by Rachel Ford
Which, at the moment, was the least of his worries.
He opened his door slowly. Tanney went on talking to dispatch. Owen waited for a bullet, or any sign of aggression. Nothing happened.
He put a foot out, onto the frozen blacktop, calling, “Hey, everything okay here?”
The guy leaning into the sheriff’s vehicle stood. He’d pulled off his mask. If Owen hadn’t been sure of what he saw the first time, he might not have guessed this guy was up to no good.
He had square features, and the kind of face that looked like it belonged to a cop, or a soldier, or maybe a private security contractor. Definitely a physical guy, and definitely a professional. He smiled now, in a controlled, professional way. The kind of thing meant to put civilians’ minds at ease while the professionals worked. “This officer went off the road. We’re rendering aid until the ambulance shows up.”
Officer. So it wasn’t a stolen cop car, or a getaway gone wrong. Owen took a step to the side, so he was half sheltered behind his door, and half exposed. “What happened?”
“Don’t know. We found him here.”
Owen took another half step, and the guy in black raised his hand, palm toward him, fingers spread. “Stay right there, sir. We’ve got this under control.”
He spoke with authority and professionalism, like he had the right to direct the scene. Like it was his job. For half a second, Owen wondered if he’d imagined the ski masks. Had it been shadow? Bad lighting? It was pitch black after all.
Owen started to ask who the guy was.
But the guy in black ignored the question. “I’m going to have to ask you to get back into your vehicle, sir, and move on. There’s an ambulance on the way, and we are rendering on the scene aid.”
“I’m going to need to see some kind of ID before I go anywhere,” Owen said.
The guy said, “Sir, I need you to get back in your vehicle and leave.”
“ID,” Owen said again. “Let me see some ID.”
The guy’s face lost that patient calm. Now, it took on a hard, all-business edge. “This is an emergency situation, and your actions are putting the life of an officer in jeopardy. I’m not going to ask again: get back in your vehicle, or I’m going to put you under arrest.”
Owen hesitated. He had seen what he’d seen, hadn’t he? He couldn’t have imagined four ski masks on four separate guys, could he?
“Sir,” the guy in black said again, his tone louder, angrier; more commanding. “Get back –”
Then Owen heard a second voice. A voice he knew: Sheriff Trey Halverson’s voice. It was weak, but clear. “Help. They ran me off the road. They’ve got guns.”
And then all hell broke loose. The guy in black drew a gun, some kind of medium-barreled handgun. Owen couldn’t see more than that. He was staring into the business end of it. But it was enough.
He ducked back toward his own SUV. The guy told him to stop moving or he’d shoot. Owen figured that was likely to happen regardless. He took another step.
Then the SUV jolted into action, quite without any input from Owen himself. Its tires spun a little as they gained traction on the road with its myriad patches of ice. But they caught in an instant, and the vehicle lurched forward.
Straight for the guy in black.
Owen was stunned, and confused, but he had the good sense to get behind the moving SUV, out of anyone’s direct line of fire. The vehicle barreled on. The guy in black fired once, twice and a third time, running for his own vehicle as he went.
Then movement from behind the corner of Halverson’s SUV caught Owen’s attention: a figure, the guy he’d seen duck out of sight, poked his head and his arms over the hood. He had a mask over his face, the same as before, and a gun in his hands. He was taking aim at Owen’s SUV, probably at the driver. Tanney.
Owen didn’t think. If he had, he might have thought better of charging a guy with a gun with nothing in his hands at all. But he didn’t think, so he didn’t think better of it. He just ran for the side of the SUV.
There was no good approach. He could either come from behind, through a snowbank that reached his waist, or he could vault over the hood, and pray he didn’t eat a bullet for his efforts. Either way, he’d be a sitting duck for way too long.
Still, he was going to go for option two, the vault over the hood. Better to be moving fast, he figured, than stumbling through a quagmire of snow.
