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  Scott stared at the computer monitor. “When did you have that revelation…if you don’t mind me asking?”

  Patrick pulled out the folded pieces of paper and handed them to him. “Mikki Chax was the other girl in Collin Glover’s car when Azure was killed. She drew those pictures.” He pointed to the man’s face on the first. “She said he was bleeding from here.”

  Scott stared intently at the drawing. “That’s the guy who murdered the man at the condo, too?” He handed the drawings back to Patrick.

  “I believe he’s our man.” Patrick nodded.

  Scott scrolled through the database as a list of names appeared on screen. “These are the people who possess at least eighty percent of the DNA matching criteria found at the scene.”

  Patrick strained to read the display. The list only contained one name he recognized, and it didn’t belong to the Holiday Murder’s prime suspect. Holy Shit. Patrick’s heart started to race as he reached for his cell phone.

  “Morgan, what the hell are you doing calling me on Christmas Eve?” Commander Cromartie’s voice pierced his eardrums.

  “Boss, just shut up and listen to me for one minute. I think we made a mistake. Collin Glover didn’t murder Azure Sutaki, Graneth Kensington, or any of the others, but I have a pretty good idea who did…”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Donovan Petrie enjoyed this place. It was a shame the building had been left to rot itself into oblivion. When he was young and still full of eagerness, he would spend countless hours sitting in the pews, soaking in the teachings of a wise but humble man. This was his refuge away from destructive and abusive foster parents who were more interested in the yearly monetary compensation in the form of a tax deduction than him as a person. He had begged Pastor Thornley to give him shelter from that lifestyle, and let him move into the onsite housing, but Gregory Thornley preached forgiveness for a living and always told Donovan there was plan meant for him.

  The rejection from Pastor Thornley sent him over the edge. He decided the plan meant for him was at the opposite end of the spectrum. If pain and suffering was to be a part of his existence, it was only fair he spread its wealth to as many as possible. He decided his first would be the righteous Gregory Thornley. The man had been a fond collector of crucifixes and had reminded Donovan of their relevance. Donovan thought by nailing his feet to the ground, accompanied with the binding of the hands, would be the ultimate way to mock what the man had taught him. He included the four candles because his hate for people would encompass in all direction known to man. West, East, North, and South.

  Donovan had always followed this pattern and was doing so again with young Ryan Thornley. The boy was in the center of what used to be the altar. He was stripped down to his undershirt and pants, and his small feet had torn when Donovan fired the nails into his flesh. The screams had excited the killer as he watched the boy succumb to the pain. Ryan sat in the chair in almost a semi-conscious state, unaware of anything or anyone. Donovan almost felt bad for the boy to have a father so self-involved with his own life that he was unable to protect his family. Everything dies…including the innocent.

  He moved into position behind the boy and removed the double-edged blade from inside his coat. Donovan shook the boy back to reality. “Hey, wake up. It’s almost time.”

  Ryan tried to move his head. “Please…don’t hurt me,” he whimpered.

  Donovan put a finger to his lips. “Shh…you’re going to be okay.” Not so much.

  The boy shivered. “I want my daddy.”

  So do I. Donovan flashed the blade in front of him. “I already called him for you,” Donovan snickered.

  The color in Ryan’s face was quickly fading. “Sir, let me go…”

  He ran the double-edged blade along the youngster’s neckline. “I can’t do that…”

  “Why? Please don’t hurt me anymore.” More tears rolled down his face.

  Spare me your pre-adolescent drama. Donovan grabbed his face. “Shh…let’s just wait for Daddy…okay?”

  Ryan nodded, then lost consciousness.

  Fucking great! He slapped Ryan again. “Dammit, Ryan, wake the fuck up.” Donovan was trying to revive the youngest Thornley when he felt a vibration in his coat pocket. Yes! He ripped the cell from his coat.

  I am here…

  Donovan grasped the knife as he ran to the broken window. Where is he? He stared at the frozen plain. The snow was free of any tracks or footprints. He can’t be here…just screwing with my head.

