by C. J. Box
THE DIGITAL display on the bank clock in downtown Grimstad said it was thirty-two degrees below zero when Kyle heard T-Lock’s phone chime in his parka pocket. The very air sparkled like sequins in the early evening light. The sun was ballooning and dropping behind the two-story buildings on the west side of the street, creating frigid pools of shadow. Kyle pedaled his bike like a wild man down the sidewalk toward the train depot with no real destination in mind. He didn’t want to go to the train station. He was riding to keep warm because he had no place else to go.
He knew it hadn’t been his mom who was asking him where he was, how he was. She always used real words when she texted—not something like WHERE R U, KYLE?
Someone was using his mom’s phone just like he was using T-Lock’s.
Kyle thought he would never forget the look on T-Lock’s face when he stuck the arrow in his neck. T-Lock’s expression was a combination of horror, surprise, and grudging admiration. Kyle wondered if T-Lock recognized Winkie’s arrow before it entered him. It was a weird thought.
He turned down an alley behind a coffee shop. He hated to stop because the minute he did the cold would come back, seeping through his coat and pants. But he had to see the message.
It read: KYLE, ANSWER THE PHONE WHEN I CALL. LOVE U, MOM.
“You’re not my mom,” Kyle said aloud.
But when it burred he looked at the display. Kyle had three numbers memorized, not counting 911. He knew his house phone, his mom’s cell phone, and Grandma Lottie’s phone number. The display showed the call came from Grandma Lottie’s house. She didn’t have a cell phone. He wondered why she would call T-Lock’s phone.
He pressed the button and held it to his ear.
A man’s voice said, “Is this Kyle?”
He was too stunned to respond.
“Kyle, is that you?”
“Yeah.”
“Ah, good. Now don’t hang up. You aren’t going to hang up, are you, Kyle?”
Kyle wasn’t sure so he didn’t answer.
“Kyle, why do you have T-Lock’s phone? Is he there with you right now?”
“No.”
“How do you have his phone, then?”
“I stole it.”
“You talk funny, Kyle. But I think I heard you tell me you stole it. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“And T-Lock isn’t with you?”
“No.”
“No cops?”
“No.”
“So far, so good. Now is anyone listening in on this call?”
“No.”
“Do you know where T-Lock is right now?”
“He’s hurt. He’s in my house but he’s hurt.”
“That was a good answer, Kyle. That means you’re telling me the truth. We know that’s where he is—we know all about it. The cops have him. A friend of ours filled us in. So keep telling me the truth, Kyle, and we’ll be all right.”
“Okay,” Kyle said. The cops have him?
“Good. Now listen carefully to me, Kyle. My name is Willie. I’m an old friend of your mom’s. She’s here with me now, Kyle. We’re at your grandmother’s house.”
Kyle felt a bolt of ice shoot through his brain. He pressed the phone hard to his ear. Willie was at Grandma Lottie’s house.
“Kyle, your mom told us everything. We know about how you found that duffel bag that belongs to us. We know that T-Lock, that bad friend of your mother’s, took it from you and made real big plans that involved your mother and you and a guy named Winkie. Those big plans didn’t work out because T-Lock is a moron. It’s not your fault, Kyle. No one is angry with you. We know it was all T-Lock.”
The man’s voice was calm and soothing, but Kyle found him irritating. He was talking to Kyle as if he were stupid and five years old.
“Now listen to me, Kyle. You’ve done everything right. You took that duffel bag to an adult and you didn’t involve the police. How were you to know the adult you trusted would turn out to make all this trouble we’re in? You can keep doing the right thing. You want to know how?”
Kyle waited a few seconds, and asked, “How?”
“First, you need to answer a very important question as honestly as you can. Here it is: Do you know where our property is?”
“Yes.”
“Can you get to it?”
Kyle hesitated again. “Yes.”
“So do you still want to know how you can fix everything and be the big hero?”
“Yes.”
