Tahoe Blue Fire (An Owen McKenna Mystery Thriller Book 13)

by Todd Borg

  “Here? In Tahoe?” Felicite’s voice was shrill. She gripped her purse as if to crush it.

  “Yes.”

  She breathed fast and hard. “Did they die in a fire?”

  “No. But they were murdered.”

  “Oh, no.” Felicite paled. “And someone tried to kill Adam and me. Are you thinking it could be the same person who killed them?”

  “We don’t yet know, but yes, it could be that there is just one perpetrator. Unusual clusters of murder are often related,” I said. “So I’m looking for a possible connection between them.”

  “Did you ask Adam about the phone call from Scarlett?” Felicite asked.

  “Yes, and he couldn’t remember much. He had to consult his notes.”

  “I don’t know what to think,” Felicite said. She looked depressed. “Of course, Adam might have met those people and even spent time with them. But with his memory going, he might not remember their names.” Felicite stood, still holding her purse close to her like it was a security blanket, and walked over to the sheer drapes. She pulled the cord and they parted. She gazed out at the mountains.

  Felicite frowned and looked down at her purse. “Oh, my phone is vibrating.” She pulled it out of her purse, slid her finger on the screen, tapped a few times. “My boss. She’ll leave a message.” She tapped again and was putting her phone back into her purse as the window in front of her broke. The tempered window made a loud crumpling sound as it fractured into thousands of diamonds, raining onto the floor.

  “Move!” I shouted.

  Felicite was frozen.

  I rushed her as a rifle crack snapped in the air. It had been maybe a second or more since the glass broke. I wrapped my arms around Felicite from behind, lifted her up, spun her around, and ran with her into the center of the house. I set her down in the interior hallway.

  “What’s happening?” she said, her voice weak with terror. She stood with her back to the wall, raised her hands to her mouth and started shaking violently. Her knees buckled. I lowered her slowly to the floor.

  “Sit still,” I said as I got out my phone and dialed 911.

  “Nine, one, one Emergency,” a woman’s voice said in my ear. “Please tell me your name and address.”

  “Owen McKenna. I’m in Zephyr Heights at Ronald Baumgarter’s house. Hold for the address.” I spoke to Felicite, “What’s the address here?” She told me. I repeated it to the dispatcher. “The house is next door to the one that burned down two nights ago. Someone just shot out a window in Baumgarter’s house. No one is hurt.” As I looked back into the room where we’d been sitting, I realized that another window had also been shot. “Make that two windows. But I only heard one shot. From the lay of the land, I think the shooter must have been on the mountain to the east of the house, and the bullet went in one window and out another.”

  “Please stay on the line. I have officers en route.”

  It was a phrase that was getting very old.

  “Call Diamond Martinez. He was the incident commander on the fire next door and the shooting at my cabin yesterday evening. He will want to know immediately.”

  “Will do,” she said. “Please sit tight.”

  I handed my phone down to Felicite where she sat on the floor, her back to the wall. She looked at it like it was a grenade.

  “Take it,” I said. “The dispatcher may have questions for you. I’m going to make a quick check outside.”

  “No! You could get shot!” Her voice shook as she began to sob.

  “The shooter is probably already gone. Even so, he was a long distance away, and his view through the trees is limited.”

  She took my phone. “You just said there was a shooting at your house?”

  Felicite’s pronunciation was so thick with fear that I could barely understand her words.

  “Yeah. That’s why I have bits of glass in my face.” I didn’t want to think that the shooter had followed me, that my presence had put Felicite at risk. But it seemed obvious. I unlocked the door and went out before she could protest. I ran to my Jeep.

  Spot had his head out the window, ears up, no doubt curious at the rifle shot. He wagged as I approached.

  “You okay, boy?” I grabbed his head, then opened the door.

  I took his collar and ran with him back to the house. We rushed in the front door and back to where Felicite cowered on the floor.

  She made a gasp as Spot and I approached.

