Terry Odell - Mapleton 01 - Deadly Secrets (30 page)

Megan had to remind herself to breathe. Sam set the letter on the coffee table and stared into nothingness. She’d never seen him so—empty. Without thinking, she went to his side. Sitting beside him, she enfolded him in a gentle embrace. She tasted salt and realized she’d been crying.

“
Ich liebe dich.
I love you, Sam.” The words barely made it past the thickness in her throat. How many times had she said that as he’d tucked her in as a child?

“
Ich liebe dich auch,
” he said, but his “I love you too” seemed automatic, a reflex formed by long-established ritual.

He pulled away, and she jerked back. But he stood and walked, robot-like, down the hall toward the powder room. When the door closed, she turned to Justin. “What should we do? We have to ask him about the journal. He’s read the letter, so he knows it exists. If he has it, or knows where it is, maybe we can trade it for Rose.”

Justin scooped his hands through his hair. “I’m trying to figure out how that reporter found out about it.”

“It doesn’t matter. We have to save Rose. If Sam knows where the journal is, that’s our bargaining chip.”

“I hate to hurt him. He’s upset enough as it is.”

“He’s the one who always said how important it was to tell the truth.”

“And the one who pretended his past didn’t exist.”

The doorbell interrupted. Her heart pounded. Officer Solomon appeared, gesturing to them to stay where they were. If he noticed their emotional state, he gave no indication. “That should be for me.”

He checked the peephole, then swung the door open admitting a uniformed deputy. “This is Deputy Olivera. He’s going to take over. If you get a phone call, use the extension in the study.” The deputy came inside, and Officer Solomon trotted across the porch, his footfalls heavy on the wooden steps.

His abrupt departure sent a frisson down Megan’s spine. Had they found Rose? Was she hurt? Sam strode into the room. Megan made a quick round of introductions and offered to make coffee for their new watchdog. Relieved when he declined, instead asking to be shown the study, she led him down the hall. He looked around, then checked the recording equipment. “Looks good. You can get back to your family.”

“Did something happen? Is that why Officer Solomon left?”

“No, ma’am. Just switching assignments. They’re doing some door-to-door, and he knows the area.”

Although there had to be more, she retreated. Gordon knew what he was doing. Sam was her first concern.

In the living room, Sam sat in the center of the couch, Justin beside him. Sam motioned for her to join them. When she sat, he put his arms around them. Megan leaned into him, happy to take a moment of comfort. And how had things done a complete reversal? She and Justin had been worried about protecting Sam, yet he seemed to be taking care of them.

Justin spoke, dumping a dose of reality into the brief tranquility. “Opa, I can’t imagine what you must feel, but there’s more. Your brother’s daughter, Ingrid. She married and had a son. He…he got in touch with me a few weeks ago. About the journal. He demanded I get it for him. He said if I didn’t …”

“So you couldn’t ask me?” Sam said. “All this—the visit, the remodeling—was so you could find some old book?”

Justin leaned forward, the heels of his hands pressed against his eyes. “I…you’d never spoken of a brother.” His voice quavered. “I didn’t know how to tell you there was a possibility your brother had been a Nazi. And a war criminal. I…I wanted to keep from hurting you and Oma.”

“And now Rose is gone.”

Megan jumped in. “Sam, we didn’t know. We were both trying to find the journal and turn it over to this new cousin of Justin’s.” She paused. “I guess he’d be your nephew.”

“Grand-nephew,” Sam mumbled. “Family.
Mein Gott
.”

“And Justin’s cousin swears he had nothing to do with Buzz Turner,” she continued. “Apparently there are two people who want this journal. Do you know anything about it?”

“
Two
people wanting this secret book?” Sam convulsed into laughter so intense Megan was afraid he’d gone hysterical. She gripped his hands. Deputy Olivera rushed into the room.

Gordon breathed in the brisk night air, the scent of pine and earth wafting on the breeze. Buzz Turner’s out of the way spot, assuming Keith Valade had been correct, was definitely remote. They’d been on dirt roads for the past five miles, and hadn’t seen a sign of civilization. Cell service had disappeared half an hour ago. No radio contact with the station for the past fifteen minutes. Damn mountains. The GPS gave coordinates, but none of the local roads—if you could call them that—had been digitized for their system. He’d been staring at a red triangle on a white screen ever since the last turnoff.

“This is it,” Colfax said, turning onto a side road.

Gordon’s pulse accelerated at the sight of the large rock formation Valade had pointed out. Shadows danced in the headlights as the car navigated hairpin turns and bounced over the bumpy road.

“Crap,” Colfax said. “Which way now?” He stopped the SUV. Ahead, the road forked in three directions. A department SUV sat on the shoulder, lights flashing. Colfax pulled alongside, and Solomon rolled down his window.

“Hey, Chief,” Solomon said. “Where to?”

“Valade didn’t mention hiking in.” Gordon pointed to the left, the widest option. “We’ll try that one. You try the other two. Maybe Buster will pick up a trail. Buzz’s car has to be here somewhere.”

