Chill Factor (44 page)

"I agree, sir." Hoot pulled on his coat and gloves.

"Where did Perkins say the chopper will set down?"

"He didn't. We didn't get that far before our service was
interrupted."

Begley checked his own phone and cursed when it registered no
service. "It's still going to be dodgy, I'm afraid."

"I'll call Perkins back as soon as we get to the police
department."

They rode in silence for a time, then Begley said, "Lilly
Martin. Do
you think she's still alive, Hoot?"

"I believe so, yes."

"Why?"

"Because he knows she called Burton and told him they were to
gether."

"I hope you're right."

As they approached police headquarters, they were stunned to
see
civilian vehicles, most of them four-wheel trucks, parked in front of
the squat brick building. Those that the parking lot wouldn't
accommodate were parked along both sides of the street.

"What the hell?" Begley asked rhetorically.

Inside, the anteroom was crowded with men wearing camouflage
print
hunting garb or similar clothing. Most were armed with rifles. One,
Hoot noticed, had a sophisticated bow and a quiver of evil-looking
arrows. Everybody was talking at once, and all appeared agitated.

Begley tried to elbow his way through the throng in the
general
direction of the dispatcher, who seemed to be the target of the
malcontent. After several failed attempts, the SAC put his fingers in
his mouth and gave an earsplitting whistle. It instantly silenced the
babble. Weatherproof boots sounded like a stampede on the hardwood
floor as they shuffled one hundred eighty degrees.

With every eye in the room
on
him, Begley
identified himself in a
voice that could
have cut
glass. He was standing with his feet planted wide apart, his hands on
his hips. Later, Hoot would confide to his co-workers that the
nutcracker had never been more effective.

"I want somebody to tell me what the hell is going on here,"
he
bellowed.

The crowd parted for the man pushing his way through. Although
he
was dressed for the Iditarod, Hoot recognized Ernie Gunn. "Mr. Begley,
Mr. Wise. These men here are some of the volunteers who'd been
searching for Millicent until the storm forced them to stop. Word
spread yesterday about the guy who took her. We've assembled this
morning to help capture Ben Tierney."

Immediately after his meeting with them, Gunn must have
notified all
his friends that Ben Tierney was the culprit who had taken his
daughter. Those friends had told their friends. Hoot looked into the
faces of the armed men and saw the resolve of vigilantes bent on
getting their man and meting out their own brand of justice.

Begley ignored the others and addressed Gunn. "I understand
your
desperation—"

"With all due respect, Mr. Begley, you can't. You've got your
girl
safe and sound at home."

"I stand corrected," he said, speaking humbly. "I can
appreciate
your desperation to find Millicent. I also commend these concerned
friends and neighbors who've volunteered their time to search for her.
I mean that." He included every man in his sweeping gaze of the room.

"But, gentlemen, this morning you're reminding me of a lynch
mob. At
this point, Mr. Tierney is not a suspect. We have no hard evidence
against him. I want to emphasize that. Folks heard his name mentioned
in connection to our visit here, gossip spread like wildfire, it went
out over the radio, and things got blown all out of proportion. We came
to Cleary only to question him, to have him clarify some issues in
order for us to eliminate him as a suspect."

An unidentified voice spoke from the back of the group.
"That's all
we want to do, too. Question him." The tongue-in-cheek remark was met
with snickers.

Begley, clearly irritated by the interruption, said, "You
don't need
rifles with scopes to talk to a man. A helicopter is due to arrive
within an hour. I intend to take it up to the peak. If Tierney is
indeed in the cabin recently owned by Chief Burton, he will be asked to
cooperate with us and will be questioned according to jurisprudence; He
will be afforded his constitutional rights.

"Now, that's how it's going to be. That's the
only
way
it's going to be, Mr. Gunn. If you and your friends attempt to
compromise our mission, or take matters into your own hands, I will use
whatever means I deem necessary to subdue you. This is a police matter.
As such—"

"Then where are the goddamn police?" Gunn asked angrily.

"Excuse me?"

