The Sam Prichard Series - Books 9-12 (Sam Prichard Boxed Set 3)

by David Archer

  Driscoll and Slocum arrived two minutes later, and the four cops stepped out of their cars and leaned against them. The sensitive microphone Forsyth was wearing picked up the conversation clearly.

  “We think it’s all about over,” Wright said. “Monica Purvis, the assistant DA, she called us a while ago and told Dave to deal with Karen Parks and Sam Prichard, while I took care of that old lawyer, Weintraub. I got lucky and the old fart dropped dead of a heart attack before I could get to him, but Dave took care of Karen and Sam the hard way.” He handed over Karen’s phone so the other two could see the photo of their bodies.

  Slocum let out a low whistle. “Way to go, Dave,” he said. “So, that gets rid of everybody who knew anything?”

  “Not quite,” Forsyth said. “Prichard was talking about some woman that knew about the video, and he thinks Lemmons had her locked up somewhere. I don’t know anything about it and neither does Mark, we’re hoping you do.”

  Driscoll scowled. “Yeah, I know who you mean. She was trying to work with Fletcher to hang us all. Jerry stashed her in someplace in Lakewood. The way he talked, she knows everything. I guess we better get rid of her, too.”

  “Do you know where she is? We don’t.”

  “Yeah, I know where. It’s a place we use now and then when we need to hide something.”

  Forsyth nodded. “Okay, we’ll let you guys do that. You already took care of the guy who made the video, right?”

  Slocum made a grimace. “Well, actually…He sort of got away. He’s a chicken-shit, though, I figure he’s long gone by now. If we got the videos, he’s nothing to worry about.”

  Wright cursed loudly. “I’d say he’s definitely something to worry about,” he said. “Video or not, he knows what he saw. If he talks, we could end up in another mess.”

  “He’s a coward, he isn’t going to talk. Hell, he had that video all this time and never bothered to do anything with it except give it to that PI. He’s probably on his way to Canada about now.”

  Forsyth shook his head, trying to keep up the act. “We better hope so. The last thing we need is for people to start asking questions about all this.”

  The four of them got back into their respective cars, and left the parking lot in different directions. Overhead, Mike had refocused the drone on to Driscoll’s car, and the van pulled out a moment later.

  Inside the van, Sam was staring wide-eyed at the receiver. “Marty’s still alive? Lemmons sounded certain he was dead.”

  “Just means those two lied to him,” Karen said. “Are you really surprised?”

  Sam shook his head as the van rolled along the streets toward Lakewood. “Just that he isn’t dead,” he said. “I mean, I’m glad, maybe the guy can actually get back to his life one day soon. Right now, all I care about is staying close enough to these guys to make sure we can stop them before they do anything bad to Tracy.”

  * * * * *

  Marty had made only one stop on his way into town, pulling into a truck stop to gas up. While he was pumping gas, though, he saw a sign advertising a special sale on police scanners in the store, and hurried inside to get one. He also picked up one of the cheap cell phones they sold, before getting back on the highway and driving on into Denver.

  He found the frequency used by the Denver PD, but he didn’t know the unit number for Driscoll and Slocum. He listened for a while, hoping to hear one of their voices and recognize it, but finally he had an idea.

  He stopped the truck at a gas station and took out the cell phone and dialed the number for the police department. When the desk sergeant answered, he put on his best ethnic accent. “Yo, man, I’m trying to get hold of Officer Driscoll. Any chance you could tell him to meet me at the 7-Eleven at Colfax and King?”

  “And who is this?” the sergeant asked.

  “Man, this be Tyrone, I’m his snitch! I got some stuff he need to know!”

  A minute later, he heard the dispatcher call out, “3-21, see a man called Tyrone at the 7-Eleven, Colfax and King.”

  Driscoll’s voice came back on the radio. “3-21, 10-4.”

  Marty parked the truck on the curb on King Street, half a block away from the store. He only waited about ten minutes before the squad car pulled then, and he watched as Driscoll went inside, looking for whoever had called to meet him. He came out a few minutes later, looked around the lot and then got back into the car. When it pulled out onto Colfax, Marty took his foot off the brake and hurried to the stop sign.

