Whispers of the Dead (25 page)

I
We went back into the kitchen. I saw Jacobsen looking at the half
full coffee percolator. Without asking I poured her a cup and topped
up my own.
'So what do you think?' I asked, quietly, as I handed it to her.
'It's too soon to say . . .' she began, then stopped. 'You want me to
be honest?'
No. I gave a nod.
'I think we've been two steps behindYork all along. He fooled us
into thinking you were his target, and walked in here while we were
looking the other way. Now Samantha Avery's paid for our mistakes.'
'You think there's any chance of finding her in time?'
She looked into her coffee as though she could divine the answers
there. 'York won't want to take long over this. He knows we're looking
for him, and he'll be excited and eager. If he hasn't killed her
already, she'll be dead before the night's out.'
I put my cup down, feeling suddenly nauseous. 'Why Sam?' I
asked, although I could guess.
'York needed to reassert his ego after his failure with Dr
Lieberman. We were right about that much, at least.' Jacobsen
sounded bitter. 'Samantha Avery would've ticked all the boxes: the
wife of Dr Lieberman s probable successor, and nearly nine months
pregnant. That'd make her doubly attractive. It guarantees headlines
and, if we're right about the photographs, it also feeds into York's
psychosis. He's fixated on capturing the moment of death on film,
believing that'll somehow reveal the answers he's looking for. So
from his point of view, who could be a better victim than a pregnant
woman, someone who's literally full of life?'
Christ. It was insane, and yet the worst of it was there was a twisted
logic behind it. Futile and obscene, but there all the same.
'And what then? He isn't going to find the answers he's looking
for by killing Sam.'
Jacobsen's face held a bleakness I'd not seen before. 'Then he'll tell
himself she wasn't the right one after all and carry on. He'll know
time's against him, no matter how much his pride says otherwise, and
that's going to make him desperate. Maybe next time he'll go after
another pregnant woman, or even a child. Either way, he won't stop.'
I thought of the tortured faces in the photographs and had a
sudden image of Sam going through the same ordeal. I rubbed my
eyes, trying to banish it.
'So what happens now?'
Jacobsen stared out of the window at the advancing night. 'We
hope we find them before morning.'

Before the next hour was out, the evening's quiet had been rent
apart. TBI agents descended on the sedate neighbourhood, knocking
on every door in the hope of finding more witnesses. Plenty of
people could recall seeing an ambulance that afternoon, but no one
had noticed anything remarkable about it. Ambulances were self
explanatory. The sight of one might arouse morbid curiosity, but few
people would question why it was there.
Certainly none of Sam and Paul's neighbours.
Gardner hadn't managed to learn anything more from Candy. All
she could say for sure was that it had been a man of indeterminate
age wearing a paramedic's uniform. Well, it looked like a uniform, she
thought: dark trousers and a shirt with badges on it. And some sort
of hat or cap that hid most of his face. A big man, she'd added, more
hesitantly. White. Or perhaps Hispanic. Not black, at any rate. At least,
she didn't think so ...
It hadn't even struck her as odd that the ambulance driver had
been alone. And she'd been able to offer even less information about
the ambulance itself. No, of course she hadn't taken the licence
number. Why should she? It was an ambulance.
'There were no obvious restraints, so Samantha must have been
stunned or unconscious,' Gardner said, while Paul was on the phone
to Sam's mother. 'It's possible he used some sort of gas, but I think
the oxygen mask was probably just a prop to dissuade any watching
neighbours from intervening. Gas is too hit and miss, especially if
someone's struggling, and York would've wanted to put her out as
soon as possible.'
'He wouldn't use brute force,'Jacobsen said. 'If you knock someone
unconscious there's a danger of concussion or brain damage, and
York wouldn't want that. He needs his victims fully aware when he
kills them. He wouldn't risk clubbing them over the head.'
'He did Irving's dog,' Gardner reminded her.