Gunn flung his arm wide. "These men came here this morning to
offer
their time and services to you and the police. But our chief of police
is nowhere to be found."

Hoot shared Begley's astonishment. "What do you mean he's
nowhere to
be found?"

"Just what I said," Gunn replied. "His own men haven't seen or
heard
from Dutch since late last night, when he told the dispatcher he was
going home for some shut-eye."

"He told us to come get him if we needed him." Officer Harris
materialized out of the crowd. He'd replaced his
uniform
with an insulated jumpsuit and a fleece-lined hat with earflaps like
most of the others were wearing, making him indistinguishable until
now. "I just got back from his place. Looks to me like nobody's been
there in a long time. Not even any ash in the fireplace."

Begley cut a worried glance toward Hoot. "Perhaps Wes
Hamer…"

Before Begley could finish, Harris was shaking his head. "He's
AWOL,
too. I stopped at his house on my way here. Mrs. Hamer said Mr. Hamer
came in late last night, slept for a couple of hours, then left again
before dawn."

"Did she know where he was going?"

"Said she didn't."

Hoot didn't like the feel of this, not at all. Judging by
Begley's
dark expression, he didn't like it either. He pondered it for several
tense moments, then said crisply, "Officer Harris."

"Yes, sir?"

"In the absence of your chief, and until further notice from
me, you
are in charge of coordinating these men. I want them organized into an
official search-and-rescue battalion. Your immediate job is to make
certain they have the gear and supplies they'll need. And I'm talking
everything. Ammo. Extra clothing. Compasses. Food. Water. Lots of
water. I won't be responsible for somebody fainting out there from
dehydration."

"Right, sir."

"I want them ready and standing by to go at a moment's notice."

"Yes, sir." Then the young man's eyes clouded with confusion.
"To,
uh, to do what, sir?"

"I won't know that until I've reconnoitered the area in the
chopper.
We'll stay in contact through the police radio, so I suggest you remain
here. Use this as your base of operation. Other volunteers may straggle
in, and we'll need every man we can recruit. If I may make a
suggestion?"

"Uh, yeah. Sir."

"I've found that dividing my units into smaller groups and
appointing group leaders is an efficient way to coordinate men who've
had less training. But choose those leaders carefully, as they'll be
reporting only to you. Just a suggestion. You may, of course, manage it
as you see fit."

"Yes, sir."

"Agent Wise." Begley did an about-face and strode toward the
door.
Hoot lunged forward to open it for him, then followed him out. As soon
as the door closed behind them, they dropped the pretense. "Do you
think they bought that bullshit?"

"Difficult to say, sir," Hoot replied.

"Well, trying to make sense of it will keep them occupied for
an
hour or so, especially choosing the group leaders. Hopefully by the
time they've sorted that out, we'll have rescued Ms. Martin and taken
Tierney into custody." Begley paused. "Crap. You didn't get to use the
phone."

"Perkins hasn't paged me. If he's got something urgent, he'll
contact me that way. In the meantime I'll keep trying to reach him by
cell phone."

"What do you make of Burton and Wes Hamer having gone missing,
Hoot?"

"No idea, sir."

"I don't like it. Not a fucking bit." Hoot opened the driver's
door.
"Where to, sir?"

"The drugstore. That seems to be their hangout. Let's start
looking
for them there." Before getting into the car, Begley looked up at the
clear sky. "Never thought I'd say this, but I almost miss the snow. At
least when it was snowing I knew where everybody was."

Marilee didn't think it was possible for matters to get worse.
She
was wrong.

Dora Hamer showed up on her doorstep, looking like an escapee
from
an insane asylum, dressed only in a bathrobe, the hem of which was wet
from dragging through snow. She wore only house slippers. Her bare feet
were raw looking and red. Marilee had never seen anyone in such a
distraught state.

The instant Marilee opened the door, Dora cried, "Is Scott
here?"

"No."

"Do you know where he is? Please, I beg you. If you know where
he
is, tell me."

Marilee reached for her hand and pulled her inside, then
ushered her
toward the fireplace. "Sit down and tell me what's happened."

