by Lauren Carr
“West Virginia?” Deciding to get all of the information that he was going to need to answer Archie’s questions, David slipped his cell phone back into the case. “Joshua …”
“Joshua?” the sheriff repeated.
“Joshua Thornton is one of Mac’s groomsmen,” David said. “He and Mac were going to the tailor this morning for a fitting for Josh’s tux. He’s the county prosecutor in West Virginia. He drives a black SUV and it has West Virginia tags.”
“Sheriff,” one of the deputies waved for the sheriff to meet him over in the driveway. “We got a blood spatter over here.”
Seeing that the deputy was pointing to a place in the driveway that was far from any of the fatalities, David rushed over. In the red spray that dotted the snow and ice, there was a straight line across which the blood splatter stopped. It was a void that indicated something else on the scene, something that had left before the police arrived. Tire marks that fishtailed around the circular drive indicated that it belonged to the vehicle that had left.
“The neighbors say they only saw one vehicle leave the scene,” Officer Fletcher said.
“This void spatter tells us that someone at the rear of the vehicle was shot,” David said, “and they must have left in the vehicle—the SUV with West Virginia plates, which probably belongs to Joshua Thornton. Let’s get Thornton’s tag numbers and put out a BOLO.”
“What about the gunmen?” Sheriff Turow asked Brewster and Fletcher. “How did they get here? Have you found their vehicle?’
“We sent a cruiser to search the side roads deep in the woods,” Officer Fletcher said.
“Good.” David called over every officer within hearing distance. “I want IDs on these guys ASAP.” He gestured to one of his officers. “Brewster, make sure their fingerprints are run through the federal database of known paid assassins. The rest of you, fan out into the woods. These guys had to have come in a vehicle. As heavily armed as they were, they couldn’t have traveled far on foot.”
“What about Faraday?” Officer Brewster asked David with a note of concern in his voice.
“Call Tonya to contact all of the hospitals and put a BOLO out on him, Joshua Thornton, and Agnes Douglas,” David said. “One of them’s hurt.”
“It could have been Gnarly,” Fletcher suggested. “In which case, they could be at an animal hospital.”
The vibrating on David’s hip indicated a text message coming in. “Good idea, Fletcher. Tell Tonya to check with the animal hospitals.” Praying for a text from Mac, David snatched up the phone to read the text.
“Come 2 Inn ASAP. Alone. Important. Hector.”
Chapter Seven
By the time David reached the top of Spencer Mountain, the sheriff’s deputies had located the gunmen’s van parked in the driveway of a summer residence across the cove from Spencer Manor. Shut up for the winter season, no one was around to see the assailants.
“We’re running a make on the plates, but based on how they made their assault, I’m betting money they covered their tracks,” the sheriff radioed to Spencer’s police chief.
“Most likely the plates are stolen,” David said.
“We’ll have our forensics people go over it inch by inch,” Sheriff Turow said. “But so far, it looks clean. They were all carrying burn phones, so we can’t trace any of their accounts.”
“Maybe Dooley hired them, and for some reason they decided to kill him to cover their tracks,” David said.
“You’re not really buying that, O’Callaghan,” Turow said. “You know as well as I do that Dooley’s murder was not committed by a pro.”
“Nor was it committed by an experienced homicide detective.” David tried to sound optimistic, which he was not. As many men as there were, and as heavily armed as they had been, they had to have cost a lot of money. Money that David didn’t feel like Russell Dooley had. Unless he had cashed in all of his chips. Maybe he had drained his accounts to have Mac taken out.
Still, that left the question of who had killed Russell Dooley.
Elbowing his way through the throng of holiday vacationers scurrying about in the hotel foyer and lobby, David felt his cell phone buzz on his hip. Hoping that it would be Mac answering his text, he picked up the phone and read the caller ID. It was Archie.
Rats! David forced an upbeat tone into his voice when he answered. “How’s the bride?”
“Terrible,” she replied with tears in her voice. “Where’s Mac?”
