Paying The Piper (25 page)

S
heils sat at the Fleetwoods’ kitchen table eating the breakfast
Scott and Jane had made for his team. He’d yet to go to bed, but he’d gone home for a shower, a change of clothes, and the opportunity to hug his family. It went a long way to recharging his sleep-deprived batteries.

The same couldn’t be said of Scott and Jane. They had no one else to turn to for solace. They needed good news, and soon.

Sheils wasn’t sure how he was going to get it for them. The ransom drop had left them no leads. His team was working the places where Scott had stopped the night before, but he didn’t bank on them finding anything. Baz Reagan had looked to be their best chance of catching the Piper, and that turned out to be a bust. The license plate Friedkin got off the rental car was their remaining lead. It would turn up an identity and an address. He expected it to be a bogus identity, but it would start a trail leading to the real one. Proactively, that was all he had going for him. Reactively, he expected a call from the Piper. It had to come soon, and it would be bad.

He finished the last of his eggs and pulled out his cell phone to check his voice mail. Jones dominated the voice mails. He left a message before and after he approached each BG suspect on the list. Jones added his own flavor to each report, waxing lyrical about each BG as he eliminated him. He added how much his
butt hurt from sitting in his car all day. Sheils smiled at the extraneous commentary, but his smile slipped when he listened to the messages for Brian Givens.

“Tom, I’ve just left the property for this Brian Givens character. I don’t like him. He left me feeling queer, and you know how I hate feeling queer. I’m not saying Givens is our guy, but he didn’t want me on the premises. Now, he might just not be a fan of the black man, or he could be a country hermit who likes his privacy, but he’s hinky. He needs a second look. There’s a house, barn, and a paddock for horses. I’m going to stake this place out and search it when he leaves. If you have any friendlies up here, I’d appreciate extra help. Call me. I’ll call you with progress reports.”

But Jones hadn’t called again. He left his last message just after four p.m. That was seventeen hours ago. Even if his cell had crapped out on him, Jones would have gotten to a pay phone. Sheils punched in Jones’s cell number, and the call went to voice mail.

“Jones, call me.”

Panic edged his words, drawing Scott and Jane’s attention.

“What’s wrong?” Jane asked.

“It’s Jones. He didn’t call in after checking out one of the BG properties yesterday.”

He went to his briefcase and yanked out the short list of nine property owner names and addresses. He yanked out Brian Givens’s details from the mix.

“Dunham, in here,” he yelled.

Dunham entered the kitchen.

“You got anything back from the rental place?”

“Yeah. Just now. A Douglas Ritchie rented the car with a MasterCard using an Ohio driver’s license. Both bogus. He’s our guy, though.” Dunham held out a printout of the driver’s license.

Sheils took the printout. Douglas Ritchie’s DMV picture matched Baz Reagan’s description in every respect except hair color.

He handed Brian Givens’s property details to
Dunham. “Get me a DMV and whatever else you can on this guy, fast.”

“Do you think Jones found the Piper?” Scott asked.

“I don’t know.”

“But you’re worried he did,” Jane said.

“Yes,” he admitted reluctantly.

He called Jones’s number and got voice mail again. He called Jones’s wife and asked if she’d heard from him. She hadn’t. He kept the fear from his voice when he told her he’d get Jones to call her back.

Dunham returned with Brian Givens’s driver’s license details. The man pictured on the California driver’s license wasn’t Douglas Ritchie.

“Who is he?” Jane asked, looking at Givens’s DMV photo.

Sheils had an inkling. At fifty-three, Brian Givens was in the Piper’s age range. Douglas Ritchie, or whoever he really was, was on the young side for the Piper. He would have barely been out of his teens when the first victim, Camille Fairweather, had been kidnapped. The Piper came over as a well-organized loner, but his position as team leader couldn’t be ruled out.

“The man in the city last night could be an accomplice. When Friedkin followed the rental car last night, he didn’t see either of your children with him. Considering how he had us running around last night, he would have been forced to leave Sammy and Peter behind. It’s unlikely he left them unattended.”

“You think Brian Givens is the Piper?” Scott asked.

“I think it’s worth investigating.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Sheils had no direct proof. He had threads, mere strands of information, but those strands wove together to construct a thick enough rope to hang the Piper.

“Yes, I think it’s him.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Jane asked.