  “This is Spot,” I said. “He’s friendly. He will guard you.” I pointed. “Spot, lie down.”

  He resisted and instead leaned toward Felicite to sniff her. I pushed down on his collar. He finally lay next to Felicite, reaching his head over to sniff her.

  “Pet him,” I said to Felicite.

  She looked at me with wild eyes. She was breathing fast, her nerves on edge.

  “I’m serious. Give him a pet so he knows you’re friendly, too.”

  She slowly reached out and touched her hand to the top of his head.” Her hand was tiny between his ears.

  “Don’t just touch. Give him a real pet.”

  She drew her hand over his head and down his neck. Spot began panting.

  “Perfect. Now he’s happy, and he’ll stay with you.” I reached for my phone. “Put your hand in his collar and hang onto it. I mean it. Hold his collar.”

  She did so.

  “He likes that,” I said, which was true. But more importantly, I could see that she was calming. All people under severe stress find a giant friendly dog to be a comfort. “Stay here with Spot,” I said. “I’ll be outside. You’ll hear sirens coming. Don’t worry. I’ll talk to the cops. We’ll keep the shooter away, and Spot will protect you.”

  I left them on the floor.

  As I stepped outside, I heard the first siren.

  While it was nearly impossible to see someone at a distance in the mountain forest, I watched for any sparkle or flash of metal catching sunlight or any movement as someone skied away from the shooting location. But there was no clear shooting location, just a broad mountainside of trees.

  I saw nothing.

  It was like Scarlett’s shooting at Squaw and the shooting at my cabin. A distant sniper who has an escape plan is nearly impossible to catch. The only difference is that this time the sniper was less accurate than he was with Scarlett. Less, even, than he’d been with me the evening before. It had been impossible to see where the bullet struck because tempered glass is designed to shatter into harmless pieces. Perhaps the round came as close to one of us as it had with me the night before.

  The houses in Zephyr Heights were at a lower elevation than my cabin. Here and there on the mountain were bare areas where the sun had gotten through and melted the snow pack. But the mountain still had lots of areas of snow. The shooter could ski down to any number of areas where he could have left a vehicle. He also could have trekked south toward the neighborhood above Round Hill. And if he was in good shape, he could do a gentle climb to the south, bypass Round Hill, and head for Upper Kingsbury. There was no way anyone could predict where he’d come out.

  More sirens became audible. I walked out into the middle of the road where there was heavy tree cover between me and the shooter’s probable location. As the first Douglas County patrol vehicle came into view, I stood in the middle of the street.

  The vehicle came to a stop and a door opened. I heard someone say, “That’s McKenna.” Two deputies got out.

  “I believe the shooter was somewhere on the mountain.” I pointed. “Although he’s probably long gone by now.”

  “A sniper like the other shootings, huh?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’m guessing the same guy who killed the woman at Squaw and took a shot at me from up behind my cabin yesterday. But of course I don’t know that.”

  “Who’s inside the house?”

  “Felicite Genoveva, a step-sister of Adam Simms. He was here earlier, then left for a doctor’s appointment.” I pointed toward the burned rubble. “The
y’re the ones whose house was torched two nights ago.”

  Another patrol vehicle raced up behind the first and stopped fast with the scrape of tires on grit. Diamond got out.

  “Sergeant,” I said.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” I restated what I’d told his deputies.

  He looked around at the forest, then spoke to his men. “I’d like you two to go over to that ridge so that the shooter can’t sneak up without being seen. When the other guys get here, I want you all to spread out and make a secure perimeter so we can get the woman out of here without more exposure.”

  The men nodded and headed into the trees.

  I took Diamond back into Baumgarter’s house. He nodded at Felicite who was still sitting on the floor with Spot. She nodded back, obviously recognizing him from his investigation of her fire. She was much calmer, one hand rubbing Spot’s ears, a fingertip unconsciously touching his ear stud.

  Diamond and I went into the sun room. The floor with its cover of glass pieces was like a theater stage made to look like a fantasy world of gemstones.

