by L. T. Ryan
When Cassie woke again, the sun was coming up and they were traveling on a winding mountain road.
“Where are we?” she asked.
Pennington glanced over, smiled. “Almost to our final resting place, Cassie.”
Chapter Sixty-Nine
I returned to Philadelphia with Sam the following morning with thirty-seven stitches, a sprained wrist, and a heavy heart. Cervantes worked on Novak all day. He even brought in a couple heavy hitters known as ruthless interrogators. The FBI wanted a piece of the action, too. There’d be little he could do to stop them.
Before I left, Cervantes had asked me to promise to continue working the case. I’d never intended not to.
They found Pennington’s car a couple miles from the property. A van that matched the description and partial plate as the one at the gas station turned up ten miles further. Late last night a woman reported her vehicle missing after a policeman flagged her down and said he needed to use her car to get his sick wife to the hospital. She remarked it was odd that his wife only had on a dirty nightgown. The vehicle he’d been traveling in? The same van. Around midnight, Cervantes interviewed the woman and showed her a picture of his partner. Exact match, not that there was any question.
The car was ditched in North Carolina, somewhere between interstates 85 and 95. The trail stopped there.
I stared out of the window from thirty-six-thousand feet, convinced I’d spot something below. It took my mind off the throbbing pain. The trip had been a rough one. I’d taken more than my share of lumps. Sam had come out all right physically. Pulling Alice from the closet, seeing the condition she was in, screwed up his head, though. He wasn’t ready to talk about it during the flight, nor on the drive over to Momma’s house.
The old faded-red Ford Galaxy with the rosary beads hanging from the mirror dominated the driveway. Just what I needed. A visit from God. Sam pulled up to the curb and left the engine idling.
“Coming in?” I asked.
“I’ll come back around this evening,” he said. “Take you out for a beer and try to work through some of this shit on my mind.”
I knew he needed time. No problem there. I exited the car and made my way around the side of the house to the kitchen.
“Mitchy,” Momma said as I pulled open the screen door. “What happened to you?”
I took a seat at the table and leaned back against the wall. “How about you pour me a cup of that coffee I’m smelling?”
She grabbed a mug and filled it without taking her eyes off me. “I’d ask how the other guy looks, but it appears you took on a truck.”
“Pretty close.” The steam from the mug opened up my sinuses. “It’s still not over. He’s got Cassie.”
Father Reyes stepped into the kitchen holding a wine glass. I noticed Coltrane playing the sax in the background. He frowned as he looked me over. “Shame what I saw on the news. One girl rescued, another missing. I understand you worked with her?”
I nodded and said nothing.
“And Pennington.” He shook his head. “I always knew he’d resurface again.”
I set my mug down and asked, “Again?”
“He’s from around here, you know.”
“A homicide detective in Delaware, right?”
The chair scraped against the linoleum as Father Reyes pulled it away from the table. He sat down across from me. “He was part of a task force here, Mitch.”
“How do you know this?”
“I was a police chaplain for years.” He took a sip from his glass, licked the remnants of the merlot off his upper lip. “You really should come to mass sometime. I incorporate lessons from what I learned during my time with the force.”
I didn’t want to tell him I was a tad upset with God lately.
“Pennington was involved in that mess with O’Connell. He made a huge, huge error. One that got him removed from the team. If it hadn’t been for the results he’d had previously in his career, he never would have worked again. Someone pulled a few strings and got him that job down south.”
It took a few moments for the information to penetrate my thick skull. “This error he made, what was it?”
The priest stared down his torso and shook his head. “That I can’t tell you.”
“I get the feeling it wasn’t a mistake, whatever it was.” I took a moment to let a sharp pain in my chest subside. “He’s been working with Novak all these years.”
“What do you mean, working with Novak?”
“I don’t have time to explain.” I rose and grabbed my cell phone off the table. “Momma, kiss Ella Kate for me.” I hesitated a second. “Better yet, don’t let her know I was here.”
“Mitch, where are you going?” She blocked the screen door and put her hands on my chest. I winced in pain and she pulled them back as though she’d touched a power line.
I pulled up Sam’s number and called. “Yeah, it’s me. Get back over here. I think I got a lead for us to check out.”
“On my way.” The tires squealed over the line before he hung up.
I squeezed Momma’s hand in my one good one and sidestepped her. “I’ll call as soon as I can.”
* * *
Sam pulled to the corner five minutes later. I hadn’t waited in front of Momma’s house out of fear she and Father Reyes would have interrogated me. I didn’t have the mental fortitude to deal with that at the moment.
“What you got?” Sam asked as I plopped down in the passenger seat.
I relayed the conversation with Father Reyes.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he said. “They’ve been doing this for a long time.”
“What’s worse, this whole ‘screwed up big time’ thing, my gut tells me that’s how Novak got away. Pennington must’ve had some dirt on somebody that allowed him to be banished to Savannah instead of thrown in jail.”
“Next move? Should we call Cervantes and bring him up to speed?”
I stared at an older couple walking toward us on the sidewalk. Hand in hand. The man using a cane.