  His phone vibrated again.

  I can see you…but you CAN’T see me!

  Donovan gritted his teeth. He bolted towards the back of the building. He forced open the thin door and stepped out. Donovan scanned from top to bottom. Nothing here, either. “Fuck you, Brandon! I think it’s time for young Ryan to die!”

  His phone vibrated again.

  I like hide and seek.

  Don’t have time for these games. Donovan screamed at the darkness, “You still have a chance to save Ryan. I just want you!”

  He received a final text.

  A chance is more than you have.

  * * *

  Brandon knew the wooded area emptied out just a few hundred yards from his graveyard. Donovan Petrie would be in the church, watching for any signs of his presence. Brandon unzipped his coat and removed the night-vision binoculars. These weren’t the typical ones found in local sporting good stores. These were made especially for low-light conditions. The winter sun had almost turned her light out for the day, and Brandon realized his best chance at saving Ryan was just a few minutes away. He had to hold himself back when Donovan had screamed out in fury about killing his son. If he wanted me, he wouldn’t just take Ryan out.

  Brandon brought the binoculars up to his face. He turned one of the circular knobs, and soon, a light green background, replaced the darkness. He trained the glasses at several of the broken out windows but was unable to pick up any movement. Brandon lowered the glasses and walked towards a row of partially hidden mausoleums, looking for one in particular. There it is.

  When he was young, Brandon had heard stories from his grandfather about a tunnel system under the church property. It had been designed to house the church parishioners in case of an attack from an atomic bomb. Brandon had walked the church grounds his entire youth, never finding any signs of existence. On his eighteenth birthday, his father finally divulged the location to him. Gregory Thornley also made it clear that when he died, the church and her secret passage would remain a secret, until God himself decided to reveal it. He had respected his father’s wishes, and even though the church had seen its last days, he wasn’t going to be the one to tear it down.

  Brandon wiped away the snow on the door. The years of rust and decay had taken its toll, and the handle almost broke off when he forced it open. An overpowering chemical odor almost overtook him. Horrible. Brandon quickly covered his mouth as he fumbled along the wall. He located the door to the hideaway. It appeared to be made of heavier steel than the one on the exterior of the mausoleum. Looks were deceiving, and it opened with just a few tugs. Brandon felt tightening in his chest as he took a step forward. Claustrophobia wasn’t something he normally experienced, but the feeling soon passed, and he was on his way.

  Brandon had promised Donovan Petrie he would pay for kidnapping his son. He had made a mistake in bringing Donovan into his world. Hopefully, it was mistake Brandon and his son would be able to walk away from…

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Patrick’s Morgan patrol vehicle screeched to halt outside Brandon Thornley’s lavish estate. Commander Cromartie and three marked patrol units were following close behind. One of the marked units veered off and parked behind Patrick. Almost ready to end this. Patrick remembered the tongue-lashing Cromartie started to give him when he explained his theory about Brandon Thornley being involved in the murder of Azure Sutaki. The harsh supervisor was only convinced of the man’s guilt after Scott Gather showed him the blood evi
dence and the corresponding list that identified Thornley as a possible suspect. The Commander realized even that was too much of a coincidence to disregard.

  Patrick glanced up at his rearview mirror. The Commander and the two remaining patrol cars drove past and turned up the following street. Patrick and the patrol officer would cover the front of the house, while Cromartie and his team intended to block off alley access to the residence. Patrick grabbed his handheld radio and turned to a secure channel. No way to escape, Mr. Killer.

  He looped the detective shield around his neck as he motioned for his back-up officer to block the driveway, in case Thornley decided he was going to flee. Patrick was fully aware of Brandon Thornley’s skill set, so he knew caution was the agenda for the day.

  He pushed the radio’s transmit button. “Cromartie from Morgan.”

  The radio squelched. “Go, Morgan.”

