Richard Hale - Frozen Past

“Who owns the house now?” Jaxon asked.

“Leonard.”

“Mrs. Littleton, Leonard Worthington’s dead.”

“Oh, nonsense,” she said waving her hand at them. “I saw him the other day. He’s still the big man he always was.”

Jaxon’s draw dropped to his chest. Victoria sat up straighter. “Are you sure you saw him, Mrs. Littleton?”

“Uh-yes. I’m pretty sure I did. He’s hard to miss.”

“Where did you see him?”

“Why, at the house,” she pointed again to the grey two-story. “I hadn’t seen him in so long, but I’m sure it was him. He was wearing an old…”

Jaxon was no longer listening to her. A tumbler in his head dropped into place. Radio controlled airplanes. Diethyl Ether in the fuel. Click! Leonard Worthington was a big man. Ellie and Luke, as well as Mr. Lolly had said the killer was huge. Jaxon had seen him on surveillance. Six four, easy. Click! To Ellie: “I know your father.” Click! To Jaxon: “You’ll regret this.” Click! “ These are not Malcom’s. They are mine. I return them to you now.” Click! “That’s what I told Michael. But you never came.” Click!

Jaxon stood. He grabbed his radio and called dispatch to get the SWAT and bomb teams out here immediately. “Mrs. Littleton, I want you to get to your basement and stay there until we say it’s alright to come out.”

She looked terrified. Jaxon’s panicked actions had startled her and now this revelation he hurled at her, pushed her past the limit. “What’s happening?!” she shrieked. “What’s wrong?!”

“Just do it!” he shouted at her and she moved quickly to the basement door and disappeared down the stairs. Victoria had put it together by now, also, and was on her cell coordinating some Federal efforts to assist with whatever they needed here. Leonard Worthington was alive and had been in his parent’s old house.

Jaxon stepped outside with Victoria and walked to the end of the driveway. The grey house stood quiet in the fading light and there were no windows on this side for anyone inside to look out. He looked skyward, trying to see light poles, lamp posts, trees, anywhere a hidden camera or web-cam could be mounted. Victoria joined him and after a moment, grabbed his arm and pointed. Just inside the yard of a house directly across the street from the Worthington home, an old oak stood, its limbs reaching out into the street and over the yards. High up on the trunk, close to where the limbs branched out away from the tree, a small grey box with a black spot in its middle was mounted facing the Worthington house.

“Shit!” he said. “We can’t risk going in there until the bomb guys check it out.”

“Not only that,” she said, “what about the neighbors!”

“Shit! I’ll take this side and you take that! Go!”

Jaxon sprinted to the first house next to the Littleton house and pounded on the door.

“Open up! Police!” He pounded the door until a little old grey haired lady answered. He flashed his badge and instructed her to go into her basement and await further instructions. He told her he didn’t have time to explain. He heard Victoria pounding on doors behind him. He ran to the next house.

Jaxon heard tires squeal in the distance and knew they were coming. Everybody ran silent in a situation like this. Jaxon had made it to four houses when the first squad car pulled up. He ran to it and told the officer to get the other houses’ occupants to the basements. The officer ran off. Two more cars pulled up and then the SWAT team command vehicle rolled in followed by the bomb squad. FBI cars were now showing up too.

Victoria had joined Jaxon and they met the SWAT commander in front of the vehicle. Dark had settled in and the flashing lights cast strange shadows across the trees and houses. If Worthington hadn’t known they were here before, and he was in there, he definitely knew they were here now.

They were discussing the previous house in Indiana with the bomb squad chief when Jaxon’s cell phone went off. It was Halson in the lab.

“There’s a note in the box with the dog’s head,” Halson said. “It was stuck to the underside of the lid.”

“What did it say?” Jaxon asked.

“‘For Daddy’s girl,’” Halson said. Click! Another tumbler in place. This one was so obvious though that Jaxon wondered if he was being led again by the maniac. It was as if he was making it easy.

“Thanks, Billy. Gotta’ go,” and he hung up. His phone rang again almost immediately.

All zeroes on the caller I.D.

He showed it to Victoria who nodded once for him to answer. She had them all quiet down as best she could. He pressed the button.

“Hello Leonard.”

Metallic chuckling came through the speaker and a bit of feedback with it. Jaxon pulled the cell phone away from his ear. “Bravo, Detective. Bravo. Unfortunately, you are a bit slow.”

“We’re coming for you, Leonard.”

“Apparently, you aren’t listening,” Worthington said, turning off the voice distortion.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jaxon said. “You’ve got nowhere to go.”

Jaxon heard what he thought was a whimper come over the speaker and then Worthington said, “Are you listening, now Detective?”

A whine and then a howl of pain as Jaxon recognized Reverb’s cry. The line went dead.

He turned to Victoria. “He’s not here! He’s at my place! Come on!”

They sprinted for his car and yelled for a couple more patrol cars to follow. Victoria got on the phone with the SWAT commander enroute and discussed the options. They decided this team would stay in case Worthington was playing them and was actually here. The bomb squad would stay also and search the area for incendiaries and triggers. The FBI would send a team to Jaxon’s place and they should all reach the apartment at about the same time.

Jaxon had the lights and siren on as they worked their way through the early evening traffic. Luckily it was light, but they had to travel all the way from Reston to Annandale. It was taking too long and Jaxon knew they would miss him. Victoria remained in constant contact with her team at the Bureau and kept Jaxon in the loop.

“We’ll get there,” she said.

Arriving at his place, the FBI group getting to his apartment just before them, Jaxon sprinted from the car, racing for the apartment. Victoria and the FBI team yelled for him to stop, but he was going in no matter what. He knew the killer was not here and he knew there was no bomb waiting for him. The only thing he was unsure of was Reverb.

Bursting into the apartment, he ran from room to room. He stopped short of the kitchen and slumped. Victoria came in behind with her gun drawn, the FBI following behind. She saw Reverb hanging from the light fixture in the small kitchen and moaned.

He had been skinned and eviscerated like game, the muscle and connective tissues still glistening in the fluorescent lights. Jaxon pounded the door frame with a fist and turned away. One of the FBI guys swept past and looked over the area.

Jaxon’s eyes moved to Victoria’s whose look of sadness was probably only matched by his own. She touched his sleeve.

“You guys need to see this,” one of the FBI agents said.

Victoria looked past Jaxon and then moved into the kitchen. Jaxon stayed where he was. Victoria called to him and he finally turned and went into the kitchen. He avoided looking Reverb’s way.

A piece of newspaper was ripped from the main page and scribbled in big black letters were the words, ‘Too Late.’ The asshole used a piece of trash to write on. It was like a slap in the face and Jaxon knew it was meant that way.

“Yeah,” he said, under his breath. “We know we’re too late, you prick.”