In Self Defense

by Debra Webb

  “You said twenty-odd years ago. Exactly when was this?” A choking sensation made it difficult for Audrey to breathe.

  “Let’s see. The notes show that the first mention was just before Christmas more than twenty-four years ago. The final mention was March 15 the following year.”

  “What was said about March 15?” Her voice sounded stilted, felt raw. March 15, twenty-four years ago, her father had his heart attack and died...and the thing in the basement happened.

  More shuffling of pages. “Here we go. The transcript says, ‘We’ve lost interest in Winchester.’”

  “Whatever they thought would happen or was happening fell apart, I guess,” she suggested. Or died. Her heart was beating so fast she could hardly breathe.

  “Based on what I’m reading, I’d say there was something or someone in Winchester they wanted but it didn’t work out.”

  “Thank you, Judd.” She forced a laugh. “I’m not sure what any of that means, but now I know the connection.”

  “Two of the Cicero family’s people have managed to get themselves dead in your town, Audrey. What’s going on down there?”

  “I wish I knew, Judd. I really do.” She shared what she could. Basically what the paper had printed so far. She owed it to Colt to keep quiet about what happened at the Zimmerman place this morning.

  “Keep me posted, will you?”

  “Sure thing. I hope you’ll do the same.”

  “I will. Good to hear from you, Audrey.”

  When the call ended, Audrey pulled up her contacts and tapped another number. Since her mother’s memories were lost, there was only one other person she could ask about twenty-four years ago.

  * * *

  PHILLIP ANDERSON WAS only too happy to drop by the newspaper after his racquetball game. He played every Wednesday afternoon. He was dressed in sweats when he arrived. Audrey took his wet umbrella and propped it in the corner. It had been raining off and on all day. The same was forecast for tonight. It was that time of year. She rounded up a bottle of water for Phil and closed the door to her office.

  Phillip frowned. “Has something happened to Mary Jo?”

  “Oh, sorry. No. Mom’s okay.” She shrugged. “No change.”

  He nodded and took a long swallow of water. Phillip was five years younger than his only sibling, his brother—her father, who had died twenty-four years ago next month. He was sixty-two; her father would be sixty-seven if he were still alive.

  “When Dad was still alive, did he or the newspaper ever have any trouble with organized crime?”

  Phillip coughed, almost choked. “What?”

  “Was there any trouble that you were aware of between Dad and a representative of organized crime from, say, Chicago?”

  Phillip sat his bottle of water aside and sat up a little straighter. “What’s this about, Rey?”

  “During the four or five months before Dad died, there was something going on with one of the organized crime elements in Chicago and there were comments about Winchester. My source believes there was something here they wanted.”

  “If something like that was going on,” he said, “we sure as hell didn’t know about it, because it would have been on the front page if we had. You know your father was one to push the envelope. He wouldn’t have sat on something like that.”

  She did know that. But she also knew her father had died suddenly and that a stranger had been in his office at the time. “Do you remember anyone from out of town who visited the office during that time?”

  More frown lines formed on his face. Phillip and her father had looked very much alike as younger men. She imagined this was what her dad would look like now. Lots of laugh lines with that deep, booming voice that resonated through a crowd. Everyone had liked her dad.

  Her heart hurt at the idea that he’d died so young. Only a few years older than she was now.

  “I can’t say that I do, but you know Porter was always searching for ways to expand and to increase circulation. He had more visitors than a head of state. I was like Brian, more focused on editorial and production. Your father was the businessman. The face of the Gazette.”

  Hearing her uncle talk about her dad had memories of him echoing inside her. The sound of his voice, the breadth of his strong shoulders and the smile that always told her everything was all right. As much as she missed him, she could only imagine how much her mother did. He had been her everything. After he died, she threw herself into raising Audrey and taking care of things around their big old house. And of course there were her civic duties. Mary Jo Anderson lived to support community fund-raisers. But there was always a sadness about her.

  Still was.

  “You’re not thinking your father had some affiliation with criminal activity?”

  His indignant tone said all that needed to be said on the matter.

  “Of course not,” she assured him. “On the contrary, I’m worried he may have known something that garnered the wrong attention, which is why I asked about visitors during that time frame.”

  Phillip nodded. “I’ll study on it. If I think of anything or anyone, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

  “Thank you, Phillip.”

  “We still on for dinner on Sunday?”

  He and her mother had shared Sunday dinner for as long as she could remember. When she was a child, her father was there, too, of course. As was Phillip’s wife. But she was gone now, too.

  How long would it be before no one was left except Audrey?

  But right now she still had her mom and uncle. “I look forward to it.”

  Audrey walked him out. He bragged about how he’d beaten the mayor again this afternoon. Two weeks in a row now. When he’d gone, she wandered back into the building. She had the sudden, nearly overwhelming urge to visit her mom. Talking about her dad always made her yearn to hug her mom.

  Frantic voices and crying whispered through her mind. The two of them shared a bond that no one else could ever be a part of. Not even Phillip. There were some things that had to stay in the past. No matter what happened.