  “I have position in front of residence. Any signs of suspect’s personal vehicle?”

  “Negative. There looks to be a white Audi parked in front of the garage. It matches the vehicle belonging to the wife. You copy that?”

  “10-4. Driveway is blocked off; I’m headed to the front door. I’ll advise.”

  “Copy that, Morgan. Again, we have no movement out here.”

  Patrick pointed to the location where he wanted the patrol officer stationed. The young man took his position as Patrick forcefully knocked. “New Haven Police!”

  The door flung open. A dark-haired woman in her mid forties stood there. Streaks of mascara had stained themselves against the woman’s tanned features. She almost fell down when she stepped outside. “God, you’re finally here.”

  She’s expecting us? “Mrs. Thornley, I’m Detective Patrick Morgan with the New Haven Police Department. I need to speak with Brandon Thornley—”

  “He’s gone…went to find our son…” Carina Thornley said, in a shaky voice.

  What the hell is going on? He reached out to cushion her fall. “Something happen to your son?” Patrick asked as she pressed herself against him.

  Carina nodded. “Someone kidnapped Ryan…Brandon is out looking for him.”

  Patrick lifted her up. He stared into her face. “Do you know where he might be?”

  “Who would do this at Christmas? Why my son?” She ignored Patrick’s question.

  Who would commit murder at Christmas? “Mrs. Thornley, how long ago did your husband leave?”

  She wiped at her eyes. “I…don’t know…maybe an hour or so.”

  “Has he called since?” Patrick asked.

  “No, I called and texted, but Brandon hasn’t responded. Detective, I…feel helpless.”

  I know that feeling. “Is he driving the Mercedes?” Patrick winced as he led her inside the house. Damn!

  Carina Thornley appeared confused. “Why would you ask that? I would…think so.” Carina sat down on the couch. “I don’t understand.”

  “Did he say anything to you before he left?” Patrick needed to get everything he could before the woman figured out they weren’t here because of the kidnapping.

  “Maybe…I may be confused, but I think he said something like, ‘this is my fault.’ Meaning he’s blaming himself for Ryan being taken.” She laid her head on the arm of the couch as she looked up at him. “Why would he say that?”

  Doesn’t make sense. “Mrs. Thornley, I need your help—”

  “My son was taken right outside the school…” Carina raised her head and wailed.

  I’m losing her. “Mrs. Thornley, do you know where he might look for Ryan?”

  “Right outside the school, Detective…they took him outside the damn school!”

  Patrick soothed his voice. “I know. I promise you, the other officers and I’ll do everything we can to find him. But we need to find Brandon first.”

  She turned her head and stared at the ceiling. “I wish there was something—” Carina sat up. She ran her hands through her hair. Her voice exploded. “Wait a minute! I think we have something like a GPS device installed on both cars.”

  Patrick shook his head. “For traveling, right?”

  “No…this is different.”

  Patrick rubbed his face. “What do you mean?”

  “It gives you the location where your car is…if it’s missing.”

  A tracking device. No fucking way. Patrick leaned in. “Do you know what company it’s with?”

  Carina Thornley leapt from the couch. She ran to a bookcase on the opposite side of the room and yanked open the glass doors. “I put the packet in here…it’s gotta be here!” She rifled through the shelf’s contents until she found what she was looking for. Carina handed a thin blue pamphlet to Patrick. “This is them.”

  Patrick flipped open the front page and typed the number into his cell phone. “Carina, when someone answers…tell them, you need to find your car.” Patrick looked into her eyes. “Can you do that for me?”

  “Yes, if it’ll help find Brandon and my son.”

  Patrick handed her his phone as he made his way back to the front door. The other patrol officer was still guarding the front. Patrick nodded. He reached for the radio and hit the transmit button.

  “Cromartie from Morgan.”

  The radio clicked with static. “Morgan, we are still in the alley. No signs of activity towards the back of the residence.”