“We aren’t.” He returned inside and called his team
into the living room. “We have a new player in this game. Brian Givens. He owns property similar to that described by Ryan Rodgers. Annabel Cho and someone I sent in have disappeared in the vicinity of this property. I want to know this man inside and out, financially, criminally, and personally. I want to know if he owned any of the properties used in this case. That includes the store on South Van Ness and the sawmill in Oregon. I want this picture shown to Baz Reagan and the Piper kidnap families. Do they recognize this man?”

The speech invigorated his flagging team. He capitalized on their newfound energy by divvying up assignments. While everyone jumped on their tasks, he called the Yolo County sheriffs and got them to form a half-mile perimeter around Givens’s home. They weren’t to approach or intercept, just establish his presence and make sure he stayed there. He requested a chopper to fly him and Brannon to Winters.

Scott stopped him on his way out. “I’m coming with you.”

“You’re staying here in case we receive a call from the Piper.”

“Jane can take the call. I’m coming with you.”

“I can’t allow that.”

“If Givens has my children and you squeeze him, he’ll kill them, but he might hesitate if he knows I’m there. You’ll need a bargaining chip, and I’m it.”

Sheils looked to Brannon. Brannon showed no signs of disagreement.

“You know Scott’s right,” Jane said.

“Okay,” Sheils said. “You’re coming.”

The door opened and Kerry Hammond stepped out from her parents’ home in Concord. Her son bounded along behind her, and she opened the car door for him to get in.

Friedkin had been both waiting for this moment and
dreading it. He’d been parked outside the house for a couple of hours. Lights came on an hour ago, but he’d lacked the courage to go up to the door. How could he tell this woman her husband was tied to the Piper? He still didn’t have all the details, but he was out of time. He slipped from his car and jogged across the road.

She was fastening the boy into his car seat when he called her name. She looked up, then smiled when she recognized him. “John, what are you doing here?”

Her smile dropped when she took in his disheveled appearance and his grave expression.

“Kerry, we need to talk.”

“I can’t. I’ve got to get Jack to school.”

“It can’t wait, Kerry.”

She pretended like she hadn’t heard him and fussed with the straps on Jack’s car seat, but couldn’t seem to snap the buckle together. He eased her aside and snapped it into place. She went to the driver’s side, but he caught her arm.

“Can’t your mom or dad take Jack to school this morning? It’s important. It’s about Alex.”

Kerry’s dad appeared on the doorstep. Friedkin released her arm and straightened.

“Anything wrong?”

“No. This is Alex’s boss. Dad, can you take Jack to school? He wants to talk to me about Alex.”

Kerry’s father took the keys from her, and Kerry led Friedkin into the backyard. They sat at a picnic table, away from the house. Friedkin could see Kerry’s mom moving about the kitchen, keeping an eye on them.

“I need to find Alex,” he said.

“He’s at home.”

“He’s not. I’ve heard your phone messages.”

Kerry sagged. “He changed the locks.”

“I know. How long have things been bad between
you two?”

“Months.”

“You guys have been solid for so long. What happened?”

She laughed without humor. “It feels like nothing now. We separated three months ago. I got tired of him working away all the time. He was putting all these hours in and never got to see us. I wanted him in a nine-to-five job for once. He said he was working a big case for you and didn’t have time for us.”

Friedkin stopped her. “Did he say anything else about the big case?”

The question confused her. “No. John, what’s going on? Why are you here?”

“Alex hasn’t been working a big case for me, but I think he has been for someone else. Do you know who that would be?”

Kerry shifted in her seat. “He did a little divorce work now and again. Nothing big.”

“No, this is someone with money. Did he ever mention someone like that?”

“No. Nobody like that. Why? Tell me what’s going on.”

“For the last six months, Alex has been working a serious surveillance job. Around-the-clock stuff. Someone would need deep pockets to fund it. If I wanted to find Alex, where should I look besides home?”

“He doesn’t have family close. All we have is that house.”

Friedkin berated himself. He should have staked the place out and cornered Alex instead of breaking in. Now, he’d scared him off.

“John, you’re scaring me. Is he in trouble?” She looked near tears.

He couldn’t keep the truth from her any longer.

“Yes, he’s in trouble. The FBI is looking for him, but I want to find him first.”

“What’s he done?”

“I don’t know for certain.”

“Don’t give me that, John. You know. You
wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.”

