“Got her good, did you?” I yelled at the older one, a black-haired man with a square, scowling face. I pointed the shotgun down into his crotch, and he started whimpering like a puppy. The younger one had pissed himself and was trying to hide his face behind his hands while backing away from the gaping barrels of the ten-gauge.
I herded the both of them down into the river after relieving them of their handguns, which I threw into the river. I told them to start swimming and they did a vigorous job of it, splashing through the shallows and out into the deeper channel. I really did want to blow their damned heads off but then heard sirens in the distance. I looked again upstream, trying to see any sign of Carrie, but the curve in the river still blocked my view.
Got her good, the man had said about Carrie. That meant he’d hit her in the core, and she was probably already gone. Shit.
The two deputies were scrambling through the shallows on the other side. I pointed the shotgun at them and they dived for cover, so I called in the shepherds and hobbled over to where the cruiser was parked. The other vehicle was gone. Fortunately, they hadn’t followed procedure and locked the doors or taken the keys, which were right where I needed them to be. I roared out of the overlook area where they’d set up their ambush and headed south down the river road as fast as I could make that puppy go. Two miles later I sailed into Carrigan County, wondering already if I’d done the right thing by not going back for Carrie. The tactical situation clearly dictated otherwise, but still …
I came into Marionburg fifteen minutes later and headed right for Sheriff Hayes’s office. No point in letting Mingo tell his side of the story first. I was too early; the sheriff wouldn’t be in for an hour, and the look on the sergeant’s face when he got a gander at me wasn’t reassuring. I went back to my abode of marital bliss, fed the shepherds, took a shower, and got some dry clothes. I bandaged my foot as best I could and put a slipper on it. Then I found a diner back in town and had breakfast. As I came back out to the Robbins County cop car, I noticed two holes in the left front fender and a star in the left rear window. Go, ten-gauge.
Sheriff Hayes looked his usual weary self. I wondered again if he wasn’t dealing with a heart condition or some other serious illness. Certainly the stress and strain of the job up here in the western mountains could not begin to approach that of his urban brethren, but he sure had the look. He listened in increasingly concerned silence as I told my story, including my confrontation with Rowena Creigh. When I was finished he buzzed his secretary and asked for more coffee. I thought it was for him, but he said it was actually for me. I guess I didn’t look so hot, either.
“This is what, the third time you’ve butted your fool head against Robbins County and bounced off?” he asked.
“In a manner of speaking,” I said.
“In a manner of speaking,” he repeated sarcastically. “And each time, there seem to be more goddamned bodies. What are you, some kinda angel of death?”
I just sat there, not knowing what to say. He had a point.
“You came up here originally because Mary Ellen Goode asked you for a favor. You obliged and, in fact, broke that little mystery wide open. Got the little girl to talk. Established that two guys were involved, and that they were probably both deceased by now. Good work. End of story. Except it wasn’t. Why the hell didn’t you just go home? You do have a home, don’t you? You’re not homeless or anything, are you?”
I shook my head. The secretary came in with the coffee. He stopped talking while she set things down and then left.
“Rue Creigh is going to be your problem, not mine,” he said. “M. C. is going to want your scalp for that, even if she did throw down on you, which I absolutely believe. That girl was all grit, clit, and bullshit. But Carrie Santangelo? That’s very different. I’m going to have to notify the SBI, and they’re gonna send a posse, and those boys will want to talk to you. At fucking length, if you catch my drift.”
“It was her beef that I was working,” I said, using her expression. “She’s convinced Grinny Creigh is selling children into some porn or slave market, probably in Washington. She felt strongly enough about it that she resigned. Took early-out from the SBI to go work it on her own, knowing what that meant, too. Financially and otherwise.”
“And now? Where is she now?”
I hung my head. “I don’t know. She went off the side of that boat like she’d been hit by a board. By then I was ducking rifle rounds and trying to hide behind an inflatable boat. I had to deal with them before I could help her.”
“You say you didn’t kill them when you had the chance. They were sure as hell trying to kill you two. So why not?”
I explained about overhearing them talk about “Lucas” doing the actual shooting. “I couldn’t know what Mingo had told them about us. They were a couple of deputies, probably doing what they thought was right.”
“That’s bullshit. Deputy sheriffs arrest perps and bring them to justice. They don’t shoot them down like wetbacks in a fucking river.”
“Like I said, I think it was the other guy who did the shooting. I believe emotions are running high up there. If they saw what remained of Rue Creigh, and Mingo spun them up, well … cops. What can I say.”
He looked at me the way a drill sergeant looks at a recruit who’s shown up with a pink Mohawk. That was a look I remembered from boot camp.
“And now I suppose you think you’re going back in.”
“Thought crossed my mind,” I said. “Carrie’s still out there.”
“So’s Mingo and his mafia,” the sheriff said. “This time they’ll get you. You’re in no shape to go anywhere. You look like you’re ready to fold up right there in that chair.”
He was right. I was suddenly very tired. My bones ached, I didn’t want to look at my foot, and I was worried sick about Carrie. It had been her crusade, but I was the guy who’d made it out of the kill zone. I didn’t look forward to the kinds of looks I’d be getting once the SBI crew showed up.
