Snowy Misery (Alaska Cozy Mystery Book 7) Page 6

  Chapter Four

  Sarah walked into a small break room, glanced over the worn counter to locate the pot of coffee, and then proceeded to look for coffee cups. She didn't speak until she poured coffee into a brown paper cup. “Brad is dead. Francis Clark is in Snow Falls. We're trapped in a storm. The situation appears hopeless,” she said and took a sip of coffee.

  Amanda hurried to pour Conrad a cup of coffee. “We do seem to be a pinch,” she said, handed Conrad his coffee and then poured herself a cup.

  Conrad kept half his body in the hallway and half in the coffee room. “Sarah, are you okay?”

  “I'm very angry,” Sarah admitted. “I thought I had put the divorce behind me. But when I saw Brad, I saw my entire life...the life I once loved. I saw my home in Los Angeles. I saw my backyard. I saw my bench.” Sarah took a sip of coffee. “I saw myself walking on the beach after a heavy rain. I saw myself sitting in my office working on a case. I saw...all that I was. But now Brad is dead. Francis Clark murdered him—he murdered my life. By killing Brad he killed a part of me that I will never be able to get back.”

  Amanda felt sadness grab her heart. “Love, you have a life here with us.”

  Sarah didn't seem to hear Amanda's words. She took another sip of coffee. “Maybe I was never meant to leave Los Angeles.” Conrad watched as Sarah looked down, turning the coffee cup around and around in her hands. It was clear to him the woman was in a completely different world, grieving but not ready to fully give into her grief, either. “What matters now is tracking Francis Clark down and sending him back to prison.”

  Amanda tossed Conrad a worried eye. “Love, how do you suggest we capture him?” she asked.

  Sarah grew silent again. Then she simply put down the coffee cup she was holding, looked around the room as if she were lost in a heavy fog, and simply let her arms fall down to her side, limp and motionless. “I don't know,” she whispered. Sarah looked at Conrad. “I'm sorry your ex-wife was killed, Conrad. I know you hurt, but you always hide your emotions. Now I understand what it must cost you, that kind of strength…I wish I were as strong as you.”

  “You're a very strong woman,” Conrad told Sarah in a firm tone. “You're not invincible, though. A man you were once married to, a man you once loved, was killed by a madman.” Conrad shook his head. “I know you miss your old life, Sarah. It took everything inside of me to leave New York and come here. As bad as New York can be, I miss walking the streets of Brooklyn, miss the lousy coffee, the sight of cabs, the subway, the crowded streets...everything that makes New York what is it. I'm not blind. We're just two people who were...tossed into Snow Falls by chance, really. Just because we call this place home now doesn't mean we forget our old lives.” Conrad studied the empty hallway. “I'm a New York cop, Sarah. You're a Los Angeles cop. Who we are doesn't change because we live in Alaska. I guess what I'm trying to say is that...it's who we are that keeps us strong. If we try and reinvent ourselves to hide from the pain, then all we're doing is crouching down in a corner and admitting we're cowards, and Sarah, that's no good.”

  “I want to be a coward right now,” Sarah confessed as tears began falling from her scared eyes. “Conrad, I'm so scared,” she said and found the strength to hold up her arms. “Please...hold me,” she cried. Conrad handed his coffee to Amanda and ran to Sarah, wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her close. “I can't win this time...Francis is going to kill us,” Sarah cried and sunk her face into Conrad's chest. “I can't outsmart him this time...and Brad died...for nothing...”

  “No, he didn't,” Conrad tried to comfort Sarah and placed his hand on top of her head. “Sarah, we can get this guy...you, me and Amanda...as a team. We'll make sure your ex-husband gets the justice he deserves.”

  “No,” Sarah continued to cry. “Not this time. Francis has the upper hand. He's too smart for me.”

  Amanda felt her own tears begin to fall. “Love, please don't give up,” she begged. “You've always been a fighter. Please, fight.”

  Sarah kept her head tucked into Conrad's chest. She didn't know what to say. The sound of someone running down the hallway prevented her from speaking. “Detective Garland,” a young nurse ducked her head into the break room. “A man wants to speak to you on the phone. He refused to give his name.”

