"Pretty good for a hunting guide."
"I asked my contact if he could access his tax returns, and he said no, he couldn't, but what was my question. I told him. Next day he told me he'd discovered some more information that might be pertinent."
"You, of course, did not ask him where or how he got it."
"There you go. Anyway, some of his income was tax free. Now you tell me: Whose income is tax free?"
"Military guys in a war zone, for one," I said.
"And some of those security contractors, say, like in Iraq and Afghanistan?"
"Wow," I said. "He's one of them."
"That was my contact's general impression, based on records he did not see."
"That would explain some of the toys and methods he's been throwing against me. Any local records?"
"The local sheriff knows him but says he's never been a problem. He has a driver's license, so I've requested a photo from DMV."
"Be interesting to see that," I said. "That little white mask on my front seat would indicate that Willard missed."
"Willard will be sad to hear that," he said, "but yes, that's what I would conclude."
"The major could have put that there," I said.
"The major is gonzo."
"He was in the army, too, though. I saw his medals in the library last night. It might be interesting to know what he did for a living in the Green Machine."
"It wouldn't matter," he said. "Just feature the major in court. Even if he's been helping his son mess with your mind, which isn't likely, is it, we couldn't touch him, other than maybe to commit him."
"What do you want me to do?" I asked, suddenly out of answers.
"Chain yourself to a tree out in front of the big house at Glory's End tonight. Turn on some spots and bleat like a goat. We'll be up on the porch, watching for the tiger. How's that sound?"
"Not great."
"We've got to flush him," he said. "He has to know the will scam won't fly anymore, but if he is still around, I'd assume he wants your ass dead."
"So either way, I'm bait?"
"Any other suggestions?" he said. "I mean, this thing's murky enough right now. I'd be satisfied with a righteous self-defense shooting."
My brain still wasn't working on all eight cylinders, even after two coffees.
"I've set up camp in the house at Glory's End," I said, "but if you put guys out on the perimeter, he'll just wait until you run out of overtime money."
"Yup."
"Goat, hunh?"
"Yup."
"Will you come when I call?"
"You bet," he said. "Hopefully just in time, too."
Then his cell phone went off. He looked at the screen and said he had to boogie. As he went out the door, Carol Pollard came in. She saw me and waved, and I motioned her over to my table, since the cafeteria was pretty full. I had a third coffee that I didn't need and filled her in on the events of the past few days. She laughed when she heard the part about the goat.
"We've tried to find a way to take the initiative from this guy," I said, "but it keeps coming back to waiting for him to make his big move."
"So far it's been mostly talk, hasn't it," she said.
"So far," I said. "It's not like he didn't have some opportunities."
"Yet it was Hester who actually raised a shotgun and tried to shoot you."
"What's your point?"
"My point is that she's the driver in this game. He's doing what she tells him to do, because it's really Hester who wants you off that property. You want the initiative, squeeze Hester."
"How?"
"Oh, I don't know. How about this: Tell her you're going to dismantle the house. Take it apart, pile up the pieces, and then rebuild it stick by stick--like I did with my house. If there's something there she's afraid of, something hidden in the house, I don't know, some deadly secret? She'll act, or she'll push Callendar's go button."
I thought about that, and the fact that the Lees cared an awful lot about the family's reputation. They also tended to act decisively when someone failed them, like Callendar's shooting down the dog lady. It might work.
"Okay," I said. "How do I get this message to Her Hestership? She sees me, she's likely to reach for that coach gun again, and Valeria will hand her the ammo."
"Let me do it. I'm a volunteer here, too. I'll go upstairs, run into the Lees somehow, and positively bubble over with excitement about your plans to dismantle the house. How interesting it will be to see how the house was built, and all its historical secrets."
"How do you know she won't fold you into the goat pen with me?" I asked.
"You need some help out there?" she said. "I'm not all that bad with that Mag."
"Plus, you're bored."
"A little bit, yes. It's a very small--."
"Town," I finished for her.
She smiled brightly.
"It would mean you'd have to spend the night," I said. "Think of your reputation in this very small town."
"What can I tell you," she said. "A local creep tried to break into my house one night. I surprised him, and he ran for his truck. The truck ended up with a blown engine, two shattered axles, no window glass, and smelling like a sewage treatment plant. Since then my reputation and my Magnum have been married, so to speak."
I spent the rest of the day setting up for something of a siege at Glory's End. I acquired two real beds and some other stuff from a seedylooking furniture store that was desperately in the "huge sale, limited time only" mode, on the condition that it all made it out to the house by three this afternoon. The store manager promised fervently that it would. Then I loaded up on groceries, some more Scotch from the ABC store, a coffeemaker, and some fresh ammo for my various guns. The shepherds gamely rode around in the Suburban for the whole shopping expedition and were very glad to get out back at the house. Frick surprised a squirrel, and then all three dogs got into a fight over the carcass. Being in the car all day makes them cranky.
