The Coffin Maker

Chapter 11

I have to get a closer look, thought Ailsa, her breathing rapid, her body alive with energy as the adrenalin glands pumped epinephrine throughout her central nervous system. She drove the Camry around the corner, parked on the street and opened her purse quickly grabbing a small lint brush. She stuffed the purse under the passenger seat to hide it from view, and hurried back to the van on foot. The man had shut the rear doors. With the vehicle plate revealed, she checked her smart phone and compared the plate number against the list compiled from yesterday's reconnaissance mission. The plate matched against the list, linking the vehicle to the neighborhoods where Morgan McMahon and Riley Pacocha disappeared. However, for Ailsa the presence of the dog crate in the van convinced her beyond all doubt that she had found the killer.

The engine was running, the suspect was not in sight and the van's side door was open. Ailsa approached, hastily climbed inside and on her knees began rolling the lint brush over the dog crate and other surfaces in the back of the van. Suddenly, she heard voices and avoiding detection, lay down between the aluminum loading ramps and the cutting machine. A woman's voice said, "See you next week, Emiliano," and the man responded with a hint of a Spanish accent. In the following instant, the side door skidded along its track. Ailsa's body jerked when it slammed shut and the windowless cargo area of the vehicle darkened. Her armpits wet with nervous perspiration, she knew she had seconds to make what could be a life changing decision. The first option, which she recognized as the most sensible, to noisily reveal herself by shouting to the homeowner, and calling in Blackwood, Wu and Sheriff Petersen. The second option, remain hidden in the van in hopes that the suspect might lead her to the spot where he held Riley Pacocha captive. The driver's door opened, the suspect climbed in and started the motor. The vehicle backed down the driveway. What the hell, go for the home run, thought Ailsa ignoring Blackwood's warning not to act alone.

Her fingers silenced the ring tone on her phone. She considered texting Blackwood but knew her phone emitted a chime on incoming and outgoing messages. As she anxiously searched the settings to deactivate it, the van drove over the first of the speed bumps and the phone slipped from her hand and skidded under the mower. Only the cacophony of rattling garden tools prevented the suspect from hearing her folly. Numerous attempts to reach for it were futile and she tore the fabric of her sleeveless blouse at the shoulder. Deprived of the device, Ailsa tried to grasp the reality that she was alone with the killer without the ability to summon help. As long as he did not turn his head, she felt confident she could remain unseen. The van picked up speed when they reached the main road and she sensed it traveling west. They pulled into a McDonald's drive-thru and the man named Emiliano ordered a breakfast combo with a Coke. He drove and listened to the radio while he ate. The smell of the food tickled her nose and she worked hard to suppress a sneeze. The van reached expressway speed and traveled for more than half an hour. The traffic sounds began to subside and Ailsa knew they had left the city. The road became winding and after a few miles, the van slowed considerably, took a sharp right and advanced slowly up what Ailsa knew to be a paved laneway for the tires rolled smoothly on the asphalt. Suddenly, the van came to a stop, the man named Emiliano got out and all went quiet.

Ailsa got to her knees and peered out through the windshield. The van was between a large maintenance shed and a low, red building that had a vintage automobile parked in front of one of four garage doors. Ailsa felt a momentary flicker of déjà vu. She tried again to reach her cellphone but the tightly packed equipment rendered the attempt futile. Realizing she needed to get out of the van before Emiliano returned, she grasped the side door handle with one hand while the other held the lint brush with the evidence on its sticky surface implicating the van to the crimes. She opened the door and stepped out into the sunlight.

It took a few moments for Ailsa's brain to process the information her eyes were sending. She recognized the conservatory first, the one in the English style attached to the mansion that offered such an expansive view of the Crowley estate. The utter disbelief of the revelation sent a shockwave through her body. A thousand thoughts whirled in her brain, hampering the ability to think straight, but the truth was the logical conclusion. A shiver ran down her spine and goose bumps chilled her like an icy cloak. She knew there was only one logical conclusion...Emiliano is the Crowley's hired groundskeeper. She recalled Bunny telling her that he came twice a week to tend the lawns and gardens. She thought about the irony of the Crowleys putting forth an extraordinary effort to apprehend a killer who is right under their noses but she was more concerned about what to do next. Do I run to the house? She wondered. What if there is no one home? Where is Emiliano?

Ailsa chose to focus on retrieving her phone. Perhaps the device would go unnoticed when Emiliano returned to the van to guide the heavy mower down the ramps. It seemed logical to her that he would leave the ramps in place until he had finished cutting the lawns. Speculating that he had gone into the maintenance shed, Ailsa decided to enter the neighboring multi-vehicle garage through a side door and wait. She peeped and there was no one there, but she failed to look up and did not notice the security camera installed above the door. Inside, there were several bays, each holding a vintage car and one empty bay for the car parked outside. The place was immaculate. A millionaire's garage is different from most people's thought Ailsa. No dust or dirt, a workshop bench and a well-organized array of tools stretched along the back wall. She noted the low ceiling and the lack of a hydraulic lift. However, one of the bays had the old garage pit with stairs that reminded Ailsa of the old workshop on her parent's farm. Although her father had built a modern machine shed, he still used the old dug pit for underbody work and continually praised the ingenuity of its simple design. The garage doors had a row of windows along the top and Ailsa peered out, waiting for Emiliano to unload the mower in order to retrieve her phone. He seemed to be taking a long time returning to the van and the garage door windows were too high for her to see out easily without standing on her tiptoes. She became frustrated with the tiresome chore, anxious and annoyed that Emiliano was taking his sweet time. As her impatience grew, she let down her guard and did not sense or hear the footsteps approaching from behind. At the last second, she saw a shadow on the cement floor, but it was too late. She felt the arm go around her neck and the pressure of a muscular arm choking her. She watched the lint brush slip from her hand and hit the floor. It bounced once on the handle and everything went black.