Sam Kincaid 01 - The Commission (20 page)

Chapter Forty-six

On the way to meet Kate, my cell phone rang. It was Patti calling with a disturbing message. “Sam, I just received a telephone call from a female whose voice I didn’t recognize. It definitely wasn’t Sara, and I’m almost positive it wasn’t your Aunt June. The caller said there was a family emergency and you needed to call home immediately. By the time I asked who she was and the nature of the emergency, she’d hung up. Do you want me to notify Park City P.D.?”

“No,” I snapped. “What about caller ID? Do you have a number?”

“The call didn’t register on caller ID. It must have been blocked. Is there anything I can do?” she asked, a tone of alarm in her voice.

“No, nothing. I’ll take care of it.” Before she could say anything else, I’d disconnected. I had a sinking feeling down deep in my gut as I punched in my home number. On the first ring, she answered.

“Hello, Sam. I’ll bet you know who this is,” said Stimson.

Christ. How had I managed to overlook this possibility?

“Look, Carol, whatever your beef is with me, please leave my family out of it.”

“Sorry. Can’t do that. What a lovely home you have here. And such a nice little family. I didn’t realize the old lady is your aunt. Isn’t that interesting? Two for the price of one.”

“Tell me exactly what you want, and I’ll do it, no questions asked. But please don’t hurt them. They’ve got nothing to do with this. This is between you and me.”

“You’ve got that right, Kincaid. Now here’s what I want you to do. If you want your family to stay alive, do it right. You have exactly twenty minutes to get here. At twenty-one minutes, your aunt is dead. At twenty-two minutes, Sara is dead. Come alone. If I get the slightest impression you’ve called out the troops, everybody dies. Got that? Park in the driveway, not in the garage. Enter through the front door. If you deviate from these instructions, even slightly, everybody dies. See you in twenty.”

“But I can’t possibly,” I started to say. But she had already hung up.

From where I was, getting home doing anything close to the speed limit would take thirty-five minutes. No matter how fast I drove, there was no way I could make it in twenty. But I had to try. I decided to wait until my time was almost over and then call home, hoping Stimson would answer and I could buy a few more minutes. Most of the drive was freeway.

I had little time to consider my options. I debated calling Park City P.D., but decided against it. There wasn’t time, and besides, I knew they were too small a department to have a special operations squad. I wasn’t even sure if they had a trained hostage negotiator on board. No, I figured I had a better chance of saving Sara and Aunt June if I followed directions. On this one, I would have to go it alone.

***

Sam was late and Kate was growing impatient. She realized that whenever they were scheduled to meet, he would invariably run a few minutes late. Today, however, Sam was running more than a few minutes behind schedule. Kate dialed his cell phone but didn’t get an answer. You could never tell about the guy—half the time he didn’t even keep the phone turned on. She then called his office, hoping he hadn’t gotten bogged down in an afternoon meeting. That didn’t seem likely, but if he had, he surely would have called and postponed their meeting.

“Hi, Patti. It’s Kate. Sam was supposed to meet me in Holladay a half-hour ago, but he didn’t show up. And he’s not answering his cell. Any idea where he is?”

“That’s funny he’s not answering his cell. I talked with him just a few minutes ago. To tell you the truth, I’m a little worried,” said Patti.

“Why’s that?”

“About a half-hour ago, I received a phone call from someone who said there was a family emergency and Sam should call home ASAP. I called Sam on his cell and gave him the message. I offered to call Park City P.D. and have them respond, but he told me not to.”

“Who called?”

“That’s what struck me as odd. The caller was a woman, and I didn’t recognize her voice. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t his Aunt June, and I know it wasn’t Sara. I suppose it could have been someone from Sara’s school.”

“Oh, God,” said Kate. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this. Listen carefully, Patti. Here’s what I want you to do.”

***

With my twenty minutes nearly gone, and still several minutes from home, I grabbed the cell phone and dialed my home. On the third agonizing ring, Stimson picked up.

“Had you a little nervous there, didn’t I?” Her tone of voice suggested she was toying with me and found it amusing.

“I’m almost there,” I replied. “If I’m going to follow your directions the rest of the way, I want proof my family is still alive. I want to speak to one of them.”

“Hold on.”

“Daddy,” Sara cried.

“Hold on, honey, Daddy’s almost there.”

“You’d better be.” It was Stimson. “And remember, if I get even the slightest inkling you’ve been a bad boy, everybody dies—no discussion, no negotiations, end of story, end of family. You got that?”

“Understood. I’m alone.”

