(2008) Compulsion Page 8

  To Emily’s relief, she’s found the little girl alive and well. She types quickly on her laptop computer to alert the San Louis Obispo Sheriff’s Office Emergency Services Division with all of the pertinent perp information, including a photo of Susie Williams. She hits the enter key and the information will be received on every patrol car laptop instantly without tracing back to her. It will lead patrol and detectives right to the farm to rescue Susie.

  It takes every ounce of strength for Emily not to storm the house, pump six bullets into the pedophile’s heart, and rescue the little girl. Just once, Emily would like to bring the missing child home to her parents personally. But for her work to be most effective, her anonymity is paramount. It’s exceedingly lonely at times, but it’s the way it has to be for her. In case the serial pedophile decides to run or harm the little girl, she sits and waits for the local authorities to respond.

  The house is in an unincorporated area and it depends on where the police are located when a call comes in to them. It could take anywhere between ten minutes up to an hour for response. Emily continues to watch the house. Without warning, Timothy bursts out his front door onto the porch carrying a shotgun in his right hand. He has a crazed look in his eyes. He looks to the right, to the left, and then back to the right again. Obviously, he has forgotten to take one of his medications. His paranoid behavior has begun to show and his patience is wearing thin. Emily worries that he might hurt or kill Susie before the police arrive.

  Putting down the binoculars, Emily inserts a full clip into her Glock. She gets out of the Jeep and looks down at the farmhouse, but she can’t see where Timothy has gone. She frantically looks through binoculars and can’t locate him. He’s not inside the house, and he’s not out on the porch or in the front yard.

  Emily has completely lost a visual on her dangerous pedophile suspect. With her gun in hand, she begins to tread down the steep embankment and eases her way towards the farmhouse for a closer inspection.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Friday 1615 Hours

  Rick knocks for a second time on Emily’s front door, but there’s still no answer. Her car isn’t in the driveway, but he thinks that maybe she has parked her Jeep in the garage. As he looks around the neighborhood he sees Theresa Branden through the picture window of the living room across the street. He decides to go and to talk to her about the new neighbor.

  The detective looks at his watch and estimates that the narcotics team will be making their bold appearance in less than an hour. He walks up to the neighbor’s inviting front porch with hanging pink fuchsias and knocks. Instantly a deep dog bark rumbles through the entranceway. A large black canine face appears in the picture window. He immediately recognized the doggie face as Emily’s dog.

  The front door opens and a middle-aged woman asks, “May I help you?” She then sees his badge and gun.

  The detective hands her his card. “I’m Detective Rick Lopez with the Santa Cruz Sheriff’s Office. May I talk to you for a few minutes?”

  Theresa takes the business card and replies, “Please detective, come in.”

  The detective follows her, “Thank you.”

  Sergeant trots by the detective’s side as he heads for the living room.

  Theresa continues, “I’m Theresa Brandon.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “Please have a seat.”

  They both sit down. Theresa waits to hear what the detective has to say. Sergeant sits down next to the detective’s feet.

  The detective begins, “Your neighbor Emily Stone came to me to report the activities of your new neighbor.”

  “Oh.” Theresa is somewhat surprised, but pleased.

  “And I wanted to get some more information from you and your perceptions on the situation.”

  Theresa was happy to convey information. “This man is very unpredictable. He has intimidated some of the neighbors to pay him for services that he didn’t do or was asked to do.”

  “Do you feel that he is dangerous?”

  “Yes.” Theresa gets her thoughts together. “I can’t really tell you exactly why except for some of his actions towards others, but it’s a gut feeling.”

  The detective appreciates her honesty. “I know about gut feelings.”

  Theresa smiles. “I bet you do.”

  The detective gets more information from Theresa about the neighbor in order to corroborate Emily’s version.

  Rick looks at his watch. “There is going to be a group of narcotic detectives visiting your neighbor’s house in about a half hour.” He continues, “I noticed that his truck was there. Hopefully, the narcotic detectives will find drugs and that will get him out of your neighborhood for good.”

  “That would be great.”

  “The landlord will have to evict him and the tenant will not have any legal actions against him because of the drugs.”

  Sergeant sits up and wills the detective to pet his ears.

  Theresa laughs, “He likes you detective.”

  Petting the dog, “We’ve already met.” The detective hesitates, “Well, I think that’s everything I need. Thank you for your time Mrs. Brandon.”

  Standing up, she says, “Anytime.”

  They walk to the front door with Sergeant in tow.

  “Do you know when Emily will be back?”

  Theresa answers, “To tell you the truth, she said she was going to be gone for a couple of days, but sometimes it can be a week or more.”

  “Can you get in touch with her?”

  “I have her cell phone number. She usually checks in daily to see how Sergeant is doing, but I don’t expect her back until next week.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  The detective leaves. Theresa was left wondering if the detective was more interested in the neighbor problem or Emily.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Friday 1645 Hours

  Emily eases her body closer to the farmhouse in a crouching position down the steep hillside, but she still can’t get a visual on the pedophile. There are thick bushes and sharp thorns on some of the undergrowth catching on her jeans and scratching the inside of her forearms.