The guy with the gun started to turn the barrel his way, before he even reached the hood. Then a shot exploded through the front of Halverson’s SUV. Quite literally exploded, too.
The speeding projectile punched a hole in the windshield faster than Owen’s eyes could detect the movement. It wasn’t there, and then it was. At the same time, or within minute fractions of a second of initial impact, a network of fractures and splintery cracks ripped outward from the hole.
Another fraction of a second later, the bullet tore into the guy with the gun. A spray of red erupted from his shoulder. Fragments of white followed. Bone or tissue, maybe both.
The guy staggered backward, out of the snowbank and into the road, his gun arm hanging limp.
Meanwhile, his own SUV cleared the scene, blitzing past the other two vehicles, and started to pull a U-turn. Tanney, coming back for more.
At the same time, the black Cadillac started to move. Owen saw the guy in the black in the driver’s seat. He assumed the other two guys were still in there. The Cadillac lurched toward the fourth man, the one with the limp gun arm. He staggered toward the vehicle.
Owen thought about pursuing. But he didn’t want to put himself in the path of a two- or three-ton vehicle. Not if he could help it.
One of the rear doors opened on the Cadillac, and it slowed to allow the bleeding guy to stumble in. Two sets of hands dragged him inside while the vehicle picked up speed, screaming down the road – past Tanney, and into the dark countryside.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The driver dialed his boss’s number. This wasn’t going to be a good conversation, but it needed to happen. And sooner would be better than later.
The line connected after the fifth ring, and Roy’s familiar voice came on the line. “Is it done?”
“No sir. There were complications.”
“What kind of complications?”
“Civilians.”
“Casualties?”
“On our end.”
Silence for a beat. “Explain.”
So the driver did, trying to make sense of what had happened, but sticking to the facts. Bad timing, and a pair of civilians in the wrong place at the wrong time: good Samaritans, stopping to help. Halverson, coming to, and pulling his gun. Putting a round through Mikey’s shoulder.
“What is Mikey’s status now?”
“He’s pretty bad, sir. He lost a lot of blood. We need to get him to a hospital.”
“Negative,” Roy said. “You need to treat him yourself. Field dress the wound, give him some pain meds. But no hospitals and no doctors. Not until you get back to our own people. You understand?”
The driver licked his lips. “Sir, I don’t think we can stop the bleeding.”
Silence again. “I’m sorry, son. But those are your orders. Do your best.”
“And – and if it’s not enough?”
“Take care of the body.”
“Yes sir.”
“What’s Halverson status now?”
“Unknown. He was smacked up pretty good in the accident, but I don’t think it’s lethal. He’s going to be out of reach now, for a while anyway. There’s ambulances on the way.”
“We can’t have him sitting around thinking about why this happened. This situation is already too messy.”
“It’s more messy than you know, sir.”
Silence.
“The civilian – he saw my face.”
More silence.
“I thought I could convince him to leave. Reassure them that we had it under control, make him think we were cops. But he didn’t bu
y it.”
“That’s not good.”
“No sir. But it was very dark. I doubt he got a good enough look for any kind of positive identification.” He was trying, too hard maybe. Roy didn’t like uncertainty.
But it was true. The human memory wasn’t perfect in the best of circumstances. And with a dark night, high stress, and lots of adrenaline in the mix? Not good for recall and certainty. Not good at all.
Silence for a beat. “And what about the other two: Owen Day and William Tanney?”
“We found their hotel, but they weren’t there yet.”
More silence. “I’m calling you back to base.”
“Sir, we can take care of this.”
“No. They know what you look like. They know what your vehicle looks like. You need to get out of there as soon as you can. Stick to back roads. Change your plates, in case anyone got the numbers.”
“We can do this, sir. They’ll be back at the hotel soon. They might already be there. We can be waiting for them.”
“No,” the boss said. “I’m sending in another team. Your orders are to get back, stat.”
