Carson waved her hand. “I’m Carson DeSilva and I can talk, too. Actually, I ate a late lunch at your café yesterday right after I drove into town. The guy at the gas station told me you were putting Gaffer’s Ridge on the map with your cooking. I’ve got to say that was an outstanding Reuben sandwich, maybe the best I’ve ever had, and I live in New York so that’s saying something. And why am I telling you that? Sorry.” Carson stuck out her hand, heard Brewster snarl, and drew her hand back. “Griffin’s told me a bit about both of you. It’s a pleasure to meet you. It’s true, you two could outcook the White House chef.”
“I think Jenny could, but I’m still learning the finer points,” Aimée Rose said. “So you like our cooking and you somehow hooked up with Griffin today. What happened?”
23
* * *
While Carson told them, without mentioning telepathy, of course, Griffin watched Jenny’s face. Jenny usually looked serene and calm as a Madonna, as if nothing could faze her. She was small and round, with thick dark hair in a ponytail, sweet until someone bad-mouthed someone close to her or her cooking. Then she could turn mean as a Doberman. She was also smart as a whip. Aimée Rose was a good seven inches taller, outweighed Jenny by thirty pounds. Her hair was a short cap around her head, raven black this week, and she looked as tough as one of Griffin’s hiking boots. But, still, he’d always thought Jenny was the tougher of the two.
Carson spoke fast, knowing time was running short. Griffin realized Jenny was studying Carson as she spoke, her eyes cool, assessing. Then Jenny turned to him and slowly nodded. Good, Jenny believed Carson. He trusted her judgment of people.
Griffin picked it up. “I heard Carson yell, but I couldn’t tell which house she was in. Luckily, I was nearly out of town and the houses were farther apart, and not that many. Still, she had to yell again before I found the right house.” One of Jenny’s eyebrows shot up, only her left eyebrow, a move he’d tried to do since college and couldn’t, a move he’d always admired. She knew about his gift or curse, depending on his perspective at the moment. He wondered if she suspected Carson’s shout wasn’t out loud. She didn’t say anything, but he knew Jenny would ask about it later.
Aimée Rose said in the direction of the deputies, “May I use my cell phone?”
Jewel looked agonized. Brewster said, “No. Not while you’re with these two. Can’t have you sending messages to their criminal buddies while you’re in here. If you want to call them a lawyer, wait until you’re out of the station. But good luck reaching Junior Rippetoe, he never works after five o’clock.” Brewster grinned. “Like the sheriff said, Judge Pinder will be here when he gets here. He’ll decide what to do with these two for putting poor Rafer in the hospital.”
“Putting Rafer in the hospital!” Carson looked ready to spit she was so angry.
Griffin put his hand on her arm, said quietly, “Let him say whatever he wants. It won’t matter.” He looked down at his watch. Soon now they’d see SAC Bettina Kraus’s very pissed face.
“Yeah, that’s what you managed to do, with pretty boy’s help.” He gave her a hard look. “You, an out-of-town nobody.”
“You think I’m a nobody? Well, maybe I am, but I happen to work for Ritter Aquino in New York at Aquino Communications.” Her chin went up. “Mr. Aquino is my boss.”
“Really?” Aimée Rose said. “You work for the big kahuna? On Madison Avenue? Their headquarters is at the center of the communications universe, right?”
Carson nodded. “Yes. And as I told Griffin and the sheriff, I’m here to interview Dr. Alek Kuchar.” She turned to Griffin. “Sorry, but there’s been so little time to tell you anything about myself, my job, or my background. Mr. Aquino and my father have been friends since childhood, so I’ve known him all my life. I’ve been one of Mr. Aquino’s primary speechwriters for three years now, and doing my own writing, too. This trip? It was my father’s idea I should come interview Dr. Kuchar. Uncle Ritter agreed, thought it would add to my chops.”
Griffin stared at her. Ritter Aquino had enough firepower to get her out of this himself—in fact, he was a nuke, an EMP, who could put out every Bodine light in the area.
He picked up a wave of uneasiness from Carson. She was fretting, wondering if she should tell them something else or not. He took a guess on what it was. He said, “Your father and Ritter Aquino go back a long way, you said. Tell us about him.”
