The Accidental Audience

by Faith Wood

  She eased out of the parking space, glancing at the front door of the precinct as she drove slowly by.

  Sarge stood on the steps, cell in hand.

  Chapter 20

  Al Vincent hated working on Saturdays. He was more of the mind to play golf than hang around Optimum Security making sure everyone did their jobs. Besides, that’s why he hired Vinnie Alberico—that, and because Vinnie wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer. Truth was his stalwart employee was nothing but a thug, and a stupid one at that. The only reason he worked there was because Vincent had one over on him—one false move, and Alberico would be back in the slammer. It really was a perfect situation—unless, of course, Alberico did something stupid.

  When he first brought Alberico on board, he seriously questioned whether he made the right decision. Repeating things two and three times started to get on his nerves after the first week, and Vincent was about to call it quits. But, something happened between week one and two, and Vinnie had moments of above-normal intelligence. Vincent figured he had some worth to him, so he may as well get him through the training to see how well he did.

  That was several years ago.

  It was fortunate Al was so patient and understanding—Alberico turned out to be a valued employee on and off the clock.

  That afternoon’s round was one of his best—even though it were early Spring, he hit the ball as if no time elapsed since the first snow. Buddies at the country club offered kudos whenever they could and, Al being the stand-up guy he was, accepted without giving anything in return.

  The last ball in the cup at eighteen, as dusk spread the foursome headed to the clubhouse for a drink, prepared to brag or drum up pathetic excuses for their individual scores. Al brought up the rear as he checked his vibrating cell.

  “Vincent.”

  “Get your ass over here now . . .” The voice on the other end offered no explanation.

  “Now? I was just . . .”

  “I don’t care what you’re doing—and bring Alberico with you.”

  “Alberico? He’s working . . .”

  “I don’t give a shit—you have thirty minutes.”

  Al Vincent watched the screen of his cell fade to black. Damn it! What did that dumb shit Alberico do now?

  Chapter 21

  On his own, Ryan decided to take a spin out to the house where Colbie and he suspected Alvin and Remington were keeping Brian. He wasn’t sure what he might find, but it was worth a shot. Besides, Colbie had so much on her plate, it was the least he could do for her—and, Brian. He had a new respect for Colbie as she meticulously prepared her case against Alvin MacGregor and Nicole Remington. Her tenacity was inspiring and, to help, Ryan figured he could step up his game. They were now into the fourth week of Brian’s disappearance and, for the first time, he felt as if they were gaining ground. Colbie did, too.

  He slowed as he pulled onto the road where the crazy lady with the dog lived. She was a freakin’ nut, he thought as he drove past her driveway. He approached from a different direction this time, offering him the opportunity to see the right side of her house instead of the left. A large dog run extended the length of the home, a large German Shepard dozing by its gate. Also visible from the road, the back yard was lush with green Spring grass—the kind that looks and feels like velvet. Further back, a dilapidated chicken coop was about fifteen feet from a patch of ground that appeared recently tilled for a garden. All in all, it wasn’t a bad place, and Ryan could understand why she wouldn’t want to leave. She had every right to refuse Remington’s hard sell, even though Remington wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  As he drove by, the woman was on her knees in the front yard, weeding a flower bed under a large picture window. He sped up slightly, causing her to turn for a good look at whomever was taking a little too much time driving past her home. Ryan thought he noticed momentary recognition register on her face, but he couldn’t be sure— she wasn’t the most pleasant woman in the world, so it could have been her natural look for all he knew.

  A quarter mile up the road was the soon-to-be overgrown dirt drive leading to the house where Remington kept Brian. Weeds were starting their march on both sides of the narrow lane, and it wasn’t a stretch to imagine the drive being totally obscured in a matter of a couple of months. He drove past slowly, trying to snag a glimpse of what lay around the slight bend in the lane—he thought he saw a car, but it turned out to be a rusty, abandoned John Deere. What he really needed to do was park, and walk—perhaps a bad idea, if anyone saw him. Nonetheless, he didn’t have a place to park other than the side of the road—but, with his luck, as soon as he did that, he was certain to have the only cop for fifty miles around slap him with a ticket. No, his best bet was to double back to ask the crazy woman if he could park in her driveway for about twenty minutes.

  On the surface it was the worst idea Ryan ever had—obscured were the positive aspects of such an encounter. Maybe I can get her talking, he thought, as he weighed the pros and cons. On the other hand, I might get shot—a definite con. He had a hard time ignoring the shotgun, and how easily she handled it. Not to mention the dog. That damned dog. Colbie told him the story of how she got the large scar on her arm and, since then, he wasn’t wild about dogs, at all—he was a cat man.

  But, no matter how many reasons Ryan concocted for not returning to the crazy woman’s house, none dissuaded him from doing what he must. He turned around at the next available spot, and headed back the other way.

