The gathered group looked bored. They already knew everything Hank had said, and they seemed to be anticipating some new information. Hank continued, “I want to assure the public we’re getting close to catching this individual before he kills another innocent citizen.”
Hank held up a picture of Adam Thorburn. “I’ll be distributing this photo to all of you, but I urge the public, if you see this man, please call 9-1-1 immediately. Do not try to apprehend him as he might be armed and is certainly dangerous.”
He paused, closed the folder, and looked back up. “I’ll take your questions now.”
All hands shot up. Hank pointed to a reporter in the second row.
“Detective Corning, why is it taking you so long to apprehend Thorburn?”
“It’s only been three days and the city offers a lot of places for a fugitive to hide. We’re confident he’ll surface soon. He’ll need food, and he’s on some medication he won’t be able to obtain on his own. And we’re following up certain leads we believe will track him down before long.”
Hank pointed to another reporter.
“Considering both murders have taken place in schools, what precautions have been used to safeguard our children?”
“The schools are on lockdown during the day with armed guards watching over our kids. The buildings are patrolled in the evenings and overnight. But we can’t assume Thorburn’s next victim will be at a school. It could be anyone at any time.” Hank paused. “I don’t want to alarm anyone unduly, but please be on your guard.”
Hank pointed to Lisa Krunk, uncharacteristically waiting patiently.
“Detective, will you tell me to what extent Lincoln Investigations is involved in this?”
“The Lincolns have been hired by a private individual and I can’t speak for them. They’re conducting a parallel investigation. They’re not working for the police, though their goal is the same as ours, and they willingly share any and all information they receive with us.”
Lisa persisted, “Do you think Adam Thorburn will strike again?”
“That’s an unknown factor and we have to assume he may. We’re taking every precaution and have warned potential victims.” Hank paused. He didn’t want to mention the third killing until he had some solid information. Without knowing the identity of the victim, it would serve no purpose. “There’ll be no more questions, but I want to repeat my warning; please be cautious, don’t go out alone at night, and keep your doors locked at all times until we have Thorburn in custody.”
Hank picked up the folder and turned away as reporters continued to call out questions. Diego joined him and they climbed the steps and went into the precinct.
Hank didn’t feel he had given the people anything new, but he hoped his warning to be careful would be heeded.
Diego turned to Hank. “Do you need some more help on this? I can give you all the officers you want.”
Hank shook his head. “It’s not the manpower that’s the problem, Captain. It’s the lack of viable leads that’s slowing us down.”
“Let me know if you need anything,” Diego said, turning away and going into his office.
Hank went back to his desk, pulled up his chair, and dropped his notes from the press conference into the wastebasket. He slid the big stack of evidence in front of him and painstakingly went through everything once again.
So far, the body of the third victim hadn’t been discovered, and there was a distinct possibility it might be one of Thorburn’s acquaintances Hank and King had been unable to track down.
He turned his head toward King’s desk. The detective had a couple of things to do and wasn’t in yet. When King showed up, Hank would go over the names of the people they had contacted and make a list of those they had been unable to reach. The third victim might be one of them.
It was next to impossible to determine everyone Thorburn had come into contact with during his life, and there was always the chance the latest victim was someone who knew Thorburn—someone Hank was unaware of. He hoped his warning to the public would cover the ones they missed.
And he was worried. There were three victims in three days and today was the fourth day. Would there be another killing, and if so, what could be done to stop it? Who and where would Thorburn hit next? Both known murders were exceptionally brutal, one victim run over repeatedly by a car, the other stabbed to death with a screwdriver, and he feared the third, and perhaps the fourth, would be no different.
So far, the surveillance at the Thorburn house had netted nothing. Thorburn hadn’t shown up at the phone booth again, and the officers on the streets, as well as the public, hadn’t turned up a solid lead.
Until some new information came to light, there was little else he could do at the moment except review what they already knew in the hopes something might add up.
Chapter 39
Thursday, 12:39 p.m.
ANNIE HAD SEARCHED the basement thoroughly, looking for anything to help her break the door down, but had been unsuccessful. The room was bare except for a bag of garbage tossed into a corner. The only window was boarded over, nailed firmly, and though Annie had spent some time working at the boards, it was futile.
Her banging at the basement door, and her calls to Adam Thorburn, had gone unanswered, and she wasn’t sure whether or not he was still in the house.
Though the room was cool, it wasn’t damp, and the dry, stale smell was not overpowering. She’d been in worse situations before, but this time there seemed to be no way out on her own. She was at the mercy of Adam Thorburn and could only wait patiently until he released her or she was found.
She sat on the dusty floor, her back against the cool concrete wall, her knees drawn up, her attempts to escape exhausted. She had no doubt Jake was searching for her, especially since any phone calls to her number would go unanswered.
She raised her head and gazed toward the stairs at the sound of the lock being drawn back. Someone was coming, and it could only be Adam.
Rising to her feet, she waited. The door squeaked open and a pair of legs came into view. It was her captor. He descended a few steps, ducked down as if to assure himself he wasn’t being ambushed, and then came down the steps, his eyes on her continually.
He carried a plastic bottle of water in his hand and he stopped a few feet away. “I brought you something to drink,” he said, tossing it to her.
“Thank you,” she said, catching it in one hand. She hadn’t realized until now how thirsty she was, and she screwed the cap off and downed most of the cool liquid as he watched her, his arms crossed.
She held the bottle in her hand and looked at him, calculating her chances at trying to overpower him. She quickly gave up on the thought. He was at least five inches taller and outweighed her by fifty pounds.
Suddenly, as if it were an afterthought, he reached behind his back and produced a pistol. Annie’s eyes bulged as she stared at the weapon. Had she misjudged him? Did he have plans to use the gun on her?
“I wish you could’ve left me alone,” he said, holding the weapon in one hand, his arm at his side, the barrel pointed toward the floor.
Annie’s gaze moved to the eyes of the killer. She didn’t see murder in them. There was no coldness like she had seen in brutal killers in the past. Rather, his eyes were filled with a sadness she couldn’t understand.
“What do you plan to do?” she asked carefully.
He raised the pistol and looked at it a moment, then dropped his hand again. He shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.”
“You could let me go,” she said, hope in her voice, but doubt in her heart.