“Kidnapping.”

He told her everything and didn’t sugarcoat it.

Kerry didn’t say a word. She looked lost in her thoughts.

He was losing time. “Kerry, if you can’t help me, I have to go to the FBI.”

“Don’t. Please.”

“Then help me.”

“He has a cell. We bought the phones as a Christmas present so we could always reach each other. I’ve tried him on it, but he didn’t answer.”

“What’s the number?”

She recited the number, and he punched it into his phone. Alex would ignore his wife’s call, but Friedkin hoped he’d answer when his number appeared on Alex’s phone. The phone rang for a long time. Friedkin thought the voice mail was going to kick in when Alex answered.

“You talked to Kerry, I see.”

“I needed to find you. Alex, the Feds have ID’d you. They’re going to find you. Let me help.”

“I don’t need your help. I’ll be out of the country before nightfall, well before Sheils and his crew have it all worked out.”

Friedkin had a timeline. Whatever Alex and the Piper had planned, it ended today. He pictured a Nicholas Rooker scenario for Sammy and Peter Fleetwood. He had to stop this.

“You selfish bastard. Where does that leave Kerry and Jack?”

Alex’s blasé tone switched to anger. “My family is none of your damn business.”

“But it is. I’m Jack’s godfather. I don’t want him seeing his father making the Most Wanted list. If you flee, the FBI will track you. You’ll never stop running.”

“You don’t know shit.”

“You’re right. I don’t. So explain it to me. Meet me.”

“Not a chance.”

“Sheils might not be able to touch you once
you’re out of his jurisdiction, but I can. I swear I’ll hunt you down if you don’t meet with me now.”

“Okay,” Alex said finally. “Come back to the city.”

He’d gotten through. “Where?”

“Pier Twenty-Five. Drive up to the water and honk your horn twice. Don’t bring the FBI.”

T
he Yolo County sheriffs didn’t have a helipad in
Winters, so the chopper set down in a field. Uniformed officers crossed the field from their vehicles to meet Scott, Sheils, and Brannon as they clambered from the helicopter. Introductions were brief and carried out on the move. In staccato fashion, the sheriff brought Sheils and Brannon up to speed. Deputies were in position. Givens hadn’t left his ranch, but the possible kidnap victims remained unsighted.

This failed to worry Scott. Givens wouldn’t be parading his captives unless he was moving them out. They were there. They had to be.

Just as they reached the road, Sheils’s cell rang. As he listened to the call, his expression turned grim. He cursed when he hung up.

“Baz Reagan is dead. Shot in the face,” he announced, darkening the mood around them.

Scott felt a surge of panic. Sammy and Peter’s lives depended on taking Givens now.

Sheils and Brannon climbed into an unmarked Crown Vic. Scott went to get in the back, but Sheils put out his hand.

“You go with the sheriff, Scott.”

“No. You need me. This is all about me.”

“I know, but I can’t risk Givens seeing you. Your presence
will provoke him. Do you want that? Do you want to risk Sammy and Peter’s lives?”

Scott wanted to be first through the door with Sheils and Brannon. He needed to look Givens in the eye. He wanted to say, “Here I am, you bastard. Now what?” Unfortunately, there was only one answer that was best for his children. “No, I don’t want to risk their lives.”

“Good,” Sheils said. “I’m keeping you close for when I do need you. Right now, I need you to work with me. Okay?”

Scott nodded.

No one gave Scott time to mourn the decision. Sheils and Brannon accelerated after the cruiser leading the way. Scott slid alongside the sheriff in his Explorer, and they brought up the rear.

The motorcade raced along the winding roads without lights or sirens. The sheriff threw the SUV into the bends to keep up with the cars ahead. He told Scott he ran a well-drilled team of deputies. The FBI knew their stuff. Givens didn’t stand a chance.

Scott knew better. The sheriff hadn’t driven on the twisted road Scott had traveled to reach this point, and it wouldn’t straighten out now. Not if Givens was the Piper.

Scott guessed they were close to the ranch when he started spotting sheriff’s cruisers tucked away on side roads and pullouts. The three-vehicle convoy slowed to a halt next to a lone cruiser already parked in a neighbor’s driveway. One of the deputies briefed them on the current situation, which wasn’t much. Givens had been spotted going back and forth from his house to his pickup, loading it up.

