by Lauren Carr
“But you found Sherrard’s fingerprints in the cabin, and he’s a petty thief,” Mac said.
“Plus, his son was the kid who gave us a description of a man who came up to the cabin around eleven, shortly before the time of death.”
“David told me.” Mac was nodding his head. “But the description this kid gave did not match my description—it matched Russell Dooley.”
“Or maybe the kid actually saw his father going inside and is covering for him,” Turow said. “Or he saw nothing. The kid’s aunt says he’s a pathological liar.”
“Or he could be telling the truth,” Mac said. “Russell Dooley went out, and the kid saw him come back. It could or could not be connected to the murder.”
“Could be he’s covering for his father,” Turow said. “Sherrard broke in to steal from Dooley, who caught him, and things got out of hand. Now, Sherrard’s in the wind. His sister says he left right after the police finished at the crime scene. I have my people checking the fences and pawn shops right now.”
Mac should have been happy, but he wasn’t. “Even if you find that Sherrard stole the watch and the money, his defense attorney will point the finger at me during the trial because of that letter and my blood and DNA being at the crime scene.”
“Exactly.”
Out in the hall, Jessica mentally said the name over and over again. Gil Sherrard. Gil Sherrard. She had a suspect. Now all she needed to do was uncover how a petty thief was able to frame her father.
“Before you even say it, Mac,” Sheriff Turow said with a shake of his head, “I myself have had more than one run in with Sherrard. He isn’t smart enough to know how to frame you—certainly not this elaborately.”
“Then it had to be someone else.”
Deep in thought, Mac jumped when the burn phone that Joshua Thornton had given him vibrated on his hip. “Hello.”
A smug voice spoke into Mac’s ear. “You have something that doesn’t belong to you.”
“Cameron …” Joshua murmured the name that kept running through his mind.
With effort, he opened his eyes, only to shut them again when the bright lights above pierced through his eyes and stabbed his brain.
“Murphy,” he heard Donny’s voice, “he’s waking up.”
Murphy.
Joshua had a dull memory of the safe house and Murphy … giving the pen to his son. “Murphy?”
He felt a strong hand clasp his shoulder. “I’m here, Dad. You’re safe. Donny’s here, too.”
Grasping Murphy’s hand, he asked, “Where’s Cameron?” He sucked in a deep breath from the tube of oxygen going up his nostrils.
“She’s on her way, Dad,” Murphy said. “She’ll be here soon.”
“Did everyone get out of the safe house okay?”
“Everyone is fine.”
Joshua remembered Officer Zigler taking the shot to the arm. “Zigler?” Then, recalling Officer Fletcher, he added, “Fletcher?”
“They’re both fine,” Murphy said. “They’re already on their way home.”
Joshua was then struck with the memory of the explosion. “Murphy, did you blow up the safe house?”
Murphy grinned. “Yeah.”
“You always were obnoxious.”
“Mac is arranging for us to stay on longer at the Spencer Inn,” Donny said. “More skiing.”
Joshua shook his head. “I don’t feel like skiing right now.” Waking up, he clutched Murphy’s hand. “Pen?”
“I got it.” Patting his chest to indicate his inside breast pocket, Murphy winked at him.
“When will Cameron get here?”
“She just needed to finish up a few things with her murder investigation.” Murphy was startled to feel his secure phone vibrating on his hip. “She got a late start, but she’ll be here soon,” he said while moving away from the bed and unclasping his vibrating cell phone from his belt.
He went over to a far corner of the hospital room before answering the phone. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Where’s Major O’Callaghan?” she demanded to know.
Murphy didn’t like the urgency in her tone. “He went home to shower and change for Mac Faraday and Archie Monday’s wedding rehearsal dinner. Why?”
“Is anyone with him?”
Before Murphy could answer, Mac charged into the private room. “They have David.”
Chapter Twenty
As far as Mac was concerned, the rehearsal dinner was off. At this point, he didn’t even care about the wedding and the tens of thousands of dollars that he could see going down the drain if it was cancelled—or even rescheduled.
All he cared about was finding David O’Callaghan and bringing him home safely.
One of Sheriff Turow’s deputies drove Jessica Faraday to the church to announce that the rehearsal was cancelled due to a family emergency, but that everyone was welcomed to return to the Spencer Inn to enjoy the rehearsal dinner. All she could do was offer a shrug of her shoulders when asked if the wedding was postponed as well. Since Archie was in the hospital with her leg propped up and scheduled for surgery on Monday morning, Jessica doubted that there was going to be a wedding.
The phone calls prompted Mac, Sheriff Turow, Bogie, and Murphy Thornton to descend upon David O’Callaghan’s stone cottage next to Spencer Manor, where they found two men with their throats slashed behind the counter in the galley kitchen. One was bald with a generous mustache and goatee. The other had red hair.
“O’Callaghan put up a good fight,” Sheriff Turow said.
Murphy knelt as close to the bodies as he could without disturbing the blood spatter evidence. “Whoever did this knew how to fight with a knife. Major O’Callaghan was special ops in the marines.”