I pulled off State Highway 220 into the Park Meadows subdivision, and quickly pulled to the curb, unlocked the glove box, and removed a holstered .25-caliber Colt pistol. It was an old gun I’d purchased years before from a retiring parole officer. It was an ideal weapon for undercover work, something I’d never had the occasion to do. It hadn’t been used much in the years I’d owned it.

I strapped the holster to my right ankle and drove the remaining few blocks home. As an experienced corrections officer, the chance of Stimson missing the weapon was unlikely, but when she found my department-issued .38-caliber snub-nose attached to my belt, she might get careless and miss the back-up weapon. I could only hope.

I pulled into the driveway and noticed all the wood blinds on the front-facing windows had been closed. I spotted Stimson’s Ford Explorer parked outside the cul-de-sac on Motherlode Drive. As instructed, I parked in the driveway, got out, and walked slowly toward the front door with my empty hands in view at all times. I assumed she was watching my every move. I opened the screen door, tapped lightly on the front door, and then reached for the knob. The door was locked. I waited for what seemed an eternity before I heard the front door unlatch.

As I stepped into the darkened living room, to my horror, I saw Sara and Aunt June huddled together on the couch, hands cuffed behind them, and each wearing a loose-fitting cloth hood over her head. Carol stood several feet away with her handgun leveled at my chest.

“Assume the position, asshole,” she said.

She didn’t need to explain that command. I placed my hands against the front door, spread my legs, and leaned into the door with my upper body, while my legs and feet were splayed out behind. She patted me down and immediately found the service revolver on my hip. I expected that. She completed the frisk and discovered the ankle holster as well.

“You really didn’t think I’d miss the back-up, did you? Stand up, face me, and drop your pants.”

I complied.

“The underwear too.”

Satisfied that I hadn’t hidden another weapon in my underwear, she allowed me to pull up my pants. She ordered me into a straight-back dining-room chair she had moved into the living room, and quickly applied the plastic handcuffs. She took the roll of duct tape and ran it several times across my chest and around the chair until satisfied that I was well secured.

She then stepped in front of me, and without a word, delivered a stinging backhand blow to the side of my face. The blow shocked me more than it hurt, although a ring she wore opened a small cut above my right eye. It bled freely.

“That was to get your attention,” she said, smiling, and in an almost cheery tone of voice. “Now we can have a short visit before I do what I really came here to do.”

I’m no shrink, but Stimson’s mood seemed to change from doom and gloom to one of euphoria in a manner of seconds. Her upbeat, almost friendly demeanor seemed a mere pretense for a much darker side of her personality. I decided to try to keep her talking and stall for time. I didn’t know what else to do. It was going to be a bad afternoon, and one, I fully realized, that neither my family nor I would likely survive.

Chapter Forty-seven

Wheeler had provided Kate with an address and detailed directions to Sam’s home. She was driving at breakneck speed to Park City, hoping her hunch about Stimson was wrong and that Sam had rushed home to some other kind of problem. All of her instincts, however, told her otherwise. She was genuinely worried, not only about Sam, but his family as well. Her feelings for him had grown beyond those of a mere colleague—they were personal now. She would do whatever was necessary to keep him alive.

The plan that had taken shape in her head was fraught with potential problems, not the least of which was her unfamiliarity with Sam’s neighborhood and home. She had never been there. She first had to locate the house. That accomplished, could she approach without being seen? How would she get inside undetected? If a shoot-out ensued, who might end up in the line of fire? In situations like this, proper police procedure called for unobtrusively evacuating the occupants of surrounding homes. Sam had undoubtedly thought of that, but concluded that to do so would have placed his family in too much danger.

Kate’s worst fear was confirmed when she drove past Lariat Circle and saw Stimson’s Ford Explorer parked on Motherlode Drive. The license plate number was different, but Stimson had probably changed plates once she realized the police were looking for her. Kate parked on a street behind the Lariat Circle cul-de-sac so she could approach Kincaid’s home from the rear. She would have to negotiate a six-foot cedar fence that enclosed his backyard, hoping none of the neighbors would see her and call the police.

Kincaid’s home was just as Patti had described it: a two-level affair with a daylight walkout basement leading onto a stone patio. Fortunately, several mature blue spruces scattered throughout the yard provided a measure of cover as Kate scaled the fence and ran for the house. Finding a way in was the next trick. She tried the French doors leading into the basement. They were locked. Next she tried an aluminum sliding window into what she guessed was a bedroom. Again, it was locked. When she removed a screen that covered a small, opaque glass window that opened into what had to be a bathroom, her luck changed. She was in.

***

I wasn’t sure whether trying to reason with Stimson would work, but I didn’t have many options. I was willing to try any ploy I could think of to buy time. I didn’t want to risk her anger by appearing condescending or self-righteous.

