In my haste to reach my car and get going towards where that maddening blinking dot showed that Angie might be, I forgot about the stealth of leaving through the side door. Instead, I marched right through the station’s front entrance in all my glory, with Brian hot on my heels.
As I pushed through the glass door of the brightly lit atrium into the cool night air, I cursed inwardly as I glanced across the street at the bank, where I could see old man Diaz manning the front door. Barnes, the bank manager, and the rest of the pack had already gone inside, undoubtedly looking at the video footage that would tell them what I already knew, that Jericho had been here, staking out Angie.
As I strode across the parking lot towards the street, Kitty called out “Good luck Detective!”, prompting Diaz to look over to see what the commotion was all about. Wincing, I saw him look over at Brian and me for a long moment, then he slowly reached for his communicator on his shoulder.
Breaking into a fast trot, I turned my head and barked, “Come on Brian, we gotta go!”. Brian, still decked out in his royal blue blazer, paisley tie, and dark Oxford shoes, grimaced and broke into an awkward run.
“Why can’t you just tell the cops across the street about what we found?” He complained as he stumbled along.
God, I didn’t need this right now. But fuck it, in for a penny, in for a pound…” Because those cops across the street aren’t just ordinary cops.” I explained between breaths. “It’s my boss, the Chief of Police, and a couple of FBI goons who I’d rather not involve in what we’re doing at this particular moment.”
Slowing, we reached the parking lot of the Crow’s Nest, and I headed for my car with Brian, gasping now and pulling at his tie, following closely behind.
“Chief of Police Barnes?” He gasped. “What are he and some FBI guys doing at the bank across the street? And why can’t or won’t you involve them?”
I pushed the button to unlock my car and got in as I rolled my eyes and answered. “There was a break-in at the bank. Barnes and the fibbies were nearby, so he responded to the scene.” Reaching over, I unlocked his door, not deigning to answer the second part of his query.
As Brian opened the door, he paused to shrug out of his jacket and finish ripping off his tie. “Jesus! I hope everyone is ok!” He replied. “So why can’t you tell them where we’re going so they can follow?”
Sighing in regret as I started the engine, I turned to look Brian square in the face. “Because I’m the one who broke into the bank.” I watched as Brian stopped suddenly, his eyes going wide as he processed this new revelation.
“Still coming then?” I asked, as I revved the engine. Brian shook himself, threw his tie and blazer over the headrest into the back seat, and scrambled in next to me as I threw my car into gear.
Brian stayed thankfully silent as we backed out of the parking space and I grabbed for my phone. Hopefully Medora is still at the beach, I thought, glancing over at the still stunned look on Brian’s face. Because I’ma gonna need some more reliable backup.
Down at the moonlit beach, Medora was pacing anxiously. Her text message had gone unanswered. Riley, Sears, and Cavanaugh had yet to arrive to take over the scene, and Harper hadn’t called her with an update.
Furious at feeling so helpless as she felt her plans beginning to spin out of control, she reached for her regular cell. She was just about to tap in Harper’s number when her phone buzzed and lit up, announcing an incoming call.
Relieved at seeing Harper’s name, she punched the “Accept” button and put the phone to her ear.
“Medora, it’s Harper.” He announced. “I think I’ve found where he’s got Angie.”
Medora took the phone away from her ear in shock and stared at it for a moment. How the fuck? She thought. Bringing the phone back to her ear, she asked him with a tinge of incredulity in her voice, “How the fuck did you do that?”
“It doesn’t matter now.” Harper replied, with wind from his open window whistling in the background. “I think he has her up at an old logging camp off of Channelwood. You know where that is?”
No, she didn’t, since she just moved here. But that’s what Google maps was for. “No, but I can find it.” She replied instead, confidently. Then she heard a muffled voice through the phone, and Harper responded with something unintelligible.
“Who’s with you?” She asked curiously, moving towards her car.
Harper’s voice returned to the phone. “Brian, Angie’s friend.”
As she was about to respond with a “what the hell?”, Harper cut her off. “I’ll explain later, but for now, he’s along for the ride. At this moment, I need you to meet me at the dirt road entrance to the camp off Channelwood Road as soon as you can. The dirt road is called Abbot’s Trail. If Riley and Sears are there at the beach, tell them to tag along. Based on what the FBI told me this afternoon while you were in the hospital, this guy is one dangerous character.”