Tony called in around three with the news that he had not been able to find out anything at all about the major or Callendar. Since 9/11, the Defense Department had put up some pretty big walls around military personnel data. I told him it was okay, that the sheriff had found out a little bit. He asked if I thought the guy was going to make his move soon or just take off. I told him about our little plot to light a fuse under Hester, and he asked if he should come out tonight. I demurred, saying only that this might take a few days to work. Or not.
I checked in with the sheriff; he informed me that Cubby had been released to recuperate at home. I was surprised he'd gone directly from ICU to outpatient release, but apparently the hospital was more afraid of its own community bacterial problems than of what might be lurking at Cubby's house. I told him about our move to shake up the Lee women, and he agreed that Hester might react. He said he was on the way over to the Johnsons' house with one of his detectives to have a little chat and would call me if he learned anything of tactical significance.
"Like where he's been holing up?"
"Just like that," he said. "Although that old carriage house across the river is the likely spot. Our forensics people found plenty of signs that it had been occupied."
"He's got another hole over on this side," I said. "If it isn't on Hester's property, then it's over here at Glory's End somewhere."
"Remember--make him come to you," he said. "You go out on patrol, he'll have you."
"We'll keep that in mind," I said.
"We?"
I told him about Carol. He was quiet for a moment.
"You know why she left the Job?"
"She told me it was because of a shootout of some kind that went bad, something she did, or didn't, do. I didn't press for details."
"She lost her nerve," he said. "There was a three-way gun-pointing situation, and the bad guy stared her down, shot her partner dead, and then, and only then, did she open fire. She put the mope down, but he put her in the hospital and gave her a gimp leg."
"Do you?" he asked. "She's good people, Cam. Honest, kind, and intelligent. She sincerely regrets what happened and makes no excuses about it being someone else's fault. Still, don't get yourself into a tactical situation that requires her to be your only backup. I don't think she has it in her."
"No killer instinct."
"Right."
"Admirable in a woman, I think."
"If she's there as a woman," he said, "that's one thing. If she's there to help you fight this guy, that's another."
"I hear you," I said.
"You call us the moment you think you need real backup. Shots fired will do it for us. I'll have people ready."
"You call me if Cubby reveals anything useful, please." Then I thanked him and told him I'd keep my cell on.
Carol called and said she'd be out in half an hour, after picking up something for us to eat. I'd thought about what Sheriff Walker had said and almost told her to stay home. On the other hand, she sincerely wanted to help, and I think she may have wanted to take another shot at proving herself. It was entirely unnecessary, of course--she didn't have to prove anything to me or anyone else. Still, that was my sense of it, and besides, I liked her company.
The evening came on with a wash of warm, humid air and the threat of another thunderstorm at some point. We ate out on the front porch because the house was too hot except on that semiunderground floor. The builders knew what they were about, but I wanted to be able to see around the lawns and that broad sweep of grass leading down to the river.
I talked to Carol about what might happen, which ranged from absolutely nothing to a pitched gun battle inside the house. "The idea is to make him come to us," I said. "Assuming he's coming at all."
"Then I should move my vehicle," she said. "Park it over at the cottage or back in one of those barns. It might be useful if he thinks it's just you and him."
I looked out at the lovely vista of fields, lawns, and acres of trees, changing shape and color as the sun went down and that hot, humid breeze stirred all the greenery. Then I had a thought.
"Let's move inside now," I said, getting up and picking up the remains of supper.
"Why? It's so nice--oh," she said.
"I'm guessing he's been watching us for a while," I said, "and possibly right now. If he's doing it through a rifle scope, he has a problem, because there are two targets. One will not survive the first shot."
"The other might live to tell the tale," she said.
"Yeah. Something like that."
She shivered at the thought that someone might have crosshairs on us. We tried to keep it casual but almost collided at the front door trying to get through it. She laughed nervously as I pushed her gently through and into the house. The mutts came with us, still hoping for table scraps. They say dogs can't count, but mine sure can.
"Hester was appalled at the thought of our tearing this house down," she said, sitting on one of the beds, which I'd set up in the same drawing room in which the old lady had lived. "Spitting mad. Seriously high dudgeon. The appropriate authorities will be notified. Lawyers will be unleashed in angry battalions."
"How about Valeria?"
"Happily spaced out on some kind of prescription joy juice," she said. "Very much on her side these days. I could see one of the wounds, and it looked painful."
"What in the world could be hidden here that would inspire Hester to have somebody murdered?"
"You think she ordered Callendar to shoot the dog trainer?"
"No, I think that's just how this crew goes through life: Do what I say, and do it now. If you do it poorly, I'll have your ass for it. It's also very convenient if you live a hundred fifty years back in time; what crimes against the 'slaves' you do don't count against you."
The light in the western sky died as a dark curtain of thunderclouds rose up over the foothills. "So what brought him back?"
"I think she told him to make me go away, and then left it up to him as to how and when. I think he'll up the ante now, because the will's probably useless."
"If that's true, why would he come at all?"
"Because Hester's pissed, and also scared of something. So far, Callendar has failed. We know what happens to Lees who fail."
"Oh," she said. "Should we make sure the house is secure?"