  Al Vincent and Vinnie Alberico were in hot water, each for different reasons, and they knew it. Al wasn’t thrilled about being called on the carpet for Alberico, yet he had his own actions to consider. If someone found out about his bilking the business owners on the south side, it would mean the end of his cop career. The more he thought about it, however, he didn’t see how that could possibly be—he made it clear to each of them if they spilled their guts about who he was, there would be hell to pay. Alvin MacGregor had them quaking in their boots every time he walked in their doors, and they counted the minutes until he left. So, that couldn’t be it. Remington? Possibly, but not likely. She had too much at stake, and he was pretty sure prison wasn’t on her list of things to do.

  Vincent drove like hell to reach Optimum, dragged Alberico from the break room, and hightailed it to the designated meeting place. Vinnie wasn’t thrilled with the idea of appearing before their boss, and he had a pretty good idea of what it was about—that bitch, Tammy. He knew he should have taken her out when he had the chance—but, she swore she wouldn’t tell anyone.

  And, that’s where he made his mistake.

  He assumed the lovely receptionist was stupid. He believed her when she said she wouldn’t tell anyone and, as he slipped out the back door of her cute little bungalow, he reiterated he’d come back to kill her if she started flapping her jaws. That should have done it, he thought as they drove to the outskirts of the city—yet, the pit in his stomach alerted him to the possibility of his heading back to the slammer.

  Soon.

  Ryan pulled into the crazy woman’s driveway, but hesitated to get out. He checked to make certain the dog was still in the outdoor run before he rolled his window down all the way to ask permission to park there for a few minutes.

  “Park here? What for?” She stood, her ample frame muscled from country life.

  “I just need to walk up the road a bit, and I don’t want to risk getting a ticket if I park on the side.” So far, she didn’t seem to recognize him.

  She walked toward his car, trowel in hand. “Ain’t you that guy who was here about a month ago? Asking about that bitch Remington?”

  Busted. “Yes—you were kind enough to give me some information then. I really appreciated it . . .” He glanced over at the side of the house—the dog was still in the pen. “Do you mind if I get out? I remember you have a pretty
good-sized dog!” He flashed his toothiest grin.

  The woman launched a belly laugh that would rival a man’s twice her size. “I remember—you were scared shitless!” The thought of Ryan’s bee lining it to his car made her shoulders shake with silent laughter.

  “You know I was scared! I’m a cat guy, myself!”

  “Well, I got me a couple of cats, so you can’t be all that bad! Get out—I promise I’ll keep him penned.”

  Thank God, he thought as he opened the car door. He headed immediately toward her, hand extended.

  “Thank you—my name is Ryan. I’m not sure if I told you the first time I was here.”

  She shook his hand as if she’s spent years as a lumberjack, then motioned for him to take a seat in a chair on the porch.

  “I ain’t got nothin’ to drink ‘cept water . . .”

  “That’s okay—thanks, anyway. I appreciate your letting me park here for a few minutes.”

  “What do you want up at that old house, anyway?”

  He wasn’t sure what to say—if he lied, he had the feeling she’d know the second the words came out of his mouth. She was a smart old bird, and it was his guess she didn’t miss much.

  He opted for the truth—but only as much as he was willing to dole out. “The only thing I can tell you is it has to do with Nicole Remington. I wish I could tell you more, but believe me when I say there’s something going on at that house.” Ryan hoped by mentioning Remington’s name the woman would forget about everything else.

  “Remington? What’s she up to now? Trying to jack people out of their land is my guess . . .”

  “Look, it’s really important you don’t mention I was here. If you do, we might ruin our chances to expose her.”

  “Expose her? For what? The bitch she is?”

  “Well, that, and a few other things—are you with me? I promise I’ll come back after it’s all over to let you know what happened. Deal?”

  The woman looked him in the eye. “Deal.”

  A few minutes later, Ryan pulled his car out of sight behind her house, and started to hoof it toward the house at the end of the lane. On his drive back to the crazy woman’s, he scoped out the fence line to see if there were an obvious way to get closer to the hidden house without someone discovering him. Some of the fencing was barbed wire, while other parts were broken down slats in need of paint. Judging from how nicely the crazy woman kept her home, he figured the property belonged to the house down the lane.

  He hugged the treeline as he made his way toward a spot in the fence with a gaping hole. A few cars passed, paying him no mind, but it was the black sedan turning into the lane in front of him that caught his attention. He stopped and crouched in an effort to blend into the thickening bushes, keeping an eye on the car for as long as he could. As the vehicle proceeded out of sight, he heard gravel crunch as it rounded the curve. From what he could see, there was only the driver who looked to be middle aged—hard to tell from his vantage point and distance. One thing was clear, though—the driver meant to go to that location. He didn’t stop at the end of the drive as if he were trying to figure out his next move. He didn’t take out a map—no, the driver pulled in as if he knew exactly what was down that disappearing lane.

  Within moments of the black sedan’s arrival, a second car pulled into the lane in the same manner. They knew where they were, and they undoubtedly were meeting the first guy—although that was total speculation. Ryan waited a few minutes before continuing toward the break in the fence—if he could get close enough to the house to see who was there, he could bust Colbie’s case wide open.

