'That right? Well, since you mention fools. I'm remembering some things vow said last time we were together in this park. Something about…what was it? Oh yeah… cheerleaders…'
Wade squinted his eyes in a mock grimace of pain. 'Ed, you and me go back a long way. Doesn't mean I won't kick your ass.'
That got him a hoot of friendly derision. Then a semi-serious, 'Just watchin' out for you, man.' Then a genuinely serious, 'You just watch out for that little lady.'
'Yeah.' Wade gave his vest a final hitch and took the smaller one Francks handed him. 'See you there, man.'
The two men touched knuckles…grasped thumbs. Which was as close to embracing as most cops get.
The take-down team rolled silently onto the suspect's street from opposite ends, leaving vehicles parked in strategic positions in order to block it. If the suspect was on the premises and took a notion to flee, he'd have to do it on foot.
Wade pulled his unmarked gray sedan in behind the SWAT van where it would be screened from the suspect's house and any flying bullets-or emotions-in case things went bad. He shut it down and pocketed the keys.
'Wait here until I come for you,' he said tersely. 'I mean it, Miss Tee. Stay put and keep your head down.'
'I will.' It was a whisper. Her lips looked pinched, her cheeks pale. He couldn't bring himself to look at her eyes.
Lord, how he wanted to kiss her.
She nodded and managed a smile, and he knew he'd forgotten to block. And for once, didn't give a damn. He opened the door, got out. hit the safety locks and slammed the door. And walked quickly off to join his team.
Things went off like clockwork.
Communicating with hand signals, the team members took up their positions, surrounding the house and blocking every possible exit. When he was satisfied everyone was in place. Wade rapped on the front door with his knuckles-taking care to stand to one side in case the suspect should take a notion to open fire-and yelled out the customary command.
'James Larson, this is Portland P.D. We have a warrant to search the premises. Open up, please.'
After a brief wait, another knock, with his fist this time. 'Police, Mr. Larson. Open the door.'
Wait a short three-count. Try the doorknob.
'Clear!'
Shift…point. 'Clear!'
Satisfied finally that the perp was not on the premises, everyone stood down, still jumped up on the adrenaline they didn't get to use and now didn't quite know what to do with. They looked around, looked at each other, took deep breaths, relaxed their arms, stowed their weapons. But nobody smiled. Not yet.
Wade was on his way down the front steps, going to get Tierney, when one of the task force detectives, Ochoa, stuck his head out the door and gestured for him to come back. 'Callahan, you better see this.' The edge of suppressed excitement in Detective Ochoa's voice was impossible to miss.
Wade followed him through completely unremarkable rooms, filled with the sort of shabby, unremarkable stuff he'd seen a thousand times before, in homes of perps and victims alike. Nothing to tell him whether James Jeffry Larson was capable of stalking, kidnapping, systematically and gruesomely torturing and murdering seven innocent women.
Until he stepped into the garage.
Like a lot of suburban garages, this one had been finished inside for living space rather than housing cars, probably without city permits being involved, since it still looked like a normal garage from the outside. Part of this garage contained the kind of stuff you'd expect in an add-on room-laundry facilities, pool table, treadmill, small bar with an extra fridge. Except for the washer and dryer, none of these things appeared to have been used in a while. Most likely installed by a former resident. Wade thought.
Ochoa led him through the clutter to a small room that had been partitioned off on the far side of the two-car garage. The door to the room stood open, and Wade could see a couple more of his detectives moving around inside.
'Santa's been good to us this year,' Ochoa said gleefully, seemingly unaware they were a long way from Christmas.
Wade glanced at Ochoa's grim but triumphant face and stepped through the door. And realized it wasn't going to be necessary for Tierney to come in. after all.
It was all there. What every homicide cop dreams of finding in a suspect's house. The trophies, photos, articles clipped from newspapers and magazines covering every murder, every victim. Photos taken of his victims while they were alive and happy, and later when they very much were not, tacked up on every wall like a gruesome parody of an art gallery.
'Have a look.' Ed Francks' voice was a low rumble only Wade could have recognized as fury.
Wade took the piece of newsprint Ed handed him and felt his soul freeze and his body go numb. Staring up at him in newspaper headline black and white were the words:
They were all over the desktop, tacked to a corkboard on the wall beside it. Newspaper articles about the Portland cop with the crystal ball. Grainy photos of Tierney, circled in red marker, slashed, mutilated.
It was his worst fear made real.
A wave of nausea hit him. He felt cold, light-headed. Through the ringing in his ears he heard someone ask him if he was okay. He didn't have any idea what he answered.
The next thing he knew he was outside that house and running down the street. Running as fast as he ever had in his life, he rounded the SWAT van. And now he could see Tierney's face through his car's windshield. She had both hands up, covering the bottom half of her face, and above them her eyes were wide with horror.
He jolted to a halt, heart pounding, knees shaking, and put out a hand, a gesture meant to reassure her and at the same time stop himself. Stop the terrible avalanche of emotions he knew she must be feeling like a physical assault.
He managed to get the door unlocked and jerked it open.
'Tee, I'm sorry. I'm sorry…' He flung himself into the driver's seat and stared up at the headliner. breathing hard. 'God…I'm so sorry.'
'Wade…' Her voice sounded small and scared, like a child trying not to cry.
He shook his head. He'd never wanted so much to touch someone. Reach out for her, wrap her up in his arms and hold her. He would, too, but not here. Not now. First he had to get her away from this place. As far away and as fast as he possibly could.
He thought about what would have happened to her if he'd taken her into that house. Thought about what she'd have had to experience. The horrors.
Bile rose into his throat. He stabbed the keys blindly at the ignition a couple of times before it occurred to him he might not be in fit condition to drive anywhere at the moment, and he gave up and pounded impotently on the steering wheel with a clenched fist instead.
'Sorry,' he muttered again. It seemed all he was capable of saying to her.
Someone rapped sharply on the car window, inches from his elbow. He looked up to find Ed Francks' dark face and worried eyes peering in at him. He ran the window down and Ed's fingers curved over the edge and followed it the last half of the way.
'Hey, man, you okay?' He didn't wait for Wade's reply, but moved the look of concern and compassion past him to where Tierney sat silent and pale.
'Yeah,' Wade growled, and it was so obvious a lie he amended it to, 'will be.'
'She needs to be away from here. You want me to drive her-'
'No. Stay here. Make sure they get every scrap of evidence, every hair, fiber and print. I want this guy, Ed. I