I'd already done that, but it wouldn't hurt to do it again. "Let's start with the basement," I said. I took Kitty with us and left Frick in the kitchen and Frack on the main floor. That put a dog on every level with access to the outside.
I'd secured the basement door with the same rig Callendar had used against me, after first pulling that iron bar into the basement. He couldn't get in, but we could get out. We checked the rest of the basement to make sure we hadn't missed anything, and I made Carol step into the tunnel so I could test the restraints. She seemed glad to get back in. I knew the feeling.
The lowest, partially underground floor had windows, and there wasn't much we could do about them. They were smaller than the big ones on the main floor but still large enough to admit a determined human. I'd wired up the camera we had used over in the cottage to survey the stairway coming up from the kitchen to the main floor, which was the best I could do. I'd have loved to have a few hundred feet of black fishing line and some tin cans to lay out a web on the floor, but we were fresh out.
In the kitchen we checked the access to the springhouse and secured that door from our side. We set up some pots and pans under the two windows so that anyone sliding through should drop one on the floor. I showed her the word CALLENDAR chiseled into the mantel rock. She ran her fingers over it and wondered what it meant.
"Cubby said it was important, but I can't figure out why. It is old, if that plaster's any indication."
"You'd think it would have been centered," she said.
I looked at it. She was right. The name had been carved left of center on the long stone.
I found the hammer Cubby had used and began to whack gently on the blackened plaster to the right of the name while Carol held a flashlight on it. Sure enough, as the plaster bits fell into the hearth, more letters appeared. When we were done, though, we still had a mystery.
CALLENDAR KILLED THEM ALL, it read.
"Killed who?" Carol asked.
"Beats me," I said as I became aware of the rising wind outside. "Storm's coming in. We should probably get upstairs."
"You going to leave a dog down here?" she asked, pointing to Frick.
"That would be a smart move," I said, "but they're scared of thunder and lightning. No way will she stay down here if I'm upstairs."
As if to make my point, the first drumroll of thunder echoed across the river bottoms, and Frick immediately plastered herself to my leg.
"You are a useless mutt," I told her.
Her expression said, Take me upstairs. Don't make me bite you.
The storm lasted an hour this time, ending with the skies drained and one tremendous, crack-of-doom thunder boom that announced its departure from the county. I'd watched the monitor throughout the storm, but I'd forgotten what a lightning flash could do to an IR camera. If Callendar had approached the house, I'd have never seen him in all the blank white screens. The good news was that the spring storm had also washed out all of the heat, and now a cool, clear breeze came through the windows. I hated the thought of closing them, but there were no screens, and there would be bugs galore if we didn't.
Carol went into the bathroom and reappeared ten minutes later in a sweatshirt tracksuit. Practical, decidedly unenticing, and warm enough for the night temps in this old house. She'd planned ahead. I hadn't, so I would have to sleep in my clothes.
"Shall we keep watch together, take shifts, or what?" she asked, sitting down on the bed she'd appropriated.
"I'm going to sit up for a while," I said. "Have a Scotch and try to figure out what his possibilities are."
"I'll join you in a Scotch," she said, "but then I'm used to early bedtime."
We
sat out on the front porch again, but back against the front wall of the house behind one of the columns so as to be less conspicuous. We talked about not much, and finally she brought the conversation around to the night in the alley that had ended her police career.
"Such as it was," she said. "Four years street, then a shield. Then the shooting, and I was out."
"You did better than most," I said. "Lotta guys never leave the street."
"A fair number don't want to," she said. "You know, the politics, dealing directly with bosses. Most of my friends on the force preferred to chase bad guys."
"The sheriff warned me not to let you stay here tonight," I said. Then I told her what he'd said. I figured it might come easier if I said it instead of her. She smiled in the dark.
"He's right," she said simply. "I do not have the killer instinct. I hesitated, and killed my partner."
"The bad guy killed your partner, Carol. Maybe you could have prevented it, maybe not. Usually the way something like that gets prevented is for the cop to shoot first, and these days, there's a lawyer waiting behind every bad guy happy to make some money from any mistakes."
"Bet you could have prevented it," she said.
"At the end of my career? Sure, probably. As new as you were? When I was that age I would have gone for the hero medal and shot first--and probably missed and killed a passing nun. The key thing is this: If the incident destroyed your self-confidence as a cop, and the rest of the cops believed you owned it, then you did precisely the right thing--you got out."
"Would you have left the force?"
"Absolutely," I said. "The whole cops-and-robbers thing is usually a bluff, when you get right down to it. The bad guys see a confident crowd of blues surrounding them, they give it up. When one gets cornered and decides to actually fight, we usually lose some people. They're feral. They can smell a hesitation. It's atavistic."
"You make it sound so simple," she said, "but I still feel bad about it."
"You're human," I said. "That's almost a disadvantage when dealing with the wild ones. You have a conscience and some empathy. Most of the really bad guys we go up against have neither."
"And Callendar? Is he one of the feral ones?"
Cam - 04 - Nightwalkers Page 29