“Carol, why don’t you release my family? There’s nothing to be gained by harming an eight-year-old girl and an elderly woman. Do what you want with me, but let them go.”

“Fuck you, Kincaid, you brought this on yourself. You just couldn’t leave it alone, could you? You had to turn against your own. Without your help, the cops would never have figured it out. So it’s time to pay the piper, and in this case, I’m the piper.”

My appeal to her maternal instincts went for naught. She actually seemed to be enjoying the moment, a bemused expression on her face and in her tone of voice. This was one lady I just didn’t understand. I tried a different approach.

“Look, Carol, why dig yourself into a deeper legal hole? If you stop now, cooperate with us, you can avoid being strapped to a gurney with an IV in your arm.”

“That’s fuckin’ lame, Kincaid, and you know it. You think I’m interested in becoming one of those caged fuckin’ animals?—not likely, asswipe. Besides, they’re already planning to put the needle in my arm, so I don’t have much to lose, now do I? But they’ve got to find me first. And I’ve got something to say about that.”

She was probably right. I decided to try one last strategy. I would lie to Stimson, hoping the shock value of what I told her might give her second thoughts. I recognized that I might merely unleash the rage I sensed was never far from the surface. If she were operating solo without the approval of her partners, she might not be able to tell truth from falsehood. The lives of my family depended on it.

“Let me tell you something you don’t know. We picked up one of your partners, Bill Allred, this afternoon, and he’s been downtown telling quite a story. He isn’t worried about you or any of the others. He’s down there cutting a deal for himself. We know a lot more than you think we do. It’s amazing what you can learn from a wiretap. Besides you and Allred, your little group includes Steve Schumway and Bob Fuller. We know you arranged for Slick Watts to kill Levi. We also know you killed Watts, and most recently, Milo Sorensen. The party’s over, Carol. You need to give it up and start looking out for yourself. Nobody else is going to do that for you.”

For the first time, the look on her face had changed to one of shock and surprise. “What’s it really matter,” she sighed. “It’s all over anyway. Things were going along just fine until we decided to approach Vogue. That’s when everything went to hell.”

“What do you mean, approach Vogue?” I asked.

Try to keep her talking, I thought.

She smiled faintly and said, “I guess I can tell you. You won’t be around long enough to repeat any of it.

“We’d been using Allred to sell parole release dates for two years. Unfortunately, the Board votes in panels of three. We needed a second vote to guarantee every outcome. As Levi and Bill became friends, it became clear that Vogue was up to his ass in debt and was badly in need of cash. Given that, and his interesting sexual proclivities, we figured he’d be a good candidate to join our little enterprise. We obviously misjudged him. When Levi declined our offer and threatened to expose Allred unless Bill resigned from the Board, we had a decision to make. We could either lose a growing source of income, or eliminate Vogue. It was actually an easy decision.”

“How did you come up with Slick Watts?” I asked.

“We recruited him from inside the prison. The dumb shit was actually stupid enough to believe he was embarking on a new career as a contract killer. But he couldn’t be trusted. We knew that and intended to kill him all along. Watts was the perfect choice to eliminate Vogue because he had motive. Isn’t revenge the sweetest of all motives?

“Time for just one last question,” she said, a faint smile tracing her mouth. “Think of it as a condemned man’s last words.”

“That’s comforting,” I replied. “Tell me how the four of you came together in the first place. And what made you do it?”

“As it turns out, Fuller and Schumway had been running an inmate extortion scam for about as long as they’d worked together at North Point. One day I happened to overhear a conversation between an inmate and Captain Schumway that I wasn’t supposed to hear. Shortly thereafter, Fuller invited me to join the group. It probably didn’t hurt that I’d been fucking him almost from the time I transferred into his unit. As for that little worm, Bill Allred, Fuller brought him on board. They’d known each other for twenty years. Allred actually supervised Fuller in several different prison positions. They were old friends.

“And why did we do it? That’s easy, not a complicated motive at all. Try money. You know that when I started at the prison almost five years ago, I was hired for a whopping $9.65 an hour. Imagine working in a shithole prison for that kind of money. It doesn’t get you very far. I was food stamp eligible for the first year and a half. And you contributed to that, Kincaid. You made it impossible for me to ever receive a promotion. And for what? Because I slapped an inmate around.

“And let’s not forget the inmates—dirtbags who have spent a lifetime victimizing others. I can hardly describe how good it felt to inflict a little extra-judicial punishment on those asswipes. Whatever we did to those lowlifes, it wasn’t enough.

“Well, time’s up. As much as I’ve enjoyed our little talk, I’m afraid that it’s time for me to take care of business and get out of Dodge while I still can,” she said.