  Audrey paused at the bottom of the stairs. Instead of going back up to her office, she went around behind the staircase and opened the door to the basement. She never went down there. Never.

  But there came a time when a person had to face her fears. Face the part of her past that haunted her. Considering what Judd Seymour had told her and what was happening with Wesley Sauder, today was that day for Audrey. She couldn’t keep pretending that what was down there had nothing to do with what was happening. Because somehow it did. No matter that twenty-four years had passed, there was a connection, perhaps a thin one but a connection nonetheless.

  She opened the door and flipped the light switch. Fluorescent lights blinked and buzzed until the artificial glare filled the darkness. She took the three steps across the landing and began the descent down the iron staircase that reminded her of the fire escape on the outside of the building. Both of the interior staircases, this one as well as the one leading to the second floor, were made of iron and offered a very urban, industrial feel. The interior of the first and second floors had been redone in the fifties and then again in the nineties. Before long Audrey would need to put her stamp on things. For now, she couldn’t imagine changing a thing.

  If only she could make this part go away.

  There was nothing particularly eerie about the basement. The walls were brick, as was the rest of the building. Shelves lined the walls. On the shelves were boxes and plastic containers filled with ancient memorabilia as well as all the things that two hundred years of living collected. There was a musty smell in the air. The dampness Brian told her about, she acknowledged. Somehow water was seeping from beneath the concrete. Portions of the floor looked wet. Brian was right in that the issue needed to be addressed at some point. She just had to figure out a way to do it with
out anyone learning her and her mother’s secret.

  The basement floor had once been brick, but plumbing renovations when she was twelve had required that a large portion be dug up. Once the work was complete, her mother had ordered concrete poured over the entire floor. To level it and make it more stable, she’d insisted.

  They had thought that would be the end of it.

  Audrey walked to the center of the room and stared at the floor. “Who were you and what the hell did you want?”

  Chapter Ten

  With most of his deputies searching the county for Wesley Sauder and that crucial forty-eight-hour mark in the investigation rapidly approaching, Colt was just about at his wit’s end with Sarah. He stopped by her daddy’s place again, but Aaron told him she’d gone back home since her house had been released. Sarah’s kids had gathered around their uncle and stared expectantly at Colt as if he had the answer to what was going on in their suddenly upside-down lives.

  More than a little frustrated, he had then gone to the Sauder home and gotten no answer after knocking repeatedly. Pulling into the bakery parking lot he now understood why. Sarah’s minivan was there. The open sign on the door was flashing. His evidence techs were loading into their van—the one that had cost the county an arm and a leg. The rain had let up for a bit. Nothing like conducting a search in the rain.

  The driver, Deputy Roland England, powered his window down as Colt approached. “I was just about to call you, Sheriff.”

  “Did you finish your second sweep?” His rule was that every crime scene received at least two sweeps by his evidence techs. Almost every time, something new was found the second time around.

  “We collected a good deal of trace evidence, but who knows if it’s anything relevant. By the way, we were packing up when Branch dropped by. He said he’d need to see whatever we found since the Marshals were taking over the case. He was supposed to call you about it.”

  He had called and Colt hadn’t answered. He shook his head, set his hands on his hips. “Is Sarah in there?”

  “She just got here.” England glanced at his new partner, Jonathan Gates. “We heard Branch talking on the phone. Sounds like they’re pretty sure Wesley is some kind of federal fugitive.”

  Damn it. So they had info they weren’t sharing. Irritation coiled in Colt’s gut. He glanced around, didn’t see Branch’s truck. “Is he still in there?”

  “After that call he had to leave, said he’d be right back.”

  His absence gave Colt a little time, maybe not much, but something. He nodded to his deputies. “All right then. Let me know what the lab says as soon as you can.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As the van rolled out of the parking lot, Colt strode to the door of the bakery. The curtain in the window moved. Probably Sarah. He hoped she would be more cooperative today. This might be her last opportunity to talk to him.

  The bell jingled as he opened the door. Sarah glanced up from behind the counter as if she hadn’t known he was outside and pushed a smile into place. The expression didn’t reach her eyes. Frankly, she didn’t have a thing to be smiling about. Her husband and her father were at odds. And now her husband was hiding from serious trouble. Not to mention her husband’s past had caused her to have to kill at least one man. And another man had been shot and killed in her place of business. In Colt’s opinion, she had her hands full.

  He glanced around, didn’t see any sign of a coworker. “Afternoon, Sarah.”

  She gave a nod. “Sheriff. I just pulled fresh muffins out of the oven.”

  He might not have much time, so he should get right to the point. “Sarah.” He removed his hat and stood face-to-face with her, only the counter separating them. “I know you’re worried and scared, and you have every right to be.”

  “Sheriff, I’ve already told you and Marshal Holloway all I know. Wesley left home to attend a funeral and I haven’t seen him since.”

  “He was at Ezra Zimmerman’s place last night. I’m guessing another friend in the community is hiding him today.”

  She looked away, busied herself with placing a row of freshly baked muffins from the pan into the glass display case.

