Bittersweet (27 page)

The church, a small brick building, stood on the outskirts of town. When Mack pulled into the graveled parking lot, she saw the vehicles—two white sheriff's pickups, an unmarked SUV, and a marked police car from Sabinal—all parked to one side, headlights off. The SUV doors were open, a Maglite was hung on the door, and six men in cowboy hats were gathered around, peering at a laptop screen. From the stiffness of their movements, Mack guessed that at least some of them were wearing their vests. She took hers out from behind the seat, pulled off her jacket, and put it on, fastening the Velcro bands. It was cool and tight and constrained her movements, but the heaviness gave her a reassuring security. She put her jacket back on, pulled up the collar against the chill wind, and grabbed the sack of Ethan's still-warm food. Then she thought better of it, put the sack back in the truck, and walked toward the SUV. She didn't want the other men to think she was running anybody's errands.

“Hey, Chambers,” Ethan hailed her. “Meet the team. Guys, this is Warden Chambers.” He pointed around the small circle, and in the glow of the Maglite, Mack saw that all of the men were wearing badges. “Davenport, Murphy, Coxey, Jackson, Davies. Davenport and Murphy are sheriff's deputies,” he added. “Coxey is the Sabinal chief of police, and Jackson and Davies are his officers.”

There were grunts and half grins and skeptical glances, and Mack felt the weight, once again, of being the only woman in a group of law enforcement officers, some of whom weren't accustomed to working with a woman. She straightened her shoulders and nodded, meeting the eyes of each man briefly, committing their names to memory. Deputies Davenport and Murphy were both large and burly, Davenport with an unlit cigar in his mouth, Murphy pulling on a cigarette. Uniformed and in full
duty gear, they looked confident and at ease, as if they did this every day. (They probably did.) Chief Coxey, white-haired and with a white mustache, was also uniformed, but didn't look quite so comfortable. Jackson had a nose that had been broken at least twice, while Davies had the mild and slightly bemused look of a Sunday School teacher. Both were in jeans and jackets, and Mack got the idea that Coxey had probably pulled them away from a quiet family evening. All of the men wore holstered sidearms.

Ethan made room for her, and she joined the circle beside him. They were looking at a Google map on the laptop. “Before we get into the map, let me fill you in,” Ethan said. “We have warrants for the arrest of Thomas Perry on probation violations and Ronald Perry for suspected Lacey Act violations and conspiracy to commit theft. They are persons of interest in two homicides.” He paused. “Warden Chambers will execute the search warrant. She's looking for stolen white-tails and other items, as well as deer smuggled into the state.”

“Are they brothers?” Coxey asked. “Father-son?”

“Brothers,” Davenport replied, around his cigar. “Lucky is the badass one—that's the name Thomas goes by. I served a protective order on him six or seven years ago, out there somewhere around Sycamore Mountain. It was some woman wanting him to keep his distance. Couldn't say I blamed her. The guy's got a quarter-inch fuse.”

“What about the other brother?” Ethan asked. “Ronald.”

“That would be Duke, if I recall.” Davenport scratched his nose thoughtfully. “Seemed like a reasonable sort. Tried to tamp down his brother, without a lot of success.”

Ethan nodded. “A man driving a truck registered to Thomas Perry forced a woman off the road on the Three Gates Ranch. She died when
her car burst into flames. We have a surveillance video of the homicide. We also have reason to believe that one or both Perrys were involved in the murder of Doc Masters on Thursday. Both homicides appear to be cover-ups for a deer-smuggling scheme and thefts of animals and semen from Three Gates.” He paused. “Oh, yeah. We've got one other man, Jack Krause, already in custody. It was his wife who died in the car wreck.”

“Krause, huh?” Coxey said. “I know him. He's a big guy. He give you any trouble?”

“Dunno,” Ethan said. “Chambers took him in and booked him.” He turned to Mack, dark eyebrows raised, a half-amused smile at the corner of his mouth. “He give you any trouble?”

“A little mouth, but nothing I couldn't handle,” Mack said carelessly, and a chuckle went around the circle.

“You don't want to mess with Chambers,” Ethan remarked, and the chuckle went around the circle again.

“Did I hear right?” Murphy asked. “You got a surveillance video out there at Three Gates?” For a heavy man, he had a high, squeaky voice. “How in the hell did you manage that?”

“Drone,” Ethan said.