The driver scowled, but said, “Yes sir. Understood.”
* * *
Halverson was a little confused, but Owen got the story out of him anyway.
And the story explained the confusion, even if the nasty welt on the sheriff’s forehead would have left any doubt.
The Cadillac had run Halverson off the road. Then a bunch of guys got out and swarmed his vehicle.
The leader, the guy Owen had seen at the driver’s door, had been talking about killing Halverson – and making it “look natural,” like he’d hit his head on the dash.
“They were being real careful with their footprints. They didn’t want anyone to know they were there. It was supposed to look like I just lost control and went off the road, because of the ice. The skinny guy was going to erase the dashcam footage.”
Owen wasn’t sure which of the four the skinny guy was. Maybe the guy who had got shot? Not that it really mattered. Someone – four someones – had tried to murder Halverson. This wasn’t an accident gone wrong. It wasn’t a bunch of kids looking for a thrill. It wasn’t amateurs or local punks.
These were professionals, with supplies and training and knowledge of law enforcement vehicles. They knew what they were doing.
But who the hell wants to assassinate the sheriff of Yellow River County? Which wasn’t really the kind of question Owen could ask without giving offense. Phrased one way, it would make Halverson sound inconsequential. Who the hell could be bothered with you, bub?
Phrased another, it’d make him sound suspect. What are you up to that someone wants to bump you off, buddy?
And Halverson really wasn’t in a state to be answering questions anyway. He’d taken a nasty bump to his head, compliments of his cellphone. Owen figured it had been on the dash, and come flying at the sheriff’s face when the airbags deployed.
The screen had a big, ugly crack running down it; and Halverson didn’t look much better. He’d taken the blow near the hairline. He sported a little broken skin, and a huge red and blue welt that seemed to get a little bigger every time Owen looked at it.
The sheriff was starting to shake, too – from the cold, maybe. But he suspected it had more to do with shock.
Tanney had already called for an ambulance, and one had been dispatched. So now the two men bundled Halverson into Owen’s SUV, and blasted the heat.
Owen surrendered his coat as a kind of lap blanket. Halverson tried to protest that he didn’t need it. He’d only taken a little bump on the noggin. He should be securing the scene, or in pursuit of the bad guys.
Without preamble, Tanney told him, “Stop being a dumbass, Sheriff. Someone almost killed you.”
Short, straight to the point, and oddly effective. Halverson grumbled a little but made no real effort to get back on his feet. He stared out into the night. Little flakes of snow started to fall. It would be a dusting, and nothing more. But he watched them, seemingly mesmerized.
Owen didn’t know what to say or do. So he exchanged worried glances with Tanney and said nothing.
Then, abruptly, Halverson turned to Owen and frowned. “Who the hell are you?”
Owen blinked. “Me?”
“Yeah. I had you pegged as some kind of pain in the ass. But you saved my life. How the hell did you even know I was in trouble? Who are you, really? FBI?”
Tanney laughed but said nothing.
Halverson frowned. “What’s so funny?”
Tanney shook his head. “Not you. Just – don’t overthink it, Sheriff. He is – all due respect, Owen – just a pain in the ass.”
“Bullshit. You two knew exactly where to look for me.”
“We didn’t,” Owen said. “We were on our way back to the hotel.”
“So what? It was just the right place and the right time?” Halverson’s tone dripped skepticism.
But Owen nodded. “Yeah. It was.”
“Bullshit,” the sheriff said again. “What were you doing out anyway, in weather like this? No one’s on the road.”
“No one with any sense,” Tanney agreed.
Owen shot him an annoyed look. “I went to talk to someone.”
“Who?”
He considered, and then decided there’d be no harm in sharing the details. “Sean Abbot. The former state –”
“Attorney general,” Halverson finished. His frown returned. “What were you doing talking to him?”
“I had some questions.”
“About what?”
“About something he investigated, a long time ago.”
“Judge Wynder?”
