Hostage

She stood and started feeling her way around the bathroom, trying to be as quiet as possible. She ran her fingers along the edge of the vanity, and then over to the top of the toilet tank. Not the plastic portable thing, but the original toilet that had been plumbed in to the motel room. She tucked her fingers under the overhang and lifted the lid off the tank. It made a slight clinking noise, but Sozinho didn’t say anything, and he didn’t come barging through the door, so he must not have heard it.

The lid was heavy and cumbersome with Vaughan’s hands bound so closely together. Straining, the muscles in her fingers and wrists burning toward complete exhaustion, she wrestled it up and rested it on the top of her head so that one of the smaller sides of the porcelain rectangle was pointing toward the door.

She took a couple of deep breaths.

“Okay,” she said, a hot bolus of adrenaline surging through her veins. “I’m done.”

As soon as Sozinho pushed the door open, Vaughan stepped forward and slammed the toilet tank lid into his forehead like a club. The lid shattered. Most of it fell to the floor, but a few slivers found a home up around Sozinho’s hairline, and a nice big ugly shard stayed in Vaughan’s grip. As Sozinho staggered backwards, Vaughan moved in and swiped at his head and opened a gash along his left cheek. He shouted and shrieked and pressed his hands against his face, ineffectively trying to stop the flow of blood from multiple wounds.

“I’m going to kill you,” he said, pulling the pistol from his waistband and firing wildly in her general direction.

Blood trickled over Sozinho’s eyebrows, and he probably had a concussion from the vicious blow to the head. His ability to aim straight had been adversely affected, but Vaughan knew from experience what one bullet could do to human flesh, and she didn’t want any part of it. She’d gambled with an act of aggression, but her best bet now was to get away from Sozinho as fast as she could.

Trying to use the deafening blasts to her advantage, she ducked down low and slung the jagged chunk of porcelain aside and went for the door. She frantically slid the security chain out of its slot and twisted open the deadbolt and ran out onto the concrete sidewalk in front of the room. Squinting against the afternoon sun, she darted into a large open area that led to an outdoor lounging deck and swimming pool. She figured her best chance at freedom was through a stucco archway on the other side of the courtyard.

The pool had a blue vinyl cover stretched over the top of it, faded from the sun and stained with rust where it snapped onto the edges. As Vaughan ran past it, she noticed that she was leaving a trail of blood.

11

With a flashlight in one hand and his pistol in the other, Retro had checked every inch of the meat processing plant. Every hallway, every staircase, every nook and every cranny. A crumpled cigarette pack and a condom wrapper and a few dirty insulin syringes were the only indications that anyone had recently occupied the spaces.

Like a lot of small towns across the country, illegal drug use had found its way to Hope, Colorado, and apparently some of the users had found their way inside the plant.

Maybe they’d been the ones who’d cut the lock on the gate.

Retro walked back out to his cruiser and called Ashton on his cell.

“There’s nobody here,” he said.

“You checked the whole place?”

“Yeah. Looks like some addicts have been using the ham boning room for a shooting gallery. We’ll need to make sure the lock gets replaced, and we’ll have to start keeping a better eye on this part of town.”

“Vacant buildings are always a problem,” Ashton said. “Did anyone ever come to help you out?”

“No.”

“I called the state police, but there was a big accident on the interstate earlier, and they said it might be a while. Anyway, two detectives showed up here a few minutes ago, along with a sketch artist and a forensics guy. They’re talking to Commander Bailey in his office right now.”

“Good. Make sure they know I already checked the plant. I’ll stop at the hardware store and buy a lock for the gate, and I’ll tag it with a strip of crime scene tape. Maybe the addicts will leave it alone, at least for a while.”

“Maybe.”

“I’m going to keep driving around town. Vaughan’s cruiser has to be here somewhere. I don’t think the perp could have taken it very far without being noticed.”

“You think he transferred her to another vehicle?”

“That’s what I’m thinking. If we can find the cruiser, maybe we can lift some fingerprints and get an ID on this guy.”

“Assuming his prints are in the FBI database.”

“Yeah. Not a sure thing.”

“We put an alert out to the local TV and radio stations,” Ashton said. “And the detectives from the state police said there’s a helicopter on the way. If the car’s still around here anywhere, we’ll find it.”

“Yeah. We’ll find it.”

Retro disconnected.