'The dog was incidental. He was after its owner.'
Gardner squeezed the bridge of his nose. He looked tired.
'Whatever. The fact is he obviously knocked Samantha Avery out
somehow. But at least if he has to wait till she comes round, that
might give us more time.'
I hated dispelling even that slight hope. 'Not necessarily. He only
needs his victims unconscious long enough to get them into the
ambulance. After that it doesn't matter. However he does it, if they're
only unconscious for a few minutes it probably won't take them long
to recover.'
'I didn't realize you were an expert,' Gardner said tartly.
I could have pointed out that I used to be a GP, or that I'd once
been drugged myself. But there was no point. Everyone was feeling
the strain, and Gardner more than most. No one had emerged from
this with any credit, but as the Assistant Special Agent in Charge
of the investigation, the final responsibility ultimately lay with him. I
didn't want to add to that burden.
Not with Sam's life at stake.
Paul himself seemed to have crossed beyond fear and panic into a
state of numb isolation. When he came back from phoning Sam's
parents he sat without speaking, staring into the impossible nightmare
that had engulfed his life. Her parents would be flying out from
Memphis the next day, but he hadn't bothered calling anyone else.
The only person he wanted now was Sam; everyone else was an
irrelevance.
I felt torn over what to do. I wasn't needed there, but I couldn't
simply leave Paul and go back to my hotel. So I sat with him in the
Jpunge as coffee-breathed TBI officers went about their business, and
the last hours and minutes of one day ticked inexorably towards the
next.
It was just after eleven when Jacobsen came into the lounge. Paul
quickly looked up, hope dying in his eyes as she gave a quick shake
of her head.
'No news. I just wanted to ask Dr Hunter a couple of things about
his statement.'
He sank back into his lethargy as I went out with her. I saw she
was carrying a folder in her hand, but it wasn't until we were in the
kitchen that she opened it.
'I didn't want to upset Dr Avery with this yet, but I thought you
should know. We rechecked the footage from the hospital's security
cameras around the time York called Dr Lieberman from the pay
phone. You were right about the ambulance.'
She handed me a black and white photograph from the folder. It
was the CCTV still I'd seen before, showing the shadowy figure of
York crossing the road by the phone booth. The rear of the parked
ambulance was visible at the left hand side of the frame. It was hard
to say, but he could have been heading towards it.
'The ambulance arrived ten minutes before York used the pay
phone and left seven minutes later,' Jacobsen said. 'We can't see who
was driving, but the timing fits.'
'Why would he have waited ten minutes before making the call?'
'Maybe he had to wait until there was no one around, or perhaps
he wanted to savour the moment. Or gather his nerve. Either way, at
ten o'clock he went to make the call, then came back out and
waited. Dr Lieberman would've been in a hurry, so it should've only
taken a few minutes for him to make it outside.When he didn't show
York would have waited awhile before realizing something was
wrong and getting out of there.'
I played it through in my mind: York glancing anxiously at his
watch, his confidence bleeding away when his victim didn't appear. Just another minute;just one more . . .And then driving away, furious,
to plan his next move.
Jacobsen pulled out another photograph from the folder. This one
had been taken in a part of the hospital I didn't recognize. An
ambulance was caught in the centre of the frame, blurred by motion.
'This was taken on a different stretch of road a few minutes before
the ambulance pulled up outside the mortuary,' she said. 'We traced
its route backwards on other security cameras. It's definitely the same
vehicle. This is the best shot we've been able to find.'
That wasn't saying much. The photograph had been enlarged to
the limits of useful magnification, and had the out-of-focus look of
still lifted from video.The angle made it impossible to see whoever was
inside the cab, and from what I could see there was nothing remarkable
about the ambulance itself: a boxy white van with the predominantly
orange livery of East Tennessee's main emergency service.
'How can you be sure this is the same one York used?' I asked.