“You need to go offline for a while while I get some adult supervision into this mess,” he said. “Go back to that French boudoir of a hotel room and wait for me to tell you what you’re going to do next.”
“I mostly need some sleep,” I said. “That’s what Carrie was trying for when Rue Creigh waltzed in and took her prisoner. Right here in beautiful downtown Carrigan County, now that I think about it.”
He gave me a sour look. “Okay, okay, I’ll put some people on your hotel. You still have that Creigh shotgun?”
“It’s out in that Robbins County cruiser,” I said. “I’d like to keep it, though—Nathan took my SIG.”
He thought about it for a moment, then realized the shotgun would provide little ballistic evidence.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll have a deputy follow you back to the hotel. Then I think we’ll park their cruiser back out by the county line.”
“What if Carrie was right?” I asked. “What if Grinny Creigh’s got a clutch of kids in a cave somewhere and is preparing to transport them to God knows what?”
“First things first,” he said. “Let’s find out what happened to Carrie. You’re positive it wasn’t the deputies who did the shooting?”
“They had handguns, the shooter had a rifle of some kind. I definitely heard one of them say, ‘Lucas got her good.’ Don’t know who Lucas is. That’s all I’m sure about.”
“But they didn’t prevent it, either.”
“No, they did not. And at least one of them was looking forward to phase two.”
“That’s what makes this thing so tough,” he said. “I have zero jurisdiction or authority over there, or I’d take a crew in and look for Carrie. So now I’m going to call in some cavalry. Like I said, they’ll want to talk to you.”
“Ducky.”
I slept right through to five o’clock, even though I’d set a clock for three. I fed the dogs again and then limped up to the main lodge to get something to eat. My ankle was coming down a little
bit, but my instep still hurt and I couldn’t get a shoe on yet. When I got back to the cabin I found three large men with North Carolina SBI windbreakers waiting for me. The shepherds were watching them from inside the screen porch. They weren’t barking, but they hadn’t let them in, either. They showed ID, and I told the dogs that it was okay. I led the threesome into the living room.
The man who appeared to be in charge introduced himself as Senior Supervisory Special Agent Carl Gelber. He was not a happy camper. He looked like an enforcer for a mob loan shark, minus the big pasta belly. Of his two associates, one was young, maybe twenty-five, and the other was in his late forties. Both of them were big boys, too. The SBI must have a goon squad hidden somewhere, I thought, as I watched them try to fit into the cabin’s lavishly upholstered chairs.
Gelber said he’d been briefed by Sheriff Hayes and now he wanted to hear it from me, beginning at the beginning. I asked them if they wanted a drink. Gelber just sat there looking like he was barely in control of his temper, and, no, they were not here to socialize. This was definitely a business call. His expression said that I was lucky not to have been hauled down to a dungeon for this little consultation.
I took them through it from the beginning, or at least from the point where Carrie had gotten involved. They did not take notes—they just listened. Gelber watched me the way a hawk watches a little bunny hopping across a big field, waiting for it to get equidistant from any possible cover. His stare was sufficiently hostile that I called in the shepherds and made them lie down next to my chair. If he got the message, he didn’t let on. Finally, when I was finished, he told me to go through it again. That pissed me off—he was in fact treating me like some kind of suspect.
“No,” I said. “I’ve told you what I know. I’ll answer questions if you have some.”
Gelber’s face froze and he balled his hands into fists. Big fists. Frack sat up, staring at him. “Not your call, cowboy,” Gelber said, leaning forward in his chair as if he were getting ready to come at me. Frick sat up now, and both shepherds were locked on, without a word or signal from me. Gelber finally noticed what was happening.
“You sic those dogs on me and I’ll shoot both of them before they get off the first bark,” he spat.
I sighed. “You make any sort of move just now and you’ll lose both your hands and your face,” I said quietly. “You need to settle down, Special Agent.”
Gelber got very red in the face, and for a moment I thought he was going to try it. It would have been interesting. Bloody and noisy, but definitely interesting. Then the older agent intervened.
“Carl,” he said in a voice of calm authority. “Get ahold of yourself. You’re being unprofessional.”
Gelber blinked, turned around to look at the older man, and then deflated. “Yes, sir,” he said. “Sorry, sir.” He relaxed fractionally in his chair, opened his hands, and put them on his knees. Both shepherds relaxed along with him.
“Lieutenant Richter,” the older man said to me. “I’m Sam King, and I’m the western district manager for the SBI. As you might imagine, everyone’s pretty upset right now. Why don’t you and I have that drink. We’ll just let these gents go outside for a cigarette.”
It was my turn to blink, but I agreed immediately and told the dogs to lie down and watch. Gelber didn’t much care for that word “watch,” but he and his buddy stepped outside. Both shepherds followed them to the door and then sat down on the porch. Gelber’s anger seemed to have been genuine, so I didn’t think they were playing the bad cop, good cop game, but I decided to be on my guard. If this guy was the western district manager, he’d be looking to make sure that this situation didn’t get any serious mud on the SBI’s shoes.