Willie kind of snorted a laugh. He said, “You’re kind of hard to understand, Kyle. But I think I heard that you said yes.”
“Let me talk to my mom,” Kyle said angrily.
There was a beat, and Willie imitated Kyle’s speech impediment. “Leh me tog to mah mom. You crack me up, Kyle. You want to tog to yo mom?”
“Yes.”
The phone on the other end went quiet. Kyle envisioned Willie covering it up with his hand.
Then he heard, “I’m so sorry, little man.”
It was his mom, but her voice was slurry and distant. It was the way she talked the night before when she came out of her bedroom. But it was her.
“There,” Willie said. “Are you happy now, little man?”
“Is my grandma there?”
“Ish may granna they?” Willie taunted.
Kyle felt tears sting his eyes and instantly freeze on his cheeks.
“She’s here, Kyle,” Willie said, his voice more stern than before. “She’s here because it’s her damned house. Your mom told us about her and we thought maybe you were here. Turns out we were a few hours late. But back to what we were talking about.
“Kyle, you have something that belongs to us. It’s ours, not T-Lock’s, and it’s not yours. You know that because you’re a smart boy. All we want is our property back. That’s all. You bring us our property and you can be with your mom again and your old granna. Bring it straight here right now. Don’t tell anyone what you’re doing and damn sure don’t involve the police. If you tell anyone, Kyle, you’ll never see either one of these special people ever again.”
“Don’t hurt them,” Kyle said, crying.
“Don hut dem,” Willie mocked. “No, Kyle, we won’t hurt them as long as you bring us our property. Tell me, Kyle, did you hear about that guy who was cut into little pieces and scattered all around town? Did you hear about it? You wouldn’t want that to happen to your mother or granna, now would you?”
Someone laughed in the background. Another man. So there were two of them.
“No.”
“Are you crying, Kyle?” Willie asked with fake surprise. “Heroes don’t cry. Man up, little man. You need to be a hero.”
Kyle fought back a sob.
Willie said, “So that’s the deal, Kyle. It’s an easy deal. All you have to do is get our property and bring it to your granna’s house. We’ll be here for no longer than a half an hour. Can you do that, Kyle? Bring us our property and everybody will be happy. Especially you, Kyle, because you’ll get your mom and your granna back.”
“Okay.”
“No tricks, Kyle. You understand?”
“Yes.”
“Then we’re all cool.”
Willie’s voice was distant when Kyle heard him say, “Hear that, Granna? Hear that, Rachel? Little man is going to come and save your sorry asses.”
And the man in the background laughed again.
“See you soon, Kyle,” Willie said, and punched off.
* * *
AS HE mounted his bike, Kyle remembered T-Lock saying, “I doubt that she’s even breathing. They took her phone away from her and they want me to show up with the duffel bag so they can take it and cut my head off like they did to Rufus.”
Which was why Kyle had his mom’s .25 pistol in his parka pocket next to the keys he’d used to open the lock on the washing machine chain and reclaim his duffel bag.
At the end of the alley he took a left. His bike tires squeaked on the snow-packed street, an
d his breath billowed around his head.
As the sun dropped it felt even colder. He hoped he could get to Grandma Lottie’s before Willie started cutting his mom and Grandma into pieces.
And before he froze to death.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
BEFORE CASSIE and Ian Davis left the Westergaard home, Sheriff Kirkbride walked stiffly toward their vehicle and motioned for them to hold up.
He climbed into the backseat and moaned, then shed his gloves and rubbed his face with his hands. He was red-faced and his mustache was frosty with mucus from his nose from the cold. Cassie handed him a Kleenex.
“All my joints seize up in this kind of cold,” he said through gritted teeth. Then, “Talk to me.”
Davis deferred to Cassie.
She said, “As you know, we think Foster was working with MS-13 at the same time Cam Tollefsen was working with Willie Dietrich. I don’t think they knew about the other, but it explains why both of them were at the rollover so quickly. Cam was there to escort the gangbanger into town to Willie for distribution. Foster was there to make sure the gangbanger wasn’t stopped or run off the road. They were doing it for the same purpose but from two different directions.”