Owen didn’t want to answer that directly. He didn’t want Halverson to think he was interfering in his investigation. “It doesn’t really matter. It was a dead end.”
“I thought you were done poking around in my case? I thought you said you got everything wrong?”
“I thought so too,” Owen said. “But then –”
The whine of sirens obscured the end of the sentence. All three men glanced toward town. Bright blue and red lights blazed away on the horizon, and halos formed in the mist around them. The sound screamed down the wooded highway.
There were three vehicles in all: two sheriff’s cars and an ambulance.
Halverson started to protest that he didn’t need an ambulance, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to the hospital. Tanney again told him not to be a dumbass.
The two deputies who stepped out were more diplomatic about it. Halverson was their boss, after all. But the message stayed about the same, even if the delivery adjusted to the situation.
Then the sheriff was bundled off into an ambulance, and the questions started. Owen suspected things would have begun on a much tenser footing had Halverson not been conscious, and capable of delivering his side of events – which made clear that neither Owen nor Tanney had any part in his injuries.
Even so, even though they were in the clear, the deputies regarded the pair with unreserved curiosity bordering on suspicion.
The first deputy was a guy called Richardson. He had sandy brown hair and sported a pornstache of the same color. He was tall and fit and looked to be in his mid-thirties. Objectively, he was a good looking guy, but Owen had a hard time seeing past the pornstache. So did everyone else too, if the empty ring finger on his left hand was anything to go by.
Pornstache’s partner, on the other hand, was a woman called Murphy. She looked a few years younger – pushing thirty, but not there yet. She wore a plain gold wedding band and no other jewelry. She had light brown hair and a sharp gaze she didn’t hesitate to fix on both Owen and Tanney.
Hawkeyes let Pornstache do most of the talking. She just watched and listened, asking questions now and then. But Owen and Tanney apparently answered everything to their satisfaction. Because the pair listened, and then they started acting.
Hawkeyes put out a BOLO for the black Cadillac. Tanney rememb
ered the plate number, and Owen could give a fairly complete description of the driver: white male, mid-thirties, dark hair, square jaw, blue or green eyes, about 6’ or 6’1,” and 180 or 190 pounds.
There were state troopers involved now, and law enforcement departments from multiple counties. They’d catch the sons of bitches before the night was over, she told Owen.
Pornstache worked on pictures, meanwhile – pictures of the boot prints and the tire tracks and anything else that caught his eye. The snow was still coming down, just a flake here and there. But the more that fell, the more detail they’d lose.
Then a tow truck showed up, to haul Halverson’s SUV back to the garage where it would undergo a more thorough inspection.
Pornstache advised Owen and Tanney that they’d need a formal statement. Hawkeyes asked if the pair wouldn’t mind going back to the office directly.
They didn’t argue, of course. They followed her back to town. He stayed behind to take more pictures of the scene.
The slurry of salt and snow and dirt had started to freeze on the city streets. It wasn’t quite solid, but it crunched more than it sloshed now. The dash showed Owen that the temperature had dropped to ten degrees.
Tanney shook his head and bundled his coat up around himself as they crawled through town. “What the hell kind of temperatures are these? That’s what I’d like to know.”
“I’ll bet it’s warmer in California,” Owen said. “Or Texas.”
“Bite me.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
The driver of the black Cadillac heard about the BOLO about two minutes after it went out. His boss had heard about it approximately forty-five seconds before, from someone on his payroll who heard the description of the guys involved and the vehicle sighted, and the general vicinity of the incident, and put two and two together.
“Change of plans,” Roy said. “You’re going to need to lay low and wait for the second team to meet you. The cops have a description of you, and the full plate number.”
The driver glanced back at Mikey in the rear seat. He wasn’t doing well. His skin looked slick and ashy, and his shoulder looked pitch black due to all the blood seeping out of it. “We swapped plates already. They’ll be looking for a vehicle that’s not on the road.”