Drift
Page 18
Hatch looked around, noticing they were shy a member. “Where’s Cramer?”
“I figured we were better off without him.” Savage looked over at Sinclair, who nodded her agreement. “Good thing, too. We didn’t need him running off to tattle before we got a handle on this thing. All we need is his uncle and members of the town council to get wind of this during its infancy.”
“Well, there’s not much to it besides the fact that these two guys are dead and I shot them.” Hatch pointed toward Fabio. “You might want to take a close look at him.”
Savage walked over and squatted down. He shot a glance back at Hatch. “Is this the brake job guy from your accident?”
“I told you he looks like Fabio.” She glanced at the head wound. The once-chiseled features of the man’s face were now distorted. The .40 caliber rounds that passed through his skull left a wake of destruction in their aftermath. “Well, at least he used to.”
Savage turned his attention toward the twisted man who she’d first shot when the battle began. “And who’s the other guy?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. I’ve never seen him before.”
Hatch took a moment to survey the damage. Both vehicles were bullet-ridden and looked as though they’d been in a war zone. Sights like this were commonplace overseas, but it was strange seeing it in Hawk’s Landing.
“Kind of ironic,” she said. “I was just heading to the station to do some fact checking on our supermodel mercenary here. I just learned his name from an old friend who works at the company.”
Hatch decided to leave out the fact she’d learned the information while on a non-date with none other than Cole Jensen. For some reason she was worried what Savage would think. Why would he care? It’s not like there was anything between them. And why on God’s green earth would she even be worrying about this while standing between two dead bodies? This town was kryptonite to her otherwise impervious emotional balance.
“I’m going to call this in to the state police to assist working the crime scene. I hate to do it because it may open a lot more questions than we’re ready to deal with right now, but there’s no way with our limited manpower that we’d be able to handle this while trying to figure out who the hell’s behind this.”
Hatch turned the Glock butt forward and held it out toward Savage. “With that being said, I figure you’re going to need to take this.”
He took the duty weapon and then handed it over to Sinclair. “Becky, we’re going to need to tag that and keep it as evidence.”
Deputy Sinclair nodded and walked back toward the trunk of her car. She secured the weapon, opening the trunk and stowing it inside.
An awkward silence followed as Hatch and Savage stood facing each other. The cruiser lights continued to pulse red and blue, washing them in the flickering light. There was no worse feeling than turning over a weapon after its righteous use. It added a feeling of wrongdoing no matter how justified the actions. Hatch fought against it now.
Savage bent over, kneeling as he lifted up his right pant leg. Withdrawing a snub-nosed .38 from his neoprene ankle holster, he stood. He held out the nickel-plated wheel gun. “No cop should be without.”
“I’m not a cop.”
“You are until you give me that badge back.” He handed Hatch the gun. “I know it’s not much, but it will get the job done if needed. Seeing your handiwork, I’m confident you’re more dangerous with it than I’d ever be. But let’s hope you don’t have a reason to prove that.”
Hatch slipped it into the small of her back, in the same place she’d fit the Glock earlier. The gun’s metal frame was cold against her skin. “Bill Chisolm is primed and ready to talk. And if my instincts are right, he’s going to have a lot to say about Nighthawk Engineering. He made me a promise to fill us in. One that I’m confident he’ll keep.”
“Do I want to know how he became so cooperative?”
“If you have to ask, then you probably don’t. But seeing your friends die in front of you is a very persuasive argument for telling the truth. More effective than Wonder Woman’s magic lasso. Some would even call the experience life-changing.”
“I’ll leave Sinclair here to maintain scene security until the state arrives. You and I will take our cooperative friend to the station and get the ball rolling.”
Sinclair transferred the big man from her cruiser into the back of Savage’s Suburban. The backseat of the oversized SUV was fitted with a half cage, which put Chisolm behind Hatch for the ride back to the station.
Hatch sat in the passenger seat, feeling the hot breath of their prisoner on the back of her neck. They pulled away from Russell’s property, leaving Sinclair to watch over the deadly fallout from the standoff.
Chisolm said nothing on the ride, but Hatch knew he’d be singing a different tune once he was locked in an interrogation room.
24
A large metal-coated garage door rose upward. The grinding screech of the door’s wheels rolling along the track could be heard over the engine’s rumble as Savage pulled the Chevy into the sally port. He waited until the door shut behind him before exiting and walking around to Hatch. She stood by the rear door containing their prisoner.
The sheriff’s office had a small prisoner holding area containing two jail cells. Typically, these were used for temporary detention prior to prisoners being sent to the correctional facility located in Durango. More times than not, these cells remained empty. On the rare occasion when they were used, it was typically to allow a drunk the opportunity to sleep off a bad decision or two before being released.
Bill Chisolm’s massive frame shuffled alongside Savage as he was escorted inside, his head hung down low in defeat.
Hatch watched the broken man. She thought about the small window of opportunity she’d had to end his life before Savage and the others arrived. Nobody would’ve been wiser had she pulled that trigger. But at her core, she knew she’d never be able to execute a person in cold blood. Chisolm didn’t know that, and her bluff now gave them leverage in the interrogation to come. She hoped her decision to let him live would prove to be a wise one.