In an effort to get out of the way of heavy human traffic, David ducked into the small corridor leading to the restrooms. “Why are you asking me?”
“Because my calls to him are going straight to voicemail,” she replied. “Misty called. Gnarly missed his appointment with his stylist and my stylist—oh, David, you’re never going to believe what she did to my hair! It’s awful!”
“Archie,” David said in a gentle tone, “calm down. I’m sure it’s not that bad. Isn’t Mac with Josh Thornton?”
“I don’t have Josh’s number.” Archie sniffed.
“They probably got hung up at the tailor. Maybe something didn’t fit. You know how those things go.”
“Boy, do I ever,” she said. “But, David, they didn’t show at the tailor. I’m worried. Were they in a car accident? The roads are slippery. I heard of a bride who was killed in a car accident just days—”
“Archie, you have to believe me,” David interjected, “I’m going to do everything I can to make sure nothing happens to you or Mac—”
“Then where were you when my stylist was ruining my hair?”
“I can only control so much,” David said. “Let me make a few phone calls. Come back to the Inn and have a wonderful lunch with your bridesmaids, enjoy yourself, and let me take care of everything. Can you trust me to do that?”
Tears seeped into her voice. “What’s going on, David?”
“I can’t tell you right now, hon.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t know.” Unable to hear anymore of her questions, David pressed the button to disconnect the call and rushed toward the Spencer Inn’s business wing. When he pressed through the door of the security offices, the receptionist directed him back to Hector Langford’s office.
David could see that the security chief was expecting him. He was standing at the open door, beckoning the police chief to hurry. As soon as David stepped into his corner office, Hector closed the door.
“I heard from Mac,” the bald-headed Australian said in a low voice. He gestured for David to sit down next to his desk. “What’s going on?”
“If you heard from Mac, didn’t he tell you?” David noticed the cell phone resting on top of a notepad with a phone number written on it in the middle of Hector’s desk. He went on to explain about the shooting at Spencer Manor. “What did Mac say?”
“I was waiting for you to get here before calling him back. I thought it was best for both of us to talk to him.”
“You didn’t talk to him?” David tried to remain calm.
Hector explained. “Back in the days of your father and Robin Spencer, the Inn would sometimes be asked to help out with special types of guests by certain government agencies that we won’t mention by name.”
In spite of his rising anxiety, David chuckled and shook his head. “Okay, I’m following you. Get to where Mac fits into this.”
“Sometimes, certain people would fear, for good reason, that their phones were being tapped. So if they wanted us to call them on a secure line, they would call me on my private line and ask for someone like Pat or Robin, and I would say they had the wrong number. Then, after they hung up, I would check to see where they were calling from, get the number, and then call them back using a secure line.” He tapped the notepad. “That’s what Mac did, and I got his phone number. I already checked out the number. It’s a burn phone that was activate
d just last week.”
“And his registered phone is turned off,” David said. “We’re still trying to check the GPS on Joshua Thornton’s SUV. I’m assuming that’s disengaged. They’ve gone off the grid. Do you know if Thornton has been in contact with his son?”
“He’s been on the slopes all morning,” Hector said. “If he knew something was happening with his father, he’d be in here. From what we can see, those two are tight. I’ll put a couple of my people on him to make sure whoever it is doesn’t go after him. If these guys are pros, which it sounds like they are, they may try to flush out Mac or Thornton, whichever one is their target, by nabbing a member of their family.”
“So Josh Thornton is off the grid, too.” David grabbed the cell phone from the middle of Hector’s desk and dialed the phone number.
“Hector …” Mac answered the phone on the first ring.
“Mac, it’s David. What’s going on? Is everyone okay?”
David held his breath when Mac hesitated before answering in a low voice, “Josh has been shot. I think we stopped the bleeding, but he needs to see a doctor.”
David heard a commotion on the other end of the line. “What’s going on, Mac? Where are you?”
Mac returned to the line. “Josh doesn’t want you to tell Cameron.”