At this, another muffled explosion of a voice came through the phone, and she could hear Harper shouting back at Brian. When he got back on the line, Medora simply said “On my way, meet you there”, and disconnected.
After Medora clicked off, she immediately opened the Google maps app. There was no way she was waiting for Riley and Sears to show up, and she didn’t have their numbers to call them anyway. Boy, Harper was going to have a lot of explaining to do later, running around like a cowboy. But for now, if he was right about where Angie was, then she still had a chance to exact her revenge on mister Colton Jericho.
Punching in the address, she found that she was about twenty minutes from where Colton was holed up. Starting the app, she looked around in the semi-darkness, but didn’t see any approaching headlights signaling the arrival of the cavalry.
Hopping into her car, she backed up quickly and peeled out into the night, heading from the serenity of waves crashing on the beach to the foreboding silence of the surrounding wooded mountains. A dangerous character you said. She thought bitterly as she accelerated around a curve. Detective Jones, you have no idea.
As Medora sped away from the beach, unbidden, her mind went back to the day that had changed her life forever.
Up until three years ago, Medora Dunning had gone by a different name. In those days, she was known as Melinda. Melinda Cornwall. In those earlier years, Melinda had met a handsome young man named Colton Jericho. Colton had been a freshly discharged Army Ranger and newly minted Colorado state trooper who had suddenly intruded into her quiet, orderly life. Their meeting was somewhat awkward, as he had pulled her over for speeding through a small town just outside of Colorado Springs. After he had issued her a warning and admonished her about safe driving, he suddenly asked for her number. Melinda had always been shy, never much into the dating scene, despite obvious interest from members of the opposite sex. But this young trooper was so friendly and dashing, that she decided, what the hell, and took a chance. In the weeks after this encounter, he had courted her incessantly, treating her like a queen as he showered her with gifts and adoration. He would constantly comment on her good looks, in particular her long, dark red hair, and Angie ate it up, like a hungry castaway returning from the sea. Their whirlwind courtship lasted six months, and before she knew it, she had become Mrs. Melinda Jericho.
After Melinda moved into Colton’s small cottage house just outside of Colorado Springs, she had begun to notice some small changes. It turned out that now that she was “his” and living under “his” roof, Colton had rules that he insisted she follow. Always answer her phone. Dinner exactly at six pm. Her car parked in the left spot in the driveway. No Facebook or other social apps. He became moody and possessive, often glaring or even shouting at men on the street or in restaurants who looked at her in what he perceived to be an admiring way. And God forbid if she changed her looks. One time, eight months into the marriage, she had dyed her hair blonde and styled it in a feathered long look, a la Farrah Fawcett. Colton’s subsequent explosion over her hair change was the first time that Melinda felt physically threatened by him. And over the months that followed, Colton became more verbally abusive and controlling, although he never actually hit her. At first, Melinda thought it might be because of his upbringing. Colton had said that he was an only child. He didn’t know who his father was, and his mother died when their apartment caught fire just after he turned eighteen. After that tragedy, he had gone right into the army, and so her next thought was that he had been affected by things that he had seen or done when he was deployed. He never spoke much about the Middle East or Afghanistan or the honors that he earned or the actions he did to deserve them. And when she tried to bring them up, he would quickly shut her down, claiming that she couldn’t understand because she wasn’t there.
She had offered to go with him to counseling to talk about his feelings, which only made him angrier. Then one day, on a whim, she impulsively decided to enter the police academy, with the hopes of creating a common bond with him, the “Brotherhood of Blue”, as it were. Instead, as she progressed through the program, he treated her idea of joining the force as a pipe dream, and when she actually graduated and joined the Colorado Springs police force, he became demeaning and critical of her accomplishments.
Despite the feeling of her marriage crumbling, Medora had persevered in the hopes that Colton would somehow change, and that he would return to the dashing young man who had swept her off her feet.
Then, about three years ago now, on a day when Colton was just beginning a double shift, he had left his laptop open and on. Ever since they had moved in together, Colton had insisted that they each have their own computer, and in addition that his was not to be touched. Over the years, she had occasionally tried to break his password, in the hopes of possibly finding something on it that could give her a clue towards his behavior, with no luck.