  Traffic was clear, so he pulled out and followed the squad car down the road. He didn’t have a concrete plan, but he intended to put a stop to these two killers, no matter what it cost him.

  The squad car followed Colfax for a while, but then made a sudden turn. Marty turned as well, but then hung back some distance. He didn’t want them to realize they were being followed. He stayed on them as they took a convoluted route, cutting through residential areas, obviously on their way to somewhere important.

  “Somewhere important” turned out to be a taco restaurant. Marty cruised past and pulled into another parking lot where he could keep an eye on the squad car, then was startled to see a second squad waiting in the back of the lot. Driscoll’s car pulled up near it, and four officers climbed out of the two cars and stood facing each other.

  Right there in front of him were all four of the uniform officers he’d seen on the video, he knew it. He tightened his grip on the revolver and told himself it was time to take them out, but he couldn’t quite make himself put the truck back into gear. He reasoned that it would be smarter to wait until he could get them alone or in pairs, rather than trying to take on the foursome. He would only have the element of surprise for a second, and he didn’t know if he could shoot them all before they could start shooting back.

  Other than in video games, Marty had never actually fired a gun. His determination to become a killer started to waver on him. He sat and watched as the four talked, and when they finally got back into their cars and drove away, he continued to follow Driscoll and Slocum. Sooner or later they would stop, and Marty was determined to force himself to aim the gun and pull the trigger.

  * * * * *

  The van was following, as well, and it wasn’t long before Jeff Donaldson realized that the pickup truck in front of him was also tailing the squad car. He leaned back in his seat and motioned for Ron to look ahead.

  “See that truck? It’s been right in front of us for the last five minutes. Every time the cops make a turn, he makes the same one.”

  “Interesting,” Ron said. He turned around and looked at Sam. “Any idea who else might be tailing these guys? There’s a Chevy 4x4 up ahead that’s staying right on them.”

  Sam climbed up toward the front of the van and looked through the windshield. “No, not a clue,” he said. “Can you run the license plate?”

  “I can,” Mike said. “What is it?”

  Sam read the plate number off, and Mike tapped it into one of the three computers sitting on a shelf in front of them. A moment later, he got a response. “Belongs to someone named Albert Linden, lives out in Colorado Springs.”

  Sam squinted his eyes and pursed his lips. “That name sounds familiar, but I can’t place it. Colorado Springs? I don’t think I know anybody there.”

  “Well, whoever it is, he seems to be just as interested in our quarry as we are. Let’s keep an eye on him and see what happens.”

  “Agreed,” Sam said. He turned and looked at Karen. “This has got to be the weirdest case I’ve ever had.”

  “You won’t get any argument out of me,” she said. “It’s the first case I’ve ever seen that got me shot in the ass!”

  Because of traffic and stoplights, the drive to Lakewood took nearly half an hour, and Sam began to wonder if Driscoll and Slocum had spotted the pickup truck that was tailing them. Whoever was driving it seemed to have some idea of what he was doing, though, because he was keeping a number of vehicles between them and switching from lane to lane whenever possib
le.

  Suddenly, the squad car whipped into the parking lot of a convenience store, and Slocum got out of the passenger seat and went inside. Sam and the others watched on the screen displaying the drone’s camera image as the pickup truck approached the lot as if it were going to go on past, but then turned in at the last moment. It screeched to a halt just behind the squad car, as Donaldson pulled the van over into another parking lot almost a block behind.

  Sam leaned toward the screen. “What on earth is he doing?” he asked, but then a hand was extended from the driver’s window and they saw two flashes of light. Sam blinked once, then yelled, “Oh, dear Lord, I think he just shot Driscoll!”

  The truck shot forward and raced around the building, but they couldn’t see where it went after that. The drone stayed in position as Officer Slocum came running out of the store with his pistol drawn. He pointed it in the direction the truck had gone, then turned and looked into the driver’s seat of the car.

