With a Vengeance (17 page)

Eighteen

The gray clouds grew darker as the wind hissed through the leaves overhead. Pete could smell the approaching rain on the breeze. Rain that would obliterate the tire tracks he and Nate were following. He picked up the pace.

“Any idea where this trail leads?” Nate asked.

Pete dug the crumpled map from his pocket and handed it to his officer. “Unfortunately this one branches off a couple of times. Hard to tell which trail our guy took.”

Nate kept stride for stride with Pete while studying the map. “He was on an all-terrain vehicle. Didn’t necessarily need to stay on the trail.”

Yeah, there was that too.

They broke into a rolling open expanse of grassland dotted with scrub trees. The wind, unbroken by the wooded cover, had shifted. Coming from the north, it carried a chill and threatened to snatch Pete’s ball cap from his head. He tugged it down tighter.

No way were they going to beat the rain. He pulled out his phone. Knowing there was no one at his station manning the radio on a Sunday morning, he punched in the non-emergency number for the county EOC. When they answered, he stopped walking and gestured for Nate to do the same. He needed to catch his breath, and stopping to look at the map was a good excuse. “Send officers in the area out to Gayle Road and T920 where the double-track trails intersect. Tell them to look for quad tracks consistent with our shooter. He may have used one of those trails to escape.”

“Ten-four, Chief Adams.”

Stuffing the phone back in his pocket, he started off again.

“We can rest a bit longer if you need to,” Nate said.

Pete noticed his officer wasn’t breathing hard at all. “I’m fine. Let’s move.”

He calculated they’d hiked about a half mile before they came to the first split. The tracks veered right at the Y, following the trail at a slight downgrade into another patch of trees. A minute later the pitter-patter of rain in the tree canopy pushed Pete into a jog. At least the cover of leaves and branches bought them a little time.

The next half mile felt like ten. Damn, he needed to get into shape. Another trail from the right joined theirs and brought with it multiple sets of new tracks.

“Our shooter wasn’t the only one out here,” Nate said.

Pete noticed his officer still wasn’t winded.

They trudged on, the pace slowing from a jog to a long-striding walk. Even with the additional tracks, Pete hoped they’d be able to pick out the one set they were interested in.

Overhead, the light pitter-patter grew into a steady whisper. Drops worked their way through the leaves, pelting his hat and shoulders.

A hundred or so yards ahead, the trees gave way again to rolling grasslands blanketed with a gray haze. The tread-mark mishmash in the dirt dissolved into a glistening sheen of mud, melting discernable prints into generic grooves along the trail.

“Damn it,” Pete said.

Nate stood at his side looking at the blank ribbon of slop stretching from their feet into the foggy distance. “I’m not sure if this guy is good or just lucky.”

“Both.” And while Snake Sullivan might have luck on his side, Pete still didn’t believe the kid had the smarts to be classified as good. Nor did Pete believe the tracks they’d been following doubled back at some point. Which meant not only was the gunman still out there, but Pete didn’t have a clue who or where.

Or if there really was only one shooter.

“What do you know about Hector Livingston?”

Having begged a ride home from Randy, Zoe stood at the kitchen counter, removing clean plates and silverware from the dishwasher, while Allison poured glasses of iced tea and Rose gathered the fixings for sandwiches.

Seated at the table, Sylvia pondered Zoe’s question. “Hector’s something of a recluse. He wasn’t always that way. I remember back when his wife was still alive, he was just your average Joe. A little quiet, but in a shy kind of way. Not like now.”

Zoe thought of her first visit to Curtis two days ago and the effect Hector had had on his crazy daughter, reining her in with a few words. “What do you mean?
Like now
?”

Sylvia appeared to consider her words carefully. “Well, now he seems a little…off. In the head. You know?”

Maybe Loco Lucy’s insanity was inherited. “When they came into Curtis’s room at the hospital, Lucy was the one who was ‘off.’ Hector stood back and watched. And then pretty much ordered her to behave. Which she did. I can’t imagine anyone else being able to quiet her down with only a few words.”

Allison carried a pair of glasses of iced tea to the table. Zoe noticed the dark scowl on the girl’s face and thought of what she’d said about young Jason Dyer having had a relationship with Lucy.