On this fateful day, he had left it open and unprotected, and after he pulled out of the driveway, she sat down at his desk. The open webpage showed a bank account, but not the bank account that they shared. This was a separate account at a different bank, that, upon closer inspection, appeared to have income from his state trooper pay. He had told her what he claimed he was making as a state trooper, but it appeared that he was siphoning off some of his pay into this account for the past eight years, right about the time they got married in fact.
Further, there was an automated monthly withdrawal that was to a real estate management company. More curious now, and with a growing sense of dread coiling in the pit of her stomach, Melinda had called the company and told them that she was his wife, and on top of that that she was a police officer in the VICE squad of the Colorado Springs Police Department. The meek secretary who she spoke to caved quickly, and Melinda had the address of a property that turned out to be on the outskirts of the opposite side of the city.
Quickly, Melinda had grabbed her police-issue Sig Sauer, hopped in her car, and made her way over to the location that she was given. The address was for a run-down single-family house on a largely deserted side street with a set of train tracks running a few hundred yards behind the brown and yellowed yard. Both lots to either side were devoid of life, but the one on the left had the blackened wall and roof remnants of what looked to be a small burned-out apartment building from years past.
Melinda had parked in front of the address and gotten out, hand on her holster. Looking around, the nearest person she spied was what appeared to be an old homeless man, squatting against a bent street sign at the nearest intersection, some one hundred yards away.
Taking a deep breath, she had pushed through a rusted metal gate, which was part of a twisted and worn thirty-inch storm fence that encircled the property. As she made her way to the partially screened-in porch, she noticed a shiny Yale padlock on the front door. Creeping up the cinder blocks that made up the front steps to a dilapidated entryway, she cast around for signs of life. At first, when she had found the bank account, she had assumed that Colton had another family, or another life that he had been keeping hidden from her. Now that she was actually at the address, another family seemed highly unlikely. Another life, however…
Trembling with fear, Melinda reached the porch, and crept to one of the two grimy windows that looked out on this desolate part of town. Peering in, she saw the remains of what she took was once a living room. Now, there was only a torn brown couch, a low cocktail table that was missing a leg, and a tattered throw rug that had seen better days. On the table, she could see what looked like a whiskey bottle, and a squat glass with some dark liquid sat expectantly next to it.
Seeing no movement inside, she stepped off the porch and proceeded around to the side of the house, where more stained windows promised additional views of the hidden interior.
It was at the second window that she saw something that made her catch her breath. In this window, she saw what looked like a bedroom, with a bare and soiled mattress sitting atop a torn box spring. But what really drew her attention was on the bedside table, where there was an assortment of tools that you’d normally find in a metal box in someone’s garage. And on the bed were four chains, one extending from each corner of the mattress to what looked like four red-rusted eyebolts that had been screwed into the concrete floor.
Melinda’s blood ran cold as she continued to survey the room. An open door was opposite the window, and through it she could see what looked like a closet on the opposite side of the hallway. The door to the closet was open, and she could barely make out what looked like a large dog cage in the far recesses. And, she couldn’t be sure, but there seemed to be a rather large lump of blankets in the back of the cage…
Suddenly, the blast of a train’s horn exploded through the air, causing Melinda to jump with fright, as an oncoming freight rudely announced its imminent presence. Melinda, thoroughly unbalanced now, took a deep breath and peered back in through the window. The lump of blankets had moved! There was something or someone alive in there!
Medora was instantly brought back to the present. The blast of the train horn she had heard was actually the blast of a car horn, which an irate driver had just jammed down on as she blew through a stop sign, and only by the quick reactions of the other driver, had narrowly avoided an accident.
Shaking her head grimly, she stamped on her brakes to slow down before she caused any more damage. After the scare of the train’s horn that fateful day, Medora had shouted and knocked on the window. The lump of blankets had moved again, then the form of a young woman trapped in the cage had gradually coalesced in the semi-darkness of that desolate house.