  She loses her footing and tumbles a few feet, but a stout bush abruptly stops her descent. Her Glock sticks in the bush and she hastily recovers the weapon. She’s covered in thick dust and has skinned her left palm trying to stop the fall. Blood begins to seep through the wounds. She stops and listens attentively, but she is stumped as to where the man went. He couldn’t have gone far because he wouldn’t have left the little girl alone.

  Emily decides to climb back up to her car and get another vantage position. A bad feeling begins to creep into her body that she can’t seem to shake. It’s not anxiety, but rather a real feeling of danger. Her throat becomes dry and constricted, and her pulse elevates. She climbs faster; it’s only another few feet to the top.

  Emily runs practically into the barrel of a shotgun held by Timothy. He stands above her with careful aim and Emily knows he is prepared to use the weapon. Somehow he knew that she was watching him from the neighbor’s property. She thought that she was so careful and confident about her position and surveillance approach.

  He motions the gun at her, “Drop the weapon.” His voice was absolutely expressionless.

  Emily gets to her feet, a bit unsteadily, and drops the handgun on the ground.

  He continues and gestures, “Move.”

  Emily obliges and moves slowly toward the wooded area, but her instinct tells her that he’s most likely going to kill her and bury her body on the property somewhere. No one even knows that she is out here, and the police would never suspect that there’s a body on the property.

  She takes the opportunity to pretend to stumble in a hole on the dirt path.

  Timothy is annoyed by her unsteadiness and raises his voice now, “Get up! Move it now!”

  “I’m trying”, Emily whines.

  Emily trips
and goes down on the ground. She’s on her hands and knees in a basically vulnerable position by most untrained observers. She glances up at Timothy and catches him taking the shotgun off of her for a moment. She then makes her move.

  Emily rushes Timothy and body slams him against the ground. He hits the terrain hard, stunned by Emily’s bold move, and tries to regain his breath. The shotgun clatters towards the hillside and briefly disappears out of sight.

  Emily is briefly dazed as well. The impact of the hit made her teeth clack together causing a jarring insult to her head. A shooting pain penetrates through her frontal lobe causing an instant migraine. The minor cuts on her hands and arms are stinging, making her whole body buzz with a strange energy. She makes a move for her gun, but before she reaches the top of the hillside Timothy grabs her right ankle and yanks her away from the weapon. Emily hits the dirt again, but this time Timothy pins her down with his weight and wraps his hands around her neck.

  “Die bitch!” He screams in her face with an absolute crazed look in his eyes.

  Emily screams and scratches at Timothy’s face. She’s able to move her right knee up enough and slam it against his groin. Timothy drops to the side in searing pain. Emily gasps for air unconsciously rubbing her neck. She quickly gets to her feet and takes a fighting stance in case Timothy tries to attack again.

  The sound of several cars entering the dirt driveway down below temporarily interrupt the fight. Both Emily and Timothy look in the direction of the farmhouse and see three police patrol cars skidding to a stop.

  Emily begins to panic; she can’t be found on the property by the police. Her cover would be blown forever and her life would be nothing but a nightmare of news media intrusions and do-gooders wanting her to solve many types of cases. It would never end.

  Timothy takes another shot at Emily. This time, he’s able to knock her off the steep hillside. Emily disappears over the edge.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Friday 1700 Hours

  Rick steps out of his parked car and meets with the crew of the Sheriff’s Office Narcotics Squad. They meet on a street away from the intended location of Emily’s neighbor. The narcotics sergeant meets the detective and provides a hearty handshake.

  “Hey detective, nice of you to throw some work our way.” He takes a step back with his hands on his hips.

  Sergeant Dan Field stands about six foot six inches tall and is almost twice the age of his young crew of four. Rick has known Sergeant Field since he first joined the department and has tremendous respect for him. He has collared many drug dealers and has served the department well in special weapons and tactics activities.

  “I thought this delicate situation had your name written all over it.” Rick jokes.

  Sergeant Field asks, “What’s up with this guy? His name keeps coming up on the radar.”

  “Not sure, but he’s got no business here in this neighborhood harassing everyone.” The detective continues, “He’s showing violent and erratic behavior. There’s no doubt that he has drugs in his house.”

  “He was picked up for drugs a few years back.”

  “Exactly.”

  Sergeant Field looks the detective in the eye, “So whose the wit?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The wit, the good looking female that’s got you all over this little sting operation.”

  The detective hesitates, “I wouldn’t say.”

  “I knew it.” The sergeant laughs. “Don’t worry about it; we’ll get this asshole out of this neighborhood. He’ll be out by sundown tomorrow.” He gives some specific instructions to his crew. To the detective, “Is he home?”

  “Yes, his truck is still there as of ten minutes ago.”

  “Good. Come join the fun.” To his crew, “Let’s go.”

  Rick and the narcotics team assemble, get into their designated vehicles, and drive straight to Donald Everett’s house.

  The three vehicles pulling up haphazardly, make a clear-cut statement and block the driveway. Sergeant Field followed by two of his team, march up to the front door. He hammers loudly with his fist. “Mr. Everett, open up.” He waits impatiently. He bangs again, “Open up.”