“Do you think she’s scared of him?” Rose asked. “Good heavens, you don’t think he beats her, do you?”

Sylvia shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“I don’t either.” Careful not to step on one of the two orange tabbies circling at her feet, Zoe set plates and forks at each of their places. “Lucy didn’t seem scared or intimidated. She seemed to revert to a little kid being scolded.”

Sylvia leaned back in her chair. “That sounds about right. Mind you, I rarely see Hector anymore, but I remember he adored his daughter when she was small. And then after his wife became ill and passed, Lucy was all he had left. It was the two of them against the world.”

Rose moved the platter with baked ham, cheese, lettuce, and tomato to the center of the table. “Maybe I’m thinking of someone else, but I seem to recall Hector being on the fire department.”

“Oh, yes.” Sylvia came forward again, reaching for her glass of tea. “That’s mostly how I knew him. He was several years older than Ted, but they were both on the Vance Township Fire Department.”

“I didn’t know. That must be why I had a feeling Wanda and Hector knew each other. They worked together back then.” Zoe closed the dishwasher and moved toward her chair, but Jade let out a whole sentence of pitiful meows. “Oh, no. Mustn’t forget to feed the kitties.”

Allison jumped to the cabinet where they kept the cat food. “I’ll get it.”

“Thanks.” Zoe slipped into her seat. “How long ago was that?”

“You mean Hector on the fire department?” Sylvia sipped her tea, her brow furrowed in thought. “Had to be eighteen…nineteen years ago. Ted was a junior firefighter, and I don’t believe their time on the department overlapped more than a couple of years, if that. Hector quit when his wife passed. He pretty much dropped out of everything.”

“Why all the questions about him?” Rose asked, while glowering in the direction of the dishwasher.

Zoe shared Curtis’s interrupted story about the mysterious call to Oak Grove Road and his secretive reaction when Lucy burst in. “When the only accident report I could find named Hector as one of the victims, I got curious.”

Allison poured fresh dry food into bowls already half full. Jade and Merlin dived in as though they’d been famished. “Maybe Lucy doesn’t know about her dad being in the accident.”

Zoe glanced at the teen, whose voice had been uncharacteristically low.

Rose continued to frown. “Or maybe she does know, and it’s a sore subject.”

Zoe ran a finger around the rim of her glass. “But what could any of it have to do with Barry and Yancy getting shot?”

“And Jason,” Allison added.

And Curtis, Zoe thought.

Sylvia slowly straightened in her chair, like a balloon being filled with air, and her eyes shifted.

Before Zoe could ask what was wrong, Rose poked her arm. “You closed the dishwasher.”

“Yeah?” Zoe asked, wondering what it had to do with the shootings.

“But you didn’t unload all the clean dishes yet.”

“No.” Zoe had a feeling she’d given the wrong answer.

“You did that yesterday too.”

This time Zoe didn’t reply.

“And I didn’t know the dishes in there had already been washed, so I loaded dirty ones with the clean.”

From the look on Rose’s face, Zoe gathered she’d broken some Bassi household law. A felony at that. The only response she could come up with was, “Sorry.”

Rose shifted in her chair to face Zoe head-on. “I’m not the only one you owe an apology to. Patsy stopped by this morning looking for you.”

The trail ride. Zoe let her head drop forward. “Crap. I completely forgot she said she’d pick me up.”

“You need to be a little more responsible, don’t you think?”

Rose’s accusatory attitude reminded Zoe a little too much of her own mother. “I’ve been distracted. I have a few things on my mind that are more important than your stupid dishwasher.”

“
Girls
.” Sylvia’s sharp tone ended the exchange. “I know we’re all on edge right now, but stop taking it out on each other.”

Chastised, Zoe lowered her head. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Rose turn back toward her plate and sullenly start layering ham, cheese, and lettuce onto a slice of bread.

“Zoe,” Sylvia said, her voice softer, “have you mentioned anything about Hector’s accident to Pete?”

“I haven’t talked to him yet today. Why?”

The older woman stared at her tea, but Zoe sensed she was seeing something entirely different. “Because if you’re thinking of Hector as a possible suspect in these shootings, there’s something Pete—and you—need to know. Hector’s an avid hunter.”

“So is at least half the population of Vance Township,” Rose said.