  Diamond looked through both broken windows. “No way to get a clear sense of the shooter’s location,” he said.

  “No.”

  He stepped back to the interior hall to talk to Felicite. “Do you know when Adam is supposed to be back?”

  “He went to his doctor appointment. That usually takes an hour.” She looked at her watch. “He will probably be back in about twenty minutes. Let me call him.” She pulled her phone out of her purse and dialed.

  I said to Diamond, “Any chance you still have access to the… What did your guys call it? The Douglas County Safe Deposit Box?”

  Diamond nodded. “The house of our patron, the guy whose daughter I rescued from the carjacker methhead. He thinks I’m like a Marvel Comics superhero or something. Able to swoop in to save young damsels from the clutches of Dr. Doom.”

  “That was an amazing shot,” I said.

  “Hours at the range mixed with some serious luck makes for the kind of outcome we always hope for but rarely get. You’re thinking that it’s time to sit on Adam and Felicite.”

  “At least put them in the box. Give them some space to breathe.”

  “Makes sense,” Diamond said. “They had the fire and now a shooting, all in less than 48 hours. So yeah. The house is still ours to use, webcams and all. Let me call the office. They keep a schedule of the house. The owner comes up about four times a year, and he likes to stay in his own house when he comes.”

  “Right,” I said.

  Diamond got on his phone as Felicite put hers in her purse.

  “Adam says he’s on his way and he’ll be here in about ten minutes,” she said.

  “Good. Diamond’s checking on something. Then we’ll make a plan.”

  Diamond was talking. He stopped and waited. Then he said, “Thanks. No problem. I know the keypad code.” He hung up and put his phone in his pocket.

  “Adam’s almost here,” I said.

  “We’ll go outside and wait for him.”

  We went out, and Adam showed up a few minutes later. He let Blondie out of his truck. She was now wearing her Service Dog bib. She ran around.

  We explained to him about the shooting and told him that it would be good for his sister’s sake if he stayed calm.

  He was very somber as he looked over at the blown-out sun room windows.

  We went inside the front door. Blondie stopped fast and stared at Spot. Her tail was on high speed.

  Spot looked at me.

  “It’s okay,” I said.

  He pushed himself up and walked over to Blondie.

  “Dog’s huge,” Adam said. “Will he be friendly to Blondie?”

  “Yeah. And she can tell.”

  Adam looked at Blondie who was quivering with excitement.

  “I guess you’re right,” he said. “You know your dogs.”

  Spot and Blondie sniffed each other, both wagging. Blondie spun in a circle.

  “She’s never seen a dog that big,” Adam said.

  “Dogs don’t care about size,” I said.

  Adam bent over, helped Felicite stand up, and gave her a hug, his body almost completely enclosing her.

  Diamond said to them, “We’re taking the two of you to a safe house. So you might want to grab a few things.”

  Adam said, “What’s that mean, a safe house?”

  “A place the sheriff’s office is able to use, a place where no one can easily shoot at you or burn you down.”

  “Are we being detained or something?” Felicite asked.

  “No. We just want you to be in a safe place so you can get a good night’s sleep without worrying.”

  “How does it work?” Adam asked.

  Diamond said, “Up above the top of Kingsbury Grade is a house that’s owned by a Bay Area venture capitalist. We did a favor for him once, and he’s been trying to help us out ever since. The house sits up high on a ridge, and it has a fence around it. There are other houses nearby. Two of them are owned by the same man, and he rents them real cheap to Douglas County Sheriff’s deputies. There are lights on motion detectors. There are webcams inside and outside the house, along the fence, and at both roads and hiking trails on the nearby ridges. They send continuous video feeds to computers at the owner’s company.”

  “So it’s totally safe,” Adam said.

  Diamond shook his head. “No. No place is totally safe. But no one can come or go without being recorded. That is a powerful deterrent to anyone who might try to come close. The drive has a gate powered by a garage door transmitter, and there is a four-car garage. You can come and go relatively unseen. The house has reinforced windows and doors and is made of fireproof materials. There is also a sprinkler system. If you keep the blinds shut, no one will be able to easily target you.”