  The group hears some pounding noises coming from inside the house. Rick looks up at the deck. The filthy slider opens a few inches. The detective squints his eyes to see if Donald is peering out at the team. The slider suddenly bangs open and a stocky bearded man wearing old burgundy sweats and a long sleeved blue plaid shirt steps out onto the deck.

  Donald fumes, “What do you want?”

  Sergeant Field takes a step away from the front door and asks, “Mr. Everett?”

  “I’m going to ask you again, what do you want?”

  “Mr. Everett can you step outside please? We need to talk to you.” The sergeant asks politely.

  “If you don’t leave immediately, I will have to report your unethical and illegal activities to your superior.” He paces back and forth. “I’ve been minding my own business, but that neighbor has been disrupting my life.” He gestures to Emily’s house.

  Rick is speechless by the Donald’s strange behavior. If he had any doubt as to Emily’s story of this man, he’s completely behind her and the whole neighborhood now.

  Sergeant Field pushes, “Sir, we can’t talk to you when you’re up there. Can you please come down to talk to us?”

  Donald huffs and continues to pace, “I know my rights, and you have no business being here on my property without a warrant.” He clenches and unclenches his fists down at his side. He hesitates for a moment and then goes back inside, slamming the slider behind him.

  Sergeant Field looks at the detective. “There’s nothing more that we can do. He’s right; he’s spooky, but right.” He takes a few steps down the driveway and looks up at the house. The shabby curtains are pulled tight. There’s a crashing sound as if some dishes had been thrown inside the house. Then silence.

  “I’m sorry for wasting your time.” Rick tries hard not to show his disappointment.

  “Don’t worry about it, we’ll keep him under surveillance. And I’ll talk to patrol. We’ll work some thing out.”

  The sergeant and his eager crew get back into their vehicle and leave the property. Rick opens his car door and looks back at Donald’s house. He thought he saw the curtains drop back into place. There’s something strange going on with Donald Everett thought the detective. He couldn’t help but feel that something bad was going to happen.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Thirty

  Friday 1715 Hours

  Emily falls twenty feet down the embankment and is abruptly stopped by a dead tree stump. The dust slowly rises into the air. Emily coughs repeatedly trying desperately to free her lungs from the dry floating soil. She glances up to the top of the hill expecting Timothy to fire bullets down on her at any moment.

  To her surprise, the shotgun is only a few feet from her. She almost forgot that the gun went down the hill during the struggle. She carefully scales to the left of the embankment and picks up the shotgun swiftly checking the chamber to see that there are two bullets ready for action.

  Voices are heard echoing up the hillside from the farmhouse. The police have found the little girl and are actively looking for her captor. The law enforcement personnel spread out and aggressively search for the man who snatched Susie on her way home from school. They are not going to stop until they have this man in custody. Voices are becoming louder by the minute.

  Both relieved and terrified, Emily moves horizontally along the hillside. Her mouth is dry and fine grit is embedded in her teeth, causing a grinding sound every time she takes a step. She finally makes her way around where Timothy waits.

  Timothy stands at the top of the hill gazing down at the farmhouse. He appears to be dazed, almost hypnotized by the armed men looking for him. His shoulders seem rounded and sunken. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t hide. He merely watches from the vantage point for his destiny t
o unfold. It’s difficult to tell if he was always waiting for them or if he’s completely given up on his quest. Perhaps now his mental illness will come to an end. The end is up to him.

  With her aching back and stinging arms, Emily creeps up behind Timothy. He begins to turn around just as she swings the butt of the shotgun at his head. The direct blow knocks him down. He kicks around for a moment, but the unconscious darkness prevails. He’ll be out for several minutes, just long enough for the police to find him.

  Emily flings the shotgun into the dense bushes and runs to her car. The search team is close on her heels. The voices are coming closer to her location. It will only be a matter of moments before the search team discovers her. She turns the key and her rental Jeep ignites. The Jeep takes off down the makeshift dirt road away from an easy exit, but most importantly away from the police.

  Emily’s heart is pounding in her ears and she realizes that she is breathing too fast. She doesn’t even breathe this hard when working out in the gym. Her gut tightens and her vision seems to be impaired. The harder she tries to focus on the road, the dizzier she becomes. Now she’s one step away from a full-blown panic attack. There’s no time to relax and recover, she punches the gas pedal and speeds on.

  The Jeep bounces down the narrow road like a metal bucking bronco. The road is barely wide enough for her small vehicle and it seems to be getter narrower. The overgrown bushes and low hanging tree branches scrape the sides and the roof of her car. The branches obscure her view, and she has no idea whether or not this road will lead her away from the farm and back out to the main road.

  The overgrown foliage seems to instantly disappear from Emily’s view. She slams on the brakes and the Jeep barely stops before a barbwire fence. She is trapped like a rat with nowhere to go. She throws open her car door and gets out. For a moment, she takes several deep breaths to steady her legs and her equilibrium. She can hear voices approaching and now canines accompany the search team. The barking becomes more intense with each yard of road.