Sylvia fixed her daughter-in-law with a hard stare. “Yes. But half the population hasn’t won awards for sharp shooting.”

The room fell quiet except for the crunching of the cats eating their lunch.

Zoe let the tidbit sink in as she reached for the loaf of bread. She definitely needed to share this information with Pete. But there was someone else she needed to talk to first.

Pete closed his office door and unbuttoned his drenched uniform shirt. The rain had ushered in a cold front, and if his jaw wasn’t so tightly clenched from this case, his teeth would’ve been chattering. He peeled off the shirt and t-shirt underneath, dropping them in a heap behind his desk before retrieving a fresh uniform from the cramped closet.

Someone knocked on the door. “Chief?” Baronick’s voice filtered through.

“Come in.”

The detective bore no evidence of having been out in the deluge. “I personally delivered the casts of the tire tracks to the lab. They’re short-staffed on a good day, but it’s a weekend so…”

“Put a rush on it.” Pete tugged on the dry t-shirt.

“Already did. We should hear something shortly.”

Shortly.
Pete hated that word. It could mean ten minutes, ten hours, or ten days.

Baronick picked up the coffee mug from Pete’s desk—the one Zoe’d had made for Pete last Christmas—and squinted at the police chief emblem on the side. The detective glanced toward the half-full pot in the corner.

Pete snatched the mug from him and thunked it back in its spot. “Clean cups are in there.” He motioned to the cabinet on which the coffeemaker sat.

“Feeling a little territorial, are we?” Baronick opened the cabinet door and came up with a mug bearing the Vance Township Volunteer Fire Department’s logo.

The sight of it soured Pete’s stomach. “Any word on Yancy?”

Baronick studied the design. “I was about to ask you the same thing.” He set the cup down and reached for the pot.

Pete buttoned the clean, dry uniform shirt and made a mental note to call the hospital.

“So what do you think?” Baronick asked while pouring coffee. “Is Snake smarter than we give him credit for? Or are we completely back at square one?”

Pete tucked his shirttail into his trousers and headed into the hallway, letting the question follow him. He didn’t like either option.

Baronick followed him into the conference room. “I know you’ve been saying Snake’s too stupid to pull this off—”

“Yes, I have.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

Pete spun on the detective. While they might disagree about a lot of things—procedure, methodology, Zoe—Wayne Baronick rarely called him out on his case assessment. “Why?”

Baronick waved an arm around, indicating the otherwise empty room. Or maybe the station. “Where is he? We haven’t been able to catch him. Every police jurisdiction in three counties has BOLOs on this guy. He’s smart enough to evade capture. Why shouldn’t he be smart enough to mastermind these ambushes, plot his escape,
and
act dumb to throw us off his trail?”

Pete glared at the detective. He made a good argument. Except for one thing. “Have you ever
talked
to this guy?”

Baronick swallowed. “No.”

Pete nodded. “When we catch him, you interrogate him. And then tell me about what a brilliant mastermind he is.”

The bells on the front door jingled followed by an unfamiliar male voice calling, “Hello?”

Pete brushed past the detective into the hall. Two men stood at the doorway to the empty front office. The first wore a suit and tie and had his longish hair slicked back. Pete recognized him as Attorney Andrew McCoy. The lawyer blocked Pete’s view of the second man.

“Chief Adams.” McCoy flashed a mouthful of small but perfectly straight teeth and extended a hand. Oversized rings adorned three of his fingers. “I believe you’ve been looking for my client. We’re here so he can turn himself in.”

As the attorney stepped toward Pete to shake his hand, the other man, shoulders sagging, hung back.

Snake Sullivan.

Pete set a glass of water on the conference room table in front of the tattooed and pierced suspect and shot a glance at Baronick.

Now the detective would have his chance to experience “the mastermind” firsthand.

McCoy sat next to Snake, his briefcase, a legal pad, and a pen on the table in front of him. “I want the record to show that my client is here of his own volition.”

“So noted.” Pete eased into a chair across from them and studied the pair. One all slick and polished. Too polished. Too smooth. The other, sweaty and dirty and smelling like he hadn’t bathed in days, looked like he wanted to crawl into a dark hole. “What were you doing out in the game lands last evening?”