  A moment later, he took a cell phone from his pocket and dialed the number frantically.

  “Let’s get up there,” Sam said. “We’ve got to find out what’s going on.”

  Ron looked at him. “Um, you and Ms. Karen are supposed to be dead, remember?”

  “Well, what else can we do? If Driscoll’s been shot, I may have just lost my last chance to get Tracy back safely.”

  “Then let’s do this right,” Karen said. “Somebody give me a phone.”

  Mike picked up a cell phone that was lying beside one of the computers and handed it to her. She quickly dialed the number, then spoke into the device. “This is Denver Homicide Detective Karen Parks,” she said. “I need to speak with the District Attorney immediately.”

  Sam looked at her. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  “It’s better than charging into a potentially deadly situation. Hang on.” She focused on the phone again. “Ma’am, this is Detective Karen Parks. I’m calling to notify you that I am currently conducting an investigation into criminal activities of ADA Monica Purvis and several Denver police officers, including orchestrating and concealing the murder of three teenagers. Those include Detective Jerry Lemmons, who was killed earlier today by one of the other officers.” She listened for a moment, then looked into Sam’s eyes. “Actually, ma’am, we have video and audio recordings to back up what I’m telling you, and one of the officers who was involuntarily involved has approached us and is willing to testify, but the situation has taken another turn. Mr. Prichard and I are currently following patrolmen Driscoll and Slocum, and it appears that one of them has just been shot.” She listened for a moment, then nodded at Sam. “Ma’am, I would prefer if no one but you knows I’m coming. I had approached ADA Purvis with this earlier today, and she actually tried to have one of these officers kill me and Private Investigator Sam Prichard, who is working with me.” She listened for another moment, then said, “Yes, ma’am,” and then ended the call.

  She looked at Sam. “She wants to see us as soon as possible, with the video and audio. I don’t know her very well personally, but I get the feeling Monica is about to find herself in a whole world of trouble.”

  Sam rolled his eyes. “And just what am I supposed to do about Tracy? Those two are probably my last shot at finding her alive, I can’t just forget about her.” He punched the wall of the van, and then looked at Ron. “You got another copy of that video you can give her?”

  “Yeah, it’s on the computer.”

  “Then take her to the DA’s office. I’m going to go find Tracy.” He yanked open the side door of the van and stepped out, then began walking as quickly as his bad hip allowed toward the squad car two blocks ahead.

  Karen called after him a couple of times, but Sam kept walking. A moment later, the little drone zipped by Sam’s head and flew right into the van. A few seconds after that, the van started up and drove away.

  18

  Several people had gathered around the squad car by the time Sam arrived, and Slocum was leaning against the building as he spoke into a phone. Sam glanced into the car and saw that Driscoll was alive but bleeding at his left ear and shoulder. The injuries did not appear to be life threatening, so Sam stepped around the crowd and walked directly to Slocum.

  The officer was speaking frantically into the phone, but Sam reached out and snatched the phone away, cutting off the call, and then grabbed Slocum by his shirt and slammed him against the wall.

  “Where the hell is Tracy Jensen?” Sam asked, his voice cold and full of menace. Slocum stared into his face for a second, and then his eyes went wide in terror.

  “Jesus,” he cried out, “you’re dead!”

  “Not nearly as dead as you’re about to be,” Sam said, “if you don’t show me where Tracy is right now.”

  Slocum shook his head as if to clear it. “You mean the woman Lemmons was holding? But I don’t know, I don’t know where she is. Hank knows, but I don’t. That’s where we were going, but somebody—oh my God, did you shoot him?”

  Sam stared at the man in shock, then turned and looked back at Driscoll. Even as he did so, sirens were growing loud as police cars approached, and Sam knew he was running out of time. The sirens were growing a lot louder, and Sam wasn’t sure what would happen when the new cops arrived. The word was still out that he had supposedly killed Lemmons, and cops don’t like to arrest a cop killer. They figure the world is much better off if such a person never makes it to trial.