Dora didn't sit down, she paced, tearing at her hair while one
hand
clutched a piece of lined paper. The left margin was ragged, like it
had been ripped from a spiral notebook. "What's that?" Marilee asked.

"A note I found in Scott's room. A policeman came to the house
a
while ago."

"Policeman?"

"One of Dutch's men, looking for him and Wes," she said
impatiently.
"That's not important. After he left, I looked into Scott's room to
check on him. The room was empty. I found this." She shook the note at
Marilee. "Is it true?" she asked, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"You're his
lover
?"

With no thought of denying it, Marilee answered quietly. "For
the
past several months."

Dora stopped ranting and gaped at her. "How could you? What's
wrong
with you?"

"Mrs. Hamer, please," Marilee said gently. She was more
concerned
about the other woman's mental state than she was about the accusations
sure to be flung at her. Dora appeared on the verge of emotional
collapse. "I'll tell you anything you want to know about my
relationship with Scott. But I can't while you're screaming at me.
Please?"

She motioned toward one of the two chairs in front of the
fire, but
Dora swatted her hand aside. The blow stung, but Marilee kept her
composure, knowing that one of them must. "What does the note say?"

"He explained what happened this morning."

"It was very ugly. I won't paint it otherwise."

"Well, you should be proud of yourself," Dora sneered, meaning
the
opposite. "Your shameless behavior has led to
this
."

She thrust the note at Marilee. It was crumpled and damp from
being
clutched in Dora's hand. When Marilee smoothed it out, she recognized
Scott's handwriting.

The note was addressed to his parents. The first line alarmed
her:
"I know you'll never forgive me for what I've done." She read the line
out loud, then looked up at Dora. "What does he mean by that? What has
he done that's unforgivable?"

"Screwing his schoolteacher, I suppose. I don't know." Dora
had
resumed pacing and was wringing her hands. "You're the last person I
want to be near. I hate being inside your house. But I came because I
thought you might shed some light on the note. On where he is now. On
whatever is 'unforgivable.' Tell me something," she screamed, her voice
shredding on the last word.

Marilee read the line again. "He could be referring to our
affair.
Or he could mean…" She couldn't bring herself to say what
else the
obscure sentence might signify.

"Is he referring to something that he'll have done by the time
we
read the note, or something he's done already? Something that he thinks
we'll consider unforgivable?"

"I don't know, and I'm afraid to speculate, Mrs. Hamer."

Dora backed into the wall, covered her face with her hands,
and
began to sob. "Does he mean he's going to kill himself?"

Marilee continued reading, her panic rising. The words had the
tone
of a suicide note, although Scott hadn't specifically said he intended
to end his life. However, when he'd left her bedroom through the French
doors this morning, barely taking time to dress, he'd been terribly
upset. Although she'd begged him to stay, he wouldn't be persuaded.

He ran out and must have stopped at home only long enough to
compose
the note. Whatever course of action
he'd
decided on,
he'd decided very quickly. The rashness of it terrified her. He wasn't
thinking clearly or rationally. "Did he take anything with him when he
left?"

 "I don't know." Dora's reply was desultory, as
though she was
so lost in her misery she wasn't really listening.

Marilee took her by the shoulders and shook her. "Was anything
missing from the house?"

Dora's vision cleared. "Like what?"

Like a gun
. Before Marilee could vocalize
her thought,
there was hard knocking on the front door. Both women reacted with a
start. They stared at the door for several seconds, with shared but
unspoken fear.

Marilee was the first to gather her courage. She crossed the
room
and opened the door.

"Ms. Ritt, we met yesterday."

"I remember. Special Agent Wise."

"Yes, ma'am. And Special Agent in Charge Begley."

"Come in."

She moved aside, allowing the two FBI agents to step into the
entry.
They stopped short of entering the living room when they saw Dora Hamer
cowering against the wall. To his credit, Begley pretended not to
notice her dishabille and acted as though he'd bumped into her at a tea
party. "Good morning, Mrs. Hamer."

Her eyes were wide with fright. All color had drained from her
face.
"Have you come about Scott?"