“That’s a hard theory to prove,” Kirkbride said.
“It is. Cam can’t talk anymore and I don’t think Foster will, either, unless he gets some kind of deal from the prosecutor. But he sure looks dirty. We went through his personal cell phone to find out who he’s been calling. For the last three days, it’s filled with calls to a 619 area code. That’s the San Diego, El Cajon, Chula Vista area in Southern California, so the phone comes from there. It’s probably where our MS-13 boys came from.”
The sheriff nodded, then said, “Two corrupt cops in my department. I still can’t get over that. I know we expanded pretty fast, but still. I worked with Cam for years and I personally hired Surfer Dude.”
“So there was nothing in his background to suggest he was in with MS-13?” Cassie asked.
“No. No priors, nothing in his work history in SoCal. And he sure as hell didn’t volunteer anything like that when I interviewed him.”
Kirkbride blew his nose and wiped his mustache clean. “What you got him to say in there won’t pass muster with the county prosecutor, you know.”
Cassie nodded.
Kirkbride said, “But I guess you kind of have to wonder why a Southern Cal type would want to work here,” he said, gesturing outside the window. “He’s probably never been anywhere where it gets this cold.”
“But it makes some sense,” Cassie said. “The MS-13 are looking to establish new territory. This oil boom is perfect for them and the competition wasn’t up to their level. If they had their hooks into Foster they could convince him to apply for the opening. It’s no secret you’re desperate for deputies. That way, he could come out here in advance and provide them with intel and cover while they made their move.”
Kirbride said, “Yeah, I can sort of buy it. But right now it’s a matter of time before the DA hears why we grabbed him and cuts him loose. The only way I can keep him off the streets is to suspend him with pay while we call in the state boys to investigate an officer-involved shooting.”
Cassie said, “We’ve got his phone. At least he won’t be able to communicate with the bad guys and tell them all our moves. That could give us an advantage.”
Kirkbride leveled his eyes on her. “So you really threatened to shoot him?”
Davis looked away, suddenly interested in something down the street.
“I did,” Cassie said.
“I ought to take your badge and gun away,” the sheriff said without enthusiasm.
“You could,” Cassie said. “But let Ian and me finish this job. I’ll come in tonight and turn them over in person. Let us have the chance to find Kyle Westergaard and the drugs.”
Kirkbride cocked his head to the side. “Kyle?”
She explained her theory to Kirkbride and he listened closely.
He said, “So if we find the kid before they get to him we might save his life.”
“Yes.”
“It sounds almost personal, Cassie,” Kirkbride said.
She took a deep breath. “Sheriff, we’ve got a mentally challenged kid riding around on his bike in thirty below weather. It’s going to get dark soon, and even colder. Plus, if we find him we might find the drugs before they get sold all over Bakken County.”
Kirkbride grumbled his approval.
“One more thing,” she said. “I think our troubles are over in the dirty cop department.”
When she said it, he winced. He was taking the unveiling of corruption in his department hard.
She continued, “We could use some help. In fact, we could use a lot of help. Willie Dietrich wasn’t home, which means he’s out and about. We don’t have a location on the two Salvadorans if that’s what they are. There’s supposedly another local with them and it might be Willie. They have to be somewhere in the county because they wouldn’t leave without their drugs. We need to find them.”
Kirkbride thought about it for a second, then pulled out his cell phone and speed-dialed the dispatcher.
While he waited to be connected, he said, “Keep me in the loop with updates.”
When the dispatcher was on the line he said, “Judy, We need to put out a department-wide BOLO for an individual named Kyle Westergaard. He’s ten or twelve years old but small for his age. He was last seen riding a bicycle on Main Street.…”
He went on to ask that a second and third “Be On The Lookout” be issued for Willie Dietrich and two unnamed male Hispanics who might have tattoos indicating they were MS-13 or Mara Salvatrucha. He spelled it out for the dispatcher.