“What? What'd you say?” Murphy piped. “
Drone
?”

Ethan grinned at Murphy. “Yeah, I know, Murph. The latest gimmick. Next thing you know, we'll all be conducting aerial surveillance. Just the next tool in the box, is all.”

Murphy shook his head with a now-I've-heard-everything expression. Davenport gave a skeptical harrumph. “This I gotta see,” he muttered.

“You will,” Ethan promised. He turned to the group. “So here's the deal. The Perrys live on a ranch on the east flank of Sycamore Mountain.
We'll take all vehicles and caravan up 1051 to where it forks.” He traced the route on the map on the screen with his finger. “We'll follow the left fork for about three miles, until we cross Bee Creek. After that, there's a mailbox. That's where we'll turn right.” He looked around the circle. “Anybody know this area? Is the bridge marked?”

There was general headshaking. “I been out there several times,” Davenport said, giving his duty belt a hitch. “But I never noticed a bridge. You sure about that?”

Mack said, “It's not a bridge. It's a low-water crossing with a white-painted five-foot flood gauge on each side. As I remember, it's the only low-water crossing on that fork of 1051. The mailbox is marked ‘Perry' and ‘Bar Bee.'” In a lower voice, she added to Ethan, “There's a gated community on the right fork of 1051. Could be there's a cell phone tower in the area. Maybe use Krause's phone? See if the Perrys are at home?”

Ethan nodded briefly. “Smart idea.” He raised his voice. “Y'all get that detail about the low-water crossing? We'll pause there to let everybody catch up, then make a right at the mailbox just beyond. At that point, turn on your handheld radios, turn off your headlights. We'll run dark. The ranch house is maybe two miles back and up, and they may have a scanner, so we won't use the county radio. Here's the layout. Give it a good look. I don't want anybody getting lost.”

He brought up Google Earth and zoomed in tight enough to see that the ranch house was a small, compact dwelling with what looked like a gray metal roof. The ranch road crossed an open area and led up to the house, ending in a parking area to the left of the house. There was a cedar brake to the right of the house and a cluster of outbuildings and fences behind it. Farther to the left, down by Bee Creek, lay a narrow green strip,
cleared of trees and shrubs, and mowed, with a rounded-roof structure—a Quonset hut—at the end closest to the compound.

Ethan tilted the image, and they could see that the house and outbuildings were set against the side of a hill, and that the mowed strip along the creek was level. He zoomed back out and they could see Route 1051, a thin white line looping through the light green velvet of the Frio valley and the darker green corduroy of the hills, and then the thinner white thread of the ranch road unraveling from it.

Ethan pointed. “From the mailbox on 1051, here, parking lights only, no headlights. We'll caravan slow and dark, bumper to bumper and quiet, with the lead vehicle spotlighting the road only as much as necessary.” He glanced up and over his shoulder, where the moon was just coming up over the hills to the east. “With that moon, we might not need a light. Or goggles.”

“We taking all the vehicles in there?” Coxey asked nervously.

Ethan nodded. “With luck, we won't be seen until we get up to the house. And when they do see us, I want them to see
all
the vehicles and realize that we're not just a couple of guys with big mouths. So we'll do it this way. When we get about here—” He pointed to a spot where the ranch road came out of the woods and into the meadow in front of the house. “When we get here, I'll stop and pull around to use the truck as a shield. You pull off, park where your vehicle is visible, and leave it. No lights, no noise, no talking, weapons ready. Davenport and Jackson, you circle around to the left to cover the back, make sure nobody gets out that way. Coxey and Davies, hang to the right. Murphy, you're with me. Chambers, you stay behind your vehicle and keep the front of the house covered.”

The thought came to Mack that he was keeping her out front with him because he was worried that she could get herself into trouble, and she bridled—then put that aside. Ethan would be where the action was, and that was where she wanted to be.

He went on. “I've got their partner's cell phone, and I'll call them, see if I can get them to come out the front door, unarmed, and surrender. If they don't answer, or if they cut off the call, I'll use the PA system on the truck. Everybody, keep your handhelds on. We'll communicate that way.”

“You think it's just the two brothers?” Coxey asked, even more nervously. Mack got the idea that this wasn't something he did very often.

Ethan shrugged. “No way to tell. For all we know, there may be a woman or two in that house, even kids. Could be dogs penned up outside, or loose. And we have no idea about their arsenal. Hold your fire unless I give the command.” He looked around the group and his voice hardened. “Everybody got that? We don't want another Ruby Ridge here. And for God's sake, no friendly fire casualties.”

