A Fall of Woodcocks (The Birdwatcher Series Book 5), Page 2

  I can’t believe it’s really you. I was sure the news couldn’t be true.

  This is what Tyler wanted to hear.

  I can’t believe this is happening either. I have been following your blog on me for a long time and if there is one person in the world who could help me right now, it’s you. He thought about an exclamation point but then thought better of it. She probably wouldn't appreciate that.

  How could I possibly help you? She asked.

  Tyler sat back on the bed and looked at the message thread so far. He didn’t want to overwhelm her. What was the easiest way to start this? He would have to transfer money to her and then take it from there. His long journey back across the States was about to begin.

  Chapter 4

  Detective Freeman sat in a pool car from the precinct and looked out at the world. He’d been here parked up like this a few times of late. Each time it was a different car and a different parking space, but always with a view of Sarah Brightwater’s building. He hadn’t seen her on any of the occasions he’d come so far. He saw lights go on and off, hints of shadow as she moved around her apartment. He was worried about her and annoyingly he was having doubts as to whether ratting her out like he did was the right thing to do. In his head he knew it was, it was for her own safety that he’d filed the report of her attempted suicide which led to her being put on psych evaluation. In his heart, though, he thought he might have made a mistake. She would be cursing him now; of that he was sure.

  Freeman sighed, shifted in his seat and wondered again why he came here. What was this feeling that had come over him of late? It wasn’t anything romantic or anything like that— not even sexual, even though she was a knockout. No, there was some great bearing of responsibility he felt for her, that was it. He felt like her father. As such, he wanted to protect her. As this tangled web of thoughts came together, the door to Sarah’s building opened and there she was. Freeman sat back in his chair, worried she might see him. He needn’t have bothered, Sarah didn’t look his way, didn’t even look around the streets but simply set off heading west on foot.

  He let her get ahead a little and then pulled out into the mid-morning traffic. He passed her by, not looking at her and then pulled up on the far side of the street. Freeman had been doing this kind of work for so long now, he didn’t even need to think about it anymore. Everything just kind of happened automatically. In fact, this time, it happened so perfectly it couldn’t have been planned ahead. Sarah came up level with the car and went into a small office supplies store directly across from where he’d parked. There was large window and though this Freeman was able to see clearly what she was doing.

  Sarah walked around the store, taking up some small items in her hands, things he wasn’t able to make out. Then she pulled down some lever arch folders and a couple of large size folding boxes from the shelves.

  “Well, well,” he smiled, “Looks like being put on leave isn’t going to stop you from working.” He watched Sarah pay for her items and then she left the store with a bag in each hand and the bulky boxes tucked under one arm. It looked like this was all she came out for and she started to head back towards her apartment.

  Freeman watched her for a few moments, fighting the urge to honk his horn and offer to help her wit carrying her things. He wondered had she illegally taken copies of files from work and then didn’t doubt it. If he were in the same position that’s what he would do. Getting out of the car, he crossed the road and leaned against the wall to continue monitoring her. He wanted to help her. Would she allow him? How could he go about it?

  To his old-fashioned way of thinking, there was only way— the direct way.

  Twenty minutes later, Freeman stood at Sarah’s apartment door with two coffees and small bag of croissants he remembered she liked. He wasn’t happy to see how easy it still was to get inside the apartment block, but he supposed that was the same in most places. He shifted the back to free a couple of knuckles and tapped on the door.

  Though he hadn’t actually heard anything from inside, there was no doubting the sudden silence that came from within as soon as he knocked.

  “Sarah!” he called quickly understanding she might be alarmed, “It’s me, Detective Freeman.”

  The door opened swiftly, and it took him by surprise; she must have crossed the room very stealthily.

  “Detective,” she said with a puzzled look on her face. “What are you doing here?” Freeman held up the coffee and croissants in the clear bag.

  “I wanted to talk to you,” he said, almost adding ‘if you’re not too busy.’ That wouldn’t have went down well.

  “Oh,” Sarah said. She looked at his offerings and then took a step back for him to come in. “At least you won’t have to kick the door down this time.” Freeman smiled, unsure of her tone— was she angry, trying to be light, something else entirely?

  “Thanks,” he said walking in and making for the kitchen counter. He saw the files on her coffee table and on the far side, on the floor was an old tatty box she’d tried to hide with a blanket from the sofa. He took the coffees out of the holder and handed her one.

  “So,” she said nodding her thanks as she took the cup, “What has you at my door again, Detective?” Freeman paused a moment before answering. He had the feeling she was seething with anger but was doing her best to keep it under control.

  “I want to help you,” he said, and he looked over at the coffee table. Sarah followed his gaze,

  “Help me with what?” she asked.

  “I know you haven't stopped working,” he said, “You probably couldn’t stop even if you wanted to.”

  “I’m on administrative leave,” Sarah said, and then referring to the table, “This is me tidying up my receipts and expenses for my taxes.”

