Sentinel - Progressions Series 01 With Deadly Intent Page 2

  "I know, Jim," Simon interrupted softly. "It's not only the same area, it's the same dumpster. And the victim... the victim is Gil Brody Sr."

  Quinn. The fears Jim had harbored ever since he had first heard of Quinn's escape were becoming reality. No, he could never have guessed that they would take this particular form--that Quinn would go after Gil Brody's father--but still, Quinn was involved. He hadn't left the state or country after all. Jim clamped down on a surge of frustration--he should have known... should have insisted on being made a part of the search or should have gone out after Quinn on his own.

  Simon was speaking again, and the urgency in the captain's voice rippled through the connection, jarring Ellison from his preoccupying thoughts. "There's more, Jim," Simon said.

  "Tell me," Jim said simply, his jaw clenching.

  "There was a note in Brody's jacket pocket."

  Jim could hear a soft rustle of paper, then Simon's voice came to him again, reading, "Ellison: One down. Three to go. Who will be next?"

  Jim wiped a hand across his face. He was suddenly very tired, and he felt as though all the strength had been drained from his legs. Sinking heavily into his desk chair, he said, "Simon, you know what this means..."

  "I'm thinking I do, yes. You, me and Sandburg."

  Sandburg? Jim shook his head in denial. Simon and himself, surely. But not Blair. Not his partner.

  "No," Jim responded to Simon at last, denying the possibility that Quinn would come after Blair. "Not Sandburg. Quinn hardly knew who he was..."

  "Can you think of anyone else he'd be referring to, Jim?"

  The question was delivered quietly and without confrontation, but it slammed into Jim as though Simon had shouted. The detective remained silent for several seconds, thinking, hoping he could come up with an alternative answer to Simon's question. But he couldn't. He couldn't think of anyone else Quinn could be referring to. " Simon," he exclaimed, standing. "I need to find Blair."

  "Where is he?"

  Jim grabbed his coat. "He's over at the university." Glancing at his watch, Jim said, "He's teaching a class that ends in about twenty minutes. I'm going after him. Can you wait that long for me to get to the scene?"

  "We're going to be here for a while. I'd feel better if you and Sandburg were together. Go get him, then get over here."

  "Yes, Sir," Jim responded. He dropped the receiver back in its cradle and took off for the elevators at a brisk trot. The doors opened within a couple of seconds of pushing the call button. The detective stepped inside, punched at the garage level button with his thumb, then pulled out his cell phone. He knew it would be useless to try and reach Blair in his office--he just hoped Blair had his cell phone in his backpack and that it was turned on. He jabbed at the speed dial button that connected to Blair's cellular. He didn't care if he interrupted a class in session. He had to reach his friend.

  The phone rang three times, then a fourth, a fifth... The elevator doors opened onto the station's garage level just as the phone was ringing the eighth time. Knowing it was no use, Jim slammed the phone shut and pushed it down into his jacket pocket. Reaching his truck he climbed into the cab, fastened his seat belt and turned the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life and Jim shifted the transmission into drive. He stomped down on the accelerator, speeding through the garage and up the small ramp that led to the street that ran in front of the station. Siren screaming and lights flashing, he turned in the direction of the university. "Chief," he pleaded with his absent partner, "You'd better be all right."

  /

  /

  Blair looked up as the back door to the classroom opened. His eyes locked with those of his partner; even across the several feet that separated them Blair could see Jim's concern, could sense the urgency radiating from the older man. Jim nodded at him once, curtly, then slipped quietly into a seat at the rear of the room. Blair's lecture had concluded anyway--he'd simply been chatting with the class for the past few minutes--so he dismissed the students with a cheery, "Okay, that's it for today. I'll see you all again next week."

  The classroom emptied quickly. Jim stood and waited for the chattering students to pass by him, then he made his way to the front of the room where Blair was busy placing papers and books into his backpack.

  "What's up, Jim?" Blair asked, fastening his pack and looking up at his partner.

  "I tried calling you, Chief," Jim said sternly, sidestepping his friend's question.

