Michael Prescott - Last Breath

On a silent count of three, they entered the hall, Tanner first, Chang directly behind him. Tanner crossed instantly to the opposite side of the corridor, the last safely cleared position, and put his back against the wall. Chang joined him shoulder to shoulder a moment later.

Hallways were dangerous. Slots, they were called in tactical training maneuvers. An officer didn’t want to get caught in a slot, without cover or concealment.

Three doors lined the hall. Three rooms, any of which could be unfriendly.

Tanner pointed to the nearest room, the door ajar. Then he sliced the pie again, his quick footsteps tracing an arc before the doorway as he scanned the interior.

Bedroom. Mirror on the far wall. No movement reflected in the glass.

When Tanner had positioned himself to the right of the door, Chang moved to the left side.

They had gone into a hundred empty rooms and had survived every time.

Tanner hoped their luck would hold on the hundred and first.

“Maybe we could go at this from the other direction,” Cellini said as Walsh paced the squad room. “Whoever’s doing this has to be a computer guy, right? We can check the billing records of the two previous vics and see if they had a computer repairman come to their home.”

Walsh looked at her. “Do they do that? Make house calls?”

“It’s called on-site service. You can sign up for it when you buy the computer.”

“Could we have missed something like that? The same repairman visits the two women and we don’t flag it?”

Cellini glanced away. “I’d like to say no, but we weren’t focused on their residences. Neither victim was snatched from home.”

“But SID would have found cameras if they were planted in the bedrooms.”

“Not if the killer removed the gear first. We have to figure he went in, either before or after the abductions, and took the cameras and whatever else he installed.”

“Okay, we’ll review all repairs and maintenance work in the victims’ homes for at least two months prior to their abduction. And not just computer repair. For all we know, this guy could be a goddamned plumber who’s picked up some high-tech smarts-hey. What the hell’s that?”

Walsh was looking at the computer, where the grainy video feed of the unknown woman’s bedroom was suddenly shivering with movement.

Cellini spun her chair around. Walsh leaned over her shoulder.

Dim, indistinct shapes played across the screen.

“Someone’s in there,” Cellini whispered. “The killer maybe.”

“If so,” Walsh said, “there’s more than one.”

Tanner was primary through the bedroom door. Just across the threshold, he and Chang came together, back to back, and surveyed the darkness, then advanced with shoulders touching, pistols lowered in the search position.

They checked out the blind spot behind the bed and the dangerous unknown of the walk-in closet, then the bathroom with its stall shower.

Nothing.

“Clear,” Tanner breathed.

He flicked on his flashlight to be sure.

The video image flared briefly as a bright light came on inside the room. Then the camera lens adjusted to the new conditions, and the two figures in the bedroom were clearly visible.

“Cops,” Cellini said.

Walsh nodded. “Sheriff’s deputies.”

“Hold on.” Cellini leaned close to the screen, her nose nearly touching the glass, and stared at the officer whose flashlight had lit up the room. “I know him.”

“Who is he?”

“Let me think. Works out of East LA. Met him at a couple of crime scenes. Kind of a jerk. Thinks he’s God’s gift. Name is Donner… no, Danner… Tanner, that’s him. Deputy Tanner.”

Walsh grabbed a phone from the nearest desk and dialed the Sheriff’s Department.

The bedroom was clean, but the rest of the house remained unknown territory.

Tanner switched off his flash, and then it was back into the slot, down the hallway, hugging one wall to minimize exposure in the kill zone.

His gaze was focused far ahead, and he missed the object Chang indicated with a snap of his fingers.

On the floor lay a kitchen knife, dropped by someone in the hall.

There had been a struggle here.

Tanner had been trained to take nothing for granted, and he stuck with his training now. He and Chang methodically explored the rest of the house, using covert entry techniques for every room and closet and corner.

But it was a waste of time. Tanner knew it with a sick certainty deep in his gut.

C.J. was gone.

When the house had been thoroughly cleared, he dialed up the volume on his radio and heard the dispatcher repeating his call number with a note of urgency. He answered.

“Someone’s waiting for you on tac one,” the dispatcher said, meaning tactical frequency one, a radio channel used for semiprivate conversations.

“Who?”

“Detective Morris Walsh, LAPD.”

Tanner traded a glance with Chang. “I’ll meet him on tac one.”

He switched over to the specified frequency and heard a gruff voice demanding, “Deputy Tanner, are you there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Give me your exact location.”

“Sir?”

“ Do it!”

Tanner recited the street address.

“That’s well within city limits, Deputy. What are you doing there?”

“I was concerned for the safety of a, uh, friend.”

“So you broke into her house and searched her bedroom?”

Tanner blinked. “How the hell…?” He remembered courtesy. “I mean, what makes you think we’re inside the house?”

“Because I saw you and your partner. You’re on the Internet.”

“We’re what?”

“I’ll explain later. I assume you didn’t find the lady?”

“No, but the rear door was open, and there was a kitchen knife discarded on the hall floor.”

Silence for a moment, and then Walsh said in a softer voice, “You think there was an abduction?”

“Yes, sir.”

A sigh fluttered over the cheap speaker. “So do I. Goddamn it, I knew we’d be too late.”

“Sir, can I ask-”

“Not until I get there. I’ll be at your location in ten minutes. Meantime, don’t touch anything. One more thing, Deputy. What’s the woman’s name?”

“C.J. Osborn. You know her?”

“Why in Christ’s name should I know her?”

“Because she’s one of yours, Detective. She’s LAPD. She works patrol out of Newton.”

Another silence, longer this time.

“No, Deputy,” Walsh said, “I don’t think I’ve met her. I hope I get the chance.”

This time there was no confusion. C.J. swam out of unconsciousness into waking reality, and instantly she remembered the surprise attack in the hallway, the phone call from Tanner, and above all Adam’s voice.

She was still blindfolded, and he had gagged her again with the rubber throttle. He had propped her in a sitting position, her back against something hard and straight. A wall? No, a post.

The floor was stiff and cold. Concrete. Not part of her bungalow. Not Adam’s condo. Someplace else.

She had been relocated while she slept. She might be anywhere now. A basement, maybe. No, she felt cold air-fresh air, outdoors air-moving across her face. There must be windows or other openings. She listened for sounds of traffic from outside, music, jet planes, but heard nothing.

Carefully, afraid to move too much and betray the fact that she was awake, she tested her wrists and found that they were still bound behind her back. Her ankles too-taped together, her legs curled under her. Her head had slumped forward while unconscious, and she did not raise it, not yet.