“Let’s get over to Sartini’s house. He was involved in the hunt for Novak, or O’Connell, whatever you want to call him. Maybe he can tell us something about Pennington.”
Chapter Seventy
Sartini cinched his robe a couple seconds too late and welcomed us in. “Didn’t expect to see you guys so soon. Unfortunately, I haven’t had any luck—”
“We got everything we needed on the van,” Sam said.
Sartini shut the door behind us. “Oh, all right. Well is this just a social call then? I’ll get the Maker’s.”
“I wish I could say it was,” I said.
He narrowed his eyes as he studied my wounds. “The hell happened to you, Tanner?”
“Dove through a window to escape a burning house.”
He arched an eyebrow and nodded. “I’m guessing your visit has something to do with that.” His expression changed, lengthening his face as both eyes opened wide and his bottom lip dropped. “Did you get O’Connell?”
Sam placed his hand on Sartini’s shoulder. “We did. He’s in custody in Savannah. We’ve already provided them with the information you told us. Questioning will happen in due time.”
Sartini sucked in a deep breath of air. His eyes misted over. I could almost see the weight rising off him.
“Excuse me, fellas. I think I need a minute. Why don’t you head into my study.”
Sam led the way down the hall and into the room. I tensed a little as he slid past the door opening. My mind always raced in an off-beat way. At that moment, I conceived the idea that Pennington had been working with Sartini the entire time, and was now waiting in there with Cassie.
“He’s been working the old files.” Sam pointed at the desk. Boxes were stacked on one end. Folders cluttered the rest of the surface. Other than that, it looked exactly as we’d left it.
“After you guys took off,” Sartini said, “I couldn’t sleep, so I started going through the cases we linked to O�
�Connell. I’d forgotten how many there were. Maybe it was necessary so I could rest easy. I swear, no other case ever left the task force so decimated.”
Sam shot me a look. “Tell us about this task force. Who all was on it? Who led it?”
Sartini eased into his Herman Miller chair and swiveled to face us. “Well, it was a tristate setup where we had guys locally, and also from Delaware and Maryland. Actually, they had two detectives from D.C. as well. Some of the best narco, robbery, and homicide detectives. SWAT guys were pulled together and created a new unit. They ran with all the latest military gear. And then the tech guys. Everything from my expertise to surveillance and fraud experts. We had a lot of cases going at any one time. Might be homicide, suspected terrorists, and even high-end white collar and political stuff.”
“This task force still in existence?” Sam asked.
“Why, you interested?” Sartini said.
“Maybe, but I’m mostly just curious.”
“It is in some form or another. Not the incarnation I was a part of. It all changed after the O’Connell thing.”
“You familiar with the name Pennington?” I said.
Sartini looked toward the window and nodded. “Yeah, I knew him. He took off around the same time we lost O’Connell.”
“Anything in particular you remember about him?”
Sartini spun his chair and faced his desk. He flipped through a few of the files.
“I don’t mean about a case,” I said. “How well did you know the guy? Recall anything about his family, friends? That kind of stuff.”
The silence in the room as he thought it over made me keenly aware of the high-pitched ringing in my ears. That was new. I worked my jaw open and closed a few times. The ringing faded.
“He was a funny guy,” Sartini said. “Personable, but distant. I can’t recall him ever speaking about his family. Never mentioned a wife, kids, parents, none of that. I guess he didn’t want any of us to get close to him. He did his job, you know, and went about his private time, uh, privately.”
I sighed and nodded, knowing the break we were looking for wouldn’t be found here.
“Who else would have records regarding the task force?” Sam asked.
“I’m not even sure now.” Sartini glanced toward the window again. He was holding something back.
“Give us a name to start with,” I said. “We’re detectives. We can figure it out from there.”
Sartini scrawled something on a piece of scrap paper, folded it, and handed it to me. I stuffed it in my pocket.
“Make sure you tell him I put you in touch with him,” he said. “Otherwise he’ll hang up on you. Shit, he probably will anyway. Be persistent.”
“What do you think about the Birds so far this season?” Sam asked, referring to our beloved Eagles.
“Not crazy about this new coach,” Sartini said. “This ain’t college football. You need more than three plays to succeed in this league.”
The banter went on for twenty minutes as we discussed all the local teams and a few conspiracy theories behind why they all were doing so badly lately. I’d hoped it would lead to more revelations about what we were really there for. But it didn’t.
Sartini escorted us out and shut the door before we hit the grass. I had one foot in the car when he flipped the outside light back on and whipped the door open.
I walked back toward the house. Sartini was out of breath, like he’d done his best Usain Bolt impersonation.
“What is it?”
“I remembered something,” he said. “West Virginia. Pennington had a hunting cabin in West Virginia.”
Chapter Seventy-One
It took less than twenty-four hours after telling Cervantes about Pennington’s possible hideout for us to drill down to the exact location. We managed to keep it hush, too. No local authorities. No feds. This was personal to each of us in our own way.
Sam and I split up in Morgantown. He drove to Pittsburg to pick up Cervantes. I headed south to the cabin in a rental car with a mountain bike strapped to the back. Going alone wasn’t ideal, but we couldn’t afford to lose any more time. If he had taken Cassie there, they could move on at any moment.