* * *
WHILE CASSIE and Davis cruised the residential streets in the old section of Grimstad looking for Kyle and listening to the back and forth on the radio, Deputies Jim Klug and Fred Walker called in.
“We’re at the Home Away from Home man camp,” Klug said. “The desk guy says two Hispanic individuals matching the description and driving a new model Toyota Tundra pickup with California plates checked in here a couple of nights ago. They paid cash for a Jack and Jill unit and they haven’t checked out. Their truck isn’t in the lot, but the manager agreed to go with us to knock on the door. I’d like to request backup.”
“Could be them,” Davis said.
Kirkbride came on the radio. “Proceed with extreme caution, Jim. You should assume these guys are armed and dangerous.”
The dispatcher asked, “Are there units in the vicinity?”
Deputy Tom Melvin called in to say that he and Deputy Shaun McKnight were a minute and a half away from the man camp.
Cassie said, “I’d be shocked if they were in.”
“Still,” Davis said, “if we know where they’re staying…”
“Right. That could be helpful—if it’s them.”
They listened to the cross talk over the radio while the four officers and the manager entered the unit. It was empty except for a pile of clothes, a box of 9mm ammunition, and a couple of votive candles.
* * *
THE CALL came from Deputy Bryan Gregson. “I’m at the corner of Pine and Main and I just saw a kid on a bike matching the description.”
Cassie bolted up straight in her seat and increased the volume on the radio.
Gregson said, “I hit my lights and siren and followed him when he ducked down an alley. But there’s a bunch of crap in the alley—Dumpsters and stuff—and my unit can’t get through. I lost him.”
Cassie grabbed the mic. “Deputy Gregson, what direction was he going?”
“I thought I saw him turn southeast.”
She turned to Davis, wishing she was more familiar with the layout of the town to know where they could head Kyle off.
“Sounds like he’s headed toward the park,” Davis said.
“Then go!” she shouted to Davis. “Go, go, go!”
Davis took the corner fast and ac
celerated down a snow-packed street. He lost traction on the ice but fought to regain control. Parked pickups sizzled by through the passenger window.
“Don’t hit the siren or lights,” she said. “I don’t want to scare him.”
“Just calm down,” Davis said, sliding into a sharp left turn. The Tahoe fishtailed again on the slick road and when Davis recovered they clipped off the side mirror of a parked oil field utility truck.
“Shit,” Davis muttered.
“Don’t ever tell a woman to calm down,” Cassie said with heat.
“Sorry,” he said as they cleared the block and the park opened up in front of them.
“There he is,” Davis said urgently.
Cassie peered ahead. A small figure on a bike was racing through the park toward an empty playground located in the center. She recognized the park as the same one where the trunk of Rufus Whitely was found impaled the day before.
The park was one block square, surrounded by chain-link fence. There were openings wide enough to drive a vehicle through on all four sides.
“He’s in the park,” Cassie said into the radio mic. “All units in the vicinity—we need you here now. Cut off all the exits.”
At that moment, Kyle turned his head and saw them. He was about a hundred yards away, approaching the playground. Then he leaned forward and powered the bike faster through the snow.
Two or three sheriff’s department deputies said they were on their way and called out their present locations. Cassie didn’t know if they were minutes or seconds away from the descriptions.
“He saw us,” Davis said. “We can only block one entrance. He has three more to escape from.”
“Where are the other cars?” Cassie asked. “We need them to block the other openings.”
“They’re coming,” Davis reassured her as he pumped the brakes to slow down. The Tahoe skidded on the ice but came to a stop inches away from the north opening of the fence.
Inside, Kyle looked at them again over his shoulder and turned straight away toward the south exit from the park.
Cassie felt desperate. If Kyle shot through the south opening he would cross the street and vanish in a big bank of Russian olive bushes. By the time they backed the Tahoe out and drove around the park, Kyle could be gone for good.