'Because it isn't a real ambulance. The markings look authentic, but
only until you compare them to the real thing. Not only that, but it's
a model that's at least fifteen years old. That's way too old to be still
in use.'
I examined the photograph more carefully. Now she'd mentioned
it the ambulance did look dated, but it was good enough to fool most
people. Even in a hospital. Who would think to look twice?
I handed the photograph back. 'It looks pretty convincing.'
'There are companies that specialize in selling used ambulances.
York could've probably picked up an old model like this for next to
nothing, and then repainted it in the right colours.'
'So can you trace where it came from?'
'Eventually, but I'm not sure how much good that'll do us. York
probably used a credit card from one of his victims to buy it. And
even if not I doubt it'll help us find him now. He's too smart for that.'
'What about the registration?' I asked.
'We're still working on it. The plates are visible in some shots, but
they're too dirty to make out. Could be intentional, but the vehicle's
sides are splashed as well, so it's obviously been driven through mud
some time recently.'
I thought about what Josh Talbot had said when he'd identified
the dragonfly nymph from the casket. The body had to have been left dose to a pond or lake. Probably right by the water's edge . . . They're not
called swamp darners for nothing.
'At least now we've a better idea of what we're looking for,'
Jacobsen went on, putting the photographs back into the folder.
'Even without the registration we can release a description of the
ambulance. That'll narrow things down a little, if nothing else.'
But not enough. York had been given plenty of time to reach
wherever he was going. Even if he hadn't crossed the state line, there
were hundreds of square miles of mountain and forest where he
could lose himself.
And Sam.
I looked at Jacobsen and saw the same thought in her eyes. Neither
of us spoke, but an understanding passed between us. Too late. Inappropriate as it was, I was suddenly conscious of how close we
were standing, of the way the scent of her body underlay the light
perfume after the long day.The sudden awkwardness between us told
me she was aware of it as well.
'I'd better get back to Paul,' I said, moving away.
She nodded, but before either of us could say anything else the
kitchen door opened and Gardner walked in. One look at his seamed
face was enough to tell me that something had happened.
'Where's Dr Avery?' he asked Jacobsen as though I weren't there.
'In the lounge.'
Without a word he went out again. Jacobsen went with him, all
emotion carefully smoothed from her face. The air seemed suddenly
cold as I followed.
Paul didn't seem to have moved since I'd left him. He still sat
hunched in the chair, a mug of coffee standing cold and untouched
on the low table beside him. When he saw Gardner he stiffened,
holding himself like a man preparing for a physical blow.
'Have you found her?'
Gardner quickly shook his head. 'Not yet. But we've had a report
of an accident involving an ambulance on Highway 321, a few miles
east of Townsend.' I knew the place by name, a small, pretty town in
the foothills of the mountains. Gardner hesitated. 'It isn't confirmed
yet, but we think it was York.'
'Accident? What sort of accident?'
'It was in a collision with a car.The driver says the ambulance took
a bend too fast and sideswiped him coming the other way. Spun both
of them round, and the ambulance went into a tree.'
'Oh, Christ!'
'It took off again, but according to the car driver the front
fender and at least one of the lights were smashed. By the sound it
made he thinks there could have been some mechanical damage as
well.'
'Did he get the registration?' I asked.
'No, but a banged-up ambulance is likely to get noticed. And at
least now we know which way York was headed.'
Paul had jumped up from his seat. 'So now you can put up roadblocks?'
Gardner
looked uncomfortable. 'It isn't that simple.'
'Why the hell not? For Christ's sake, how hard can it be to find a
beat-up ambulance when you know which damn way it's heading?'
'Because the accident was five hours ago.'
There was silence as his words sank in.
'The driver didn't report it straight away,' Gardner went on.'Seems
like he thought it was a real ambulance, and was worried he might
get into trouble. It was only when his wife convinced him to try for
compensation that he called the police.'
Paul was staring at him. 'Five hours?' He sat down, as though his
legs would no longer support him.
