Jack Frost

by Diane Capri

  “Yeah,” Mitchell replied. “Olson’s old man has lived here more than eighty years. His wife died a few years ago. Fern got divorced and moved back home with her boy when the old man got too frail to take care of himself.”

  “The boy’s father is Ned Turner. He’s one of our Bolton PD detectives. Fern kept her maiden name through the marriage and after,” Woody added. “I called Ned, and he’s on his way. He was on the other side of Bolton. He’s about an hour away.”

  “If there’s been trouble here today, there’s no sign of it that I can see,” Burke said, slowing at the entrance to the driveway. “We don’t know how many people are in the house or whether they’re armed and dangerous.”

  “Even if Olson killed Officer Miller, it would have been fairly stupid to come back here,” Kim said. “It’s more likely the shooter wants to put as much space between himself and the crime as he can. He’s probably on the way to Canada by now.”

  After a brief pause, Burke said, “Should we go in or wait for backup?”

  “I know the kid. Noah is in school with my son,” Woody replied. “We’re all armed. We can take care of ourselves if it comes to that. I say we drive up to the front door and I’ll knock. We can take it from there.”

  The question was probably directed to Chief Mitchell, Woody’s boss. Professional courtesy, if nothing else, meant the decision was one Mitchell should make. If things went south, his would be the head on the chopping block.

  They gave him a few moments to make the right decision.

  Mitchell opened his phone and hit the redial to talk with his backup team. “How far out are you?”

  He listened to the answers and offered a couple of “uh-huhs” before he hung up. He asked Woody, “What’s back there behind the house?”

  “I’ve only been here a couple of times to pick up Noah,” Woody replied as if searching his memory and reporting what he could recall. “The driveway goes around on the left of the house. There’s a big barn back there for farm equipment, and it doubles as a garage. Old man Olson has a truck parked in there. There’s a back exit off the kitchen. A big open field behind the house.”

  A long pause followed before Mitchell said, “Okay, Burke. Let’s do it Woody’s way. Slowly up the driveway all the way to the front of the house. But be careful about it and everybody keep your wits about you.”

  “Copy that,” Burke said and drove as instructed.

  “My sergeant just confirmed,” Chief Mitchell said. “We still have eight escaped inmates at large. Haven’t been able to find them at the roadblocks or using the helos. Three were clients of Fern Olson’s law firm for sure. We’re checking on the other five.”

  Smithers cleared his throat. “Are you saying Olson was involved in the prison break and is harboring the fugitives now? Here in her home?”

  “It’s possible. At the moment, we can’t rule it out,” Mitchell replied. “It’s more likely they’re on the way to Canada, like Otto said.”

  “So we could be heading straight into a firefight,” Smithers said. “Or we could wait until we get backup. Go in the right way.”

  Burke continued to roll the big Navigator toward the farmhouse.

  Kim said, “Woody, how well do you know the boy?”

  “He’s stayed overnight with my son and his buddies a couple of times. Seems like a good kid, but he’s rebellious, like a lot of teens. I know his dad very well,” Woody replied.

  “Noah’s been texting with his friends all morning, planning to go hang out with them later. Doesn’t seem like a kid who is being held hostage in his own home to me. Does it to you?” Kim said. “So why doesn’t Woody just call Noah? See if you can find out what’s going on.”

  Smithers shook his head. “I don’t like it. Officer Miller’s killer could be inside. A phone call might push him to do something desperate.”

  “Anybody else want to weigh in?” Burke asked, still driving toward the house. They were about a hundred feet away now. Chances were high that they’d been seen already.

  Mitchell said, “Woody? What do you think?”

  “I think Otto’s right. I’m game to try,” Woody replied.

  “You’ve got your vest on?” Mitchell asked, referring to the Kevlar that might save Woody’s life if he was unlucky enough to take a bullet.

  “Yeah.”

  Burke pulled up close to the house, and Woody climbed out of the backseat. He made the call to Noah on his cell phone, nonchalantly, as if his visit was entirely normal.