Mac peered over the counter at the two dead men. “Still is. In the reserves.” He turned around to take in the dining area in front of the galley kitchen. A stack of mail rested in the middle of the table. Mac picked up the envelopes and read the mailing addresses. There were several wedding cards addressed to him and Archie. “He picked up the mail on the way in.”
Murphy and Sheriff Turow rose to their feet.
Bogie peered at Mac from across the table. “Most people do pick up the mail on their way in.”
“Some of this is mine. That means he picked it up today, right before they grabbed him.” Deep in thought, Mac circled the table, taking time to touch each chair until he came to the chair at the head of the round table, the one the furthest from the counter and closest to the living room. “Something’s not right.”
“What are you thinking about, Mac?” Bogie asked.
In silence, Murphy watched Mac looking from the door to the counter and then back again.
Sheriff Turow said, “It’s plain to see what happened. David picked up the mail. He came in.” The sheriff went to the hallway leading to the spare room and bathroom. “They must have been hiding in the hallway. When David got to the kitchen, they surprised him. But David was too quick for them, and he grabbed the knife.”
“That’s right!” Mac snapped his fingers. “Why did he grab the knife? Why didn’t he use his gun?”
Sheriff Turow sighed. “Mac, you were a cop and detective for over twenty years. You know as well as I do that when your gun is holstered and a guy is running at you from only a few feet away with a knife drawn and ready to stab you, you usually don’t have time to draw your gun—contrary to what the media wants the public to believe. David was standing in the kitchen.” He pointed at the darkened hallway that was only eight feet away. “He saw them coming. Knew he wouldn’t have time to draw his gun, so he pulled the knife from the block and defended himself. He took out two, but there’s no telling how many there were. They overpowered him.”
Murphy and Bogie looked from the sheriff to Mac for his response.
“What’s wrong with the sheriff’s
theory, Mr. Faraday?” Murphy asked.
“Call me Mac.”
Murphy smiled slightly—enough to show one of his dimples. “Mac, something is bothering you.”
“Only because I know David and his habits.” With a sigh, Mac picked up the pile of envelopes. “This is today’s mail. He didn’t have time to sort through it. I have walked in here with David numerous times, so I know that when he comes in, he tosses the mail on the middle of the kitchen table.” To demonstrate, Mac tossed the envelopes onto the middle of the table. “He takes off his coat, if he’s wearing one.” Mac unzipped his coat and shrugged out of it. “And then he puts it across the back of this chair.” He draped his winter coat across the back of the chair nearest the living room. “Then,” Mac held up a finger to silence any objections or suggestions. “David will take off his utility belt—gun and all—”
“Because it’s heavy,” Bogie said with a nod of his head.
“And hang that off the back of the chair on top of his coat,” Mac said. “At which point David will go into the kitchen and take out a beer. Then, he will come back to the table and drink the beer while going through his mail.”
Murphy pointed at the empty beer bottle laying on its side in the sink. “He got as far as the beer.” He leaned over to study the countertop and sniffed it. “Beer all right. Most likely, the bottle got knocked over on the counter and spilt while rolling over into the sink.”
“You’re point being?” Sheriff Turow asked Mac.
“Those two dead men in the kitchen,” Mac said. “I don’t see any gunshot wounds.”
“They were knifed but good,” Murphy said.
“That tells me they attacked and overpowered David in the kitchen after he took off his gun.” He patted the back of the empty chair at the table. “He wasn’t wearing his coat and gun when they snatched him. Yet, they’re missing. How many abduction cases have you worked where the kidnappers took the victim’s coat and weapon?”
When no one had an answer, the four men exchanged worried glances.
“Maybe David managed to grab his coat and gun and escape,” Murphy suggested, “but they grabbed him outside.”
“There was no struggle on this side of the counter,” Mac said. “And if David could get to his gun, he’d have fired it.” He gestured at the walls. “I don’t see evidence of any gunshots in here.”
“And the neighbors didn’t call in any reports of shots outside,” Bogie said.
“Then I have nothing.” Murphy joined Mac and Bogie in looking to the sheriff for a suggestion.
When the sheriff could only offer a shrug, Bogie turned to Mac for reassurance. “David is alive?”
“I didn’t speak to him,” Mac said. “The kidnapper just said that I had something that didn’t belong to me, and that if I didn’t want what happened to these two men to happen to David, then I would bring it to them. They’ll call me to arrange the exchange later on tonight.”
Sheriff Turow asked, “What is it that they want?”
“Has to be the thumb drive that this Crane guy slipped into Agnes Douglas’ purse,” Mac said. “When they failed to snatch Jessica earlier today, they grabbed David for leverage to make me turn it over.”
Bogie said, “I called the station on the way here. David did stop there before coming home. He wasn’t there long, but Tonya said he went upstairs—he was only there a few minutes and then left.”
“He’s got a safe in his office. That’s where David said he was putting it,” Mac said.
“What’s on this thumb drive?” Sheriff Turow asked.
While Mac and Bogie shook their heads, Murphy answered, “A recipe for a dirty bomb to infect people with a man-made form of Ebola.”
Mac, Bogie, and Sheriff Turow turned around to where Murphy had been studying the two dead men.