Colfax aimed the SUV down the road. Images of Rose being bound and tortured filled Gordon’s head. He shoved them away, concentrating on being a cop. A cop in the field, not behind a damn desk.

His heart pounded away the seconds. His radio crackled. At least they had car to car coverage. “Buster alerted,” Solomon reported through the static. “Meet you at the fork.”

Colfax swung the SUV around and backtracked to the fork and Solomon’s SUV. The German shepherd sat at Solomon’s feet, whining and quivering, impatiently awaiting the order to get to work.

“Let’s do it,” Gordon said. “Colfax, you wait here in case he tries to rabbit. Solomon, you sure this is the right road?”

Solomon displayed a sweater. “I borrowed this from the Kretzers’. We went about fifty yards down each possibility. This one got Buster excited.” Solomon gestured to the rightmost option.

Buster swerved toward Gordon, barking. Then the dog sat, cocking his head at his master. Gordon recognized the sweater as one he’d folded and put away. “I touched that. And Buzz probably did too.”

Solomon praised Buster for finding Gordon, rubbing the dog’s ruff. “Rose’s scent should be the strongest, but finding Buzz would work, too.” He gave him the sweater again. “Okay, Buster. Find.”

The dog bounded off, nose in the air. In seconds, he’d disappeared into the darkness, dragging Solomon behind. His flashlight illuminating the trail, his heart hammering, Gordon followed. This was being a cop. Not worrying about budget line items.

A frenzied barking brought Gordon to a halt. He swept the area with his light. Weapon drawn, Gordon rushed toward the sounds, the beam from his flashlight bouncing as he ran.

Buster sat, panting. Solomon stood in the middle of the narrow road, his weapon trained on Buzz, who knelt, one hand raised in surrender, one clutching his belly. Gordon pointed his light at the man. Sweat glistened on his face despite the chill. Fear showed in his eyes, which seemed trained on Buster.

“Don’t move,” Gordon said. “Or we’ll release the dog.” An empty threat, because Buster wasn’t an attack dog. But Buzz wouldn’t know that. He hoped.

“She tried to kill me. I’m hurt. You gotta help me,” Buzz said, right before sinking to the ground.

Gordon and Solomon reached Buzz within seconds. Gordon crouched beside the man, his flashlight revealing a dark stain spreading at Buzz’s midsection.

Solomon lifted Buzz’s shirt. “Knifed.”

Gordon called for Colfax. “Get in here. Call the medics. We’ve got an injured man to transport.” Damn, he should have had rolled the medics from the start.

“On my way,” Colfax said.

“I’ll wait here,” Gordon said to Solomon. “You go find Rose.”

Solomon and Buster raced off. Gordon applied pressure to Buzz’s wound. Where the hell was Rose? Had they fought? Was she lying somewhere, hanging on by a thread? As triage went, this sucked. He had an injured man, probably a killer, in hand. And his victim, somewhere in the great beyond, condition unknown.

He’d be happy to leave Buzz where he was until he found Rose. But a cop couldn’t let emotions rule. He didn’t bury them completely, however, and snapped at the man lying beside him. “Wake up, you bastard. Where’s Rose?”

Not even a groan.

Seconds ticked into eternity before headlights illuminated the trail. A car door slammed. He twisted his neck to see Colfax jogging toward him, a first aid kit thumping against his leg.

“Give me more light,” Colfax said. His motions smooth and competent, he snapped open the medical kit and checked Buzz’s wound. “Go. I’ll keep an eye on him until the medics get here.”

Trusting Colfax, Gordon rushed after Solomon and Buster. Hearing the dog’s eager barking raised his hopes, and he headed down a side trail in the direction of the sound.

“Rose! Rose Kretzer! It’s Gordon Hepler. You’re safe. Where are you?” Buster dashed back and forth along the trail, darting into clumps of trees, in one direction, then the other.

“What’s with him?” Gordon asked.

“Don’t know,” Solomon said. “He’s definitely got a scent.”

Buster bounded off, barking louder. Gordon followed Solomon and the dog down a side trail where Buster, sniffing and whining, circled Buzz’s rental car. Both front doors were open.

Gordon rushed forward. “Rose?” The car was empty. Gordon’s heart sank.

“Flat,” Solomon said, pointing his light at the right front tire. But she was in here. He gave Buster the sweater again. “Find.”

They continued on, both calling Rose’s name. Had she escaped only to meet with some other disaster? Bears came to mind.

“Here.” A quiet voice came from the trees to his left, well off the trail. He shone his light in that direction. Near a large fallen tree, a pile of leaves moved. A form emerged, like some forest monster, shedding leaves and detritus. And clutching a bloody knife.

“Rose!” Gordon said. “Are you all right?” He dashed toward her.

Solomon released Buster. “Let him reach her. It’s good for him to succeed.”

