Page 27 of The Catcher (High Peaks Murder, Mystery and Crime Thrillers #5)
McKenzie’s blood ran cold at the revelation, his mind racing with the implications of Terry’s words as the moron grinned. “There we go, boys. Opportunity, means, and motive, now all we have to do is bring the asshole in. Let’s go!” Terry declared, his voice filled with determination.
As Terry passed them by, he gave a smug grin and said, “I told Sutherland he should have listened to me.”
With a grim resolve, McKenzie and Porter exchanged a silent nod before following Terry out of the war room, steeling themselves for the daunting raid.
Night had fallen, cloaking the landscape in shadows, yet the urgency of their mission blazed brightly. As McKenzie trailed behind the SWAT van in a cruiser, the flashing lights casting an eerie glow on the darkened road ahead, his mind churned with doubts and uncertainties.
“Something doesn’t add up,” McKenzie muttered.
“Terry’s right. Sutherland can’t always be right,” Porter replied calmly from the passenger seat.
McKenzie gripped the wheel tighter, his knuckles whitening with tension. “It’s not as much about being right as it is barking up the wrong tree.”
“The janitor was around those teens throughout the week; he has access to every room, including the desk where Pete Landry’s phone was,” Porter continued, his words tumbling out in a rush.
“There was no window broken at the swimming pool. That means someone had to gain access. Who was the one who knew exactly where to go to shut off the water in the pool? Him. No one will bat an eye at a guy like that checking lockers. That creep probably installed video cameras in the girls’ locker rooms. He targeted the Matthews girl via social media. Maybe Landry and his pal found out."
“And you think the school would hire someone like him?” McKenzie asked.
“It’s happened before,” Porter replied grimly. “Hell, there was a case of a guy who allegedly raped and murdered someone back in the ’90s; he spent 16 years in prison before DNA proved his innocence. He came out and worked as a janitor in New York.”
“He was innocent,” McKenzie pointed out.
“I don’t know what to say to you. People lie on applications all the time,” Porter countered. “Background checks are overlooked, and some fall through the cracks. Who knows what the situation is? One thing is for sure: we’ll soon find out.”
Despite his efforts to rationalize the situation, McKenzie couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss. “Why would someone who has taken so much time to cover his tracks screw up now?” he mused aloud.
“Criminals make mistakes,” Porter replied solemnly. “They’re so busy telling lies they forget and underestimate technology. My friend, it’s a bad time to be a criminal with how DNA and technology are today.”
“Maybe. But still, all the thought that went into those geocaches. This doesn’t strike me as a man who makes mistakes.”
Porter shrugged.
As the cruiser sped onward into the night, McKenzie’s thoughts turned inward, grappling with the impending confrontation with a man whose dark secrets threatened to unravel the fabric of their community.
As multiple police cruisers and the SWAT truck screeched to a halt, their lights flashing wildly, McKenzie’s pulse quickened.
The night air crackled with tension as SWAT officers, clad in tactical gear and armed to the teeth, spilled out of the vehicles, moving with precision and purpose.
With rifles raised and adrenaline pumping, they formed a formidable line, advancing toward the target — a typical residential home that now stood ominously silent in the darkness.
McKenzie watched with bated breath as the SWAT team closed in on their objective, their movements synchronized and methodical. The scene unfolded in a blur of action and suspense.
With a swift and decisive motion, the SWAT team burst through the door, sending it crashing inward with a resounding boom. McKenzie followed closely behind, his senses on high alert as he scanned the house’s interior.
Commands were bellowed and echoed off the walls, reverberating through the tense atmosphere as the SWAT team swept through each room with practiced efficiency.
“Get on the floor!” a SWAT officer shouted. The puzzled and scared man complied without hesitation, dropping to the ground and placing his hands behind his back as instructed.
McKenzie watched as the SWAT team moved in to cuff the homeowner. With efficiency born of training and experience, they hauled the man to his feet and led him out of the room, leaving a palpable sense of tension in their wake.
With the immediate threat neutralized, McKenzie’s gaze returned to the living room, his senses keenly attuned to the details of the scene before him. The ambient glow of the television cast flickering shadows across the room, its sound muted by the moment’s urgency.
A recliner chair lay overturned, its once-comfortable embrace now abandoned amidst the chaos of the raid. Nearby, a small side table bore the telltale signs of recent occupancy — an open beer can, and a cigarette smoldering in an ashtray, its scent mingling with the tension.
Porter glanced at McKenzie. “Time to search for that phone.”