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  Smiling, Keith said. “I knew you had it in you girl! Now THAT is what I call a scream. No more of those namby-pamby screams for you. No, from now on, it’s only big girl screams for you! Let’s see now,” he continued, placing the box cutter on Marty’s stomach making a shallow six inch incision across her abdomen. Once again, Marty responded with agonizing screams from excruciating pain. Her body arched in resistance to the razor sharp blade cutting into her skin. Keith moved the blade to the inside of Marty’s upper, right thigh beginning yet another shallow incision. Marty’s screams intensified to an uncontrollable and deafening pitch.

  “Well now, this is so much better than I thought it wou…” Keith was saying as the door to the surgical room blew inward from the plastic explosive precisely placed by Trooper Nelson seconds before the blast.

  The force of the blast blew the instrument tray away from the table and picked Keith up off of his feet, throwing him upward against the far wall. If not for her restraints, Marty would have also been airborne from the force of the blast. Without the slightest hesitation, Keith rolled up onto one knee, pulled the 9mm out of the back of his belt and aimed at the doorway ready to kill the first person who was stupid enough to come into the room.

  Without changing position, Keith pulled himself along the wall to a tall, metal, wall cabinet. Pushing quickly on the back of the cabinet, he moved it away from the wall exposing a three foot by three foot metal door. Turning the latch, Keith opened the door, allowing enough room to escape when it was time. But, not before killing one or two of his attackers. After all, this is what he lived for: this was his life!

  Keith watched as the first uniform came through the doorway. He was about to squeeze the trigger sending the 9mm bullet on its mission when his finger froze in place as his mind recognized the man his eyes were looking at.

  “YOU?” Keith shouted in disbelief. “How? YOU ARE DEAD!” he continued. Realizing Ron Kosciak had survived the attack at the river, Keith shot at him with a renewed frenzy watching the man lunge forward toward the surgical table.

  I fired two rounds, landing against the bottom of the table watching and waited for Keith’s response. Keith saw the second and third person rushing into the room with weapons drawn ready to fire. Knowing he only had seconds to escape, he ducked into the tunnel behind the metal cabinet firing three more times. He closed and latched the door, then scrambled along the tunnel. He could hear the shouting in his “play” room while running down the tunnel. The door would hold them for a couple of minutes. A couple of minutes head start was all he would need, to leave this place and start fresh in a new town, in a new state. This was the closest he had ever come to being caught, and the rush was exhilarating. He was still reeling after having seen Kosciak return from the dead, but looked at it realistically: “I can always come back and finish the job,” he thought, coming to the end of the tunnel, his freedom only fifty feet away.

  It only took a minute to cover the distance between the two buildings through the tunnel. Keith opened the door at the end of the tunnel, stepping into the smaller storage building. He had taken the time, when he first found this hideaway, to make, sure both doors at each end of the tunnel were in good working order. Right now he was very glad to have taken that time. It had just saved his life. This door, unlike the door in the other building, locked on the outside. This would help him gain a few more minutes when his hunters came rushing down the tunnel. Hurrying to the outside door of the building, Keith opened it slowly, making sure that the police were not outside waiting for him. He heard the police helicopter, but its light was shining over the building he had just escaped from. “These guys just don’t get it, do they,” he thought to himself, quietly stepping out of the building, walking toward a camouflaged tarp covering a second SUV hidden in the brush a short distance away.

  Keith covered about half the distance from the building to the SUV before he heard a low, guttural, growling sound. “What the hell?” he thought. “What the hell is that?” Stopping dead in his tracks, Keith looked to his left and saw nothing except the rolling inclines of the hospital grounds. Looking to his right he saw the light from the police helicopter in the distance hovering over the crime scene. Turning his attention back to the SUV, he froze, paralyzed by the sight of the low, sleek, muscular body closing the distance between them. Keith tried running, but his legs did not immediately respond. When he was finally able to turn and run, the speed of his retreat was no match for the four legs about to bring a burning hell into his life!

  71

  After Willingsby made good his escape, I stood up and removed the Kelly clamp from Marty’s breast. The dust still settling from the blast. I saw the blood on Marty’s abdomen, and I covered her with my jacket, knowing just how far Keith Willingsby intended to go with his procedures. We loosened Marty’s restraints and two of the troopers carried her out of the room to safety. Although one of my officers had died tonight, and Kim was missing, I was relieved that we were in time to save Marty from any further torture and her certain death.