Medora had then broken the window and entered, freeing the battered young woman from the cage, who she subsequently learned was Sabrina Velotti. Both women were terrified of Colton, and Medora had instructed Sabrina to go the nearby Manitou Springs police, not the Colorado Springs police, because Colton had too many friends there, and she didn’t want him tipped off that Sabrina had escaped. Further, Medora had given Sabrina the barrette and helped her fabricate the story of how she had escaped. Medora didn’t want Colton to know that she was involved, and wanted some time to grab some things from her house before she fled the man who she once loved, but now discovered was a cruel monster. And knowing her husband’s temper and his background, Medora was scared of the possibility that he could very well escape police custody, and then if he found out that she had freed Sabrina…
Looking back, Medora was right to be terrified, as her discovery and freeing of Sabrina Velotti had irrevocably changed Melinda’s, now Medora’s, life and who she had metamorphosized into.
And now, Melinda thought savagely, the tables are turned, and I’m coming for YOU, my dear husband.
I flicked off my phone after Medora hung up and returned my attention to the road, well aware that Brian was staring at me angrily from less than three feet away.
As I slowed to make the turn onto Laurel, my mind already ahead to the anticipated encounter with Jericho, Brian could contain himself no longer.
“Well?” He demanded.
Irritated, I glanced over at him, then returned my attention to the road. “Well what?” I returned irritably.
Brian’s already florid face grew a shade redder as he nearly shouted, “Who the hell is this ‘dangerous’ character? What do you know, Jones? Who has my Angie?”
Annoyed at his tone and they way he spoke to me using my last name only, I suddenly slammed on the brakes and pulled over to the side of the main thoroughfare. Jamming the car into park, I whirled and faced the suddenly uncertain Brian, as he recovered from having his head very nearly collide with my fake leather dashboard.
“Let’s get one thing straight Brian.” I snarled, pointing my finger at him. “You are NOT my partner. You are NOT my friend. As a matter of fact, I sorta hate you for sleeping with my ex-wife while we were still married.”
Brian opened his mouth as if to protest, but I cut him off as I continued my rant, grateful to finally have a viable target for my pent up anger and frustration. “In fact, the only reason I am tolerating you right now is because you helped find where Angie is being held. And yes, I said held, because she is being held against her will. By a man, who if you must know, has raped, tortured, and murdered at least eight women that we know of, including Angie. And not your Angie, just Angie. You don’t own her, and you never will.”
I paused to catch my breath, glaring at him in the dim yellow light of a struggling sodium streetlamp, the low roar of a souped-up sports car echoing as it flew beside me on the road. Brian had now shrunk back against the car door, the force of the words of my diatribe sinking in. Remorselessly, I plowed on.
“This man was a decorated Army Ranger and State Trooper. Whatever is twisted and broken within him is tragic, but make no mistake, he is one dangerous motherfucker. He very well assaulted Alison Newton’s corpse, most likely murdered Kenneth Brainwell, and kidnapped Angie, all in less than two days here.” I shook my finger again for emphasis. “Which is why I don’t want to waste any time getting the FBI involved right now. There’s no telling…” I paused, and briefly turned away. “…no telling what he’s doing up there.” I finished lamely.
Again, Brian formed the words to speak, and again, I cut him off. “Which is why you,” I stared intensely at him, “will stay in the goddamn car when we get there. Medora is meeting me there, and she’s armed. Further, “I continued, “she’s diverting two other detectives who were on their way to Angie’s scene of abduction to meet us as well.” Not entirely the truth, but hey, he didn’t need to know that. “You got that?”
Brian just stared at me for a moment before nodding imperceptibly. Muttering a curse and shaking my head, I shifted the car back into drive and peered over my shoulder, looking for an opening in the traffic. As I accelerated and merged back into the flow, Brian shifted back into his seat facing forward, and pushed a sweaty lock of hair off of his forehead. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him glance quickly at me, then take a deep breath.
“Why?” He asked.
I looked quickly at him, then back at the road as I roared under a yellow traffic light. “Why what?” I returned.
Focusing straight ahead, he said, “Why Angie? Why’d he take her?”
I winced inwardly and said, “Near as I can tell, her hair. Apparently he has a type. Young, single, attractive facial features. But the hair. Dark red, long, wavy. All of his previous…victims…had it, just like Angie.” I took a deep breath. “If I had to guess, he saw her on tv sometime yesterday, when she was doing that feature on Alison Newton. And that’s when he targeted her.”
Brian stared out the window, grabbing onto the door handle as I took a curve a little faster than I should’ve. After a moment, he whispered in a tremulous voice, “It’s my fault.”
I flicked my blinker to indicate my desire to pass a slower Celica and floored it. “Your fault?” I asked. “What do you mean it’s your fault?”