Gordon made a mental note to increase Buster’s kibble ration no matter what budget items he had to cut. Hell, he’d throw in for some steak out of his own pocket. Gordon cradled Rose. Buster sat at their feet until Solomon called him back.

“Sam? Justin? Megan?” Rose asked.

“All fine.”

“Mr. Turner? Alive?”

“Yes.”

She sighed. “I’m sorry, but I don’t seem able to walk very well.” The knife slipped from her fingers.

“Get the knife,” Gordon ordered Solomon. Carrying Rose like a rag doll, Gordon started toward the vehicles.

“I’m fine,” Rose said.

“Of course you are. But it’s against regulations to let an injured victim out of protective custody. Especially if she’s also a witness.”

Rose’s quiet laugh was the nicest sound he’d heard all night.

When they got to the car, a cuffed Buzz sat in the backseat of Colfax’s SUV. Colfax leaned against the front bumper. Apparently Buzz wasn’t as bad off as Gordon feared. Rose hadn’t been willing to talk about how she’d escaped. All she’d said was Buzz wanted some mysterious journal, and would go to any lengths to get it.

Colfax stepped forward and helped ease Rose into the front seat of Solomon’s SUV. “Time to go home.”

Gordon recognized the subtext.
Get rid of the woman, there’s work to be done
. He smoothed Rose’s hair and kissed her hand. “You’re going to the emergency room. No arguments. And yes, I’ll call Sam. I’ll see you later.”

She smiled, the way she had when he’d stumbled through a passage in a book when he was eight. He swelled with the same pride.

With Rose safe, Gordon turned his attention to Colfax. “Turner hasn’t asked for a lawyer?”

“Not yet. Don’t know why, but that’s a gift horse I’m not playing dentist with. I told him I’d cancel the medics if he didn’t tell us what he’s been doing. I guess he’s hurting enough to believe me.”

Hell. Given the way Buzz operated, he was probably composing his next story, figuring out how to spin this one to his advantage. “You have a recorder?” Gordon asked Colfax.

Colfax tapped his pocket. “Does a bear shit in the woods?”

Gordon pulled open the back door of the SUV. After dealing with the formalities, he said, “It’s over, Buzz. Time for you to do the talking. Why the hell did you do this?”

Buzz shrugged, then winced. “Money. Fame. Glory. Why else?”

“Why don’t you start at the beginning, Buzz. Help us understand.”

Another shrug, another wince. “With everyone who’d lived through World War II dying, I needed to write my book while there was time.”

“The book you told me about. The Holocaust?”

“Yeah. I did a lot of research. I found this old guy who was going to get away with being a war criminal. Henry Carpenter, but his real name was Heinrich Kaestner. I was checking him out, and I found he’d kept records, then hired a PI to dig up his brother so he could clear his conscience.”

“The PI’s name?” Gordon asked.

“Karl Franklin. He tells me about this secret journal connected to this one-horse town in Colorado. Said the journal was full of war secrets, and worth a fortune. I did some digging. There were a lot of immigrant Jews in the town, so I moved here to do more research. All on the QT, of course. About a week ago, Franklin says he has more information for me, but insists on meeting in person to close the deal, and then he tries to up his price. We fought. He lost.” Buzz scowled. “Bastard kicked off before he told me what the new information was.”

“You never saw the envelope?” Gordon asked.

Buzz squinted in puzzlement. “What envelope?”

“Guess you’re not the investigative reporter you think you are.”

“Go on,” Colfax urged. “Did Franklin say what was in the journal?”

“Not in so many words. He thought it might tell about all those treasures the Nazis stole, where they hid them. Or a list of war criminals. Either way, it would give me information for a great story. At the very least, I’d get a list of people who might be willing to pay to have their secrets kept out of print.”

“Why Betty Bedford?” Gordon asked. “What did she have to do with all this?”

“That’s the address where Franklin told me he mailed the journal. The biddy said she didn’t know what I was talking about. She was getting noisy, so I had to shut her up. She said she’d turned everything over to the Kretzers, so I went to their place. But they came home before I could finish. Then, I figured it would be easier to deal with them directly, and if you hadn’t shown up, they’d have told me where it was, and I’d have my book deal. Money. Fame. Glory. I’ve earned it.” He crossed his arms across his chest and stared into nothingness.

The wail of sirens announced the medics were on their way. Gordon restrained himself from dragging Buzz out of the backseat of Colfax’s SUV and leaving him for the medics to deal with. He stormed away, leaving Colfax to take charge.

How had someone as sick as Turner kept it hidden so well? Were his actions brushed aside as part of the annoying reporter perception? Hell, Gordon hadn’t seen it, and he prided himself on having a first-rate bullshit meter. And what if Turner had seen the envelope? He’d have gone straight to Rose and Sam. Betty might still be alive. But Rose and Sam…He refused to follow that thought train.

Once the medics had ministered to Buzz and loaded him into the ambulance, Gordon threw himself into Colfax’s passenger seat. “Get me out of here.”

For once, the detective kept his trap shut.