Stimson removed the roll of duct tape from her bag, cut off a strip and placed it over my mouth. She walked behind me, and bent down until her lips were almost touching my ear, close enough that I felt her hot, fetid breath. She whispered, “I want you to watch. First I’m gonna wrap my gun in a towel, noise, you know, and then I’m going to shoot Granny in the head. Would you like me to remove the hood first so she can see it coming? Then for a change of pace, if I can borrow one of your bedroom pillows, I’m going to suffocate the life out of little Sara. I wonder how much she’ll kick and squirm? Then, if you’ve been a good boy and haven’t tried to cause a scene, I’ll give you one behind the ear, and it’ll be over quick. But if you’ve been a bad boy, I’m going to shoot you in both kneecaps and then give you one in the belly. Gut shot. You’ll die a slow and painful death. Enjoy the show.”

I watched in horror as Stimson removed a small hand towel from her bag and began wrapping it around the barrel of her gun. I struggled in vain against the restraints that secured me to the chair. I felt the plastic cuffs cutting into my wrists. Blood trickled down and ran onto my hands. The cut above my eye bled freely, making it difficult to see.

When she tied me, she had neglected to run the duct tape around my ankles, which gave me a chance to stand and use the chair as a weapon. It was an act of desperation, but I had run out of time and options. I tried to scream but only managed audible, muffled groans of protest. As she turned her back to me and walked slowly across the room to deliver the fatal head shot to Aunt June, I stood up and charged. At six feet four inches and two hundred pounds, I hit her hard from behind, driving her headfirst into an end table next to the couch. I landed on top of her. She went down hard and came up with a bloody nose, cursing.

“You fucking bastard. You want it the hard way, I’ll give it to you the hard way.”

I tried to keep her down by using my legs to kick. It didn’t work. Glowering from above, she kicked me until I lost count of the blows. I remember instinctively trying to protect myself by getting into the fetal position, but I was quickly losing consciousness. I heard Sara crying. I vaguely recalled hearing the pop-pop sound of gunshots.

***

The bathroom window was just wide enough for Kate to slide through. Once inside, she stood perfectly still and hoped that Stimson hadn’t heard the noise she made.

She quickly removed her shoes and slipped quietly into the hallway leading to the stairs. She heard the faint sound of voices, but wasn’t close enough to make out who or what was being said. With gun in hand, she slowly ascended the stairs. About halfway up, one of the hardwood steps groaned loudly enough that Kate was certain it must have been heard on the main level. She momentarily froze, dreading the next step and the one after that. The female voice was loud and clear, a voice that must have belonged to Carol Stimson. The top of the stairs opened into an entry foyer near the front door of the residence. The hushed voices were close now, probably not more than twenty feet away, and appeared to be coming from what Kate thought was the living room. It had momentarily grown quiet, so quiet that Kate stood frozen, afraid to move. Then all hell broke loose.

As Kate came around the corner and stepped into view, Stimson looked up and saw her. The shooting corridor was extremely narrow, with two hooded hostages seated to one side on the living-room couch and Sam curled up on the floor at Stimson’s feet. Before Kate could order her to drop the weapon, Stimson fired two wild shots, both narrowly missing her. Sara was crying hysterically, and Aunt June had rolled partially on top of the child in a futile attempt to shield her body. The risk of hitting an innocent hostage was a possibility, but Kate had no choice. The first shot struck Stimson in the left shoulder. She howled in pain, but didn’t go down. The second one struck her in the neck, hitting the carotid artery. This time she went down as blood pulsated from the neck wound like a fountain.

Kate heard breaking glass at the front door and turned in time to see Vince and Terry burst into the home, weapons at the ready. Patti, following instructions from Kate, had notified them of the likely hostage situation.

***

In a matter of minutes, my home, already in shambles, was turned into a major crime scene. There were enough police and fire officials on the premises to open a doughnut store. It became a repeat performance of what I’d encountered that first night at the home of Levi Vogue. Cops from several agencies, crime scene techs, fire and emergency medical personnel were everywhere. Within an hour, print and television media groups were crawling all over the place.

Despite Terry’s effort to stem the flow of blood, Stimson died from shock and blood loss on the helicopter flight to the University of Utah Medical Center. Sara and Aunt June, though badly shaken, were not seriously injured. For Sara, however, the terror of this day would not soon be forgotten. As for me, a cut above one eye, a couple of cracked ribs, and assorted bumps and bruises were about it. I would be sore for a few weeks, but the sanctity of my home had been violated, and my family terrorized. Now it was personal. Alone, or with Kate’s help, I intended to end it tonight.