Brian continued staring out the front window, oblivious to the elderly couple in the Celica eyeing our car angrily as we flashed past. “After you and Angie…separated. I wanted Angie to declare her loyalty to me, to tell me that she was through with you.” He paused, then continued. “I told her I wanted her to change her hair, to dye it red. For me. She didn’t want to, but she did it.”
As this information sunk in, my knuckles whitened and I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. Son of a bitch. I thought, recalling Angie’s beautifully blonde mane of wild hair. Angie had told me that dying it was her idea. To symbolize our split. If he hadn’t made her dye it…No! I shook my head, clearing my thoughts, I can’t think like that right now. Focus.
Instead, I looked over at Brian, who was staring vacantly straight ahead. Shit, I can’t have him like this, he’ll want to play superhero, to right his tragic wrong. I briefly considered cuffing him to the steering wheel when I got there, but quickly dismissed it. I very well might need the cuffs for Jericho. But then again, I thought, feeling the reassuring pressure of my sidearm in my shoulder holster, I might very well not. So I looked at Brian and gallantly decided to take the unfamiliar high road. “You can’t blame yourself.” I muttered. “If you didn’t ask Angie to dye your hair, this guy might’ve like blondes instead. Just don’t know.” I glanced over to see if he was taking what I was dishing.
But Brian continued to stare out the window as the strip malls flashed past, becoming scarcer as we reached the edge of Wolf Hollow, and the road began to etch a silvery path through the encroaching forest. I sincerely hoped he’d shut up and stay put when we got there. It was going to be edgy enough rescuing Angie and collaring the ex-Ranger without having a maverick boyfriend running around seeking his own personal redemption.
I felt a small vibration and looked down to where I had put my phone in the center console. Its screen was lighting up, as if excited to see me. The name “Barnes” was highlighted in the phone’s block script, and I allowed myself a small smile. As much of a pain in the ass he had been in this investigation, he was remarkably persistent and involved, and I allowed myself a small amount of grudging respect. After this is all over, I thought, assuming I still have a job, we might actually get along.
After a few more seconds, my phone winked out, the words “1 Missed Call” gradually fading from view. I thought of briefly calling Medora to see if she had indeed been able to get Riley and Sears to come to the logging camp, but then decided against it. Brian was quiet for the moment, and I didn’t want Medora asking any questions that I couldn’t answer with him sitting next to me. If she got them to follow, great. If not, then Medora and I would manage, but I didn’t want to wait one minute longer than was necessary.
I sighed and glanced the clock on my dashboard as I turned off Laurel onto Channelwood. Five minutes to Abbot’s Trail, I thought, my mind going back to Jericho. And Brian had asked the wrong question. Not “Why Angie” or even “Why Alison”. The question that was burning me was “How did this psychotic sadist know to come here, to Wolf Hollow, for Sabrina Velotti?”
Ten miles away, outside of the WOLF media station, Police Chief Barnes threw his phone to the ground in frustration. Goddamn Jones, he fumed, as he bent to retrieve his offending phone, why the hell can’t he just fucking LISTEN?
After Barnes had sent Jones home, he had had to absorb the virulent anger of the bank manager, who couldn’t believe that the Chief of Police wasn’t going to charge the man who obliterated his front door. He was spared the man’s further anger about restitution when Agent Cabot poked her head out of the recently aerated front door and announced that they had a picture of Jericho’s car.
He had gone inside to see, and was shown a beautiful color video showing the bank’s parking lot at four-thirty earlier today. In it, the bank lot was empty, as the bank closed at four, except for a lone beige sedan that idled quietly, its front end pointing across the street towards the station and an unmoving dark shadow in the front seat.
As Walsh fast-forwarded, he could see in the distance across the street, what looked to be the reporter Angie Renfro exiting the building and crossing the lot to a blue Mustang convertible. Agent Cabot, who was watching next to Barnes over Walsh’s other shouldered, muttered something like, “must be nice”, and Barnes had to grudgingly agree. On his salary, he could probably afford two of the Mustang’s tires and maybe a door.
They all observed as Angie fast walked across the lot, got into her car, put the top down, and backed out of her parking spot. In the near view, they could detect some movement in the sedan as the dark shadow stirred. Then, as Angie turned out of the station lot, the shadow stirred again, and the sedan began to slowly move towards the street, like a large metal predator stalking its prey. Seconds later, the sedan had turned onto the street, also disappearing from view.
