Authors: George Fong
Fragmented (21 page)
35
Thursday –
After twenty
minutes of driving down wrong turns and dead-end streets, Colfax was starting to get irritated with Blunt. From the backseat, Blunt kept saying the next one would be the right one.
“Come on, Paul. Think.” Jack maintained his composure but he, too, was growing impatient.
“Cut me some slack, will you? It’s been a while.” Then Blunt leaned over the headrest, pointing to his right.
“Take that next turn.”
Jack headed east on
Deer Creek Highway
, the street lined with big trees and older homes.
“Anything look familiar?”
Blunt fanned his right hand. “Yeah, hold on, I think I got it now. There, turn right.”
Jack turned south onto
Forest Avenue
, a more rural section, with large, white warehouses on both sides. “I don’t see houses, Paul.”
Blunt jabbed a finger over Colfax’s shoulder. “Make another right.
”
They pulled down a dirt road shrouded by canopy trees. Kicked-up dust from the tires drifted through the headlights, as they crawled to a fork twenty yards ahead. Jack slowed down.
“Okay, Paul. Which way?”
Blunt hesitated. “I’m not sure.”
“Great,” Colfax said.
“The house is down one of these roads, I’m sure.”
Colfax looked over at Jack. “Take your pick.”
Jack turned to the left and followed the road for another fifty yards before killing his lights and gliding to the side. “Get out, Paul, we’re walking.”
The three exited and trudged down the darkened road. If Cooper was there, Jack didn’t want to alert him to their presence. They cleared a row of trees into a large, open patch of dirt and grass. To their right was an L-shaped one-story with a detached garage. All the lights were off. There was a pickup truck parked in front but it didn’t look like the one Jack saw the other night.
Jack tapped Blunt on the shoulder. “Is this the place?”
Blunt squinted hard at the house and shook his head. “I think so. I can’t say for sure.”
“That isn’t good enough, Paul.”
Jack gave it a few seconds before turning back. If Blunt wasn’t sure he wanted to look down the other side of the forked road first. The three jogged to the car and walked down the other side along a stretch of magnolia bushes, where another house sat thirty yards away. Jack peered around a large oak tree. The porch light was on, a good sign.
“Okay, Blunt, get a good look.”
Blunt’s head bobbed up and down. “Yeah, I think this could be the one.”
“What do you mean you
think
?” Jack asked.
“Look, it’s one of these. I can’t remember. They all look alike.”
Colfax groaned. “For Christ’s sake.”
Jack raised his right hand, trying to quell Colfax’s anger. They could set up on both houses. Jack would take one, Colfax and Blunt the other.
Jack told Colfax to park the car at the top of the street, out of sight.
Blunt threw up both hands. “Why can’t I just go on home?”
“You’re the only one here that has actually seen the guy,” Jack said. “I need you to point him out.”
“He looks just like the photo.”
“Good,” Jack replied. “Then you won’t have a problem picking him out for us.” He tossed the keys to Colfax, who turned and pushed Blunt up toward the main road.
Jack jogged down the path back to the first house, stepping behind a row of trees where he kneeled low and tried to get comfortable knowing this could be a long night.
An hour passed without seeing any movement, Colfax and Jack updating each other on the Nextel direct-connect. Jack wondered if it was worth staying much longer. Colfax suggested they call in his narcotics team to take over the surveillance, more bodies with fresh eyes. Not a bad idea. Jack could at least catch an hour of sleep before covering other leads.
“You think you can get the team for this morning?”
“I’ll call the sergeant,” Colfax replied.
Jack leaned against a tree, careful not to become too lax. Few minutes later, Colfax phoned back.
“They can be out at six.”
Jack looked at his watch. 4:
“I’ll take it.”
Another hour passed with no activity, Jack’s legs beginning to cramp from squatting too long. He stood behind a tree and stretched his back, stiff knees popping like bubble wrap.
He gazed down the roadway, hoping to hear the narc team coming to relieve them. A spear of light crossed the path before disappearing behind the thick foliage as rolling tires approached.
Jack tapped the direct-connect on his Nextel. “I see headlights. I think your team has arrived.”
Jack watched the road but no vehicles approached. Twenty seconds later, Jack’s phone chirped. Colfax, his voice a whisper.
36
Thursday –
Jack held
his breath.
“I got a pickup driving up to the garage,” Colfax whispered. “Driver’s stopped and is exiting the truck.”
Jack’s heart started racing. If this was Cooper, the Baker girl could be inside. Approaching now would be a gamble. If Jessica Baker were being held elsewhere, they would lose the option of following him to the stash house, essentially jeopardizing a rescue. She’d become another Grace Holloway. The best thing to do was to give it a few more minutes of surveillance and assess the situation.