  “Oh dear,” Amanda panicked.

  Conrad slowly let go of Sarah, placed his hands down on her shoulders, and looked deep into her eyes. “Get your mind straight, Detective Garland,” he ordered in a stern, voice. “We're cops before we're anything else. Is that clear?”

  Sarah looked into Conrad's eyes. She felt weak, scared, cold and defeated. But somehow, the sight of Conrad ignited a small flame of strength inside of her broken heart. “Clear,” she promised and wiped her tears away. “Nurse Danforth, take me to the phone.”

  Ellie Danforth hurried back down the hallway and pushed her way through a set of wooden double doors that led into the Emergency Room. She ran up to the work station where an older nurse with short gray hair was waiting. “Melanie, give Detective Garland the phone.”

  Melanie Smith stood up and with a shaky hand handed Sarah the telephone. “He refused to give his name to me.”

  “I know who he is,” Sarah said, her voice leaden. She looked around the emergency room. The tiny emergency department was decorated with dark blue walls and gray tiled floors, scarred with years of long, boring nights and days filled with endless games of solitaire. It was void of patients, silent and creepy; of course, Sarah realized that the creepiness was from her own scared mind that was expecting a monster to appear at any time. Sarah knew to hide her fear but felt that Francis Clark would call her bluff if she did. “Hello, Francis,” she spoke, deciding to show her anger instead of attempting to speak in a calm voice. “I'm going to make sure you burn this time.”

  Francis let out a pleased laugh as he plundered through Sarah's refrigerator while holding a phone to his ear with his right hand. “Why so mad?” he asked. “I did you a favor by killing that lame dog of a lawyer.” Francis spotted a cinnamon roll and snatched it up. “You should thank me.”

  “You killed a man I loved,” Sarah growled into the phone. “I'm going to make sure you burn, Francis.” Sarah decided to attack with full force. “Remember the day I captured you, Francis? I outsmarted you, didn't I? You weren't expecting me. You thought you had outsmarted me...you were wrong.”

  Francis stopped smiling. His eyes narrowed and began to darken with fury. “You were lucky, woman,” he hissed into the phone and threw the cinnamon roll down onto the floor. “You were very lucky.” Francis ran his left hand through his thin, gray hair and then passed his palm over his wrinkled face. At the age of fifty-four, he felt older than he wanted to admit. At least he still managed to give a distinguished appearance in the dark gray suit he had stolen after his escape from prison; it was a little snug, but very nice nonetheless. However, Sarah's attack on him cut too close to the bone. Was he slowing down? He was not as agile-minded as he had been when he had first tangled with Sarah Garland. “I'm going to prove to you who is the real genius,” he warned Sarah.

  “Francis, you're about as a smart as a bag of wet sand, you washed-out loser,” Sarah continued her attack. Amanda's jaw nearly hit the ground. Conrad bit down hard on his lip and began wondering what in the world Sarah's game plan was. “There's been new serial killers since I put you away. You're old news. You're yesterday's headlines that people are using to clean up dog poop.”

  “Are you insane?” Amanda whispered, feeling the color drain from her face.

  Sarah raised a hand at Amanda. “You killed Brad because you wanted to make our fight personal. And right now you're probably at my cabin or some other cabin taking shelter from the storm. My guess is you're at my cabin, though.”

  Francis felt his cheeks turn red with rage. “You're still sharp, Detective,” he said in a low growl, “but I'm going to dull your blade.”

  The voice of a deranged serial killer speaking into her ear
made Sarah want to scream in fear. Yet she held her ground. “Oh, so you are at my cabin, then,” she said and nodded at Conrad. “I thought you might visit my cabin and leave me an ugly little souvenir. What's the matter, Francis? Too scared to say hello in person?”

  Francis lifted his black boot and stomped the cinnamon roll on the floor out of existence. He had expected Sarah to be terrified of his presence. Instead, the woman was mocking him. “We're going to play a game, Detective Garland. If you refuse, innocent people will die. If you play along, then you will be given the chance to save innocent lives. But make no mistake, we're going to play the game by my rules.”