“Shit, that’s him. Jones was right. Did you get the plate?” Barnes asked Walsh.
Walsh turned to look up at Barnes and nodded, a cell phone plastered to his ear. “Running it now,” he said.
Suddenly, Officer Perkins poked her head into the security room, and looked directly at Barnes, her finger over the communicator on her shoulder. “Sir,” she said, “not sure if you’re gonna believe this. Diaz just radioed from the front. He just saw a commotion across the street at the station. Two guys just left in a hurry, almost running up the road, towards the Crow’s Nest. He couldn’t be sure, but he thinks one of them was Detective Jones.”
Barnes had just stared at her for a moment. “You want to run that by me again?” he had said. After Perkins had started to repeat what she’d said, he cut her off with a sharp hand gesture, and looked down at Walsh. “Come find me over at the station when you get the information on the car. Agent Cabot, why don’t you come with me. Let’s see if Diaz’s eyesight is as good as he thinks it is.”
Barnes and Cabot had hustled across the street, and loudly banged on the media station’s front door until Kitty Thunderhawk had reluctantly come forward to let them in. After first denying it, Barnes had demanded to see their security footage, and Kitty had then backed down. Five minutes later, Barnes had seen the camera’s GPS, and understood what had happened. He had then marched outside and tried to immediately call Jones. Thirty seconds later with no pickup, Barnes disconnected, and cursed.
He didn’t fucking listen, Barnes thought to himself grudgingly as he punched in Medora Dunning’s number, but dammit, he was getting farther than anyone else.
A minute later, after Detective Dunning’s phone also went to voicemail, an increasingly exasperated Barnes dialed Detective Riley. And after this is over, he thought grimly, we’re all gonna have a nice long conversation about communication skills.
Thankfully, Detective Riley picked right up. As Barnes watched Agent Walsh appear through the front door of the bank and begin to make his way across to where Barnes was standing, he heard Riley recount their last few minutes. He and Sears had just reached Angie’s car by the deserted beach. Deserted meaning that Detective Dunning had left, no doubt at the behest of Jones. Doesn’t anyone in this town follow orders? Barnes wondered absently. As Riley finished his report that Cavanaugh was now only minutes away, Barnes pondered what to do.
Fuck it, Barnes thought, as Walsh approached. His day was shot already, and now he really just wanted to chew Jones a new one. So he ordered Riley and Sears to stay put and secure the beach scene with Cavanaugh when he got there. He’d then call SWAT on the way to the logging camp, though he had a hunch that by the time they got their team assembled and made it to the scene, Jones would have long since changed the already fluid situation.
Pocketing his phone, he turned to see Agent Cabot behind him. Motioning to her, he said to Walsh, “Jones found a GPS of where he thinks Ms. Renfro is being held. It’s up in an old logging camp outside of Wolf Hollow. He’s heading there now.”
Walsh blinked rapidly and looked at Barnes. “The same Jones that you took off this case and sent home about an hour earlier?” He asked, with a slight trace of sarcasm.
“Yeah, don’t remind me.” Barnes muttered as he brushed past Walsh. “Let’s go follow him. He’s probably gonna need backup. I’ll call our SWAT team on the way.”
Walsh then turned and addressed Barnes in an authoritative tone. “Chief Barnes, do I need to remind you that this is a joint investigation, with the FBI taking the lead?”
Barnes slowed his trek to the Escalade and turned to face Walsh. “No, Agent Walsh, you do not need to remind me.” He said slowly. “So tell me, as the lead, what would you like to do now?”
When Walsh didn’t answer, Barnes nodded. “That’s what I thought.” He said, turning his bulk back towards the road. “So let’s go.”
Walsh glanced at Cabot, who looked back at him and shrugged. If the cavalier Chief wanted to take the lead for the moment, then by all means. If it all went to shit, then the FBI had a scapegoat. And with the way it looked like his police department was being run, the odds of it raining shit seemed pretty good. And then the FBI would be off the hook for this serial killer that they had been chasing unsuccessfully for close to eight years. Just as long as the FBI saves the victim, Walsh thought, falling in behind Barnes. And he and Cabot would make sure of that.ns 188.8.131.52da2