Sheils and Brannon stripped off their jackets and shirts to put on Kevlar vests, then redressed. The body armor bulked out their clothes, but their jackets disguised it well.

“Okay, I want a group channel on the radio kept open so everyone can hear. You’ll know if we need backup,” Sheils said. “I want this to go down without fireworks. Is that understood?”

Sheils received a round of nods from his law
enforcement brethren. Scott felt compelled to join in. That was it. Scott watched Sheils and Brannon go to take down the Piper.

Sheils parked across the back of Givens’s Ford F-150, blocking the suspect’s chance of a fast getaway. He and Brannon slipped from the Crown Vic. He had a radio set to transmit clipped to his belt. His Glock sat in its holster, unclipped for easy removal. If events followed the game plan he and Brannon had worked out during the chopper flight, he expected to take Givens alive. Givens was the only one who could spoil their plan.

Movement came from inside until Brannon rang the doorbell. Givens would be deciding whether to answer the door or play possum.
You can’t play possum with your truck parked out front
, Sheils thought.
Come out and say hi
.

Movement from within resumed. Feet pounded the stairs. Did Givens have someone stashed up there? With possibly four people held against their will at this ranch, Givens couldn’t afford to keep them holed up together. He risked being jumped by the sheer numbers.

Brian Givens opened the door. Although in his fifties, he was in good shape. In his mind’s eye, Sheils slid the masked figure in Redfern’s photograph over Givens’s frame. It was a perfect match.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes, I’m Agent Brannon from the Federal Bureau of Investigation.” Brannon produced his ID. “And this is my colleague, Agent Sheils.”

Sheils hoped to goad Givens with his presence, but Givens failed to register any emotion at the arrival of the FBI on his doorstep. Instead, he scanned Brannon and Sheils as if he were x-raying them. Alarm bells were ringing in Sheils’s head. Could he really have caught up with the Piper?

“How can I help you?” Givens asked.

“We’re looking for a suspect who we believe is
operating out of this area,” Brannon said. “His name is Vernon Neville. African American. Late fifties. Two hundred and forty pounds. Six foot three in height. More than likely, he would have called himself Jones.”

“What’s he done?”

“Home invasions,” Brannon answered. “He cons his way into the homeowner’s property to beat and rob them.”

“I see,” Givens said.

“Have you seen this man in the area?” Sheils asked.

“No,” Givens said.

Gotcha
, Sheils thought. He’d caught Givens in a lie. Jones had been there and hadn’t returned. After so many years of disappointment and failure, Sheils had the son of a bitch. “I’m glad to hear it.” Sheils cast a glance over the rest of the property, ending his scan at the locked barn. “You have a sizeable parcel of land, do you mind if we look around?”

“Do you think he’d hide out here before making his move?” Givens asked.

“No,” Sheils said.

“Then you have no reason to search my property.”

Givens was spooked. Sheils liked that. Jumpy people made mistakes.

“You’re denying us permission to look around, sir?” Brannon asked.

“Unless you have a warrant. Do you?”

“No,” Brannon answered.

“I’m taking your word that you’re an FBI agent. For all I know, you could be this Vernon Neville, and this is your attempt to invade my home.”

“Sir, really,” Brannon said.

“Maybe we should leave,” Sheils said and stepped back from the door.

“Maybe
you should,” Givens said.

“Thanks you for your time,” Brannon said. “Sorry for any inconvenience.”

Sheils and Brannon backed away from Givens’s doorstep. Neither man wanted to turn their back on him.

Givens crossed the threshold of his doorway to watch Sheils and Brannon return to their vehicle. He reminded Sheils of an animal reclaiming its territory, forcing out the weaker animal. Then his body language changed. He stiffened in shock and directed an accusing arm over Sheils’s shoulder toward the road.

“What’s going on?”

Sheils turned to look.

Scott was crouched next to the sheriff at the side of the road, with a clear view of the house, the barn, Sheils, Brannon, and Givens.

Scott’s heart raced while he listened to the mundane questioning on Givens’s doorstep and went into overdrive when Givens made his error. He’d lied about meeting Jones. Sheils and Brannon had him. They could take him now.

But they weren’t. They were backing off.

This couldn’t be happening. How could they come this far, only to walk away? It was insane.

“What the hell are they playing at?” Scott demanded.

“They’re playing it safe. Building their case.”

