?" Em couldn't help herself butting into the report. Both men cut her a sharp glance. "Sorry." She fell quiet.

"The trail was pretty much covered over by trees and brush. And the snow last night all but covered up the tracks leading from the highway. If the cruiser hadn't needed to stop for a few deer crossing there, they would never have noticed the tracks to begin with. The boys are staying at the road edge, keeping everyone clear till we get there."

"Right." Ramsey was fully alert, his tiredness pushed to the back of his mind. "We'll take along an extra two cruisers, just in case. Call off any choppers in the vicinity, we don't want to spook whoever it might be there." The two men excused themselves and hurried off, leaving Em standing before the fireplace. The detectives brushed past Mac and Roger entering the building.

"They seem to be in a rush to get somewhere fast," remarked Roger.

"Something come up?"

"A report just came in to say that they've found tire tracks going off into the forest just miles from here."

"The killer?" asked Mac anxiously.

"Don't know ... we can hope." Mac and Roger detected a certain coldness in Em's reply.

**********

"Do we know how far in this guy may be?" Detective Bill 'Bear' Latshaw was asking one of the cops who had spotted the tracks earlier. Police cars were crisscrossed the width of the highway effectively blocking it off from all potential traffic. Some two hundred yards in either direction could be seen more police vehicles forming road blocks. The small group of a half-dozen officers was busy retrieving weapons from trunks and loading them, and donning armored vests.

"I hate these things," the hulking detective grumbled, trying to fit into his Kevlar vest. His partner smiled and checked his Glock, making certain a fully-loaded clip was in, a round chambered, and the safety on.

"I went in some thirty, forty feet but saw nothing. The tracks are clearer back in there; looks as if they could go a fair way."

"Okay, then. This may or may not be the perp we're after. On the off chance it may not be, I want proper protocol followed. No one is to discharge his firearm unless he comes under a definite threat, and then only to wound, not kill. I repeat—not kill." Ramsey scanned the circle of faces.

"Fuck! All I need—to go hiking in this fucking getup for who-knows how far! Shit!" Latshaw was getting worked up, as he usually did when they were about to confront some looney who could be armed, and maybe dangerous to boot. He pumped a round into his M1014, Joint Service Combat Shotgun, a gift to him from one of his old US Marine buddies still serving.

"Well, let's get this done with."

With the huge detective taking the lead, the rest of the officers fell in behind Indian file, pushing their way through the dense thicket bordering the highway. Once they had moved some ten feet in, the group found that the underbrush was considerably thinner and they began fanning out; Bear and Ramsey assumed the trail while the rest flanked them to either side. No one spoke. All eyes intently scanned the scrub and trees ahead for any sign of the mystery vehicle, or movement. The muted scrunch of boots on soft icy snow was all that could be heard; all else was deathly silent as if the forest and wildlife were holding its breath awaiting ... something.

The trail started in from the highway almost straight for some distance, then made a slight curve to the left. The police were making a good job of maintaining a straight line despite the natural obstacles they were forced to negotiate. The majority were hunters in this region when off-duty and knew the discipline of moving through rugged terrain with loaded weapons.

Suddenly someone clicked his fingers. The cop on the far left was signaling with his hand that he saw something ahead. Everyone stopped where they were and took a knee. The two detectives moved swiftly at a crouch to where the cop was staring ahead into the trees, partially hiding the trail beyond the bend.

"What have we got?" asked Ramsey in a whisper.

The uniform pointed with his chin and two pairs of eyes peered in that direction. Barely visible through the tangle of snowy branches and shrubs was the indistinct shape of a dark-colored vehicle. Ramsey was suitably impressed by the keen eyesight of the young cop, recalling how he used to be as sharp-sighted many, many moons ago. From where they were crouched, the vehicle looked like a black SUV of some type—a smaller model—not one of your ubiquitous 4WD monsters commonly used by housewives for shopping at the malls.

He couldn't see if there was any occupant in the vehicle. Ramsey moved his head closer to Bear's. "I'll move in from here with half the team. You take the trail, and have the others swing around from the other side. That way we'll have him boxed in on three sides. I'll give you and your guys..." he studied his watch, "...fifteen minutes to get in place. Then we move in and take him."

Latshaw merely nodded and slipped back to where his half of the team were waiting anxiously. Ramsey signaled his men to him and proceeded to outline his plan. Then, like so many wraiths, the men moved off to their assigned positions. Now comes the hard part, thought Ramsey ... the waiting. It never ceased to amaze the senior detective how time seemed to slow right down at moments like this; how the sweep hand of his watch crept inexorably around the dial; how the seconds became minutes and the minutes turned into hours.

And so his mind switched to consider his remaining time on the force. Retirement was only a short three years off, but of late he'd noticed just how slow that time was crawling along—each day dragging out unbearably. How he looked forward to finally being able to sleep in when he chose to; no midnight calls of urgency, hauling his tired ass from a warm bed—his or someone else's—to the scene of some poor bastard's demise. Three short years and ... action to his right, hands signaling that everyone was in place.

Oh shit! Ramsey held his breath, then let it out in a low, hard whisper. "Go!"