  Within moments he reached the hole, its gap smaller than it looked from the road, offering just enough room to climb through without scraping his back on the splintered wood and barbs. A narrow game trail paralleled the lane for a quarter of a mile, disappearing altogether as it neared the house. He thought it wise to hang back, assessing his surroundings before inching closer—from what he could see, the black sedan was parked by the side of a small shed, the second car parked just off the side of the lane. Three men stood in front of the sedan, the older guy gesturing wildly. Holy shit! Is that who I think it is? He squinted to get a better look, immediately recognizing one of the men as the cop he surveilled on the south side. Colbie was right! Alvin and the older man were yelling, but not loudly enough for Ryan to hear or understand the gist of what they were saying—both were pissed, and Alberico stood there like a petulant child.

  Ryan scanned the area to see if he could get closer, but it was too risky. The older guy was armed with what looked like a Glock, and he was sure MacGregor completed his ensemble with a thirty-eight Smith and Wesson stashed under his golf sweater. Alberico didn’t seem to be carrying—he just looked like an idiot, head down as if he were being scolded by his mother. He hadn’t thought to bring a camera, so his cell phone would have to do. He snapped pictures of the men and their cars, twenty in all.

  He watched for no longer than five minutes before the men got in their cars, Alvin spewing gravel and dirt as he and Alberico sped off. The older guy sat in his car for a moment as if trying to make sense of the conversation that just took place. Ryan tried to place him, but he was sure he’d never seen him before. He made a mental note of the license plate number as the man drove past him, thinking Colbie may be able to run the plate as she did when they were first investigating Remington.

  He checked his watch—he told the crazy woman he would be back within twenty or thirty minutes, but he sure as hell didn’t count on this happening. Still, he didn’t want to break his word—she seemed the type who held a grudge, and he didn’t want to be on her bad side.

  Before retracing the game trail back to the fence, he snapped a few more pictures of the house and surrounding area. Thank God for technology, he thought, as he tucked the phone in his shirt pocket.

  Chapter 22

  When Ryan called, Colbie was analyzing the client list as well as other documents in the two Optimum files.

  “You’re never going to believe where I was today . . .” Granted, it was a dramatic lead-in, but he couldn’t resist.

  Colbie, however, wasn’t in the mood to play games. “Okay, I give—where were you?”

  “At the house . . .”

  At first it didn’t register. “House? What house?”

  “What do you mean ‘what house?’ The house where they’re keeping Brian!”

  “What? You were there?”

  “Yep—I figured I didn’t have anything better to do on a Saturday, so I thought I’d take a drive. Funny how I wound up out in the country . . .”

  “Are you crazy? You could have gotten yourself killed!” Colbie was painfully aware of how dangerous Alvin was, and she didn’t want Ryan getting himself into a difficult situation.

  “Spare me—do you want to hear what happened, or not?”

  “Be here in an hour . . .”

  By the time Ryan arrived, there was a full pot of coffee brewing, and Colbie scrounged up what was left of a half dozen muffins she bought the day before. Truth be told, she wasn’t happy with Ryan for taking off on his own—Alvin MacGregor couldn’t be trusted, and Colbie knew all too well he was capable of anything. But, since nothing happened, she couldn’t wait to hear what Ryan discovered.

  Headlights reflected on the window as he pulled in, and she held the door for him with a cup of coffee in hand.

  “Here—with this rain, I figured you might like something warm.”

  “Thanks—it’s not raining hard, but it’s enough to make me cold . . .” He shook the water from his jacket outside, then hung it up on a hook beside the back door. As he took the cup from Colbie, he lifted it in a toast. “Here’s to taking that S.O.B. down . . .”

  “Here, here . . .” She pulled out a chair at the table, and motioned for Ryan to do
the same. “Okay—shoot.”

  Ryan made himself comfortable before recounting a detailed description of what he saw and heard, crazy woman included. Colbie listened as he described Alvin, Alberico, and the mystery man.

  “Do you have any idea of who the mystery man is?”

  “No, but I have a nagging suspicion I’ve either seen or heard of him before. From what I could hear—mind you, they were about forty feet from me—his voice sounded familiar. I thought about it on the drive home, and I just can’t place him.”

  “Did you take your camera?”

  “No . . .”

  Colbie’s heart sunk as she realized she’d have to rely on Ryan’s memory for a complete description of the men.

  “But—I had my cell . . .”

  “What? You got pictures?” She shot Ryan her best ‘I’ll get you for that look.’

  “I couldn’t resist—anyway, I zoomed in as far as I could . . .” He handed Colbie his phone, the first of twenty pictures geared up on the screen.

  Colbie took the phone, putting down her coffee cup as she began to scroll through the photos. Ryan noticed her fingers trembling as she put her cup on the table, staring at one of the pictures.

  “What? What’s wrong?” Ryan watched Colbie’s face blanch as she realized the depth of their investigation.