“I can’t keep this from his wife,” David said. “She’s going to be trying to get in touch with him, and when she doesn’t reach him, she’s going to be calling me.”
“Donny’s going to be looking for him,” Hector added in a whisper.
“What about Josh’s son?” David asked Mac.
“You can tell Donny, but not Josh’s wife,” Mac said. “Don’t tell her about Josh getting hit. David, I can’t go into it now, but just tell Cameron that Josh is fine.”
“She’s going to know I’m lying the first time he takes off his clothes and she sees a bullet hole,” David said. “Where are you?”
“We’re in Josh’s SUV, parked at the top of the Spencer Mine trail,” Mac said. “David, these guys were organized. They had us outgunned until Joshua got to his grenade launcher.”
“What’s a small-town county prosecutor doing with a grenade launcher?” David asked.
Hector’s eyebrows went up to the top of his forehead.
“I have the same question,” Mac said. “Right now, we need to get out of the snow. Can someone bring me some boots and a winter coat? And I left without my wallet. I have no ID or cash.”
Hector leaned over to the phone. “I got just the place for you. It’s a safe house that the CIA used back in the sixties during the Cold War. It’s not even on the map. It’s got a garage for you to park the SUV so it will be out of sight. I’ll get the restaurant’s chef to make you some food and meet you there.”
David said, “And I’ll get Doc Washington to go up and check on Josh.”
They were about to hang up when they heard a commotion in the background.
“No, I’m not going to tell them that!” Mac snapped.
“Tell us what?” David asked.
“If you don’t tell them, I will!” they heard an elderly woman insist.
“What?” Hector asked.
“Agnes, now is not the time!” Mac yelled.
David and Hector heard Agnes’ sharp tone coming through the phone. “If we’re going to be on the lam, then bring me my knitting so I have something to do while waiting to get back on the grid.”
“I don’t feel comfortable treating a gunshot victim on the sly like this.” Dr. Dora Washington clutched the police cruiser’s door handle while David sped around a corner to make a sharp turn onto an icy dirt road. The road, which was only minimally plowed, would take him halfway up the mountain to the secluded three-bedroom log cabin.
It was hard to believe that the forty-year-old woman, who always wore her blue-black hair in a silky ponytail that spilled down to the middle of her back, made her living dissecting dead people. With her flawless figure, she looked like she would have belonged more on the cover of a fashion magazine. It was even more unbelievable that the beauty was dating sixty-five year old Deputy Chief Art Bogart.
After talking to Mac, David practically abducted the medical examiner from Spencer Manor, where she was still conducting on-scene examinations of the five bodies that littered the estate.
“Why have they gone underground?” she wanted to know. “What has Mac gotten himself into now?”
“That’s what I want to find out.”
“I thought they got all of the shooters,” she said. “The sheriff’s people found their vehicle.”
“They’re professionals, Doc,” David said. “They didn’t decide to do this on their own. They were sent. With this type of attack, whoever hired them isn’t going to quit. That’s who we need to identify. Archie’s mother was there. They didn’t care one bit about shooting at a seventy-year-old woman. She would have been no more than collateral damage.”
They broke through the heavy woods to enter a clearing in the center of which rested a sprawling one-level ranch-style log house. Off to the edge of the clearing was a single-car garage. Hector’s van, marked with the Spencer Inn insignia, rested next to the garage. David came to an abrupt halt near the front door of the cabin.
Gnarly’s barks inside the house broke the quiet of the mountain landscape.
After gathering up Mac’s coat, gloves, and boots, David trotted to the door and knocked.
Poised to fire his gun if the situation called for it, before opening the door Mac peered out through the shutter that had been pulled shut. David rushed the doctor inside, and Mac closed and locked the door behind them.
Dark and dusty, it was evident that the cabin had not had any visitors for several years. The television was an old analogue type that took up a heavy entertainment center containing an old VCR. David could smell the hot food that Hector had delivered from the Spencer Inn. A large black canvas bag occupied the coffee table. From across the room, David could see that it was filled with guns, ammunition clips, passports, identification, and a wad of cash.
