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

by David Archer

  “No problem at all,” Sam said. “You think he might know Michael well enough to help us find him?”

  “Well, he’s at least dealt with him a lot more recently than I have, and he understands how those who seek power actually think. From what I understand, the current director of CIA has been using him like an Internal Affairs agent; he keeps the different factions from building too great a power base, and he’s the first one to go after any rogue agent. His participation is purely unofficial, mind you; Langley doesn’t currently believe our hypothesis about Michael faking his death, at least not officially. Leon just happened to know how to reach him and asked if he might be willing to come and evaluate the situation. If you can convince Long, there’s a good possibility Company HQ will get involved.”

  “And would that mean you’re in the clear?” Sam asked. “Would that get the charges dropped against you?”

  “Unfortunately, probably not. The CIA is prohibited from interfering in any domestic situations, especially those involving justice. They can go after one of their own while he’s on US soil, but they can’t so much as give me a letter of reference in this case. If Michael gets away, my survival will probably depend on finding a lawyer who can convince a jury of our theory, and without any physical evidence…”

  “And all we have is my personal conviction, based on the fingernails of a corpse. What about those medical records? Think there’s any chance we’ll be able to use them?”

  “If I were planning to pull something like this, and had the strings to get fingerprints changed, I can pretty much guarantee that my medical records would also confirm the identity of the corpse. I would even go so far as to make sure the dental records matched, and before you ask, I already had Kathy call Michael’s dentist and request a copy of them. We get to pick them up tomorrow morning. She says he got a couple of crowns about three years ago, so hopefully the records will confirm that and be different from the dental work on that body.”

  “It might be hard to tell. Remember, the dead guy’s face was shot up pretty bad, including around the mouth.”

  “Don’t be such a pessimist, son,” Harry said. “Surely he didn’t blow all of his teeth out. If there’s even one intact tooth, it can be compared against Michael’s dental x-rays. That might be enough to back up our theory and get the State Attorney’s attention.”

  “Then it’s worth a try. I’m back at the hotel, now, I’m going to kick back for a little bit and try to think about how to draw him out. I’ll meet you guys for dinner as planned, then head for the airport after that. It’ll be good to see Ken again. Just hope he’s forgiven me for that fiasco in Rome.”

  “Fiasco in Rome? The way I remember it, Rome was an unqualified success.”

  “Yeah, except for the part where I never got around to telling Ken about how I set it all up until after it was over. Don’t worry, Harry, he and I are good. He came by and visited with us a couple months after all that, while he was finally making peace with his daughter. If anyone can help us figure this out, he’s probably the one.”

  Harry agreed, and they ended the call. Sam suddenly felt himself yawning and figured he had time for a nap, so he set an alarm on his phone and stretched out on the bed. Falling asleep wasn’t hard, considering how tired he was; his worry about Harry the night before had kept him from sleeping very well.

  Sam had been asleep for half an hour when he was awakened by the ringing of his phone. He rolled onto his back and reached for it on his nightstand, then glanced at the display. The call was from a restricted number, so he answered cautiously.

  “Prichard,” he said.

  “You arrogant bastard,” he heard, and he recognized the voice instantly. It was Michael Watkins. “Do you honestly think you can stop me? There is absolutely no evidence to back up your ridiculous claim, I made certain of that.”

  “I’m sure you tried,” Sam said, “but no plan is perfect. It’s like they say in combat; a battle plan survives only until contact is actually made with the enemy. Well, guess what, you son-of-a-bitch! You have met the enemy, and he is me. After what you did to Harry and his family, setting him up to take the fall for your murders is just going too far. If it weren’t for that, I would’ve been happy to let you get away with whatever you want, play your power games to your heart’s content. But you messed with my friend, and that means you have to go down.”

  Michael laughed, and Sam’s jaw clenched with anger. “Do you honestly think you have a prayer of catching me? I’ll grant you, you’ve had some lucky streaks in the past, but you’re out of your league with me. I know everything you’re doing, and I’m always a step ahead of you. You went to see little Heather? You should know by now she meant nothing to me, she was just a convenient plaything. I’m not surprised you went to check on her, though. Kate has a soft spot in her, even for those who had betrayed her. You needn’t have bothered telling her mother to get her out of town, she’s in no danger from me. I’m finished with her, and there’s no way you can use her against me.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Sam said. “Now, the question is, what do you want? You must’ve called me for a reason.”

  “What do I want? I want you to back down, that’s what. Remember, Sam, I can still get to your family; you need to let this go, and you need to let it go now.”

  Sam breathed heavily into the phone for about four seconds, forcing himself to stay in control. “If I didn’t have enough motivation to bring you in before,” he said menacingly, “you just gave it to me. I’m coming for you, Michael, and I’m going to bring you down.”

  “You see what I mean? You’re arrogant, Sam. You apparently think much more highly of yourself than you should. Tell me something, Sam, just between you and me: did you already tell that idiot police detective about your theory?”

  “Of course not,” Sam said, “he’d never believe it.”