  Blair ignored the firm tone. "Calling me? When?"

  "About ten minutes ago. On your cell phone."

  "You know I don't keep the phone turned on during class." Blair fixed Jim with a mock glare, then immediately sobered. He recognized the detective's stance and expression--he'd certainly seen it enough times before. Jim was about to deliver bad news, and that bad news was going to somehow impact them both. "What's going on?" he prompted, stepping closer to Jim. "What's happened?"

  Jim took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. He looked down at his partner. "It's Quinn, Chief," he answered softly. "Or at least we're pretty sure it's Quinn." Quickly, Ellison filled Blair in with the few details he had received from Simon, beginning with the discovery and location of Brody's body and ending with the contents of the cryptic note left in the dead man's clothing.

  "Oh, man!" Blair exclaimed after Jim had finished giving him the details. He could picture Brody in his mind, hapless victim of a cold killer harboring a whacked-out agenda of his own. The anthropologist ran a hand back through his hair, a nervous habit he wasn't even aware of. "Of all the sick... twisted... "

  Jim placed a hand on Sandburg's shoulder, halting the young man's words, then gently turned him in the direction of the classroom's side door. "C'mon. We need to get over to the crime scene. Simon wants us both there."

  "Safety in numbers, huh, Jim?" Blair asked as he walked past his friend, referring to the note found on Brody's body.

  They had arrived at the door and Jim stepped forward, opening it so Blair could pass in front of him. "Something like that," the detective answered, falling into step beside his shorter partner. At the end of the short hall, Blair stood aside as Jim opened the exterior door and stepped out ahead of him, motioning for him to stay back. The detective stood on the landing and carefully scanned the surrounding campus. The grounds were almost empty, most students having found their way to the university cafeteria, their own apartments, or local restaurants for lunch.

  "Jim?" Blair asked quietly, reaching out to touch Jim lightly on the back.

  "Just checking," Jim answered, turning back to look at Sandburg. "I don't want any surprises."

  Blair dropped his hand and stood on tiptoe, attempting to peer over the taller man's shoulder. "Do you hear or see anything?"

  Jim was silent for a moment as he continued to survey the scene before him, sweeping in and out with his vision and hearing, looking and listening for anything that would indicate Quinn's possible presence. Nothing. He turned back to Blair. Smiling, he stepped aside and gestured for Sandburg to join him. "It's clear. Let's go, Chief."

  /

  /

  The drive across town to the crime scene was gloomily quiet. Each man was turning the details of the murder over in his mind, processing the killer's actions, weighing the implications, wondering when Quinn would make his next move. It was Jim who finally broke the silence. Turning to Blair, he asked softly, "I guess I don't have to tell you who we believe Quinn was referring to when he wrote, 'three to go'?"

  Blair pursed his lips in annoyance. "No, that part's pretty obvious, Jim," he replied, lifting his hand to count the names off on his fingers: "Simon, you and me." The young man folded his arms across his chest and leaned heavily against the back of the seat. Anger at Quinn and what he had done washed over him, and he fell silent for several minutes. "What a nice guy, huh?" he blurted out finally. "Real courteous of this sicko to at least let us know he plans to kill us before he does it."

  Jim looked over at Sandburg. "He's not goin
g to kill us, Chief," Ellison assured him softly.

  "Yeah? Well, I hope you're right about that, Jim."

  "Just relax, Blair. Now that we know what Quinn's up to, we can take every precaution."

  Blair brought both hands up and ran them slowly through his hair, exhaling a deep breath as he did so. Dropping his hands into his lap, he looked over at Jim. "Sorry, man. This is just pretty freaky."

  "No need to be sorry, Chief." Jim smiled. "I think finding out that you're on some looney's hit list gives a person license to freak just a little, don't you?"

  Blair smiled back at him gratefully, then exhaled a short huff of laughter. "Yeah, maybe just a little. Thanks."