  “Bullshit,” Freeman said plainly, and before Sarah could do anything, he crossed the room in two long strides and pulled the blanket from atop the box.

  “Hey!” Sarah protested but it was too late. Her secret was laid bare.

  Freeman stood peering down into the box and straight away knew what she was doing. The old copies of files, the newspaper clippings and there seemed to be reams of internet chat room printouts too. He looked at Sarah with sympathy and said softly,

  “This is what I want to help you with.”

  “You don’t want to turn me in again?” she asked, “Have me arrested for copying files?” Her arms were folded across her chest and she didn’t look at him.

  “Not this time,” he said. He looked back to the box. “You’ve been at this a long time,” he noted. Now Sarah turned and looked at the ‘Monster’ box.

  “It feels like all my life,” she said. Freeman sat down on the sofa.

  “Did you ever feel you were close to getting him?” he asked.

  “I did,” she said, “Until I couldn’t work anymore.” Freeman nodded, he guessed her deserved her anger.

  “I’m sorry for reporting you,” he said. “For what that’s worth.” Sarah sighed and then slumped down on the other end of the sofa.

  “I’ve thought a lot about it,” she said after a time, “You did what you thought was right. I was in a similar situation myself once and I didn’t report it. That didn’t end well.” Freeman knew she was talking about her old partner, but he didn’t comment.

  “Well, I can be of some help now,” he said. “If you think you were close, there’s nothing to stop us getting closer.” Sarah looked at him a minute and he could feel her scrutiny. In the end he felt it was her own desperation rather than his qualities as a partner that made her reluctantly agree to his proposal.

  Chapter 5

  Late that night, after Freeman had left, Sarah lay on her bed in the dusk and stared up at the ceiling. Freeman’s showing up had been a surprise, but in the end it felt good to finally show someone what she’d been working on for so long. He listened to her talk about her mother and father and in a way it started to feel to her like they would have liked the aging Detective.

>   They hadn’t gotten all that much work done, as the whole day was spent with her talking, him asking questions while she resorted all of her files in the new folders and boxes. One question that he’d asked was resonating with her still, hours later. It was a simple question and one she’d asked herself many times in the past.

  “Why is he so fixated with you?” Freeman had asked. Sarah had answered in the way she’d come to think of it.

  “Maybe it’s because I’m the only child of one of his victims who went into law enforcement. He knows I’m did that to ultimately come after him.”

  Freeman had listened to her answer and nodded but a long time later said,

  “I think the reason is deeper than you think.” He didn’t have an option on what that might be, but now Sarah couldn't get that idea out of her head. It had been a long time since she decided he toyed with her because of her profession. How easy it was to do that, she thought. It marvelled her how simple it was to deceive herself in this way. Of course she knew there was something far deeper in Spalding’s obsession with her; she just didn’t have any idea of what that might be. She recalled once even toying with the idea that Spalding could have somehow been her real father, but that was ridiculous; she couldn’t look any more like her father’s side of the family.

  Why then? What was it he wanted from her? What was it she possibly had to give? It was a question she knew was going to go unanswered until she finally came face to face with him. And even then she would only find out if she was lucky that day. Luck, she thought, that hadn’t been her strong suit in life. In fact, it had been something that always eluded her. Even in her work life, all those cases she’d solved before Spalding became involved in everything had been solved though her hard work, no luck involved at all.

  She looked across to the corner of the room where she could just make out the shape of the photo frame that held the picture of her parents from long ago. She couldn’t make them out in this light, but she knew the image, it had been inscribed on her heart. That was one area of her life where she had been lucky, she’d been lucky to have those people as her parents. It had just been tragically too short a time to have with them.

  Outside, in the main living space of her apartment, the chimes of her phone rang out. It was on the coffee table and by the sound it was some kind of media message that was coming in. This was her personal cell phone so very few people had that number. She knew it wasn’t anything to do with work so Sarah didn’t jump to her feet to go see what it was. Instead she looked at the clock and saw it was 9.07pm. It seemed later; she was very tired.

  When Sarah woke again it the new reading on the clock’s red LED’s was 6.12am. What time had she fallen asleep? She didn’t recall it at all. She was in under the sheets but still in the clothes from yesterday. She must have been more tired than she thought. She leaned over and felt on the nightstand for her phone. It wasn’t there. Flicking on the lamp she saw for certain it was not there. She sat up a little confused and then recalled it chiming from the living area the previous night.

  When Sarah got to the coffee pot on she went over and looked at her phone. The battery was low and there were a few notifications. She swiped most of them away until she came to message in the form of an image. The preview made her blood run cold and she quickly clicked in to see the full-sized picture. It was as she thought from the first glance, a map with three locations marked deep in green belts. She didn’t know the number who sent the message, but she knew that they were. These were more hideouts used by Spalding. And there was only one person she could think of who would send her such information.

  She now had a number once more for Tyler. Though she didn’t think he would hang on to it for any length of time. In fact, she checked the time of the message and then the current time, it was more than likely he’d already gotten rid of the phone he’d used to send this message. How could he do otherwise if he wanted to stay free.