Doc got right to business. “Where is he?”
Mac pointed down the bedroom hallway. “The room down at the end of the hall. Hector is with him.”
Handing the coat and boots to Mac, David strolled over to peer into the bag. “You look good for a man who just got attacked by a death squad.”
“IDs on any of them yet?” Mac dropped into a chair to slip on his boots.
“None.” David handed Mac his wallet, which he had retrieved from the manor when he picked up the medical examiner. “It looks like you and Josh took out the whole team. Tonya and Fletcher are checking their fingerprints in AFIS.”
He lowered his voice when he noticed Agnes come into the great room from the bedrooms. Gnarly was directly behind her. She stopped to regard the two of them with a note of suspicion before moving on to the kitchen. “Tea, David?” she offered.
“No, thank you, Mrs. Douglas,” David said. “I can’t stay long.”
She stopped short. “Where’s your hat?”
“Hat?” David wondered if he misunderstood her.
Like a woman on a mission, Agnes rummaged through the cabinets while chastising the police chief. “It’s freezing outside. You should be wearing a hat on your head. You’re going to catch cold, and then what are we going to do with a stricken police chief?”
David glanced at Mac, who turned his full attention to his boots. “I just remembered. I left it in my cruiser.”
“It’s not doing you any good there.” Spotting a fire extinguisher clamped in a holder on the wall, she rose up to inspect it. “Has this been tested lately to make sure it still works?” For her answer, she checked the date. “This is going to expire in the next six months. Mac, you should tell your people to check on the fire alarms and extinguishers to make sure they’re all current
. You don’t want any horrible accidents to happen, do you?”
“No, ma’am.” Sighing, Mac shook his head in his hands.
Agnes returned the fire extinguisher to the holder and resumed her search until she extracted a bin of cleaning supplies and a sponge from under the sink. She turned on the sputtering faucet and waited for the water to run clear.
“Agnes, what are you doing?” Mac called across the room to ask.
“We have an injured man back there in the bedroom, and this place is a breeding place for germs.” Agnes wrung out the sponge under the water. “It needs to be cleaned.”
With the wet sponge in her hand, she turned around and almost tripped over Gnarly. “Will you get away from me, you filthy beast?” She glared at Mac. “Everywhere I go, he goes. He hasn’t let me out of his sight since we got here. I went to the bathroom and he sat right outside the door.”
“He’s guarding you,” Mac said. “That’s what Gnarly does. He considers it his job to protect you, and he’s very good at it. Be glad.”
“I wouldn’t mind it so much if he didn’t smell and have dried blood on him,” she said. “I guess as long as he’s stalking me, he’s staying away from Josh. Do you know how many germs dogs have? He could kill Josh!”
“Aren’t you exaggerating just a bit?” Mac was doubtful.
“Mr. Crane has no pets. Unlike most men who I’ve cleaned for, he’s very clean.” With a hand on her hip, Agnes shook her finger at them. “You know why? Discipline. Mr. Crane doesn’t get all wrapped up in people and animals and pets. That’s why he’s so successful. He’s got important responsibilities—”
“What does Mr. Crane do?” Mac asked.
“He helps people.”
“How?” Mac asked. “You keep talking about him like he’s some sort of Superman.”
“He helps people,” she replied while wiping down the kitchen counter. “My point is that Mr. Crane doesn’t let himself get distracted with frivolous things like furry mammals. That’s the type of people who have dogs.” She gestured with disdain at Gnarly. “They have big brown eyes and they’re all soft and furry—totally covers up what burdens they are to take care of, and for what? So they can kill you with all of the diseases that they carry.” She ticked off on her fingers. “They carry bacteria, viruses, parasites, and fungi.” She glared down at the German shepherd sitting in front of her. “A lot of good you do protecting me from a hit man, only to kill me with Ebola.”