  “Oh, oh, Sam, I think I detect a fib. You hesitated for just a half a second or so before you answered me, which means you were trying to decide quickly what was the best thing to say. What was it your wife told you a while ago? Three more hands of poker to play, and you can’t afford to lose any of them?”

  27

  Michael had called Sam after listening to the recordings from his phone. He’d gotten quite a chuckle out of hearing about the old ghost again; there definitely were stranger things in the world than man could conceive, and it was interesting to note that one of Sam’s greatest assets was either a genuine ghost or a crazy woman who could see the future. It didn’t really matter, though, since the ghost never seemed to make a lot of sense until you could look at his warnings in hindsight.

  No, the real problem was that Sam was actually one hell of an investigator. Michael didn’t believe he could actually be caught, but the last thing he needed was for Sam Prichard to come up with any solid evidence that he was still alive. It wouldn’t take CIA very long to figure out exactly what was happening if he did.

  Then there was the issue of Kenneth Long. He was definitely a formidable opponent, and Michael didn’t need any further problems. Both he and Sam would have to be distracted, and Michael knew exactly how to do it.

  He picked up his phone and punched a number. The voice that answered was the same one that had cleaned up the Hornsby mess. “I got another job for you,” Michael said. “Prichard’s family. Shoot the wife, but don’t kill her, and don’t touch the child. If one of the other women gets in the way, try to disable, rather than kill.”

  “That means leaving witnesses,” the killer said. “You know I don’t like to do that.”

  “So don’t let them see your face, nothing that could identify you. You know how to handle this kind of situation, and I’m definitely paying you enough, right?”

  The killer sighed. “Fair enough,” he said. “No fatalities.”

  Michael put down the phone and picked up the tablet once more, then clicked on the link that would allow him to hear the recordings that were made by Sam’s phone while it was off
. The app he had installed on all of the Prichard family phones was capable of using the phone’s microphone to record all sounds within about twenty feet, even when it wasn’t in the middle of a call or was tucked into a pocket. He skipped through a lot of the conversations between Sam and Harry and Kate, ignored the recordings from the courthouse and such, but then he heard Sam talking to Detective Lawton.

  Harry had pulled some strings and gotten Sam appointed as Special Investigator on the case, which meant Lawton had to share information with him. That didn’t worry Michael so much, until the point where Sam suddenly insisted that the body in the photos couldn’t be Michael’s. He actually felt a moment’s frustration as he realized that he had forgotten to look at Ron’s fingernails. Maybe Sam had been right, and there was always a mistake. Sam had pointed it out to Lawton, but the detective was at least smart enough to realize that the State Attorney wouldn’t believe it.

  He grinned. “See, Sam? I knew you were lying about that.”

  Still, it might be enough to make Lawton believe Sam’s theory about Michael faking his own death. He put the truck in gear and headed toward the police station as he picked up his phone again and dialed a number.

  “Detective Lawton, please,” he said when the call was answered. The receptionist put him on hold for a moment, and then Lawton came on the line.

  “Detective Lawton. How can I help you?”

  “Actually,” Michael said, disguising his voice to sound younger, “I think maybe I can help you, Sir. You know that guy who was murdered yesterday? I’ve been afraid to come forward, but there was an old man who called for an Uber ride and had me drop him off right at that guy’s house, just a little while before he was supposed to have been killed. Could you maybe meet me in your parking lot in about ten minutes? I’m a little scared to come inside the station, you know what I mean?”

  “Yeah,” Lawton said, “I can meet you out there. What’s your name?”

  “Um, do I have to give it? Like I said, I’m kinda scared.”

  “Well, yeah, I really need it. Don’t worry, though, I won’t let your name get out to the press or anything. You have my word on that.”

  Michael let out a sigh. “Okay,” he said. “My name is Steve, Steve Jamison. I’ll be there in about ten minutes, I’m driving a white Chevy HHR.”

  “No problem, Steve,” Lawton said. “I’ll be out there waiting for you. Just pull right up when you get here, and I’ll get in the car with you so we can talk privately.”

  “Okay, thanks,” Michael said, and then he ended the call. A moment later, he parked on the street just across from the parking lot of the police station, taking care to stay out of the line of sight of any security cameras, and reached behind his seat to pull out the sound-suppressed AR-15 that was stashed there. He kept it down and out of sight until he saw Lawton appear, then looked around to make sure no one was watching. There was no one else in sight, so he quickly raised the rifle and sited on Lawton through the scope, squeezed the trigger once and then dropped the gun into the passenger floorboard. He had the truck in gear and was moving again only five seconds after firing the shot.

  * * * * *

  Indie was sitting on the sofa watching TV with Kenzie and her grandmas when she heard the cars pull up into her driveway and immediately reached for the snubnosed .38 she kept in a drawer of the end table as she headed for the door. Sam had purchased a few of the small pistols and placed them around the house, then showed each one to Kenzie and explained to her clearly why she should never touch them, and he had taken Indie out to the firing range and taught her to use them. He often bragged that she was a better shot with them than he ever would be.