  Kim opened the door and stepped out behind Woody.

  The others left the Navigator and positioned themselves behind the vehicle, weapons ready.

  Kim and Woody walked side by side up the steps and onto the decrepit front porch.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Saturday, May 14

  Olson Farmhouse

  2:30 p.m.

  Woody persuaded Noah Olson to allow the five of them to come inside. They’d filed in and fanned out and now the farmhouse was abnormally crowded. The place smelled old and musty. Kim noticed a faint whiff of something unpleasant in the air.

  The kid was fidgety and scared. He’d already chewed his fingernails to the quick and Kim noticed dried blood at the edges of his cuticles.

  Noah should have been comfortable around cops. He knew Woody. His father was a Bolton PD detective and his mother was no stranger to law enforcement. But he was unusually nervous all the same. More nervous than he would have been under normal circumstances, Kim felt sure.

  At first, Noah seemed uneasy about his grandfather, who was sleeping fitfully on the couch. His face was bruised and scraped and he groaned a few times as if in pain. Noah said he’d fallen off the back porch this morning. Which sounded plausible enough, Kim supposed.

  “When Mom gets back, we’ll take him to the hospital for X-rays on his ankle. Probably a bad sprain. Let’s not wake him,” Noah said as he herded them into the kitchen.

  Which meant his mother wasn’t here. Where was she?

  The kitchen was like the rest of the house—ancient, decrepit, unkempt. The scent of old grease lingered. A few slices of burnt bacon and congealed eggs rested on a plate on the table along with cold coffee in three chipped stoneware mugs.

  Woody sat at the table and gestured toward another chair for the boy. He glanced at the others filling his kitchen with authority. Perhaps he realized he had few alternatives. He plopped into the seat.

  Chief Mitchell took the seat at the head of the table. Smithers stood off to the side. Kim and Burke waited near the doorway.

  “Noah, we need to find your mom,” Woody said. “Do you know where she is?”

  Noah’s eyes widened and he bounced his leg nervously. He shook his head.

  “She’s not home, right?” Woody asked.

  Noah shook his head again.

  “How long has she been gone?”

  Noah shrugged.

  “You’ve got to help us out here, Noah. We need to find your mom. It’s really important,” Chief Mitchell said. “We’re very worried about her.”

  “Why? Why are you worried?” Noah asked, gnawing his lip.

  Mitchell replied, “You know we had a prison break yesterday. There are prisoners still at large.”

  “You think my mom is with them?” Noah’s mouth formed a perfect circle, and he inhaled sharply.

  “We don’t know. We’re working on that. Did she leave here alone?”

  Noah said nothing, but the level of his concern had set his hands to trembling. He clasped them together under the table.

  “Who was with her?” Woody asked. “You need to tell us, Noah.”

  Noah shook his head.

  Woody said, “What are you afraid of?”

  “What makes you think I’m afraid?” Noah said, jutting his chin forward defensively.

  “I know you love your mom and you wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to her,” Woody said. “Did someone threaten her?”

  The kitchen probably felt crowded and thre
atening to Noah. It seemed like Woody and Mitchell might get further if they could establish more intimacy. At the moment, there was nothing for Kim to do here.

  She backed through the doorway and left the kitchen. Burke followed behind her into the narrow hallway.

  “The kid’s hiding something,” Burke said quietly.

  “Yes, but what?”

  “For starters, the old man didn’t fall off a porch. He looks like he landed on his face. Pretty impossible to sprain your ankle with your face in the dirt,” Burke replied. “Someone worked him over.”

  “Probably not Fern, but it’s possible,” Kim said. “Maybe she’s strong enough to best a frail old man in a fight. But that answer doesn’t feel right to me.”

  Burke nodded. “You think Fern might be hiding here in the house?”

  “Possibly. Let’s take a look around.” Kim pulled her weapon and pointed toward the rooms on either side of the hallway. “I’ll take this half of the downstairs. You take that half. Meet at the staircase and we’ll go up to the second floor.”