  Now, what was she going to do? Sarah was sure there would be scared people at each of the sites on the map. There would be traps too set for anyone who might try to rescue them. She owed it to them to get help there as soon as she could. The only thing was she had to think about herself too. She was in enough trouble already without this adding to it. She was going to have to get this information to the FBI without revealing it was she who sent it. She didn’t want to go through any more of the red tape bullshit at work, especially if they were not letting her do her job right now!

  Without thinking on it anymore, Sarah went downstairs and got into her car and drove. When she was ten miles from home, she got out and walked a few blocks to a payphone and then called the local police line. She didn’t give her name, didn’t give them anything but just told them the coordinates on the map and told the police the FBI would be very interested in the information. She made sure to note that lives were at stake and then hung up.

  Sarah moved fast back to her car; there was a good chance a patrol car would swing by the phone soon enough to see if the person who called was still around. It wouldn’t be that hard to find out who it was, but it would take a couple of days if the FBI had to spend time at the new Spalding sites recuing the hostages.

  In the meantime, she would just have to wait and see what happened. She was going to reply to the phone anyway, just in case Tyler had some kind of cloud relay set up to get messages from the phone even after he discarded it. Or perhaps the phone was just sitting in a hideout, plugged in and always on and he was able to use it remotely. Who knew anything about Tyler Ford; it had turned out she certainly didn’t?

  Chapter 6

  It was closing in on the end of Freeman’s shift and he sat at his messy desk and caught up on some of his paperwork. He was never too far behind on this, but always had some left each day, managing to get a lid on it by the end of the month most of the time. His eyes were weary looking over the small script on the printed pages before him. His glasses were on the desk beside him, but he didn’t need them most of the time unless it was too dark. Now he’d trudged through forgetting they were even here and was feeling the strain.

  The shrill call of his desk-phone rang out suddenly. Freeman looked at the clock on the wall and thought for a moment about letting it go to voice mail, but something nagged within him and he answered.

  “Freeman,” he said.

  “Hey, it’s Doug, didn’t know if I’d catch you before you left,” came the voice of Doug Patterson, an old friend and ally in the police department of Freeman’s.

  “What you got?” Freeman asked, pen in hand ready to take down some notes.

  “A body, female...” Doug said his voice faltering then like he didn’t know what to say next.

  “Who is she?”

  “Her name is Vicky Siren...” The name didn’t mean anything to Freeman.

  “Where are you?” he asked.

  “Maple Drive,” he said. “4442 is the house.” Doug sounded bewildered.

  “You okay Doug? You want me to come over there?”

  “Maybe,” Doug said sounding hesitant. “There’s just something here I wanted to run by you.”

  “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “The Mansion Case, you worked with an FBI agent Brightwater, I think?”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Freeman answered wondering where this was going.

  “Was her first name Sarah?”

  “It was,” Freeman said. “Doug, what’s this all about?” The name Spalding rolled around in his head.

  “You might want to come over and see this then,” Doug replied. “There’s a message on the body.”

  Twenty minutes later, Freeman was at the scene and Doug met him at the gate of the property.

  “Sorry to drag you over at the end of your shift,” Doug said as they shook hands. Freeman started to put on the white cover suit that would enable him to enter the crime scene. “It’s pretty gruesome in there.” He nodded to the house.

  “I’m glad you called Doug,” Freeman said, “It sounds like
something the FBI are going to want to know about.”

  They went inside the house and up the first floor. When they went through a door that Freeman assumed led to a bedroom, he was very surprised to find himself standing on hardwood floors in a room that was floor to ceiling in mirrors on all four walls.

  “What is this, a dance studio?” he asked.

  “Yeah, the victim was a dancer, semi-professional. Not sure who paid for this, or the house for that matter. We’re still looking into her background.” One corner of the room was cordoned off with white sheets dropping from the ceiling. “She’s in there,” Doug said.

  Freeman walked over and even before he pulled back the curtain he somehow got a vison of red, like a glimpse of what was going to be in there. He drew in a breath and peered inside.

  The victims was suspended on an iron rod, her arms behind her back and her feet tied to the rod. It didn’t look like it should have been able to support her weight, free form as it stood. Her face was unblemished, but it was her torso that was horrific. She had been cut right down the middle; her skin pulled back to reveal all of her inner workings. It was more than Freeman had ever seen in his life and it made him feel a little sick despite his years of seeing gunshot and stab wounds and other forms of horrible death.

  It was on the inside of the folds of skin that most disturbed Freeman, however. Etched in clear and well written letters was the message: Bring back Sarah Brightwater. On the other side it said: Or there will be more like this. Freeman doubted he could write so well or legibly on paper as this.

  “It must have taken hours to write that,” Doug said from his shoulder.

  “Let’s hope she was already dead when it happened,” Freeman said. He did hope this, but the body didn’t look too long dead, so he didn’t think it. “Who called it in?” he asked, already feeling he knew the answer.