[No Justice 01.0] No Justice Page 17

“I’m one hundred percent sure it’s him. You forget my stellar memory?”

  Gloria looked again at the papers, then back at Mal. “Okay. I’ll call Cansell. We’ll get eyes on Dodd’s house and inlets into his neighborhood. Then we get SWAT to stage at Riverview Elementary. I want a clean operation. No more shit shows this week. Understand?”

  Mike nodded.

  Gloria looked at Mal. “And you?”

  “Can I ride with Mike?”

  “Yes, but you’re on as a consultant only. And I don’t want you anywhere near the crime scene. Got it?”

  Tears stung the corners of her eyes. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 35 - JASPER PARISH

  Jasper slipped through the monster’s living room undetected, moving toward the left side of the house where the loud classical music was still playing.

  He’d already given a cursory glance into the kitchen and living room to the right, finding no sign of Dodd or the girl. The only rooms left unexplored were behind the four doors to the left, all of them closed.

  Probably three bedrooms and a bathroom. Maybe one of the rooms had been converted to a child’s prison.

  He entered the hallway, gripping the gun, prepared not just to shoot, but to deflect an attack if Paul was waiting behind a door.

  His heart raced as he neared the doors. Music was louder, disorienting Jasper as he approached the first one.

  He couldn’t help but feel like he was about to enter a trap.

  He slowly twisted the knob, then turned.

  The door opened into a dark bedroom. He let it swing all the way open to ensure that Paul wasn’t hiding behind it.

  The room was empty except for a few boxes at the far end.

  Time for the next door.

  He approached with the same caution, reached the door, twisted the knob, then let it swing open as he took a step back, ready for whatever might be waiting.

  A bathroom — a clear glass shower stall with nowhere for Paul to hide.

  Jasper approached the third room, where the music was coming from, carefully gripping the pistol as he reached out for the knob.

  His fingers closed around it.

  He was about to twist the knob when his phone buzzed.

  Only Jordyn had the number.

  Something must be wrong.

  He fished the phone from his pocket and peered at the screen:

  COPS COMING. GET OUT!!!

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 36 - MALLORY BLACK

  It almost felt like old times for Mal.

  Except that Mike’s new partner, Skippy, was riding shotgun, and Mal was in the back seat of the squad car. But everything else was the same — the adrenaline rush, the suspense of not knowing what was next that heightened her senses, and a creeping unease in the back of her mind, a dread that could only be defeated by moving forward and eliminating the threat. Everything blended to create a feeling that you got used to as a deputy, a feeling she was surprised to find herself deeply missing.

  She’d longed for the old camaraderie. Not only did you share a history with your brothers and sisters in blue, but after a while, those were often the only people you could truly relate to. They were the ones who understood the dark sense of humor and ability to disconnect one needed to get through the job’s worst parts. They didn’t look at you like a monster when you shifted from talking about recovering a body from a lake to the latest sports results with no transition.

  They were the ones that had your back, maybe even saved your ass a time or two. They were sometimes more like family than your actual blood, especially since you spent more of your waking days by their side.

  Had things gone differently following Ashley’s death, they’d still be Mal’s family.

  “Here we go,” Mike said from the front seat. They rolled up on Dodd’s home, a one story house at the end of a cul-de-sac.

  The SWAT team pulled up in their unmarked SRT van.

  Mike and Skippy got out of the cruiser. Mike opened Mal’s door and they watched as the six SWAT deputies hopped out of their van and headed to the front door with the battering ram. Two of the deputies peeled off of the six, heading to the rear, in case Paul tried to make a back-door escape.

  There were also deputies positioned at the end of the block at the neighborhood’s only two exits, just in case Paul somehow got by them.

  Her heart raced, watching the SWAT team breach the front door and pour into the house.

  All was quiet as they waited for any word — by radio or in-person, as deputies emerged with a suspect and, with any luck, Jessi Price alive and breathing.

  Waiting was always the hardest part. While homicide detectives on TV spent their careers busting down doors, that wasn’t quite how it worked in real life, unless it was a situation where the SWAT team could never arrive in time. Detectives usually had to stand back and wait, missing all of the action inside.

  And that was always a trial for Mal.

  She had to do something to exert her rush of fear and adrenaline. Take down the bad guy, rescue the victim, anything other than waiting.

  No one spoke as they waited, as if a whisper might jinx them, as if a single syllable could be the difference between finding Jessi Price alive or dead.

  Mal stared at the open front door wishing she could go inside, hating the waiting. She needed to know — did they get Paul? Is Jessi alive?

  She kept staring, waiting for something, anything.

  But she never expected the explosion.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 37 - JASPER PARISH

  Jasper raced through the woods trying to get as far from Dodd’s neighborhood as possible when a deafening explosion rented the air around him.

  What the hell?

  He flashed back on the sensation that had attacked him just before Jordyn’s call, that he was walking into a trap. Loud music blaring from the room, the doorknob he was just about to turn.

  Had Paul Dodd improvised an explosive device?