Griffin’s not going to like this. I should have told him earlier. Okay, chin up and do it. “My dad’s Vincente Paulo DeSilva, of the DeSilva family of organized crime fame centered in Newark, New Jersey.” She clasped her hands so tightly in front of her, her fingers turned white. “Listen, my dad’s not part of the DeSilva family organization, even though he’s been hassled about it by every local politician and national law enforcement agency. Nothing ever comes of it, ever. He opted out of the family when he studied journalism at UCLA, to get away from all of them.”
Brewster looked like his face would split, his grin big enough to show a gold molar. “Well now, Jewel, the sheriff was right. Looks like we’ve got us a real connected criminal here. What gall.”
“I thought I was a movie star,” Carson said.
“So you’re a connected movie star, girl.”
“That’s Dr. Girl to you.”
“Shut your yap. The sheriff’s going to love this. You’re mobbed up. No wonder you tried to murder Rafer, it’s in your blood. Jewel, we’ve gotta tell the sheriff he’s got himself a baby rattler.”
Jenny said in a clear voice, “Vincente DeSilva is a journalist and he also writes biographies. Beast Killer—that’s his most famous one—is about Genghis Khan. I’ve read it,” she added to Carson. “Your dad’s a very good writer.”
“Thank you.”
Griffin said, “Add me to the readership list, Carson. He is very good.”
She leaned in close, whispered so the deputies couldn’t hear her, “Unfortunately Dad’s in Vienna, researching his next book. Uncle Ritter would help us if I call him. He’ll blow a fit, then get all icy cold and measure Sheriff Bodine for a coffin.”
Griffin sat back in the uncomfortable chair with its uneven legs, crossed his arms, and said, “Let’s hold Mr. Aquino in reserve, see what the FBI manages first.”
Brewster said to Jewel, his eyes narrowed on Carson, “This Aquino fellow, he’s a big shot in what? Communications? You mean he talks on the news?” He laughed at his own joke, looked down at his watch. “I gave you more time than you’re supposed to have. Sheriff Bodine said twenty minutes and I gave you twenty-seven. I wanted to hear if you could tell your story the same way twice, girl. Now, you can count on me calling the sheriff, telling him the score.”
Griffin said, “Of course, I could call Sheriff Dix Noble in Maestro. Dix can be quite a load, his wife, Ruth, too.” He added to Carson, “She’s an FBI agent, sometimes my partner. As with Aquino, we’ll hold off for a while. I don’t know how many agents are coming, but I’ll wager the sheriff’s leather sofa they’re not going to need backup.” He glanced at Brewster. “Maybe you want to tell Sheriff Bodine to get ready for a tsunami.”
“You aren’t scaring anybody, boy. Jewel, get these two back to their cell. If the girl here wants to use the facilities, she can call out.” He checked his watch. “At least we’re getting overtime.”
They heard Fayreen yell, “Precious Lord above, don’t shoot me!” Then a woman’s voice Griffin recognized: “Hold yourself perfectly still and stay quiet.”
The cavalry had arrived.
He whispered to Carson, “That’s Bettina. You’re going to love her.”
24
* * *
They heard a squawk from Fayreen, then sputters and shouts. The door to the interrogation room burst open and there stood SAC Bettina Kraus, her Glock strapped to her thigh, holding an HK MP5, a submachine gun that would scare any sane human being. She was wearing riot gear—an army-green multithreat body armor system and flak jacket with FBI stenciled in bi
g yellow letters across the front. Her pockets were filled with extra magazines, a radio, flex-cuffs, and naturally, a cool pair of sunglasses. Trust Savich to tell Bettina to come bristling with attitude and weapons. In her jeans, dark blue T-shirt, and scuffed black boots, her salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in a short tail, she looked as mean as a pissed-off mother-in-law. Griffin couldn’t have scripted it better himself.
Two more FBI agents stood behind Kraus in full riot gear like hers, their MP5s in their hands, their bulging biceps on display in their blue short-sleeved T-shirts. They stood tough and silent as boulders. Griffin knew them both. David Foxx, aka Slick, liked to play the badass, though he had a wife and three young daughters who ruled the roost at home. Griffin had played horse with DeAndre Watkinson at his neighborhood basketball court. DeAndre was nearly six and a half feet tall, and had a vicious scar bisecting his left cheek. Luckily, he wasn’t a very good outside shooter, and Griffin had won forty dollars off him their last game.