“We’re dealing with an Islamic terrorist group from Iraq,” Murphy said. “Reginald Crane, the murder victim in Pennsylvania, intercepted the recipe from a Muslim trying to send it to the Middle East. The terrorist group sent a couple of sleeper agents, who happened to be real bona fide FBI investigators, to get it from Crane. But he was too smart for them and put it in Agnes Douglas’ purse. Once they get that formula, they’re going to use it to build a dirty bomb. There’s no cure for this form of Ebola.”
“We have to give it to them,” Mac said. “They have David.”
“They’re going to kill him after they get it,” Murphy said. “He’s too valuable to let go.”
“What are you talking about?” Mac asked. “What makes him so valuable to them?”
“ISIS put a price on O’Callaghan’s head,” Murphy said. “They’re going to pay the kidnappers a quarter of a million dollars upon delivery to their camp in Iraq.”
“Are you serious?” Bogie asked. “Why—”
“Major O’Callaghan was the leader of the special ops team that took out one of their leaders,” Murphy said. “Somehow they got his name. I told you”—he looked at Mac—“they’re already here and working in America. They have people in positions of influence in our government working to change our policies in their favor. One of those people was able to get David’s name, and ISIS put a price on his head. A quarter of a million dollars.”
“I’ll pay them a million to get David back,” Mac said through gritted teeth.
Sadly, Murphy shook his head while holding up his cell phone. “That’s why my CO called. We’ve intercepted chatter in Iraq. According to our information, he’s on his way to a terrorist camp in the Middle East, and they’re going to behead him in a big public ceremony on New Year’s Day.” He added, “This will be a big coup for them. Nabbing a US citizen here on our soil and taking him over there—it will be a big triumph for them, and a demoralizing blow for Westerners in this war. It will send a message that there is no place on this planet that terrorism can’t reach you.”
The burner phone in Mac’s pocket rang.
All four men looked at each other before Mac finally took the phone from his pocket and connected the call. “Yes.” He pressed the button to turn on the speakers.
“You see what I mean?” the smooth voice from the other end of the line asked.
“I know what you want,” Mac said.
“And I have something you want,” he replied. “I’m not unreasonable. We’ll agree to a trade.”
“But first,” Mac replied. “I want to talk to David.”
“Of course you do.”
They heard muffled voices before David’s voice came through.
“Mac?” he sounded weak.
“Are you okay, David?”
“Yes,” David replied before hurriedly adding, “Stand down! No negotiations! Stand down, Mac!” His order was cut short with a slap and a loud curse followed by another slap.
Mac grabbed up the phone. “Now you listen to me, you—”
“No, you listen to me, Faraday!” The smooth voice no longer sounded so calm when he returned to the phone. “I’m in charge here, not you!”
Mac said in a low and steady tone, “You hurt David again—you so much as break a fingernail on his pinkie, and I’ll hunt you down to the ends of the earth—there won’t be a cave deep enough in whatever hell you’ve crawled out of where you can hide from me. And when—not if—when I find you, I will personally send you in a million little pieces on a one-way trip to meet your black-eyed virgins.”
There was a strange silence on the other end of the line before the caller replied in a cool tone, “If you want O’Callaghan back alive—bruised a little but alive—then you better keep that phone charged up to take my call at eleven thirty. I’ll give you the location for the drop then.”
Click!
Mac slammed the phone down on the table and glared straight ahead at the bowl of apples as if they could give him the answer to saving David.
“They couldn�
��t have gotten David out of the country yet,” Bogie said. “We’ll tear down every tree and overturn every rock until we find him and kill those slimy bastards!”
Mac showed no sign of hearing him.
“We’re going to—” Sheriff Turow started to say before Mac cut him.
With a scream starting from deep in his gut, Mac grabbed one of the apples out of the bowl, whirled around, and hurled it across the great room. With a crash, the apple hit the television directly in the center of the screen, which shattered into several pieces.
Mac then expelled the rest of his pent up fury by sweeping his arm across the table to send the rest of the apples rolling and the mail flying off the table and in various directions to the floor.
When he had finished, Mac huffed and puffed deep breaths.
A stunned silence filled the cottage.
Dropping his face into his hands, Mac said in a quiet voice, “I’m sorry. I just …” He shook his head.
“I think you just killed David’s fancy new TV,” Bogie said.
“You mean the one that he invited us all over to watch the Super Bowl on?” Sheriff Turow asked.
“If we don’t come up with a plan, David won’t be alive to have a Super Bowl party,” Murphy said.
Mac lifted his head from his hands. “We can’t just go running off half-cocked. We need to be smart about this.”
“Bogie’s right,” Sheriff Turow said. “David still has to be in the country. They’ll need to file flight plans to get him out of the country.”
“Not necessarily,” Murphy said. “They’ve got heavy backers with deep pockets and private jets that don’t go through customs. They can fly under the radar so we can’t track them, or use a number of other tricks to stay off our radar.”
“Point is, David is alive.” A tinge of hope came into Mac’s tone. “And they want that thumb drive bad. As long as they don’t have it, we have some leverage.”