  Jasper remembered Rachel saying that she thought he was in Special Ops. Jasper hadn’t given it much thought at the time, particularly in light of the other revelations. He was an idiot for not at least considering the possibility that the man would have laid a trap.

  Jasper wondered if the explosion had killed any of the deputies. A deep chill — he could’ve opened the door if Jordyn hadn’t called.

  Did she have one of her visions, or was this pure chance?

  Jasper could no longer discount things such as fate or a hidden, controlling hand pulling humanity’s strings.

  Nearby, sirens wailed.

  Roads would soon be crawling with emergency workers, sheriff’s deputies, and probably federal agents. He had to reach Jordyn before roadblocks were raised.

  Jasper's breath was ragged as he reached the edge of the woods, tore off his ski mask and gloves, then stuffed them into his backpack.

  He could see the lights of the small shopping plaza through the tree line ahead — the Gas ’N Go where Jordyn was parked. He was about to walk out toward the street when sirens and flashing lights rounded the corner.

  He stepped back into the trees, holding his breath, praying the lights hadn’t revealed him.

  Four cars zipped by, one after the other.

  And then they were gone.

  Jasper took in a deep breath then headed across the street.

  He found Jordyn sitting in the passenger seat, staring at him anxiously.

  He entered the driver’s side, threw his bag in the back, and fastened his seatbelt.

  Her eyes were wide with worry. “What the hell happened?”

  “I think Dodd rigged an explosive.”

  “Was he in the house?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so. I think he’s onto us.”

  Jasper started the car and pulled out of the station, heading down the road, eager to flee the neighborhood.

  Several ambulances and fire trucks whizzed by as Jasper gather
ed speed.

  Jordyn swallowed. “Was Jessi in there?”

  Jasper shook his head. “Not if Fate has any heart at all.”

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 38 - MALLORY BLACK

  The left half of their suspect’s house exploded, and Mike, Mal, and Skippy ran inside as fire engulfed the still-standing half, searching for any survivors.

  Mike was first through the door, yelling for his comrades.

  They heard a scream from the rear where Sgt. Doug Carter lay on the ground, covered in blood, staring down at a large metal pipe or maybe the leg of a chair that had pierced his gut and sent him to the ground, bleeding out.

  Mike and Skippy tended to Doug.

  Mal fell to her knees, covering her nose and mouth with her shirt pulled up over the bottom half of her face. She yelled for the deputies she couldn’t see, then called out to Jessi.

  No response.

  There might be survivors. Deputies could be lying somewhere deafened by the blast, unable to hear her.

  She crawled to the room where the explosion occurred, but couldn’t see anything through the flames and smoke, save for the burned husk of an officer lying face down on the floor. She reached down to pull him out. She might not be able to save him, but she could at least drag his body out.

  But he was burning hot, and Mal had to drop him.

  As Mike and Skippy lifted Doug, Mal spun toward the kitchen, searching for anyone that might have been thrown across the living room.

  She saw nobody. Just a door at the end of a hall, with a padlock outside.

  She crawled toward it, screaming, “Jessi!”

  Flames licked the walls behind her. Soon the hallway would be swallowed by flames, along with the rest of the house.

  If Jessi was in this room, Mal had to save her.

  She stood, banged on the piping hot door, and screamed, “Jessi!”

  No answer.

  She was soaked with sweat, her breath short. The house was about to be ashes, and Jessi Price might still be locked inside a spare room turned dungeon.

  She grabbed her gun and yelled, “Get down on the ground, Jessi. I need to shoot at the door.”

  Mal coughed, gagging on smoke, her lungs on fire as she waited an excruciatingly long moment to give the girl time to get out of the way.

  She raised the Glock and fired.

  The first shot ricocheted somewhere, but the second split the lock wide open.

  She returned the gun to her holster and wrenched the lock open, hoping there wasn’t another nasty surprise behind Door Number Death.

  It was dark, but Mal could see that it was a little girl’s bedroom.

  “Jessi?” she called out, running inside.

  Nothing.

  She bent to look under the bed but saw only darkness.

  “Jessi!” she coughed, feeling faint, dizzy, hot enough to die.

  She saw the closed door, maybe a bathroom.

  Maybe Jessi was inside.

  She went to the door, tried the knob, and opened it to more nothing.

  Shit!

  She turned to leave, but couldn’t see beyond the wall of flames and smoke.

  She tried to draw a deep breath of air, something to hold as she raced back to safety.

  Instead, Mal collapsed to the ground.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 39 - PAUL DODD

  Paul listened to the radio report on the explosion.

  Soon his name and photo would be on every TV station, every news site on the web, all over Facebook, and his secret was out.

  Paul Dodd, teacher and monstrous pedophile, serial rapist and killer, is wanted in connection with the disappearance of Jessi Price and the death of however many cops died in the explosion.

  Life as he knew it was over.

  There was no return from this.

  The cops would be talking to everyone he worked with, to his bitch ex-wife. Probably to Lily.

  Do you know where your daddy is hiding?