Brewster, the idiot, put his hand on his Beretta.
He thought better of it when Slick tapped him on his shoulder. “Moron. Don’t you move another muscle.”
Kraus said, “Slick, DeAndre, take their weapons.”
Slick and DeAndre simply stood directly in front of the deputies, eyed them up and down, absolutely no expression on their faces, and held out their hands, waggled their fingers. “Sidearms, now, butts first.”
Brewster swallowed, handed over his Beretta, and nodded to Jewel, who quickly followed suit. DeAndre and Slick slipped the Berettas into their flak jackets and took up positions on either side of them, their MP5s pointed to the floor.
“Now,” Kraus said, “stand down. Do not move. Do not open your mouths unless I tell you to. You would not like the consequences.”
Kraus gave Griffin a big smile. “I believe we have containment, Agent Hammersmith. Glad to see you in one piece. You’re well, I hope? No fingernails pulled out? No bruised kidneys from these two fine specimens?”
Brewster yelled, “Hey, wait! We didn’t do anything!”
Kraus slowly turned and gave Brewster the stink-eye. “No more warnings. Keep your mouth shut.”
Brewster’s mouth worked, but he wisely kept quiet and looked down at his scuffed boots.
Jewel cleared his throat. “Ma’am? May I speak?”
“What? Make it fast. Don’t waste my time.”
“We didn’t lay a hand on either of them, I swear, ma’am, Agent Ma’am.”
Griffin caught a smile on Slick’s mouth that didn’t, however, reach his cold eyes.
Kraus said, “Griffin, you okay?”
“Fingernails still intact, but no telling what they would have got up to.”
“And who is this?” She turned to Carson, an eyebrow up.
Carson stared at this awesome woman, cleared her throat. “I’m Carson DeSilva. I met Griffin today. He saved my life, kept me from being murdered.”
“That isn’t true!” Brewster yelled. “Rafer’s a good man, never hurt a flea, ask his ma, his pa, his pa’s brother, ask anyone in town, well, except for fighting sometimes at Five Star Bar, but everyone’s always fighting out there.”
DeAndre picked Brewster up by the neck and swung him around. “Keep your mouth shut, little dude. Nod when I put you back down.”
Once Brewster’s feet touched the floor, he swallowed, rubbed his neck, and nodded.
Kraus smiled. “Good to hear Griffin can be useful when he’s not on the clock.”
Brewster was scared, but he knew he had to man up. Jewel was too young and he’d probably already peed his pants. Besides, he knew to his bones Jewel would tell everyone in town what happened if he folded like a two-dollar tent. He drew himself up as straight and tall as he could. “Ma’am, sirs, I’m a sworn officer of the law. My questions and observations are justified. You’re wearing what look like official uniforms and combat gear, but you can buy that stuff on Amazon. I’m going to need to see your identification. And I want to know why you came busting into our sheriff’s station looking like you’re ready to take out Al Qaeda.”
Kraus smiled at Brewster, surprised he was showing some backbone. “Do you now?”
Brewster gripped his mojo in both hands and took a very small step toward Kraus. “Ma’am, I don’t know who you are, but you don’t have any business here in our station. We are the law here in Gaffer’s Ridge. What did you do to Fayreen?”
Kraus handed Brewster her creds. “Fayreen? She’s in your cell. As you can see, Deputy Brewster, I am Special Agent Kraus, FBI, from the Richmond Field Office.”
His hand shook as he looked down at the FBI credentials, but he couldn’t let the sheriff down, or his life would be hell. He swallowed, licked his lips. “How do I know these aren’t bogus, like his?” He nodded toward Griffin.
Bettina’s voice remained smooth, steady, interested. “Why in the world would you think Agent Hammersmith’s creds are bogus? You could have easily called to verify his FBI status.”
“He’s a murderer if Rafer doesn’t make it, both of them are. Him and the gal over there tried to kill poor Rafer. And look at them, they don’t look like cops. We thought they were con artists, and poor Rafer got in their way.”
“Hmmm.” Bettina gave both Griffin and Carson the once-over, nodded. “I agree, they’re both too pretty for their own good. But why didn’t the sheriff allow Agent Hammersmith to call his superior in Washington? Why didn’t your sheriff speak with Agent Hammersmith’s boss?”