  “Copy that,” Burke said, following her lead.

  Kim wandered through rooms on the south side of the house. Grandpa Olson was still sleeping on the couch in the living room. She got a better look at the damage to his face and flipped the covers back to see his battered ankle. He grimaced and moaned, but he didn’t awaken. He might have internal injuries as well. He needed a doctor. And soon.

  Quickly, she opened each door and looked inside. A dining room, a TV room, a bathroom. Fern Olson wasn’t hiding in any of them.

  Kim moved to the base of the stairs, arriving a moment before Burke. A broken lamp lay in pieces on the floor, probably thrown down from the second floor.

  “What do you suppose that’s about?” Burke said.

  Kim shook her head. “No clue.”

  She climbed the treads slowly, with Burke close behind.

  Just before she reached the landing at the top, Kim gestured Burke toward the right. She would take the left side. She stuck her neck out past the corner and scanned the open corridor.

  There were four closed doors that she could see from her vantage point. One at each end and two in the middle. Bedrooms, probably. An old house like this was likely to have four bedrooms upstairs, she figured. Maybe more. At least one bathroom, too.

  Kim took a breath and snugged her back to the wall as she edged around the corner.

  The first thing she saw was a big man on his back on the floor. Blood had pooled under him. His lifeless eyes were wide open. No need to check his pulse.

  From this angle, she counted two visible bullet wounds in his torso. Well placed at center mass, she noted. Probably fired at close range, given the limits of the space.

  She turned to Burke and gestured toward the man. Burke nodded.

  “Take the rooms on the right. I’ll do the others,” she said quietly.

  She approached the body carefully. Now that she had an unobstructed view, she recognized him. She’d committed the photos of the prison escapees to memory. This one was the scariest of the eight. No one was likely to forget his face.

  The corpse was Ryan Denny.

  No doubt.

  She stepped around the body, careful to avoid the congealing blood, and checked the two closest bedrooms. The first was probably Old Man Olson’s room.

  It was furnished with an unmade dark pine bed and a chest of drawers across from it. A television rested on the top of the chest. A recliner poised in the corner opposite the door provided a clear view of the television.

  Kim closed the door and moved to the room at the end of the hallway. The door was open, and she glanced inside. The furnishings were similarly spare and disheveled, but more feminine. Brighter colors, Makeup on the dresser. The bed was unmade. Night clothes had been dropped on the floor.

  The room was most likely Fern’s since no other women lived here. She holstered her gun and returned to the body.

  Burke joined her. “All clear. Nobody here. The kid’s room is at the end of the hall. Has its own bathroom. The other one is a guestroom. Bathroom across the hall.”

  “Fern’s room.” Kim gestured with her left hand. “The old man’s room. Both unoccupied.”

  Burke looked at the body. “So who shot this guy?”

  “Four options, I’d say. Fern, Noah, the grandpa, or whoever assaulted the grandpa.”

  “My money’s on Fern.”

  “Why?”

  “The second inmate probably wouldn’t have killed his buddy. And if gramps killed this guy, the buddy would have killed him instead of just knocking the crap out of him,” Burke said.

  Kim nodded as he confirmed her conclusions.

  “And the kid’s too scrawny. Did you see the knife over there?” Burke tilted his head in that general direction. “Looks like something a hiker would carry. Probably belonged to the kid.”

  “Could belong to the grandpa and Noah grabbed it,” she said. “But I’m not sure it matters who owns the knife. That knife wound didn’t kill Denny. The gunshots killed him.”

  Burke said, “Fern was more likely to own a gun or know where to find one. And she’d know how to use it.”

  “Let’s go with that for now. I’ll take a better look around in Fern’s room. You check out the others. Take photos. Video, too. Might be helpful later,” Kim said. “Then we’ll head downstairs and hand this situation over to Mitchell and Smithers.”

  “Why hand it off?” Burke cocked his head.

  “It’s not our case. We don’t want to hang around here or come back to deal with the fallout,” Kim replied. “And we’ve got our own work to do.”