**********

Moving forward, crouched, watching for dead wood that could crack underfoot and give them away, the men approached the black SUV slowly, carefully. Eyes flicked from feet to vehicle, back down to feet, checking the ground ahead. The windows were so darkened by the tinting that if there was anyone inside they were certainly not visible by any of the police.

"Christ! Fucking perfect!" Latshaw mumbled to himself. He alone advanced on the vehicle from the front, walking the center of the trail. The first obvious advantage the M1014 had was the telescoping butt stock. Latshaw, right now, had it fully collapsed. This adaptation allowed for more extensive use of the shotgun in close quarter fighting where different types of ammunition could be used without extensive over-penetration.

Being able to maneuver from room to room, over obstacles, and through small openings while keeping your weapon in your hand was always a plus. He held the grip in his right hand, the left forward, cradling the barrel; the shotgun waist high.

It was loaded with Avon rounds—lock busters.

"This is the Police. Would the driver of—." Ramsey's loud announcement was cut short.

Without warning, the SUV roared to life. Rear wheels spinning, throwing up clumps of dirty snow and ice, the vehicle leapt forward like a black cat startled awake. Caught totally by surprise some of the officers reeled back; others acted reflexively, fast enough to pump a few rounds into the vehicle as it flashed by them. Others ducked to the ground to escape as bullets whizzed overhead. Ramsey ran into the center of the trail, raising his Glock in the two-handed grip and taking the shooters stance. The sight settled on the rear window and he blasted five rapid shots. Five mashed holes appeared in the safety glass.

Latshaw was caught unaware by the action of the SUV like the whole team. Unlike the others, he stood his ground and growled at the onrushing vehicle. It weaved slightly as the driver attempted to throw off the aim of the encircling police. Suddenly the detective noticed glass exploding from the windshield. His hair ruffled as two bullets sped pass his head; he blinked in utter surprise but still stood his ground.

All his senses focused down to a fine line running between himself and the driver; his peripheral vision blurred. He stared down a tunnel. Latshaw could hear his blood pulsing in his ears, feel his heart slow down to rhythmic beat; his breathing softened to almost nothing.

He was conscious of everything around him slowing. The M1014 spoke; and it spoke loud. All else was drowned out as the roar of the shotgun resounded through the trees. The windshield exploded into a galaxy of shattered glass showering all those in the near vicinity. Latshaw had a glimpse of the driver throwing arms up for protection as the SUV roared pass, missing him by mere inches, before disappearing from sight around the bend in the trail, making a final dash for the highway.

As the team of police and detectives ran after it the sound of the vehicle ripping into trees could be heard. There was the snapping of branches, the swishing of pine being swept aside ... and the crunch of metal tearing itself apart against rock.

The group rounded the corner to find the SUV on its side, wheels spinning, engine screaming as if it were a black beast in its death throes.

While cops approached the wreck in search of the driver, the two senior detectives looked on impassively. Ramsey holstered his Glock, and Bear cradled his shotgun like it was his first born.

"D'ya think he's the perp we're after?" Latshaw's words hung in the air.

CHAPTER 9

News of the incident travelled fast. Within two or three hours the resort was all but divested of police vehicles. The media had also left, dashing off in pursuit of the driver who had tried to escape the police, and who was now in the local hospital. The crime scene, though, was still surrounded with crime scene police tape and everyone warned not go near the area, let alone inside. The investigation is still ongoing ... and please pass the word along, requested a sober-faced trooper. The guests and resort staff were assembled and milling about in the main room, some of the elderly vacationers seated by the warm fire.

Detective Sgt. Ramsey held up his hands to signal for quiet. "Thank you. I won't take up much of your time. Please, those of you who would like to sit, please do so." There was shuffling among the knot of people as some settled into lounge seats, and others sat on the armrests. Eventually quiet settled on the room again and all attention was focused on the Sergeant.

The detective ran his eyes over the people in the room, touching on each individual face, committing them to memory. A few shifted uncomfortably under his gaze but, for the most part, he dismissed these as being of the vast majority of people who felt uncomfortable when confronted by any police presence for whatever reason sat ill on their conscience. There was one, though, in whom he was particularly interested and he kept that individual in the corner of his eye at all times as he continued addressing those gathered.

"As you are all now aware, one of our police units discovered a suspicious vehicle earlier today which appeared to be hiding in the forest about a mile or two from here. Detective Latshaw and myself, accompanied by police units, undertook to bring this person in for questioning in relation to the crime committed here yesterday. During our attempt to approach said vehicle, the driver suddenly made an attempt to escape ... or so it appeared to us at the time. Either way, his actions were extremely suspicious.

"In our effort to ... er, persuade the driver to stop, the vehicle was involved in an accident. Fortunately the driver suffered only slight injuries and is, at this moment, being treated for those at the local hospital. When he is released we will be taking him in for questioning."

Ramsey paused, expecting questions but there were none. Not at that moment, at least. He noted that his 'person of interest' stood stolidly at the rear of the group.

"I cannot confirm, however, whether this person is connected to the crime committed here. We're hoping he will assist us in our questioning so that we can either rule him out as a murder suspect, or..." he paused. "Well, at this point of time I would strongly recommend to those of you choosing to remain here at the resort that you stay and move about in groups of no less than three for added safety. And until I'm in a position to give you some definite news, I will assign a patrol car to drop by here regularly ... to check on things. Any questions?"