  Jim gave Blair a small wink, then turned his attention back to the road. "There's one thing I don't understand, though," the detective said, turning left onto Commerce Street. "Simon's sure that the three of us are the targets Quinn referred to in his little note. I can understand why Quinn would want to settle an old score or two with the captain and myself, but why you? He hardly saw you up at the mine for more than a few minutes, and I don't think he ever even knew your name."

  "I know. I've been thinking about that."

  "And?"

  "And I can only come up with one thing." Turning in the seat to face Jim, Blair continued, "You remember the files we got from the Feds when they began their search for Quinn? There was a note in them that said Quinn received a daily subscription to the Cascade Times the entire time he was in prison."

  Jim shook his head, confused. "I don't remember seeing anything about that." He glanced over at Blair. "Besides, what difference does that make?"

  "Think about it, Jim," Blair said. "How often do you and I have our faces plastered all over the front page of the Times? Quinn would recognize me from the mining camp and he'd know from the news articles that I'm your partner. He may even think I'm a cop. He isn't stupid, Jim--he'd put two and two together with no problem. He's out for revenge, so I'm automatically factored into the equation."

  Jim's jaw tightened at that last bit of information, but he chose not to comment on it. "Okay," he drawled, "I'll buy the fact that Quinn could get that information from the paper. But he could also get a lot of other information as well. We really can't be sure that he subscribed to the paper just so he could keep tabs on me."

  "I disagree, Jim. I think that's exactly why he subscribed."

  Jim raised an eyebrow in question, and Blair continued, "I know, I know. And believe me, I didn't think much about it either when I first saw the note in the files. But it makes sense to me now. Quinn's a native of Auburn, Jim. Not Cascade. So why else would he want to receive a Cascade newspaper?"

  Jim reached up and ran a hand across his hair. He shook his head. "To follow my career," he finally answered.

  Sandburg snorted. "Well, he doesn't exactly seem like the type who would follow news about the Ladies' Auxiliary bake sales, now does he?" Blair's voice was bitter, self-incriminating. "Yes, he's been following you." Blair was quiet for a moment. His previous anger had returned and without warning he reached up and slammed his hand against the dashboard of the truck, startling Jim. "I should have seen this before," he snapped. "I should have known he was watching you, that he'd be coming after you."

  "Blair, there is no way--"

  "Don't, Jim!" he interrupted vehemently. "If I had just given it a little thought it would've been so clear. But I wasn't paying attention, and now a man is dead because of it."

  "Oh, no. Just stop right there, Chief," Jim said, fixing his partner with a strict gaze. "I know where you're going with this." He softened his tone and reached over to touch lightly at Blair's arm. "You couldn't have known what Quinn was up to, and even if you had known, there's no way either of us would have guessed that he'd go after Brody's dad."

  Blair pushed a hand through his hair again, nervously tucking a strand behind his ear. "I know," he said quietly. "You're right. I just wish..." Shaking that thought aside, he turned to Jim and asked, "So what do we do next?"

  Jim smiled over at him. "Something easy," he quipped. "We make plans to catch Quinn before he has the opportunity to catch one of us."

  Blair rolled his eyes and sighed. "Yeah, easy." He thought about Jim's statement for a moment, then looked over at his partner and asked, grimacing, "Does this mean I'm under 'protective custody again, Jim?"

  The detective smiled mischievously. "You bet you are, Chief," he answered. Waggling his eyebrows, he teased, "And guess who just assigned himself as your personal, 24-hour bodyguard?"

  /

  /

  The alley was clogged with official vehicles and personnel by the time Jim and Blair arrived. Ellison pulled his truck into the small back street and parked behind the forensic photographer's van. He met up with Blair at the front of the vehicle; placing his hand at the small of the younger man's back, Jim guided his partner forward through the throng of people, toward the crime scene.

  "Jim! Sandburg!" Simon greeted the two men as they approached the dumpster. Glancing down at Blair, he smiled. "Glad to see that Jim found you safe and sound, Blair."

  "Yeah, me too," Blair replied. "Thanks, Simon."

  "Chief," Jim said, "Why don't you stay here with Simon while I take a look at the body? I'll be right back." With that, the detective was gone, leaving no time or opportunity for either Blair or the captain to argue.