  “Head up front. Suspect is not on premises. I may be able to locate. Will advise when we meet.”

  “10-4,” the gruff Cromartie responded.

  Patrick reversed direction and was just about to step through the doorway when Carina Thornley almost knocked him over. She was clutching a piece of yellow notebook paper. Carina thrust it at him. “Detective, Brandon’s car is at this location. The customer service person said it hasn’t moved in over an hour.”

  Patrick gazed at the address. Why is that familiar? A somber look crossed his face. “This will help.” He pointed to the officer still positioned at the door. “Stay with Mrs. Thornley until the Commander talks with her.”

  The officer nodded as he escorted Carina back inside.

  Patrick reached into his coat. He withdrew his notebook and flipped though until he came across an address which appeared to be close in proximity to the one Carina Thornley had just handed him. Why was Brandon back at the crime scene?

  Commander Cromartie had emerged from the back of the house as Patrick pulled him off to the side. He showed him the notebook, along with the yellow piece of paper. Cromartie stayed behind with Carina Thornley, while Patrick and two uniformed officers set out on a mission to finally put an end to Brandon Thornley’s murderous reign…

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Darkness had come to greet the visitors of United Ministries. It wasn’t the usual kind, which followed the routine pattern of sunless winter days. This was something else. It was more like two lost souls battling each other as even they realized the victor would still be exiled into eternal damnation. Donovan Petrie felt the frigid wind pierce his flesh as he zipped his jacket to its highest point. He huddled next to the last retaining wall that time and Mother Nature had left in tact. Where the fuck is Brandon. He scanned the interior, waiting for signs of the man, but between the occasional burst of snow being sent through every open crevice and the chaotic breathing of Ryan Thornley, it had turned deathly quiet.

  Donovan knew the longer he waited, the more likely all of them would die. He was also well aware that Brandon had much more training and experience in these types of scenarios, but Donovan still had a wild card, and he was hoping Brandon’s obsession with saving his son would cause him to act with impulse and recklessness. Donovan removed the blade as he crawled along the wall. He peeked out the broken stain glass, but all he saw was his Caprice as it stared at him from the other side of the street. He knew if the local police were to run a records check, he wouldn’t be able to explain why he was here, and there would be no saving grace like the first time. I have to end this fast.

  Donovan stood
up and walked a few steps away from the window. He still had a good visual on both doors that led into the sanctuary, so it would be guaranteed suicide if Brandon did come from that direction. Donovan was so focused on those doors, and the way Brandon Thornley should have to travel to reach him, he failed to account for where Brandon actually entered the sanctuary. Donovan heard a shuffling sound coming from behind him. Oh, shit.

  He whirled around, but the harsh glow of a muzzle flash alerted him too late. The first bullet caught him in the upper chest, sending him reeling backwards. The next two pierced his abdomen, causing blood to stream down the front of his body and onto the frosted tile.

  “Ah…Ah…” Donovan screamed as he slumped to the ground. His head pummeled the floor as the bones in his face snapped with authority.

  * * *

  Brandon Thornley stepped out from behind the baptismal chamber, high above the sanctuary. He stared down at Donovan. Game over. Brandon kept the weapon aimed on the man as he descended down the stairs. The kidnapper’s body jerked several times before it relaxed, and then, there was no movement at all. Brandon rushed passed him and knelt down next to where Donovan had placed Ryan on display. He set the gun down, as he reached up to check his son’s pulse. The boy’s skin was ice cold, but the weak heartbeat told Brandon he was still fighting death. Brandon quickly removed the barbwire shackles as he ripped off his coat and placed it around Ryan. Brandon looked into the boys eyes. Ryan blinked once and flashed him a painful grin.

  This is my fault. “Rest, Ryan…just rest, son.” Brandon was never one to display emotion, but this was his son. Tears poured from him as he started to pull Ryan free from the bloodstained nails. He was so focused with getting Ryan to safety, Brandon was oblivious to the sudden movement a few feet away.