Angels & Imperfections

  Chapter 15

   

  We walked up the dirt road, side by side, speaking quietly.

  Tony told me the man we were after was named Evan Whitaker. He had a conviction for molestation and was a registered sex offender. He had been questioned and released, the day after Victoria was taken.

   

  “I only got far enough in here to see there’s a building up ahead. You can see the fresh car tracks where the Impala came in.”

  “If we see anything suspicious, we’ll go back to the car and radio for backup,” Tony said.

  When we got to the spot where I had stopped before, we could both see the outline of a building, just around a curve in the road, broken up by the trees and brush.

  We eased our way as best we could through the thickets of brush and brambles into the mixed timber forest. We went into the woods because we wanted the cover, and to make our approach to the building from a different direction than the road in.

  As we got closer, we could see the building was an older, single-wide mobile home, sitting in a clearing. The Impala was parked right in front of the little porch outside the front door. The trunk was open.

  We stopped to discuss our options.

  “Now we know all we need to know. Let’s go back out to the road and do some planning. We’ll coordinate with the Cherokee County Sheriff’s office. We can set up surveillance on this place and his apartment. If we see anything suspicious, we’ll pick him up for questioning.”

  “No, Tony, we need to go ahead and arrest him, right now.”

  “…On what charge? We don’t have any evidence against him.”

  “Yes we do. We have a witness who saw him hit Victoria Winslow and put her into the trunk of that car. Dustin even gave us the license plate.”

  “Yeah? Some nutty homeless guy, who won’t be able to testify in court.”

  “Tony, stop thinking about Dustin’s disability and focus on the facts.”

  I could see Tony trying to think of a response.

  “It’s too dangerous. If he sees us coming, he can escape out the back, or open fire on us from inside the trailer.” He pointed out.

  “What if those kids are in there? Can you leave them there with him? I can’t. I’m going to go have a look in the trunk of that Impala.”

  Tony tried to stop me, but I ducked past him, and ran in a crouch to the side of the Impala. At any moment, the man inside the mobile home could come out to close the trunk, and find me crouched beside it. I had half expected the suspect to open the front door and shoot me on sight.

  Staying hidden behind the car, I took a quick look into the trunk.

  There was nothing in the trunk, except a roll of duct tape and a small, pink tennis shoe.

  I looked across at Tony and nodded my head, pointing at the trunk.

  Tony sprinted across and crouched down next to me. He took a quick look into the trunk.

  “How do you want to handle this?” I asked him.

  “I need to get some back up in here, fast.” Tony pulled out his cell phone.

  From inside the mobile home, we heard a little girl scream.

  “No signal here, Tony. It’s time to go in. There are only two doors into that mobile home, the front and the back, which one do you want?”

  “Are you trying to get us killed?” He asked me.

  “Do you plan to live forever?”

  Tony looked down at the ground for a moment. When he looked back up, he was grim.

  “I’ll take the front door, you take the back,” he said.

   

  Tony told me he would give me sixty seconds to get to the back door, and then he would just walk up onto the porch and knock on the door. He would get the drop on Whitaker when he opened the door. I was just supposed to prevent him from bolting out the back door.

  Less than a minute later, I was on the back porch with my .45 in my hand. When I heard Tony’s knock on the front door, I tried the back door handle, very gently. It wasn’t locked.

  I couldn’t see anything inside the trailer, but I heard someone slam a door closed somewhere inside. I could hear a little girl crying, and I could sense movement toward the front door.

  I opened the back door and stepped into a laundry room. Just as I reached the door into the hallway, I heard the sound of a shotgun being racked, off to my left. The boom of that shotgun being fired was like an explosion. The shot had come from inside the trailer. I raced into the living area and saw Whitaker throw open the front door. The cheap exterior door had a massive hole in it. I knew he had shot Tony through the door without even opening it. He racked his shotgun to fire again. I yelled.

  “Whitaker, drop it.”

  He was in the process of aiming his shotgun, but he froze and looked back over his shoulder at me.

  He was looking into the barrel of my .45, from less than ten feet away. I wouldn’t miss.

  I saw him process the fact he couldn’t hope to swing his long gun around toward me, without me blowing a hole through is head.

  I became aware of the smell of the cordite, the vague sound of a child whimpering somewhere, some sort of movement outside beyond Whitaker, and even the dust particles gently floating in the air.

  I wanted to kill him.

  Whitaker slowly let go of the shotgun with his left hand, spreading his arms wide, holding the shotgun in his right hand. He leaned slowly to his right, and set the shotgun down against the open door. He did it without ever taking his eyes off me. He straightened up.

  “Don’t look at me,” I said. “Put your hands behind your head, lace your fingers together. Now back up slowly toward me. Stop. If you move a finger, I’ll kill you. Get on your knees. Cross your feet. Now, face down on the floor.”

  He started to unlace his fingers.

  I kicked him hard in the middle of his back. He smacked the cheap linoleum face down, sprawled out.

  “Put your hands behind your head and lace your fingers! Now cross your feet. If you move, at all, I’ll send you straight to hell.”

  I kept the .45 on him as I stepped around him to look out at Tony.

  Tony was alive. He was lying on his side out on the ground where he had fallen from the porch. He was squirming and struggling for breath. His shotgun was lying about five feet away.

  “Tony, how bad is it.”

  “Shit!” He swore. “I’m alright. No, I’m not…damn.”

  I had to keep an eye on Whitaker, so I couldn’t do anything to help Tony.

  I glanced back outside.

  Tony was on his hands and knees now, trying to get to his feet.

  I picked up Whitaker’s shotgun.

  “Tony, I’ve got Whitaker on the floor.” I called out.

  Tony was on his feet now, wiping at his eyes.

  “Is he still alive? He asked.

  “Yes, unarmed and unharmed.”

  “Well now, isn’t that nice?” Tony growled.