  Blair shrugged, thankful for the reprieve from viewing the corpse, and positioned himself next to Simon, remaining quiet and trying to keep out of the way as the captain answered questions and gave directions to police personnel. Sandburg watched Jim from a distance, ready to step forward if it appeared that his partner needed him for any reason. But Jim seemed to be handling the investigation with his usual practiced ease, and within a few minutes the detective had finished his examination of the body and the crime scene and had returned to where Blair and Simon were standing.

  "Could I see the note, Sir?" Ellison asked, holding out his hand.

  Simon retrieved a small plastic bag containing the opened note from his pocket and handed it to Jim. The detective took the bag in his gloved hands and turned the package over a couple times. Then he concentrated on the note, staring down at the printed message. He looked up after several seconds and shook his head, indicating to both men that he wasn't able to gain any additional information from the note that would be helpful in the investigation.

  Sighing deeply, Jim handed the plastic bag to Blair. "Some idea of a calling card, isn't it?" he asked bitterly.

  "I always knew Quinn was cold," Simon replied, "But I had no idea he could be this ruthless."

  "Did Brody's dad have any other history with Quinn at all?" Blair asked softly, looking down at the package in his hands. "Other than the fact that Quinn killed his son?"

  "None," Jim answered, taking the bag from Blair and handing it back to Simon. Moving close, he put a hand on Blair's shoulder. "You okay?" he asked quietly.

  Blair looked up at his partner. He knew the sentinel could feel the slight tremor that passed through him. "Quinn killed Brody just to serve as a message. There was no other reason..." His voice trailed off as the implication of his words hit him full force. He shook his head, unable to fathom the hatred behind this crime. "This really gets to me," he whispered and Jim's hand tightened on his shoulder. "I mean, for father and son both to end up like this." He looked back at the black plastic bag that now held Brody's body. "What a waste. And you know this was fun for Quinn. That's the worst part--he enjoyed killing that man. Enjoyed--"

  "Blair," Simon interrupted. "I know this is hard, but right now we have to concentrate on finding Dawson Quinn. And on stopping him before he comes after the next of his three intended victims."

  Blair closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then looked over at Simon. "I know," he said. "You're right." He straightened his shoulders, his gaze shifting from the captain to his partner and back again. "So which one of us do you think Quinn will target next?"

  "In all honesty?
" Simon asked. "Either you or me."

  "Simon's right, Chief," the detective agreed. "I don't know if Quinn will come after you or Simon next; I only know that I'm last on his list."

  Blair nodded. It made sense. Quinn had addressed the note to Jim, which meant Jim was his final target after he watched his closest friends die first. The thought sent a shudder through him. He looked up at his partner and saw the deep concern in his eyes. "Hey, Jim, don't look so worried. At least we're forewarned."

  The sentinel smiled. "Good point, Chief."

  Simon swept the area with his gaze one last time. "Okay, gentlemen. Let's get back over to the station and see what we can put together from there, shall we?"

  "Right, Sir," Jim replied. "We'll be right behind you."

  Once again, Jim placed his hand against Blair's back and guided him down the alley. Reaching the truck, both men climbed into the cab and settled in, buckling their seat belts. Ahead of them, the forensic photographer's van pulled out into the alley and began to move forward. Jim started the truck, shifted into gear, and pulled in behind the van, following it as it made its way slowly through the maze of people and vehicles.

  It took almost ten minutes to navigate the length of the alley and pull up to the street beyond. Jim looked both ways, then turned toward the station, following the same route the photographer's van had taken before him. He had just completed the turn when his cell phone rang. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved the phone and flipped it open. "Ellison," he announced.

  Blair glanced at his partner, waiting for the detective to speak again, to enter the conversation or perhaps ask a few questions, but Jim remained silent, listening to the caller, his jaw clenched tightly. A few tense seconds passed, then Jim pulled the phone away from his ear, closed it with an angry snap and tossed it onto the seat between himself and Sandburg.

  "Jim?" Blair asked warily, "What's wrong? Who was that?"