“We went into Robbins County,” King said once we sat back down. “I had one team looking for Carrie Santángelo, or her remains, in the area where you said the shooting went down. No sign of her, unfortunately.”
“Maybe fortunately,” I interjected. “No body might mean she’s still alive.”
“Or drowned and not coming up for the usual two more days,” he said gently. “We did find the remains of the raft, hung up on a snag. Complete with bullet holes. And someone’s nasty toy.”
The mamba stick. One point for me, I thought.
“I took another team into Mingo’s office in Rocky Falls,” he continued. “We were rather, um, belligerent. But Mingo was prepared for us. According to him, two of his deputies were cruising the river road, looking for an escaped prisoner.”
“That would be me,” I said.
“Yeah. Anyway, the gospel according to Mingo: They heard shooting, stopped to investigate, saw a man they say they didn’t know shooting at two unidentified people in a raft. They thought they saw one of said people get hit and fall out of said raft. When the shooter saw the cops, he took off. They called it in and went down to the riverbank to investigate because they thought there might be someone injured in the river. While they were down there, somebody grabbed their cruiser and also took off. Here endeth the lesson.”
“The two vehicles were parked together when the shooting started,” I said. “Side by side. The rifle shooter was firing from between the vehicles. Those cops are complicit in this. They knew the shooter’s name.”
“And we’ve asked Mingo to get them in for a lie detector test.”
“He agree to that?”
“Hell, no, he wouldn’t even ID them. I’m guessing they’ll get their union rep in and then stonewall. Assuming they’ve advanced to that point in Robbins County. We looked at the site, and, yes, there are vehicle tracks all over it. Too many, unfortunately. We did find a couple of fresh-looking cigarette butts, which might indicate someone had been staked out, waiting. But we also found used condoms, beer cans, fast-food wrappers, so it’s probably also a make-out spot. We’ve sent the ciggy-butts to our lab for a DNA take.”
“Did they say anything about Rue Creigh getting her head blown off?”
“Not a word,” King said.
“That’s very interesting,” I said. “I can show you where that happened. I’ll bet there’s some blood evidence on that dirt road. No mention of my taking Nathan Creigh down and ‘borrowing’ his shotgun?”
He shook his head and consulted his notebook. “They did say that the raft had been stolen earlier in the morning, so they suspected the guy in the raft might be their fugitive. They said you burned the jail and possibly killed two jailers during your escape. Anything on that?”
I told him of the events at the jail and that the Big brothers were here in Carrigan County under Hayes’s protection and could back up my story. He nodded and made a note, which is when I realized he had been putting stuff into his notebook the whole time we’d been talking. Smooth western district manager.
“Mingo say anything to indicate that he knew it was Carrie who got shot?”
“News to him,” King said. “He did make an oblique reference to the fact that technically, anyway, she didn’t work for us anymore.”
“Sending you a little message, maybe?”
“Maybe,” King said. “We’ve been looking at Robbins County for a long time, but it’s always been in connection with Mingo and his crew of ‘unofficial’ deputies protecting the meth trade.”
“That’s not what Carrie was after,” I said.
“Yeah, I know. And you’re probably wondering why we didn’t go with it.”
“I assume it was the same problem everyone has in Robbins County: no hard evidence.”
“That’s right,” he said. “And there was a personal, somewhat obsessive angle, which tended to taint any theories she might have advanced. When she quit, I had some second thoughts, so I went to the Bureau in Charlotte and asked them what they had on any child trafficking going on in western Carolina.”
“And?”
“And that got me an invitation to drive down to Charlotte for a face-to-face conference with their intel people. I was supposed to be there today, but then Sheriff Hayes called.”
<
br /> “What’s Gelber’s problem?” I asked.
“He was Carrie’s immediate supervisor,” King said. “He thinks she resigned because you talked her into it, and then you got her killed.”
“He’s got it exactly backwards,” I said. “I was all done up here. She’s the one who wanted me to go back in, to chase this kid thing.”
“Well,” King said, closing his notebook, “you’re welcome to try to convince him. He might just be feeling a little guilty for not taking her theory seriously, too.”
I sighed. I was still tired. “Look,” I said. “I can’t produce any evidence of children being abducted and transported for sale. I overheard a conversation that confirmed that theory for me, and we had one old lady say that there seemed to be a lot of kids who ran away up there, but there are lots of other possible reasons for that.”
“What’s your point?”
“These guys were chasing me because I know what happened at the jail and I’ve become a thorn in their criminal hides. But why did Grinny Creigh send her daughter to abduct Carrie here in Marionburg? For that matter, how did they know where she was? Why’d they want her?”
“Because she was getting close to something?” he asked. “Something more important than their drug operation?”
“That’s my take,” I said. “They’ve held off the DEA for some time now, with Mingo’s help, of course, but suddenly they have two strangers causing problems.”
“But how would they know Carrie was looking at this new angle?” he asked. “Did either of you talk to them or anyone else about selling kids?”
“No,” I said, but then remembered that, yes, we had. “Wait—we did. We were helped by the old lady I mentioned, named Laurie May Creigh. Carrie did tell her about what she suspected.”
“Creigh? You guys talked to one of them?”
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