A topographical map of the area helped me find the perfect spot to leave the car. The area behind an old diner that hadn’t been open for at least a decade provided enough cover that no one could spot the vehicle unless they went around back. What were the chances of that happening? It would be at least a day or so before anyone grew suspicious of the vehicle.
I strapped a handheld Garmin to the handlebars and picked my way through the dense woods. The bike rode well over the mostly level land. An occasional hill mixed with a gradual descending slope. There was a chill in the air. The first snowfall in the mountains wasn’t that far off.
I laid the bike down a thousand yards out. After catching my breath, I detected a hint of wood smoke. How many homes could there be here? The closest road was a couple miles to the south, with nothing for a while to the east, north, and west. The air had chilled since I left the car. I had on woodlands tactical pants and a matching compression shirt. I pulled a hood from the saddlebag and slipped it over my head. I’d also brought a .308 takedown rifle. If I had a visual on both Cassie and Pennington, I’d take him out from a distance. Rounding out my gear was a Glock 17 and a pair of binoculars.
A quick text message let Sam know I had arrived. He replied back that they were en route and should be in the area within five hours. All I had to do was get close and wait.
I worked my way toward the house, using the thick trees for cover. Growing up, I’d spent a lot of time camping. I’d hunted a handful of times. No one would accuse me of being an outdoorsman, but I could hold my own.
Every step brought with it the chance of being discovered. My gaze never rested. It bounced left to right, up and down, in search of cameras and tripwires. Pennington had a couple-days head start on us. He could have readied the place. It was only a matter of time before we tracked him down. No matter how safe and secure he felt upon arrival, he knew we would not rest. The thought had to eat at him, chipping away at his last strands of sanity.
The thick white mortar between the old pine logs came into view. Smoke rose from the stack on the roof. It dissipated among the red and golden leaves. I had a view of two sides of the house. There were two windows per wall, and a front door under a wide uncovered porch. A single dirty-white rocking chair sat at the edge of the porch.
I pulled out the binoculars and scanned the exterior. A small security camera was mounted under the corner of the roof overhang. I traced the eave, found two more at each end. Was I in view now?
I brushed aside the leaves on the ground and laid down. The sun had barely penetrated the thick canopy, leaving the ground cool.
I alternated between windows, which were covered with white curtains. I couldn’t see behind them, so instead I watched for signs of their movement.
The urge to make a dash toward the house and burst in guns blazing was strong. A voice in my head repeated, “Stay put, Mitch.” It wasn’t my voice, nor that of my internal monologue. Was Cassie reaching out to me? Did she know I was there?
A chainsaw revved in the distance. I craned my head to isolate the direction it had come from. The sound was too faded to have originated inside the house. Perhaps Pennington was out gathering some firewood. Hopefully he wasn’t dismembering Cassie.
“Speak to me, Cassie,” I whispered.
Two fingers appeared through the slit in the window curtains. They pulled the fabric back a foot or so. The glare on the glass combined with darkness on the other side prevented me from seeing who stood there. Had Pennington heard the disturbance in the forest and wondered who was cutting down trees nearby? Or had he thought he spotted me on camera and was watching for my movement?
The curtain fell shut again. It didn’t dash my hopes. In fact, the opposite happened. We figured chances were fifty-fifty that Pennington would come here. And then another fi
fty-fifty that he’d remained for more than a day. Now we knew he was here.
We were close.
Here I come, Cassie. Here I come.
Chapter Seventy-Two
The forest darkened as the sun hovered low in the western sky. The air felt crisp with a temperature drop of twenty degrees or so. Smoke continued to rise from the cabin’s chimney. The smell, combined with the dead leaves on the ground, reminded me of playing football with the kids in the neighborhood when I was a young boy. Over the few hours I’d been laying there, someone had looked out the windows a number of times, and cracked the door twice. I never got a solid look at the person. Could’ve been Cassie. Probably was Pennington.
It was still now. No breeze, no animal movement, and nothing going on within the cabin. The chainsaw had stopped long ago. I considered making a move, but it was too quiet.
The urge to investigate rose. Bad idea, I told myself. Pennington was going nowhere. Best to wait for reinforcements rather than going in there solo with guns blazing. No point in getting myself killed. If Cassie was still alive, then Pennington planned on keeping her alive. A couple of hours wasn’t changing anything.
A branch snapped a slight distance behind me. It sounded like a sledgehammer on concrete, it had been so quiet. I propped up on my elbows and drew my knees up, battling stiff hips.
“Don’t move, Tanner.”
I lowered my chin to my chest and stared at the raised pile of leaves where I’d hid a spare pistol. It was three feet away, almost within reach. Any movement to get it would be met with a bullet in my back. Things might be going that way now.
“All right,” Pennington said. “Hands behind your head, you know the drill.”
Indeed, I did. After I crossed my ankles, he grabbed me by the back of my shirt and yanked me up to my knees. He took a wide berth around me, remaining out of range should I decide to lunge at him.