  “I don’t know enough about whatever life he’s running from to say whether your husband was a bad man or not—”

  “He’s a good man,” she snapped. “Everyone knows that. Wesley has never caused any trouble here. He has a long-standing reputation of helping folks. You know that, Sheriff. So does everyone else around here.”

  Until now, Colt didn’t mention, and the man suddenly appeared hell-bent on making up for lost time and then some. “I know that, Sarah. I’m not accusing Wesley of anything bad. But the Marshals aren’t looking at this the way I am. I’m looking at Wesley as the husband and father—the farmer and the pillar of the community—I know him to be. But I’m the only member of law enforcement who’s doing that. No offense to Branch, but he doesn’t know Wesley. This is strictly about the case for him. Unless you tell me how to find Wesley first, I can’t help him.”

  Her watery eyes lifted to meet his. “You promise you’ll protect him?”

  “You have my word that I will protect him or die trying.”

  “He’s a good man, Sheriff. He’s not that person anymore...the one those horrible men are hunting. He had no idea they were coming for him when they showed up here. The one you found in the stockroom surprised him. He had a gun. Wesley had no choice; he had to defend himself. At the same time that other man was breaking into our home. He was going to use me and the kids to make Wesley do what he wanted. We both did what we had to do.”

  “Do you know why they’re after Wesley?”

  She shook her head. “He said the less I knew the safer I was. I haven’t seen him since that night, Sheriff. I swear. He’s hiding and I don’t blame him. They want him dead. He knows things they don’t want to come out. That’s all I know. They’ll do anything to stop him. Wesley begged me to take the children and hide, but I can’t do that. We need this business to be operating if we’re to survive. My kids are safe with my brother.”

  “I’ll have a deputy watching after you, Sarah. But tell me, where would Wesley go?” Even as he asked the question he heard a vehicle arrive. He glanced over his shoulder, spotted Branch’s truck parked next to his. “Tell me where to look. I will find him and I will protect him through this.”

  “Try James Ed Wenger. He and Wesley are friends.”

  The bell jingled, announcing Branch’s arrival.

  “I’ll take one of those fresh muffins,” Colt said. “If the coffee’s fresh, I’ll have some of that, too.”

  “Hey, Colt.” Branch joined him at the counter as Sarah busied herself filling his order. “I left you a voice mail. We need to talk.”

  “I was just about to call you back.” Colt gave him a nod. “My evidence techs were still here when I arrived. I understand you have an update for me.”

  Branch hitched his head toward the door. “Let’s talk outside.”

  Colt tapped the counter. “Be right back, Sarah.”

  The door jingled and they waited for a woman, a child on each hip, to come in before exiting. Branch walked over to his truck and opened the driver’s-side door. Colt waited near the hood. He understood jurisdiction and all that legal stuff, but this was his county. He had been elected to serve and protect the people within its boundaries. As much as he appreciated help from the TBI fellows, the FBI and the Marshals occasionally, he didn’t appreciate having an investigation taken over by anyone else.

  Branch placed a manila file on the hood and opened it. “This is Thomas Bateman.” He tapped the photo that was obviously a younger Wesley Sauder.

  “All right.” Colt moved a little closer so he could see the next photo or page in Branch’s show-and-tell.

  “This—” he tapped another photo, this one of an older man “—is Louis Cicero. H
e’s the current boss of the Cicero family. His father was the patriarch before him and so on. They’re one of the oldest organized crime families in the country. Various members of the family have been prosecuted for all manner of illegal activities over the years, but we’ve never been able to make the big charges stick and we sure as hell have never been able to nail one of the top guys.” He flipped back to the photo of Bateman, aka Wesley Sauder. “But this guy could nail Louis Cicero. Cicero has one son—Louis Jr. They call him L.J. He and Bateman were best friends. Bateman worked with the accountant who took care of Cicero business. Bateman was being groomed to take over one day when he cut and run. Rumor is, he took a serious piece of evidence with him.”

  “How the hell did he end up a Mennonite?” Talk about going undercover. Then again, with the mob after him, he had to be desperate for a deep cover.

  Branch shrugged. “We can’t be sure how that happened. I assume he happened upon this Wesley Sauder—who died around that same time—and decided to claim his identity. It happens all the time. An accountant would certainly know how to make that happen. He was able to vanish just like that.” Branch snapped his fingers. “He’d probably been planning his escape for a while. He was sitting pretty and making big money when he jumped ship.”

  “So he was part of this mob family?” Damn. Colt felt bad for Sarah. She would be devastated.

  “In a white-collar way,” Branch explained. “We have no reason to believe he ever killed anyone. But he was involved, yes.”

  “So what prompted his change of heart? He had to know they would come looking for him.”

  “He was in love with Louis’s daughter, Sophia, but her father wanted her to marry a man in another crime family, an effort to mesh the two families. When her father wouldn’t be dissuaded, Sophia realized her only way out was to go to the FBI and try to help take her father down. Bateman agreed to do this with her. She ended up dead and he disappeared.”

  A new tension trickled through Colt. “Did he have anything to do with her death?”