Brewster saw the alligators gliding toward him, mouths open, teeth ready to chomp. He cleared his throat. “Sheriff Bodine thought the fellow who called him was this Hammersmith’s cousin. Fayreen hung up on him.”
Kraus blinked, looked astonished, though Griffin bet Savich had already told her everything. “I would have to say your sheriff is neither very bright nor is he professional. Now, here’s what you are going to do, Deputy Brewster. You’re going to call Sheriff Bodine, tell him his presence is requested in—” She looked down at her black-banded iWatch. “Ten minutes, no more. After I’ve spoken to him, I’ll decide whether or not to take all of you into federal custody. You’ve broken enough laws to paper your cell in the Pennington Gap federal prison.”
25
* * *
Brewster knew serious when he saw it, he recognized it from the same look on his mother-in-law’s face. Mother Maude, as he was told to call her, was meaner than he was, and this woman was close. He pulled out his cell, punched in a number, and turned his back to whisper into the phone. “Sheriff, Brewster here. A whole battalion of Feds came busting into the station, in war gear, with submachine guns, FBI written all over their jackets. So I guess the good-looking fellow wasn’t lying. The lead Fed, the SAC they call her, is a girl, ah, woman. She said you gotta come now.”
They watched Brewster’s face turn white. “There’s nothing Jewel and I can do, Sheriff. We have no armament, they took our Berettas. I told you, they have submachine guns. You’ve got to come, Sheriff.”
They heard what sounded like curses, but couldn’t make out any words. Brewster hung up. He was sweating profusely. “Sheriff Bodine is on his way.”
Kraus nodded. “So perhaps this Sheriff Bodine has a brain after all. Slick, DeAndre, take the gentlemen’s cell phones and escort them to the jail cell to keep company with Fayreen. Have Agent Cutler watch them, tell her we’re expecting the sheriff in a few minutes. Aren’t there any other staff in this office?”
“Well, ma’am,” Jewel said, “there’s five more deputies, but two have the flu, two are on vacation, you know, since it’s summer and all, and one is coming in a bit later for the night shift, at ten o’clock, but Bobby’s usually late.”
Brewster wanted to take this FBI woman’s throat between his hands and squeeze, but he managed to swallow his bile. “Ma’am—Agent Kraus, we’re deputies of Gaffer’s Ridge. You can’t put us in our own jail cell. It isn’t right.”
“Tell you what, Deputy, we’ll let a federal jud
ge decide what’s right. You had Agent Hammersmith occupying your cell with his companion here, unlawfully, I might add. A tight fit for the three of you, but you’ll manage.”
Slick, who’d been staring at Carson, snapped to when Kraus nodded toward him.
Slick shoved Brewster’s shoulder. “Get yourselves moving, boys.”
Jewel said, “Ye-yes, sir. Sir, ma’am, we were only doing our jobs, watching over these attempted murderers like the sheriff told us to. Deputy Brewster’s right, he and the girl over there tried to kill the sheriff’s nephew. Fact is, ma’am, Rafer’s in the hospital, maybe barely hanging on. He could be dying, they both attacked him, ma’am, they admitted it.”
Griffin smiled at Jewel. “Actually, if Rafer Bodine dies, it’d be the first fatal broken wrist I’ve heard of.”
“She smacked him on the head with a pipe!”
“Indeed she did, an excellent shot,” Griffin said. “Agent Kraus, this man in the hospital, Rafer Bodine, may be a serial killer. To date, three sixteen-year-old girls have gone missing, one of them from Gaffer’s Ridge, the other two from towns in the area. So, even with a headache and a broken wrist, Rafer Bodine could escape. I doubt the sheriff put any guards on him.”
Kraus nodded. “Slick, when we’re through with the sheriff, find out what hospital he’s in and head over there with DeAndre and guard this Rafer Bodine.”
They heard Jewel say to the agents as he and Brewster were marched out of the interrogation room, “Fayreen won’t like using the john in the cell, what with us in there with her.”
Brewster said, “She can hold it. I don’t care who they are, Sheriff Bodine will get us out fast enough.”
“Live in hope,” DeAndre said, and gave a sadistic laugh. “Move along, boys.”
Griffin said, “Agent Kraus, that was an awesome incursion. You’re my hero.”
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