  “Like last time?” Sarah asked, feeling her temper rise. Sure, she was absolutely terrified of Francis Clark, but the serpent had killed a man she once loved. Hadn't that always been her deepest fear? Hadn't she always feared that someday, somehow, Francis would come back to take revenge against her by killing everyone she loved? Now her nightmare had become a reality. But even in a nightmare, a person was allowed to fight back. “You're a coward, Francis. You kill the way cowards kill. What's wrong? Afraid to face a woman without your little games to protect you?”

  Francis walked over to the kitchen window and yanked back the curtain. He glared out into the dark storm. “I was never afraid of you, Detective. You were a mere joke to me. You still are.”

  “Then why the games, Francis?” Sarah taunted. “Why not fight me face to face?”

  “You need to be taught a lesson.”

  “Oh, give me a break,” Sarah erupted. “All you psychos are the same...everyone needs to be taught a lesson,” she fussed. “Everyone needs to show me how brilliant they are. Well, I have news for you Francis: you're a loser, and no lesson, no game will change that.”

  “Shut up!” Francis roared and kicked the wall with his right boot.

  “Or what?” Sarah asked. “Or you’ll kill everyone I love? Or everyone in Snow Falls?” Sarah drew in a deep breath. “Go right ahead and try. But you better know this before you do: if you touch anyone in this town, I won't play your game. I'll vanish into this snowstorm and you'll never see me again. Do you hear me?”

  “If you run, I'll kill everyone in this town!” Francis fired back. “Don't play chicken with me, Detective!”

  Sarah closed her eyes and made a daring stand. “If you kill anyone else, I'll vanish into the wind, you pathetic worm. I know this area. I know roads that aren't on the map. I know ways in and out of town that you’ll never find. I'll slip away in the dark and let the state authorities know it’s time to step in, is that clear?”

  Francis could barely believe his ears. “If you run,” he threatened, “I'll hunt down everyone you know in Los Angeles before you can even get out of the hospital you’re standing in now. I have a person already in place.” Francis struggled to contain his anger. For some unknown reason, Sarah Garland was the only person alive who could get under his skin and force him to lose his temper. Why? How? Francis didn't know. All he knew was that Sarah Garland had to die. But first, he was going to force her to play a very dangerous game—a game of hideous revenge and dark vengeance.

  Within the terrified chambers of her mind, Sarah saw Francis hunting down her friends and family, one by one, like weak prey limping across a savannah filled with hungry lions. She knew without a doubt that Francis would carry out his threat. “Okay, Francis,” she said, forcing her voice to remain strong even though she was terrified. “What's the first move on the game board?”

  A hideous grinned spread across Francis's face. “Human emotion always imprisons the weak,” he told Sarah in a shadowy voice. “Now listen very carefully, Detective, because we're going back to square one. If you want to catch the killer, investigate my first murder. When you find the clue, move to square two. When you reach square ten, you'll find me...or I'll find you.”

  “You're playing a sick game, Francis,” Sarah growled. “You're going to lose.”

  “We'll see,” Francis said and stopped grinning. “When you come back to your cabin you will find a cell phone waiting for you. From this point forward you will only use that cell phone to speak with me. Is that clear?”

  “Yes.”

  Francis walked back to the refrigerator, opened it, retrieved another cinnamon roll, and took a bite. “Detective, if you don't play by the rules I will make your friend from London my first target. Play by my rules or it’s game over,” he finished and took a bite of the cinnamon roll.

  Sarah hung up the phone. “Well?” Amanda begged. Conrad folded his arms and studied Sarah's eyes.

  “I have to play his game. Back to square one,” Sarah explained in a tired, miserable voice.

  “What chance do we have of making it to your cabin before Francis leaves?” Conrad asked in an urgent voice.

  “None,” Sarah told Conrad. “Francis manages every second with extreme caution. Right now, he's fully aware that I might have sent an army of cops out to my cabin while I was speaking with him. I give him five more minutes and then he'll slip back out into the snow.”

  Conrad felt anger erupt in his chest. He kicked the nurse's station and then ran two furious hands through his hair. “I'm going to catch that monster!” he growled.