There was a subdued chorus of “yeahs.” Jackson pointedly nudged Davies. “Got that, Bert? Don't shoot yourself in the foot again.”

“Up yours, Jackson,” Davies growled. “That's a lie.”

“You guys be quiet,” Coxey said. “You're embarrassing me.”

“Just funnin',” Jackson said, and subsided.

Mack was leaning toward the screen, frowning in concentration. She manipulated the mouse pad, zooming in at a spot behind the house.

“Looking for something special?” Ethan asked.

“That paddock,” Mack said, pointing. “It was empty when Google made this flyover, but that's got to be where Doc Masters saw the stolen
white-tails. There may also be some smuggled deer in there, too.” She raised her voice. “If the animals are still penned, let's make sure that nobody turns them loose. They may be evidence of theft.” She peered closer and pointed to the long, narrow green ribbon, in the valley along Bee Creek. “And get that. A mowed airstrip, looks like, with a Quonset hut that might be a hangar, at the end of the strip. The Perrys have a plane up there?”

“Davenport, you know anything about that?” Ethan asked. “I can ask Dispatch to do a search on pilots' licenses, but we probably wouldn't get the results until—”

“Seems to me I did hear something about that,” Davenport said. “Like maybe both of them had licenses. But I wouldn't let it worry me none. It's not like they're going to take off and fly away in the dark.” Murphy squeaked an assenting laugh.

“Not likely,” Ethan agreed. “Okay, let's do an inventory. What do we have in the way of armament and equipment?”

They were fully armed with both long guns—AR-15s and tactical shotguns—and sidearms. Mack wasn't too sure about men with guns tromping around out there in the dark, falling over who knows what and discharging their weapons accidentally. But it was what it was.

“Radios? Night-vision goggles? Vests?” Ethan asked. There was another chorus of yeses, with nos from Davies and Jackson. Coxey said, half defiantly, “Radios, yes. But we're not budgeted for goggles or vests.”

Ethan nodded. “If there's fire, better stay down, then.” He looked around the group. “Any questions?” Silence. He closed the laptop and picked it up. “When you get into your vehicles, check your weapons. If you're not loaded, do that now—and then turn off those overhead cab
lights. When you're locked and loaded, turn on your headlights. When we're all lit, we roll.”

Mack got Ethan's sack of burger and rings and quietly put it in his truck, smiling when he saw what she was doing and gave her a thumbs-up. As they drove out of the parking lot, she found herself in the middle of the five-vehicle pack, behind Ethan and the second sheriff's truck but ahead of Coxey's SUV and the Sabinal police car, which brought up the rear. By the time they got to Bee Creek on 1051, the moon was high and bright enough to cast shadows. The caravan paused at the low-water crossing, and Mack took the opportunity to put on the headgear that supported her night-vision goggles. She tightened the straps and flipped the eyepieces up and out of the way. The apparatus was uncomfortable—there was a reason it was called a “face prison”—and she didn't need it now. But the moon was fickle, and without it, the night was a black conundrum. Later, she might be glad she was wearing it. When the police car caught up, Ethan cut his headlights and made the turn onto the Bar Bee ranch road. Mack switched down to her parking lights, and the others followed suit.

There was enough moonlight to see the gravel two-track curving up and down through the trees, then down across another low-water crossing and up into an open field. Still running dark, Ethan pulled to the right and stopped. Davenport pulled off to the left and Mack followed, the other two vehicles pulling to the right of Ethan. The house sat on the side of the hill slightly above them, a narrow, verandah-like porch running across the width. There were three windows, two on the left side of the front door, one on the right. The first window to the left of the door was curtained and dimly lighted, the light flickering and bluish, probably a television screen, which was good, Mack thought. Whoever was inside
was watching TV and would be surprised. In the parking area beside the house on the left were two pickups, one black, the other silver. The light-colored pickup looked like the Dodge that had forced Sue Ellen Krause off the road and to her death. There were no other vehicles, so it seemed likely that the men were alone. To the far left, about a hundred yards away at the foot of the steep hill, she saw the hulking shape of what she had guessed was a hangar. From its curved silhouette and the moonlight glinting on it, she saw that it was, yes, a Quonset hut. A square window in the side facing her displayed a light.