  Someone knocked on the front door as she approached, and she carefully peeked through the peephole, then breathed a sigh of relief and shoved the gun into her pocket. George, the gray-haired black man who had been Harry’s personal driver while he’d been stationed in Denver, stood on the porch with a smile on his face. There were five men with him, and Indie could tell they were security types. She opened the door and smiled back at George.

  “Well, if you’re here, I’m guessing Harry sent you?”

  “Indeed he did, Ms. Indie,” George said. “This is unofficial, mind you, but a lot of us in the local office are still loyal to Mr. Harry. He called a bit ago and asked us to make sure you and your family are taken somewhere safe, right now.”

  Indie blinked, but didn’t argue. If Harry Winslow thought they needed to be hidden, there was no doubt in her mind that Sam would approve. “Have I got ten minutes to pack?”

  “Yes, but we need to move pretty quickly. Mr. Harry believes there is a clear and present danger.”

  “No problem,” she said. She turned around and saw her mother and Grace watching her. “Grab your bags and give them to George, then get Kenzie and go with him. I’ll get our stuff and be right behind you.”

  The women did as they were told and they were all in the armored limo less than five minutes later. George slid behind the wheel as two of the security men climbed in with them and a third got into the shotgun seat up front. The other two were in a separate vehicle, a Ford Expedition, that followed behind them.

  “So, where are we going this time?” Indie asked. “Back to the cabin?”

  “No, Ma’am,” George said. “Mr. Harry says the man that they are dealing with has been watching you folks for a while, so he would probably know where that is. We’re going to a safe house Mr. Harry set up one time that’s never even been used. Nobody else could possibly know about it, so anyone he sends after you would never find you there.”

  “Does it have a TV?” Kenzie asked suddenly, and George chuckled.

  “Yes it does, Ms. Kenzie, and I’ve got a whole stack of new Disney videos for us to watch.”

  Kenzie squealed with happiness and clapped her hands. She and George shared a love for Disney movies, and every time they had spent time with him, the two of them parked on the couch and watched as many as they could.

  Kenzie was in her car seat, squeezed into the big back seat between her mother and her grandma Kim, and Indie looked down at her precious little daughter. “You like Disney movies, don’t you, sweetheart?”

  “Yes,” Kenzie said. “Me and George like them a lot.”

  “Yes, I know you do. Tell me something, Kenzie, what would you think if maybe Mommy and Daddy were to have a little baby brother or sister for you?”

  Kenzie looked up at her with a smile on her face. “I think I’d teach ’em to watch Disney movies!”

  * * * * *

  Michael was certain no one had seen him shoot Lawton, or drive away, so he didn’t worry about ditching the truck. He drove for about fifteen minutes, then pulled into the parking lot of a shopping center and made sure no one was watching again as he put the rifle back behind the seat once more. He was about to pick up the tablet again when his phone suddenly rang, and he recognized the number of the killer in Denver. “Yes?”

  “I went to do what you said, but there’s been some interference. Just as I got there, I saw the women and the kid get hustled into a limousine, with enough high-powered security I can’t get near them. What do you want me to do?”

  Michael swore. “I want you to get a bullet into that woman, but if you can’t do that, at least follow them and find out where they’re going. Maybe you’ll get an opportunity, just keep your eyes open.”

  The killer ended the call, and Michael swore once again. Damn Harry! He had anticipated what Michael would do and gotten in the way.

  He looked at the tablet in his lap and tapped the icon to check where the Buick was at, and then became frustrated when he realized it was back at the rental agency. Sam had obviously figured out that he was tracking it, and had already gotten rid of it. There was no way to tell what he might be driving, now, and he would surely be smart enough not to use a credit card Michael could trace.

  Michael wasn’t out of tricks just yet, though. He brought up another program that tracked the GPS
information on Sam’s phone, and saw that it was moving. As he watched, it came to a stop at what proved to be a shopping center, and a quick inquiry on Google told Michael that the main store there was an electronics shop that sold computers and cell phones. Sam was undoubtedly buying a throwaway phone, which meant Michael wouldn’t be able to listen in on calls he made with it.

  Not being able to listen in on his phone calls wasn’t that big a handicap, though. At least Sam still had his original phone in the car, so he could keep tabs on where it was at. He decided to sit tight for a while. Sam, Harry and Kate were planning to meet up for dinner, and Michael knew where they were going. He could make a point of being there before they arrived, and maybe that would put an end to the whole mess. By the time Kenneth Long arrived, it might already be over, and without Sam to fill him in, Long wouldn’t even really have any clue about what was going on.

  Yeah, things were looking up. He could afford to take a few minutes to let himself rest and relax, so he leaned the seat back and allowed himself a short nap. He’d be awake in plenty of time to carry out the next phase of the plan, of that he was certain.

  28

  The phone had gone dead, and Sam immediately called Harry. He hurriedly told the old man what Michael had had to say, while Harry tried hard to get a word in edgewise. When he finally stopped talking, Harry began.

  “I expected this, Sam,” he said, “which is why I took the liberty after we last spoke of arranging for your family’s safety. I had to call in a few loyal old friends, but they are all currently headed to a safe house that even the CIA doesn’t know about. Indie will contact you once they get settled in, but Michael won’t be able to get to them.”