  Amanda looked at Sarah and then back at Conrad. The situation was bad—very bad, and there wasn't anything she could to change it. “Oh dear,” she whispered and waited for the next move to play out.

  The snowman wearing the leather jacket grinned at Sarah. Sarah didn't grin back. She stood frozen in the darkness, staring at the peppermint candy cane sticking out of the shadowy mouth of the gruesome snowman as icy winds cut into her face and heavy falling snow chilled her body. “Square one,” she whispered.

  Conrad walked through the thick snowdrifts with his gun drawn and made his way to Sarah. He looked at the snowman and then focused his eyes on the cabin. Every light in the cabin was on, casting warm light out into the night; the light bathed portions of the snow like saving hands battling a horrible nightmare. “Sarah?”

  “Love?” Amanda asked through chattering teeth. She cradled her arms together and tucked her chin down.

  “Square one,” Sarah whispered again and turned her head and looked at Amanda. “You're freezing. Let's hurry and get you inside.”

  Conrad glanced down at Sarah's right hand. Sarah as squeezing her gun very tightly. “Sarah?” he asked again, “are you okay?” Conrad nodded his head at her gun.

  Sarah shifted her eyes down and noticed how tightly she was gripping her gun. “I will be,” she promised. “Cover me, okay? Amanda, honey, as soon as Conrad runs in behind me, you follow him like a tick on a dog, okay?”

  “You bet,” Amanda promised.

  Sarah nodded her head and quickly made her way to the front door of her cabin. She found the door unlocked, drew in a deep breath, and then rushed inside with her gun at the ready. Conrad immediately followed. Amanda brought up the rear. “Living room clear!” Sarah yelled and carefully checked every room in the cabin and finally ended up in the kitchen. “All clear,” she said in a tired voice and plopped down in a kitchen chair and placed her gun down on the kitchen table.

  “I'll...make us a pot of coffee,” Amanda said and hurried off to busy herself with the chore.

  Conrad spotted a crushed cinnamon roll on the floor. He bent down, studied the cinnamon roll and then spotted a kick mark on the wall. “You upset him,” he told Sarah and pointed out the clues.

  “I know,” Sarah said and bowed her head. “Francis took Mittens.”

  “I noticed that, too,” Conrad replied and stood up. “He also wrote his name on every wall in your cabin.”

  Sarah raised her eyes and focused on a black cell phone sitting on a white plate on the kitchen table. “He'll call,” she promised. And as soon as Sarah proclaimed her statement the cell phone rung. Conrad and Amanda froze. Sarah raised a weary hand and answered the call. “I have the cell phone,” she told Francis.

  Francis locked his eyes on the warm kitchen window.
He didn't mind standing out in the freezing weather. He didn't mind the dangerous winds and deep snow. As a matter of fact, even though he was a man born and raised in Southern California, the frigid winter weather seemed to agree with him. “Good,” Francis told Sarah, feeling like a creature out of myth that was about to wreak havoc on an unsuspecting little town filled with superstitious peasants. “Now, while you go back to square one, I'm going to go have a little fun.”

  “No!” Sarah yelled. “If you hurt anyone in this town—”

  “You'll do absolutely nothing,” Francis laughed. “Why? Because your threats are all empty words and your emotions are weak, Detective. You care about the meaningless lives of your friends and family members living in Los Angeles. You know I'll track them down one by one unless you play by my rules.”

  Sarah cringed. “I will—”

  “You'll play by my rules,” Francis stated in a pleased voice. “Oh, and I wouldn't advise attempting to call anyone to warn them about me. My...associate...is in place right now. If you go against my wishes he will begin killing, Detective. The lives of innocent people will be on your hands.”

  “You're a disease,” Sarah snapped at Francis, feeling helpless.

  “Insults are very amusing, aren't they, Detective?” Francis asked, keeping his temper in check. “But insults are in vain.” Francis felt a powerful gust of wind rock his body. “Oh, the weather outside is frightful,” he laughed and then began to sing: “But the fire is so delightful, and since you've no place to go, Detective Sarah Garland, sit tight until you hear from me.”