  It wasn’t enough that Rachel had poisoned his daughter against him, now the media would follow. Kids would mock Lily at school, teasing her for being the daughter of the kiddy rapist/murderer.

  Her life was ruined, too.

  And for that, he felt the most remorse.

  For that, Paul wanted to crawl up into a ball and cry.

  But there wasn’t time to cry.

  There was only time to run.

  Fortunately for Paul, he’d been arranging for this day like a doomsday prepper would get ready for the apocalypse.

  And not unlike the preppers, Paul had a secret bunker in the woods an hour northwest of his home, on a large piece of land that Wes had gifted to him. A place that nobody, outside of Wes, could tie him to. A place where no one would ever find him. Or her.

  A place with enough provisions to keep him alive for at least three years. A place where he could lay low until he was presumed dead, or change his appearance enough that he could maybe start over.

  But that was a long time away.

  And he had to reach his bunker first.

  He glanced back to make sure Jessi was still asleep in the back of his car.

  She was.

  Perhaps worst of all, Paul’s plans for her birthday celebration were now a tangled mess.

  He couldn’t kill her now.

  The bunker would be lonely. It would be a long time before Paul could find another girl.

  Jessi would have to live a bit longer. The downside was that she didn’t want to be there. After that incident with the knife, there was no going back to the farce that she wasn’t a prisoner.

  The silver lining: he could enjoy her longer. Eventually, she’d bend to his will. Because out in the middle of nowhere, buried in an underground bunker, nobody would ever hear her scream.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 40 - MALLORY BLACK

  Mal woke with a gasp.

  Mike was kneeling over her body, eyes wide, relief washing his face. “Oh my God, I thought we lost you.”

  She struggled to sit. Bursts of light pierced her vision.

  She looked back and saw the burning house, firefighters streaming in, others attacking it with a hose.

  She remembered passing out in the house. “Did you—”

  “Save your ass and give you mouth to mouth? Yes,” Mike said. “Why the hell did you stay in there?”

  “I was looking for Jessi.”

  Mal finally managed to sit up and looked around, searching for any sign of the girl, either with one of the EMTs or among the dead pulled from the fire. “Is she?”

  “No sign of her yet,” Mike said, then he called over to one of the paramedics asking them to take a look at Mal, get her some air, and whatever else she might need.

  A young, short Latina woman responded, asking Mal a series of questions, checking vitals before leading her to an ambulance where she checked Mal’s oxygen level and blood pressure before strapping an oxygen mask onto her face.

  Mal sat in the back of the ambulance staring at the chaos of the burning house, the firefighters trying to extinguish the blaze, the dead officers, and the two other injured survivors. Sheriff’s deputy vehicles pulled up as additional units arrived on the scene. Early responding reporters and news vans lined the perimeter, eager for the scoop.

  All because of a monster named Paul Dodd. The same man who murdered Mal’s daughter, destroyed her life, and was now about to annihilate another family’s.

  Mal thought she knew hate before, particularly in the months following Ashley’s death: an endless void that consumed her every waking hour.

  But that was nothing compared to the hate she felt now.

  Now that she had a name to put to the monster.

  Now that he’d struck at her other family.

  He had to be caught.

  He had to be stopped.

  He had to pay for his crimes.

  He has to die.

  After the paramedic removed Mal’s mask, she found Mike in front of Gloria’s ca
r, talking to her alone, likely filling her in on everything that had happened.

  Mal approached.

  Gloria turned to her. “You okay?”

  Mal nodded. “Yeah, just a little smoke.”

  She wasn’t sure if Mike told Gloria that Mal would’ve been dead if not for him, but she wasn’t about to throw him under the bus over a few missing details. After all, Mal wasn’t supposed to have gone inside. Best to say nothing, in case Mike was covering for her.

  Gloria met Mal’s eyes. “So, I guess you were right on this guy. The firefighters managed to stop the fire before it ruined his secret dungeon, and damn it if that isn’t the same room as in the video of Ashley.”

  “Do we know if he has Jessi?”

  “We won’t know for certain until forensics can get in there. But as of right now, Paul Dodd is a suspect.”

  “I want to help catch this bastard.”

  “You almost died in there,” Gloria said, her eyes narrowed. “You need to go home and relax. We’ve got this.”

  “I want to help.”

  “You no longer work for the department, remember? And I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that it’s a big conflict of interest to have you working the case, especially now that we know this is the man who probably killed your daughter. It’s already going to be a media cluster fuck. We need to do this as clean as possible, Mal. I’m sorry.”

  “Bring me on as a consultant. Something.”

  “We’ll call you if we can think of a way you can help. Meanwhile, I want you home and relaxing.”

  Mal was about to protest. Gloria cut her off with the last thing Mal expected, a hug.

  It had been forever since they’d been good enough friends for a genuine embrace. Forever since Mal had felt anything other than anger at her former boss.

  This was disarming, short-circuiting her protest.

  Mal wondered if the hug was heartfelt, or merely a tactic to calm her, especially in front of the cameras.