Jack called Colfax on the Nextel, his voice anxious. “Is it Cooper?”
“Can’t tell. Too dark.”
As much as Jack wanted to head in their direction, he couldn’t risk it. He told Colfax and Blunt to get in closer to record the license plate, then call his sergeant and get an
Jack had moved to the other side of the road, getting closer to the second residence, when a voice yelled out, commanding someone to stop. Jack bolted toward the fork in the road; Colfax’s voice came over the Nextel, screaming frantically. “He’s running! I lost him.”
“I’m coming down the road!” Jack sprinted along the edge of the bushes, peering in between openings, hoping to see Cooper cutting in his direction. This time, he would not let him escape. Between the fork and the two houses, a dense V-shaped patch of bramble led into the woods. If Cooper made a break for it, he would have to weave himself through it. The noise of snapping branches and crushing ground cover would give him away. Jack pushed himself into a thicket of shrub brush. He stopped, hearing movement directly in front of him. He crouched low behind a dense hedge, squinting into the darkness. Colfax’s voice sounded over the Nextel.
“I don’t have him, Jack.”
He gave Colfax his location and told him to enter from the side road so they wouldn’t get caught in a cross fire in the event of shooting. The bushes rustled louder and Jack caught sight of something leaping through a wall of green foliage to his left. It was definitely a person, but it was too dark, the suspect moving too fast to get an ID.
“I got him heading toward the first house,” Jack whispered into his Nextel, not waiting for Colfax to respond. He sprinted through the thick overgrowth, chasing the dark figure, hoping whoever it was didn’t make a hard turn in the opposite direction. Snapped branches told him he was heading in the right direction. The unlit path brought Jack back on the other side of the road, by the first house.
“Shit!” Jack’s head swiveled up and down the road searching for movement. He ran north, speculating his suspect would make a break for town. He hadn’t taken two steps before something exploded from the darkness made by the hedges, tackling Jack to the ground. Jack’s head hit hard on the dirt path as the two men tumbled across the road and into a dry ditch. Twisted into a knot with his attacker, Jack drove the heel of his palm up into the perpetrator’s chin, making solid contact. The man’s head snapped back, opening a space between the two of them. The full force of a
boot struck Jack squarely in the chest, lifting him off the ground and tossing him back against the other side of the culvert, the wind knocked out of him. Struggling to catch his breath, Jack scrambled to his feet, watching his attacker try to gain traction and flee. Jack dove at his legs, grabbing, pulling hard. The man fell onto his stomach, body slamming with a heavy thud. The man groaned, scraping at the ground but with too little energy left to get away.
“I got him!” Jack screamed, sliding, his right leg first, into the ditch, landing on top of the attacker, knee falling squarely on the suspect’s back, pinning him to the ground as Colfax ran up, pair of handcuffs pulled from the back of his jeans.
“Are you okay?” Colfax asked, fighting to get the cuffs secured.
Jack rolled over and dragged a sleeve across his chin, wiping away the sweat and dirt and blood from the fight. He nodded, glad it was over.
Jack got to his feet, checking for injuries. His chest felt like it was hit with a hammer. Colfax lifted the suspect, who offered little assistance, his body limp on wobbly legs.
“Let’s get a look at you,” Colfax said as he straightened up the man, holding him steady by the shoulders. Jack made his way around to the other side so he could face his attacker, the moonlight bright enough to illuminate his features in blue and gray hues.
Blunt appeared, standing just above them on the dirt road. He pulled his right hand from his jacket pocket and pointed at the man. “That’s him. That’s
Monroe
.”
The attacker squinted at Blunt and tilted his head. Blood dripped from his chin as he heaved in deep breaths. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Colfax straightened out his arms, pushing the attacker back a few inches to get a better look. Jack walked up and studied the man’s face. He knew it couldn’t be
Monroe
because
Monroe
was most likely dead.
“This isn’t
Monroe
.” Jack turned toward Colfax, frustrated. It was obvious Blunt would ID his own mother at this point. The guy wasn’t
Monroe
but it also wasn’t Cooper.
“Who are you?” Jack asked.
The man lifted his head. “Why are you chasing me?”
“Why were you running?” Colfax jumped in.
“I saw your car up on the road and you two sneaking around my house.” He pointed his bloody and scraped chin at Colfax and then at Blunt. “Thought you were looking to rob me.”
“No one’s going to rob you,” Jack said as he pulled out his Maglight and shined it on the man’s face. He studied it for a second. “I know who you are.” Before the man could respond, Jack answered for him. “You’re Eric Youngblood, Alvin Cooper’s friend.”
“Yeah,” he said. “That’s me.”
Jack closed his distance to Youngblood and tapped him on the chest with an accusatory finger.