  “Are you saying we can take our cars there?” Felicite said.

  “Yes. And you can come and go as you desire. Although your cars are the place where you are the most vulnerable.”

  “We both have window tint,” Adam said.

  “Good. That helps.”

  “What if I want to go back home?” Felicite said. “I’ve got work to do. And, frankly, I want out of here.”

  “Whatever you want is fine with us,” Diamond said. “I just need to get your statement about the shooting.”

  Felicite frowned. “Could you take my statement at the house? Then I could go there with Adam, make sure everything’s, you know, okay. Maybe I’ll stay one night.”

  “Certainly,” Diamond said.

  “When would we go?” Adam said.

  “As soon as you get your things.”

  “We have no things. Everything burned up. We have the clothes we’re wearing. I have my poetry book. Ron Baumgarter gave us toothbrushes. Which makes me wonder, does this place have a washing machine?”

  “Yeah,” Diamond said.

  Adam and Felicite went to get their few items.

  “Where do you think the shooter was?” Diamond asked me.

  I pointed out the window toward the mountain behind the neighborhood. “If you stand at the windows that were shot out, you can see a range of areas on the mountain from which someone could fire a single shot that would go through both windows. The shooter had lots of choices. Finding the place he used would be very difficult.”

  “How far away do you figure he was?”

  “From the moment that the window broke, I’d guess it took about a second or a second and a half before I heard the crack of the rifle. So that’s one thousand to fifteen hundred feet. If you cross-reference that distance with those areas from which one could shoot out both windows in the sun room with a single rifle shot, that narrows it down but still allows for a lot of territory.”

  “Lot of stuff a sniper has to think about to make that kind of shot,” Diamond said.

  “Yeah. And it gets exponentially more complicated as the distance increases. Military snipers take into accoun
t dozens of concerns. Gravity, wind, temperature gradients, the Coriolis effect of the spinning earth. But this shot doesn’t involve that kind of distance.”

  “Sorry that I never think of you as Sherlock,” Diamond said. “But you obviously deserve the moniker now and then.”

  “What do you think of me as?”

  “A lucky gringo who has a brilliant girlfriend who isn’t fixated on shopping and doesn’t talk incessantly about children and future grandchildren.”

  “You’re saying that your perception of me is basically about your perception of the woman I’m connected to and that I’m lucky for that connection.”

  Diamond shrugged. “Well, I perceive you as tall. That’s not about Street.”

  “Not about anything I’ve earned, either. No credit to me.”

  “Still sound like Sherlock.”

  He turned and walked into the sun room, stepping gingerly on the diamonds of broken glass, then sighted through the windows, gauging where the shooter might have been.

  Adam and Felicite appeared at the door. Adam held a paper bag with their few belongings in it.

  Diamond got on his radio, said a few words, then clipped it back on his belt. We all hustled outside. Adam seemed worried. His grip on Blondie’s leash was tight.

  Diamond gave crime scene instructions to four deputies and left them behind.

  Adam and Blondie got into his pickup, and Felicite got into her Audi. Felicite followed Diamond on one route, and Adam followed me on another. It wouldn’t fool a team working with the shooter, but it would make it more difficult for a single individual to track us.

  Diamond and I took circuitous routes that eventually led to the top of Kingsbury Grade, where we turned off on North Benjamin and snaked our way up into the high country.

  Most of Tahoe’s neighborhoods are down by the lake. This was one of Tahoe’s highest neighborhoods, up above 7500 feet. Although the east part of Tahoe gets less snow than Tahoe’s West Shore, the elevation of Kingsbury Grade makes up for it. The snow walls were six feet high.

  I found the turnoff and made a series of turns to the house, which sat up on a ridge at about 8000 feet. Considering its spectacular location with views of Tahoe to the west and Carson Valley to the east, the house was modest, large but not ostentatious.