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“Just a little pit stop, Officer. We’re on our way to Fort Benning from Bragg,” Starkey said in the calmest voice. In truth, he wasn’t nervous about the trooper. Just curious about how this would turn out. “We’re in the Reserves. If the three of us were on the first team, I guess we’d all be in trouble.”
“I saw your vehicle from the road. Thought I better check to make sure everybody was all right. Nothing but swamp back there.”
“Well, we’re fine, Officer. Finish our smokes and hit the road again. Thanks for the concern.”
The state trooper was just about to pull away when a woman’s scream came from the woods. There was no mistaking that it was a cry for help.
“Now that’s a damn shame, Officer.” Starkey swung his pistol out from behind his back. He shot the trooper point-blank in the forehead. Didn’t even have to think about it. “No good deed goes unpunished.”
He shook his head as he walked to the police car, shut off the headlights. He got into the front, pushing the dead trooper aside, and pulled the car out of sight from the main road.
“Go find the girl,” he said to Harris and Griffin. “Pronto. She’s obviously not too far. And she’s still wearing her platforms, the twit. Go! Go!” he said to Harris and Griffin. “I’ll give you chumps a couple of minutes’ lead. I want to get this cruiser completely out of sight. Go. Warren is point. Brownie is flanker.”
When Colonel Thomas Starkey finally made his move into the woods, there wasn’t a false step on his part. He went straight to where the girl had cried out for help and gotten the state trooper killed.
From that point, it was mostly instinct for him. He saw mussed leaves and grass. A broken branch of a bush where she’d passed. He noted his own internal responses — rapid breathing, surging blood flow. He’d been here before.
“Tao se tìm ra mày,” he whispered in Vietnamese. “Lúc dó mày se den toi.”
I’m going to find you, honey. You’re almost dead.
He was sorry that the chase after the girl had to be rushed, but the dead state trooper was an unexpected development. As he always did, Starkey had a calm, superaware focus. He was in the zone.
Time slowed for him; every detail was precise and every movement was controlled. He was moving fast, comfortable and supremely confident in the dark woods. There was just enough moonlight for him to see.
Then he heard laughter up ahead. Saw a light through the branches. Starkey stopped moving. “Son of a bitch!” he muttered. He moved forward cautiously, just in case.
Harris and Griffin had caught the blond bitch. They had taken off her black hot pants, gagged her with her own scuzzy underwear, cuffed her hands behind her back.
Griffin was ripping off her silver-sequined blouse. All she was wearing were the sparkly silver platforms.
Vanessa didn’t wear a bra and her breasts were small. Pretty face, though. Reminded Starkey of his neighbor’s daughter. Starkey thought again that she was a fine little piece to be selling herself for cheap on the street. Too bad, Vanessa.
She struggled and Griffin let her break away, just for the fun of it. But when she tried to run, she tripped and went down hard in the dirt. She stared up at Starkey, who was now standing over her. He thought she was pathetic.
She was whimpering. Then she said something through the gag as she tried to push herself up. It sounded like “Why are you doing this? I never hurt anybody.”
“This is a game we learned a long time ago,” Starkey said in English. “It’s just a game, honey. Passes the time. Amuses us. Get the paint,” he said to Master Sergeant Griffin. “I think red for tonight. You look good in red, Vanessa? I think red is your color.”
He looked her right in the eye and pulled the trigger.
Chapter 21
I GOT UP at about five-thirty my first morning back in Washington. Same old, same old, which was fine with me.
I put on a Wizards T-shirt and ancient Georgetown gym shorts and headed downstairs. The lights in the kitchen were still off. Nana wasn’t up yet, which was a little surprising.
Well, she deserved to sleep late every once in a while too.
I laced up my sneaks and headed outside for a run. Immediately I could smell the Anacostia River. Not the greatest smell, but familiar. My pla
n was not to think about Ellis Cooper on death row this morning. So far, I was failing.
Our neighborhood had changed a lot in the past few years. The politicians and businesspeople would say it’s all for the good, but I wasn’t so sure that’s right. There was construction on 395 South, and the Fourth Street on-ramp had been closed forever. I doubted it would have gone on for this long in Georgetown. A lot of the old brownstones I grew up with had been torn down.
Town houses were going up that look very Capitol Hill to me. There was also a flashy new gym called Results. Some houses sported hexagonal blue ADT security signs, courtesy of the huge Tyco corporation. Certain streets were becoming gentrified. But the drug dealers were still around, especially as you traveled toward the Anacostia.
If you could put on H. G. Wells time machine glasses, you would see that the original city planners had some good ideas. Every couple of blocks there was a park with clearly delineated paths and patches of grass. Someday the parks would be reclaimed by the people, not just the drug dealers. Or so I liked to think.