  “Copy that,” Burke replied, already moving toward Noah’s room.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Saturday, May 14

  Olson Farmhouse

  4:30 p.m.

  When Kim and Burke returned to the farmhouse kitchen, she caught Mitchell’s eye and continued outside onto the back porch. Burke and Smithers followed. The porch was protected from the wind, and afternoon sun had warmed the air enough to stand around without a heavy coat.

  The view from the back of the farmhouse was acres of open land, empty fields on all sides. If this had been an active farm at some point in its history, it must have been in the last century.

  A line of mature hardwood trees beginning to leaf out established the property line. In mid-summer, the trees would provide a thick privacy wall, protecting the property from nosey travelers.

  “Any luck with Noah?” Kim asked when Smithers closed the kitchen door to keep the conversation outside.

  “He’s afraid,” Mitchell replied. “He’s also protecting his mother and his grandpa.”

  “Protecting them from what?” Burke asked. “Did he say?”

  Mitchell shook his head. “His dad’s still thirty minutes out, give or take. When he arrives, maybe we’ll get somewhere.”

  “Kid has good reason to be scared.” Kim pulled her phone out and located the headshots Smithers had given her earlier, thumbing through to find the one she wanted. She showed the image to Smithers first, then Mitchell. “Ryan Denny. He’s dead on the floor upstairs.”

  She found the photos of the body and showed them. “Shot seven times in the torso. Before that, stabbed with a hunting knife in the shoulder.”

  Mitchell narrowed his eyes and frowned as he swiped through the photos and then handed the phone to Smithers. “Now we know what’s got the kid so freaked out.”

  Smithers thumbed through the photos and returned the phone to Kim.

  “Who was Denny’s cellmate at Bolton?” Kim asked.

  Smithers replied, “Duff Keegan. He’s still at large, too. Possible he killed Denny?”

  Burke shook his head. “We think it was Fern.”

  Mitchell cleared his throat and listened to Burke’s theory. Smithers nodded as Burke laid it out, same as he’d done upstairs.

  Smithers swiped a flat palm across his face as if attempting to erase the fatigue. “Okay. L
et’s show Keegan’s photo to Noah. Get him to tell us the whole story. Shake him up a bit. Maybe he’ll tell us where Keegan went and how his mother figures into all of this.”

  Mitchell shook his head. “If Fern shot Denny, we’ve got to be careful here. The kid’s a minor. I don’t have to tell you that if we push him too hard before his dad gets here, the judge won’t like it. We’ll lose all of our evidence and have no chance of a conviction.”

  “Let me try,” Kim said. Mitchell flashed her a questioning glance. “This isn’t my case. I’ll never need to testify at the trial. I have no official role here. I know how far I can push a young witness. I won’t cross the line.”

  Mitchell frowned, his lips pursed. He didn’t like the idea.

  Kim played her ace in the hole. “I’m closer to his age as well as his size. Usually gives me an advantage with kids because they think I’m not as scary as you big guys.”

  Smithers snorted, “Colossal mistake if the kid thinks that.”

  Kim shot him a glare. “Noah might volunteer as much intel as we need if I play it right.”

  “And get lucky,” Smithers said.

  “Exactly,” Kim replied.

  After a moment’s thought, Mitchell shrugged. “Don’t cross the line.”

  “While we’re questioning Noah, maybe you want to take a walk. Stretch your legs,” she said to Burke.

  “You think?” he replied, eyebrows arched.

  “We can’t search the garage,” Smithers said. “We asked for permission. Kid said no. We couldn’t get gramps awake enough to understand the question.”

  Burke frowned. “Did he say why?”

  “The question alone freaked him out. But no probable cause,” Smithers replied. “We decided to circle back to the issue later.”

  “Don’t go inside the garage,” Kim said, to cover their butts.

  Burke didn’t reply as he took the six porch steps down to the worn dirt at the bottom. He turned around. “Do we know where the old man supposedly fell off this porch?”