  Sam let go of Slocum and backed away, then turned and hurried toward the back of the building. A man had just climbed out of a car and left it running, so Sam jumped in and threw it into reverse.

  The car’s owner began shouting at him, but Sam paid him no attention. He dropped the shifter into drive and floored the car, shooting out the back exit of the parking lot and turning onto a residential street. He drove three blocks, then made a left and was planning to make another right turn when he suddenly saw the Chevy truck sitting parked at the curb.

  Instinct took over and Sam whipped the car in just ahead of the truck. He threw it into park and jumped out, drawing his own gun and aiming it at the windshield as he walked toward it, but then his eyes went wide. The driver of the truck was Marty Fletcher.

  “Marty? What the hell are you doing?”

  Marty looked up at him and Sam saw the tears streaming down his cheeks. “I had to stop them,” he said. “They came out to your cabin and wanted to kill me, so I had to stop them.”

  Marty held up the revolver and Sam carefully reached out to take it from him. Marty surrendered it without a problem, and Sam laid it on the hood of the truck.

  “Oh, geez, Marty,” he said. “We were getting it all under control. It all would’ve been over in just a few minutes, and we were following them to where Tracy is. You can calm down, though, you didn’t kill anyone. Driscoll is wounded but it’s not serious.”

  Marty stared at him for a moment longer, and then hung his head in shame. He began to weep—great, wracking sobs that shook his entire body. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I just couldn’t take anymore. I couldn’t keep hiding, I couldn’t keep waiting for them to find me and kill me…”

  Sam took a deep breath. Under the circumstances, and especially since it appeared Driscoll would survive, there was a good chance Marty would get off on self-defense, or at worst, a temporary insanity plea. He hooked a finger into the trigger guard of the revolver and picked it up again, then told Marty to slide over. Sam got behind the wheel, shoving the revolver behind the seat of the truck, and then started it up and put it in gear.

  Beauregard had said that Sam would have to solve the case all on his own. If that were true, then somehow Sam must be able to figure out where Tracy was being hidden. He drove Marty’s stolen truck around the area slowly, trying to think of any way he might find her.

  Marty was still whimpering on the passenger side, leaning against the window with his eyes closed. Sam glanced over at him and had a sudden thought. “Marty,” he said, “that time Tra
cy brought Lemmons to see you, did he say anything about Lakewood?”

  Marty shook his head, but didn’t speak. Sam reached over and shook his shoulder gently. “Marty, think for a minute. We’ve got to find Tracy, and we need to do it soon. Did he say anything at all about having a place in Lakewood?”

  Once again, Marty only shook his head. Sam slammed a hand on the steering wheel and then turned another corner.

  “… someplace in Lakewood…” That was what Driscoll had said, that Lemmons had stashed Tracy in someplace in Lakewood. Sam racked his brain, trying to think of anyone who might have known Lemmons well enough to make an educated guess about what old house it might have been. There were lots of old houses in Lakewood, and it would probably take weeks to search them all.

  Well, it would take weeks for humans to search them all. Sam reached into his pocket and took out his cell phone, then dialed the number Indie was using.

  She answered before the first ring had finished. “Sam? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, Babe,” he said. “We are actually getting close to wrapping this up, I think, but I still haven’t found Tracy. And incidentally, Marty isn’t dead. In fact, he’s right here with me at the moment.”

  “Oh, Sam, that’s a relief. That’ll at least get rid of that murder charge, right?”

  “Yeah, it gets rid of that murder charge,” he said, “but there’s still the one where the local cops all think I killed Jerry Lemmons. Don’t worry about that one, though, Karen Parks is getting that straightened out right now. The reason I called is because I got just a little information about Tracy. It turns out Lemmons was holding her in what’s been referred to as ‘someplace in Lakewood.’ Can you get Herman to start digging and find out if there are any old houses in Lakewood that Lemmons might have been connected to? Maybe he owned one, or someone in his family did?”

  “Yeah, I’ll put him on it right now. Are you sure it’s in Lakewood?”