Using his fob, Savage unlocked the door leading from the sally port garage into the main building. The entrance led them into the small hall containing the two cells. The floor was a poured concrete coated in rubber, making it easier to clean up blood and other bodily fluids. Their boots squeaked as they proceeded. Hatch smelled the familiar odor. Every jail she’d ever set foot in during the many bases and countries she’d travelled to all had a similar stench. There was a failed sterility to the air quality, as if whatever cleaning solvent used was incapable of fully removing the actual source. And the small holding area of the Hawk’s Landing Sheriff’s Office, set in the rural mountains of Colorado, was no different.
Savage stood outside the first cell they came to. A large secure door, approximately eight feet high and four wide, separated them from the confined space inside. The heavy metal was painted an awful shade of beige. Much of the paint was peeled and cracked, revealing the rusted underbelly. The facility was in desperate need of a facelift.
Keeping one hand on the meat of Chisolm’s thick elbow, Savage pulled his radio from the holder on his waist. “Barbara, do me a favor and open the door to cell number two, please.”
Acknowledgment came in the sound of a buzzer, which was then followed by a loud mechanical click. The hydraulics hissed and the door released, opening an inch gap that separated it from the frame.
The pungent smell of urine spewed out from within and filled her nostrils as Hatch pulled the handle, sliding the door the rest of the way open. Savage gave a controlled shove, moving the big man into the cell.
“Listen, Bill, these cuffs are coming off now. You’re going to have a few minutes in here while we take care of a couple things. Use that time wisely to think about what it is you need to tell us. I’m going to send in somebody to fingerprint and book you. Any trouble and the cuffs go back on. Understood?”
Chisolm bobbed his head in an almost imperceptible nod but said nothing.
The two sets of handcuffs were linked in the middle to provide the broad-shouldered man a modicum of relief during the transport. Savage unlatched one wrist, maintaining control of the other while he did so. As he took off the cuff, he blindly reached back, handing it to Hatch. Savage repeated the process on the other side. With the stainless-steel restraints removed, Savage took a step back. Chisolm remained facing away as they backed out of the cell, leaving him to silently occupy the small space. He looked like a circus elephant after being loaded into a trailer. The man’s impressive girth swallowed up the area around him.
Savage slid the door closed. The latch banged noisily against the hook. He gave the handle a firm tug to verify the lock had seated and the door was secure before turning to face Hatch. “We’ll give him a little time to reflect. I’m sure he’s got a lot to think about. I’ll send Cramer in a few minutes to pull Chisolm. He can handle the booking and processing. I’ve always found it beneficial to have a gap between an arrest and any subsequent interview.”
“Sounds like a plan. Plus, it will give us time to do a little digging into Fabio. Guys like him have got to have a past.”
Savage started down the hallway, moving away from the cell. Hatch took a moment to peer into the cell containing the man who earlier in the night had been hell bent on killing her. He sat on the aluminum bed which was bolted into the concrete wall. Chisolm never brought his eyes up to meet Hatch’s gaze, but by the way he shifted uncomfortably, she could tell he was aware of her, the girl who’d broken his nose, his fingers, and now his spirit.
She walked away from the cell, quickening her step to catch up to Savage as he opened another secure door. Inside was a room only slightly bigger than the cell. In it was an AFIS machine, the Automated Fingerprint Identification System. The boxy unit, which looked more like an oversized photocopier than a high-tech digital instrument, was set against the right side of the wall. On the nearby floor next to the machine was a box marked with red electrical tape for the intake photographs. Across from it was a wall-mounted camera. It was a small but efficient processing station.
They passed through the booking room and out into a narrow hall connecting them to the backside of the office space, near the basement access door. Before reaching the basement door, there were two doors simply marked Interview 1 and Interview 2.
When they rounded the corner into the main cubicle area, Cramer was seated at his desk, inattentively scrolling the newspaper’s sports section. Savage walked directly over to the portly deputy. Towering over the man, he leaned in closer. “I don’t have much confidence in what you can do, but booking a prisoner is something a boot rookie can handle. Do you think it would be too much to ask for you to process Bill Chisolm for us?”
Cramer set the paper down and looked up. “What are the charges?”
“Let’s start with attempted murder. I’m sure there will be more to come, but I can add them on later. I need him processed so we can conduct an interview.”
Cramer’s eyes widened. Hatch could see from the lazy deputy’s reaction that he hadn’t been brought up to speed on the incident at Jed Russell’s place. She wondered who he’d run to tell when he was done booking the big, broken man. And in that thought, Hatch realized the genius of Savage’s ulterior motive having Cramer assist in the processing. It controlled him, even if only for a short amount of time.
Cramer got up without his normal protest to all things work-related and disappeared in the direction they’d just come from. Hatch followed Savage into his office. Without any needed explanation, he began quickly typing into his computer. Within seconds, the screen was filled with a law enforcement-only digital inquiry form. Every agency used different programs, but they all accessed the same state and federal informational databases. Some search requests did local checks, while others ran information provided against national and international records systems.
