had shown up at the courthouse, ostensibly to talk to Judge DeCampe. He grew somewhat irascible when he learned that DeCampe no longer worked at the courthouse. The old man had then asked for Judge Parker, and so he was brought upstairs by one of the guards to see Parker.
“ And what did he want?”
“ He wanted to know how he might get in touch with Judge DeCampe, said something about closure, how he was glad it had all finally come to a conclusion.”
“ Did you tell him how he might get in touch with her?”
“ Absolutely not, no! I told him I would be most happy to convey that message on to her.”
“ Well, it would appear someone told him she was in D.C. He's suspected of abducting her there.”
“ He didn't learn of her whereabouts from me, but her move was reported in the newspapers, the Chronicle in particular. He could have easily accessed the information.”
“ Then he goes clear across the continent with his dead son in tow alongside an empty coffin meant for her. Amazing.”
The Honorable Judge Raymond Parker grabbed up a pen and a preprinted form to fill out. “I'll give you a warrant to search the old man's home in Iowa, but for an Iowa cop to serve it, I don't know. It's not always as simple as signing on the dotted line.”
“ I'll take any kind of paper I can get,” she finished.
While filling out the search and seizure warrant at Purdy's address in Iowa, Judge Parker gave Meredyth more insight into the motive behind DeCampe's abduction. Parker said, “Purdy sat stone-faced throughout his son's appeal months before. The man never said a word. Just came every day and statued himself behind Jimmy Lee.”
Parker finished the document with a swirl of the wrist and he said, “So what are you doing here, Dr. Sanger? Why aren't you on the horn to Iowa City, Iowa? Get the State Patrol out to Purdy's farm now!” Judge Parker's order came with his warrant as he pushed it into her hands.
She thanked him.
“ I'm not waiting for Sharon to have the papers triplicated. Once you call Iowa, I'll do all the busywork. Make the call. Use my phone.” He handed her the phone.
Not every cop, but very near every state trooper in Iowa, sat poised and ready for Jessica Coran's go directive, and she knew that every minute ticking by could be DeCampe's last-If the judge is indeed still alive somewhere in the world of Isaiah Purdy, she told herself. An hour and twenty minutes had passed since she'd talked to Chief Patrol Officer Virgil Gorman in Iowa. “Where the hell's that warrant?” she shouted to the ceiling. No one on the task force had an answer for her.
“ Get the guy in Iowa back on the line for me,” she told the civilian secretary.
Only a few seconds later, she was in contact again with Gorman. “Look,” she said firmly, “if he's already buried her out there someplace on his property, you guys could take hours, even days locating where the grave site is.”
“ Yeah, that's why we brought dogs, Dr. Coran. Once we hit the place, we'll find her and find her quick. Promise you that much.”
“ Can you? This old man is like some devilish fox. I need you to move in on him now.”
“ Then you have the warrant in hand?”
She hesitated.
“ We can't just go on a man's property and search without some kind of warrant,” replied Gorman. “Despite all your suppositions about Purdy, Doctor, this is still the U.S. of A., not Moscow.”
“ The warrant's a formality. It's in the works.”
“ I have to have it in my blessed hands or at least have a call from the governor. You think you can arrange that?”
“ If DeCampe's not already dead, she's still being mentally and physically tortured by him. She could lose her mind. Damn it, we've got to act.”
“ We've got to have the warrant in hand if we want to nail this bastard. No warrant, and he will in the end get off scot-free,” countered the Iowa lawman. “What's more, you people know that better'n we do out here in the sticks.”
“ I'll get your warrant. Just hold on to this line for a few minutes.” She looked across at the task force members in the operations room. Very near the entire team, including Lew Clemmens, had assembled. Clemmens, who'd brought over his laptop, awaited electronic confirmation from either Judge Parker's office in Texas, the U.S. Marshal's Office, or Judge Pauline Fitshue in D.C. Whoever got the paperwork completed first had custody of Purdy: the federal government, D.C., or Texas. Jessica wasn't particular.
“ I'm not waiting a second longer,” said Jessica to her team, her hand over the receiver. “Fuck it. Lew, send a fax to Iowa now.” 'Telling them what?”
“ That the federal writ for Purdy's apprehension has been ordered by the U.S. Marshal's Office. Do it! Do it now.” Clemmens hesitated only a moment before sending the message. Iowa dispatch, poised and ready, instantly contacted men at the scene just outside a dark little farmstead in the middle of nowhere, outside Iowa City, Iowa. “Go!” shouted Jessica into the phone. “It's a go, Chief!”
Sirens responded as the Iowa State Patrol stormed the stark, bleak countryside farm home of Isaiah and Eunice Purdy.
Maureen, her ankles wobbly, her limbs weak, unsteadily climbed to her feet and stumbled into Nancy. They clumsily clung to one another, the stench and the horror of this place overwhelming. “You going to be able to walk, honey?”
“ I… I think so.”
“ Might even have to run. Think you maybe can run with my help?” asked Nancy.
“ I will if it comes to that, yes.”
“ Good girl… good girl.”
Unsteadily at first, like a baby, Maureen began to regain use of her legs and feet. She dared not wonder at the gangrenous portions of her body. But she felt faint, weak, and she realized only now that she'd been slowly starving and dehydrating as well as enduring the torture.
Nancy held on, guiding her. “Come on, dear. Let's get out of this awful place.” They made their way to the large bam doors, when suddenly one of them slammed into Maureen and Nancy, knocking Maureen off her feet and stunning Nancy. In the next instant, Maureen heard Nancy's startled scream and the thud like a fallen tree, a dirt cloud kicking into Maureen's eyes. Clearing her sight, Maureen saw the awful cause of the dirt cloud. The force of Purdy's pitchfork had sent the other woman's body to the dirt to be pinned there, twitching and alive.
Maureen now stared at the RE/MAX button on Nancy's bloodied blouse, just over her heart. One of the three prongs of the pitchfork had bitten into and through her badge and breast, while the center prong went through her center, and the third through her left breast. Nancy's head slumped melonlike to one side, her now dead eyes staring into Maureen's. Neither words nor sound issued from her now, only a froth of blood and body fluids.
“ Kill me! Kill me, you son of a bitch!” Maureen shouted at Purdy even as she struggled to stand, pulling herself up by the handle of the pitchfork, rocking Nancy's lifeless body in the effort. She tore at the pitchfork, attempting to free it and use it on Purdy. But she couldn't find the strength to pull the thing free before Purdy's hands also grabbed hold of the deadly tool.
In the darkness, she fought for possession of the pitchfork, but his grasp and tug easily overcame his weakened victim. He toppled her with a slap to the face, and now she backed farther into the bam, backed over Jimmy Lee's decayed corpse, where she fell. Screaming and scrambling from the filthy floor and into a stall, she found a large square of blackness in which to hide. “Can't tell you how much I'm enjoying this little turn of events.”
The judge's whimpers in the dark were her only response. Just enough for him to home in on her. In the distance, he heard-and she heard-the sound of a siren, and they both wondered if the dead realtor had called anyone before she had arrived. Maureen thought not, but in her confused mental state, perhaps she was wrong; perhaps help was indeed on the way. And fearing this, perhaps the old man would kill her here and now to end this thing before the authorities could.