'It's still a valuable lead,' Gardner insisted, but Paul wasn't listening.
'He's gone, hasn't he?' His voice was flat and lifeless. 'He could be
anywhere. Sam could be already dead.'
No one contradicted him. He stared at Gardner with such
intensity that even the TBI agent seemed to flinch.
'Promise me you'll catch him. Don't let the bastard get away with
this. Promise me that much, at least.'
Gardner looked trapped. 'I'll do my best.'
But I noticed he didn't look Paul in the eye as he said it.
They found the ambulance next morning. I'd spent most of that
night in an armchair, dozing fitfully. It seemed endless. Each time I
woke I'd check my watch and find that only a few minutes had
passed. When I looked out of the window and saw a golden glow
breaking in the sky, it felt as though time was starting up again.
Glancing at the other armchair, I saw that Paul was wide awake.
He didn't seem to have moved all night. I stood up stiffly.
'Do you want a coffee?'
He shook his head. Flexing my neck and shoulders, I went into
the kitchen. The coffee had been warming all night, filling the room
with a stale, burnt odour. I poured it down the sink and made a fresh
pot. I switched off the light and went to stand by the window.
Outside, the world was starting to take form in the early morning
gloom. Beyond the houses opposite I could just make out the lake,
its dark surface smudged with white mist. It would have been a
peaceful early morning scene, if not for the patrol car parked outside,
a lurid splash of reality in the tranquil dawn.
I sipped my coffee as I stood by the kitchen window. Outside, a
bird began to sing. Its lone voice was soon joined by others, a growing
chorus of birdsong. I thought about Jacobsen's grim forecast: If
he hasn't killed her already, she'll be dead before the night's out. As though on cue, the first shafts of sunlight touched the lake.
It was going to be a beautiful morning.V
By eight o'clock the first TV crews and reporters began to arrive.
Sam's name hadn't been released to the press, but it was always only
going to be a matter of time before it leaked out. The uniformed
officers stationed in the patrol car made sure the press stayed off the
property, but in no time at all the road was choked with news crews
and vehicles.
Paul barely seemed to notice. In the daylight he looked awful, the
skin on his face grey and lined. He seemed increasingly withdrawn,
lost in a private zone of suffering. The only time he came to life was
when the phone rang. Each time he would snatch it up, tense with
expectation, only to sag a moment later when it was just another
friend or persistent journalist. After saying a few words, he'd hang up
and retreat back into his shell. I felt for him, knowing all too well
what he was going through.
But there was nothing I could do to help.
It was just before noon when the pattern was broken. The remains
of sandwiches lay curling on plates beside us. Mine were half eaten,
Paul's untouched. I was beginning to think it was time for me to go
back to my hotel. I was doing no good here, and Sam's parents would
be arriving in a few hours. When the phone rang again Paul grabbed
for it, but I could see from the way his shoulders slumped that it
wasn't Gardner.
'Hi, Mary. No, I haven't---' He broke off, his entire posture
radiating a new urgency. 'What channel?'
Letting the phone drop he grabbed for the TV remote.
'What is it?' I asked.
I don't think he heard. He was flicking through the channels as
soon as the screen came to life, scrolling through a cacophony of
noise and images until he suddenly stopped. A young woman with
lacquered hair and too-red lipstick was talking animatedly to camera.
'. . . breaking news story, a report is coming in that an ambulance has been
found abandoned in the Gatlinburg area of the Great Smoky Mountains
National Park
Paul's face had gone slack as the impact of the words struck him.
'. . . exact location has not been revealed, and TBI sources are refusing to
confirm that this is the same vehicle used in yesterday's abduction of Samantha
Avery, the pregnant thirty-two-year-old from Blount County. Tliere's no word
yet on the whereabouts of the missing woman, but unconfirmed reports say the
ambulance may have been damaged in a collision . . .'
The newsreader continued, her voice breathy and excited, as a