  Finding the escape door locked from the tunnel side, the Staties used more plastic explosives to blow the door and gain entrance to the tunnel. I believed Keith had once again managed to escape, probably having hidden another vehicle, and was already miles away. I was feeling depressed and angry. My only regret as I leaned against the cruiser, was that I did not get the opportunity to kill Keith and prevent him from killing someone else. Kicking myself in the ass, for not doing a better job, I felt embarrassed watching Ken Garber drive up beside me in his cruiser.

  “Hey Ron,” he said. “I’m sorry about Derek. I know he was more than just an officer to you.”

  “Thanks, Ken. I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m just not in the mood to talk right now. Can I catch up with you in the morning?”

  “Well, I think you will want to hear this, my friend,” Ken said in such a way that I knew he had something important to tell me. “Our K-9 unit sniffed out a guy running across the property about thirty minutes ago. We weren’t sure if he was our perp, so we pulled the dog off him to make a positive ID. Well, as luck would have it…”

  “Chief! Chief Kosciak!” Nelson interrupted, obviously excited, running toward us from the building. “Chief. She’s alive. We found her. Kim is alive. She’s been badly wounded, but she’s alive. Willingsby left her in the janitor’s sink. Must have thought she was dead. They’re bringing her out now.”

  I felt my knees weaken. Ken put his hand on my shoulder and said reassuringly, “She’ll make it, my friend. I know she will.”

  “She’s too damned stubborn not to.” I replied, feeling thankful for Kim’s survival, yet at the same time, saddened by Derek’s death. I watched the paramedics wheel Kim’s stretcher out of the building. She was unconscious, but the oxygen mask on her face gave me hope. I watched them put her into the ambulance and drive away before turning my attention back to Ken. “Finish telling me about Willingsby.”

  “The guy did turn out to be Keith Willingsby. The officer attempted to cuff him and bring him in. Unfortunately, we were not able to restrain Buster - that’s the Sheppard’s name - and Willingsby was attacked a second time.” A smile grew on Ken’s face, as he continued, “As fate would have it, Buster’s partner, Trooper Davidson, fell and sprained his ankle while trying to get control of Buster. The trooper was unable to help Willingsby due to his injury until help arrived five minutes later. A dreadful situation, I know,” he chuckled. “But, we were powerless to restrain the dog. Although Willingsby will probably survive to stand trial, he will have at least six months of re-hab, and a few hundred stitches to recover from, not to mention the rabies shots he will have to endure!”

  “Thanks, Ken,” I replied. “I wanted to kill this bastard myself. I was over the edge and I knew it. I honestly believe if I’d had the opportunity to put my 9mm to his head and pull the trigger, I would have done it.”

  “Don’t think for one seco
nd that you’re alone, Ron. There isn’t one of us here who would have felt differently, or done the same thing if given the opportunity. I’m thankful Buster was able to meter out a little bit of revenge, and chew this guy’s ass to bits in the process.

  On the other side of the property, an ambulance was driving up another access road to pick up what was left of Keith Willingsby. A later report from the hospital would state Willingsby sustained over two hundred puncture wounds, but the compound fractures to his arms and legs were listed as “unknown origin”.

  The ambulance transporting Kim from the scene disappeared at the end of our access road. My thoughts turned to Doc Cavanaugh, Jerry Bickford, and all of the other victims, as I stood watching the EMT’s care for Marty McMaster in the back of another ambulance.

  I reached up to my shirt pocket for a cigarette that wasn’t there.

  Epilogue

  Keith Willingsby, wearing a bright, orange-colored, prison coverall was led handcuffed and shackled from the state police SUV to the courthouse for his arraignment. His escort, six troopers, carrying automatic weapons and wearing body armor, watched the surrounding crowd and buildings intently as they walked the one hundred feet from the van to the courthouse steps. No one heard the single shot that blew the side of Willingsby’s head off like an exploding melon hitting a concrete sidewalk. Willingsby died instantly and would never stand trial for any of the murders he was charged with committing.

  Three quarters of a mile away, on the top floor of a ten story parking garage, Wayne Sawyer, retired Marine sniper, calmly closed the case containing his M40A1 rifle. Walking back to his wife, Bev, who was waiting patiently in their car, he stopped briefly, looked upward and said, “For you, my beautiful Christine, for you.”