Savage’s fingers hovered above the keyboard. “What’s the name you’ve got for your recently deceased friend, Fabio?”
“Silas Calhoun. Probably in his mid-thirties. I don’t have a date of birth and neither man had an ID on their person. Which I guess makes sense. If you’re planning on killing somebody, you don’t usually carry your license.”
“And you know this how? Or is this another question I don’t want the answer to?”
Hatch let silence be her answer.
A couple keystrokes later and they were staring at a message. No info found. Savage tried to narrow the scope of the search by providing a possible age range. A few possible hits came up, but looking into the physical descriptors provided in the return, nothing came close to matching up with the dead man. No state driver’s license.
“This doesn’t make sense.” Savage rubbed at his salt and pepper temples. “Maybe no criminal record is possible, but if he was working in this area and doing any type of machine work, there would be a commercial license. Or, at the bare minimum, a driver’s license. But we’re batting zeros on this name. You’re sure your friend gave you the right name?”
“I’m positive.” She thought for a moment. “I’ve got an idea on how to clear this up. How long until the state police are on scene at Jed’s?”
Savage looked down at his watch. “If I had to guess—half hour. Maybe a touch more. Why?”
“Then we best get a move on.” Hatch was already throwing her jacket back on and moving out of the office toward the back door. “I’d rather not be there when they arrive. Not a huge fan of being questioned. Especially, if those questions are about a couple of people I’ve recently killed.”
“Justified.”
“Justified doesn’t always play out the way it should in the real world.”
Savage gave a nod. She knew he understood her reality was different from most others.
The sheriff grabbed a spare set of keys out of his drawer. “We’ll take Cramer’s vehicle. My Suburban is still parked in the sally port.”
They entered the cold night air of the parking lot and set off in the direction of Jed Russell’s, leaving Cramer to handle Chisolm.
Sinclair was crouched low, snapping a photograph when they pulled up to the property line. Savage stopped where the gate used to be. Leaving the engine running, he and Hatch stepped out. The air no longer held any scent of the gunfight. It was crisp, cool, fresh.
“How’s it going, Becky?”
“Just finishing up with photos. I know the troopers are coming, but I figured we’d need something for our files, too.”
“Good thinking.”
Sinclair paused, glancing over at Hatch. “I thought you guys were going to be handling Chisolm’s interview?”
“We are. Cramer’s doing the booking right now, but we needed something—”
Hatch didn’t wait for Savage to finish. She’d explained her idea to Savage while on the ride over. The men who’d tried to kill her were well-trained, well-disciplined, and most likely ex-military with a covert ops background. They needed to positively identify them before the state police took over the scene. After that, everything would be on the state’s timeline and it was critically important to know who they were dealing with now.
She’d already donned sterile nitrile gloves and held a small pack of fingerprint lifters in her hand. Hatch walked directly over to Fabio. His once flawless Rapunzelesque hair was no longer a bright gold. Blood coupled with bits of skull fragments and gray matter muddled the color, turning the mass of tangled wisps into Medusa-like tendrils.
“Um—are you supposed to be doing this?” Sinclair looked as surprised at asking the question as Hatch did in hearing it.
“It’s important,” Hatch said dismissively. “I need to get their IDs. We’re dealing with some bad people here, and unless we can figure out exactly who they are, then we’re going to be one step behind.”
“I just mean—I thought we weren’t supposed to touch bodies on a crime scene.”
“Aren’t the crime scene guys from the state going to do all this?”
Hatch stopped what she was doing to end this line of inquisition once and for all. “Yes, they will. They’ll also take their sweet time in processing things, and since they’ll have assumed the overall investigative responsibilities for a case of a shooting involving a sheriff’s deputy, they will be slow to release the information to said agency. Basically, they’ll halt any chance we have of getting a foothold on this thing. And I am done with surprises.”
Sinclair cowered at the berating. Hatch took a breath. She actually agreed with Sinclair’s logic and had worked numerous crime scenes in which she’d had to block higher ranking officers from entering. But she’d also learned during her time in service that, on rare occasions, the rules needed to be bent or broken if timely results were the end gain. This situation fell into that category. Sinclair didn’t have the experience to understand the distinction.
“I understand what you’re trying to do, but this is one of the times where protocols get trumped by the overall need of the situation.”
Sinclair stepped back. “Fair enough.”
Hatch set about pressing the cards to the man’s cold fingers. The chilled air added to the stiffness setting into the body, increasing the rigidity of his appendages. For their purposes, she only needed a few good prints for comparison and decided to lift them from his left hand, the one not gripping the assault rifle.
“And I know this goes without saying, but when state arrives, this never happened. We aren’t here right now.”
Sinclair nodded. “I think that’s going to be harder to explain.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Hatch looked up from the dead man to see Sinclair staring past Savage and off into the distance. She followed her gaze and immediately understood the meaning of her words. The state police were winding their way along the road leading up to Jed’s property. There were no sirens, but the LED strobes of the emergency lights flashed in the trees above. Headlights came into view in a long procession of vehicles. In a matter of minutes, the troopers would flood the area and take over the scene.