Playing it safe? Building a case? What bullshit was this? Four people were being held captive. This charade only served to alert Givens. Now he knew the FBI was onto him and he’d have no reason to hang tight while Sheils waited for warrants. As soon as he realized he was screwed, he’d execute everyone and disappear.

Scott couldn’t let that happen. Not when he’d suffered so much to get this close. Not when his kids had suffered even more to survive this long. He wasn’t leaving without them.

If Sheils needed probable cause to search the property,
then he’d give it to him.

Scott leapt from his hiding spot in the drainage ditch, dropping the radio the sheriff had given him. He clambered from the ditch and bolted for the driveway.

The sheriff reacted fast and snared Scott’s ankle from his position in the ditch. Scott’s momentum carried him forward, but his feet went out from under him and he crashed to the ground on his side. He ignored the jolt of pain running up his spine and tried to shake the sheriff off, but his hold was too tight.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the sheriff demanded.

“Ending this farce.”

“That’s not going to happen, Mr. Fleetwood.”

Scott punctuated the sheriff’s reply by swinging his foot around to kick the sheriff in the face. The sheriff’s position in the ditch gave Scott the advantage. Scott’s foot connected with the side of his head, dislodging his wrench-like grip, and the sheriff fell back into the ditch, holding his nose.

Scott scrambled to his feet and bolted for the entrance to Givens’s property.

The sheriff yelled at Scott to stop. Scott glanced over his shoulder. The sheriff was already clambering from the ditch, but Scott had enough of a lead on him and kept running.

The sheriff’s cry alerted a nearby deputy on the other side of the driveway. He popped up from his hiding place and charged toward Scott with his weapon drawn. The county cop moved to block Scott’s access to Givens’s property. He stopped and aimed his gun at Scott’s chest.

“Stop,” the deputy instructed.

Scott kept running toward him. “Shoot me or help me,” Scott called to the deputy. “The decision is yours.”

The deputy’s features knotted as he fought with his decision, but his aim remained steady.

“Do it if you’re going to.”

“Shit,” the deputy murmured and lowered
his gun.

Scott called out a thank-you as he ran past the deputy and charged up the driveway. The lazy incline from the street to the house took the strength out of his legs. He got his second wind when he saw the barn Ryan Rodgers had been held captive in, with all the other children. His children. They should have brought Ryan with them for identification purposes. Too late now. Well, they’d soon know whether Brian Givens was the Piper or not.

Givens spotted him and jerked out an arm in his direction. Sheils and Brannon turned, and disbelief and anger spread across their faces.

“What’s going on?” Givens bellowed. “You have no right.”

“Scott,” Sheils yelled, “get out of here.”

Realization crept into Givens’s expression. He recognized Scott.

That’s right, you bastard, you didn’t think I’d find you
, Scott thought. “I’m here,” he yelled. “This is what you wanted. You wanted me to find you. I’ve found you. The game’s over.”

Givens bolted for Scott. Sheils blocked his move, putting his body in Givens’s way. Givens had several inches of height difference on his side, but Sheils used his lower center of gravity to keep him from breaking away.

Brannon sprinted after Scott. To Scott’s relief, he made no move for his weapon, but the FBI agent moved with real speed to intercept. Scott changed his direction to run on the far side of the parked vehicles, forcing Brannon to go the long way around. It bought Scott vital seconds to elude the agent.

The sheriffs stormed the property, including the deputy Scott had talked into not shooting him, but were too far back to catch him.

Givens bridled at Sheils’s attempt to restrain him. Sheils told him to calm himself. The FBI was taking care of it.

Brannon came in at Scott from his right.
With his speed, his agent would cut him off long before he reached the barn. Brannon’s expression said he intended on stopping him.

They failed to understand Scott’s intention. The law bound them, but if he ripped open the barn door to expose vital evidence, it was admissible. If they let him reach the barn, they had Givens. Unfortunately, that wasn’t going to happen. Brannon came at Scott, spreading his arms to show him he had nowhere to run.

But he did have somewhere to run. The agent should have just tackled him instead of trying to cut him off. At the last minute, he dropped a shoulder and drove it with all his momentum into Brannon’s stomach. Brannon doubled over onto Scott from the impact. His deadweight came down on Scott’s back, but Scott’s speed drove him forward, dislodging Brannon’s falling body.