Through the Evil Days: A Clare Fergusson/Russ Van Alstyne Mystery (Clare Fergusson and Russ Van Alstyne Mysteries)

by Julia Spencer-Fleming

  He turned around slowly, careful to keep his head from falling off. The storage shed was maybe eight by ten. A collection of oars and mildewed life vests hung against the wall opposite them, along with a few deflated floaties and a badminton set wrapped in netting. Two canoes rested on the overhead rafters. There were vents installed along the eaves, which was why they weren’t choking in fumes right now.

  The generator itself sat on cinder blocks near the rear corner. Russ took a shaky step closer and saw that the break in the back wall was a door.

  “I tried it. It’s locked from the outside.”

  That explained the snow shovel, broom, ice melt, and sand leaning against the rear wall. No tracking messy stuff through the house. He walked to the door and threw himself against it. Then again. The third time, he staggered back, almost retching from the pain in his head.

  “I told you it was locked, you idiot.” Clare pressed against him, letting him rest his head on her shoulder. She leaned her cheek against his hair, stroking him without hands. “Why don’t you sit back down?”

  He forced himself upright. His ears were ringing. “Generator.”

  “Tell me how it works.”

  “Internal combustion. Needs gas.” In the corner, past the bags of ice melt and sand, he saw two five-gallon canisters of gasoline and a container of oil. Now that could sow confusion. Unfortunately, they’d both be fried in the process.

  “Is that all? I thought it was some complicated electrical thing.” She pointed to the bag of sand with her chin. “If you can help me move that, I think we can pour some into the fuel tank.”

  It was awkward and painful, but they managed to squat down back-to-back and grasp the open bag with their bound hands. They heaved it up and rested it atop the oval five-gallon fuel tank. Clare’s fingers were a lot more agile than his, so she butted up against the edge and slowly unscrewed the cap. Then he tipped the bag over. The sand spilled, of course—on the fuel tank, on the generator, over the floor—but it also ran into the opening.

  “I think that’s good.” Clare pinched the lip of the now-lightened bag and brought it upright. “Can you put it back while I get the cap on?”

  Russ shuffled the bag over to its spot beside the ice melt and managed to wrap his hands around the broom handle. “My mom … job’s not done … clean up.”

  Clare’s smile didn’t conceal her worry. “Okay. I’ll blow, you sweep.” They got most of the incriminating evidence off the fuel tank and under the generator. Hopefully, Roy and his buddy wouldn’t spend too much time trying to pinpoint what went wrong with the machine. When he backed up to replace the broom next to the shovel, he saw Clare head-butting life vests off their nails. She got two on the floor and kicked them over to where his blanket lay. “It’s gonna be a long night. We should try to rest,” she said. She hunkered down and let herself fall into a seated position.

  Russ grunted assent and joined her. They kneed and kicked the blanket over themselves and laid their heads on the life vests. The nostalgic smell of mildew and lake water mingled with wool made him feel, against all reason, safe. Clare’s belly was a warm bulwark between them. He looked at her face, blurred and beloved in the shadowy dimness. You’re the most courageous person I’ve ever known, he wanted to say. Clare lived like a banner on a battlefield, never looking back, refusing to be set aside or left behind. People thought he was brave because he strapped on a gun when he went to work every day, but he didn’t have half her guts.

  He wanted to tell her, wanted to say what he felt, but all he could get out was “… love you.”

  Her voice was somber when she said, “I love you, too.”

  2.

  Hadley hadn’t even tried to drive to the station this morning. She’d been awakened at 5:30 A.M. by her cell phone: the school district’s auto-call telling her the schools were closed due to the weather emergency. Weather emergency. That was a new one. Poor Granddad. She hoped he could manage another day riding herd on Hudson and Genny. The kids were already suffering from cabin fever.

  When she rolled over to turn on the light, nothing happened. Oh, no. Not the power. She sat up, realizing for the first time that her bedroom was silent. No hot air blowing in from the furnace. She threw back the covers and crossed to the window. No lights in any of the houses on Burgoyne. No streetlights at all. As far as she could see, Millers Kill was blacked out.

  She dressed in the dark and used the light from her cell to get herself downstairs. She took the flashlights out of the kitchen drawer, switched one on, and went upstairs to wake Granddad. She knew about the generator in the barn, but she had no idea how to use it. This was her third winter in the Adirondacks since leaving California, but this was the first time she’d seen anything more than a temporary brownout. Recalling the sagging power lines and tilting poles she had seen yesterday, Hadley didn’t think the lights would be coming back on in an hour this time.

  Granddad met her in the kitchen once he’d gotten his overalls on. Together, they broke a trail through the heavily iced-over snow from the back porch to the barn. Granddad fired up the generator and ran the wrist-thick cable from the barn through one of the cellar windows, attaching it to the circuit board. Hadley closed her eyes with relief when she heard the furnace kick in. Upstairs, she flipped on the kitchen overhead. It flickered.

  “Better turn that off,” Granddad said.

  “Why? We’ve got power now.”

  “That generator’s not rated for a heavy load. It’ll keep the furnace on and the icebox running, that’s about it. Only turn a light on if’n you absolutely need one.”

  “You’re kidding. What about TV?”

  “No need for it. I got one of them hand-cranked radios. Picks up the news and weather just fine.”

  No lights. No TV. “What are the kids going to do?”

  “I got a few kerosene lamps around here. We’ll fire ’em up and play Parcheesi. They’ll have a good time.”

  “Ohhh-kay. If you say so.” On the other hand, what could she do? Between the weather and the investigation she’d undoubtedly be pulling a double shift today. “Maybe you can bundle them up and send them outside to play.” In the freezing rain.

  “I’d feel better if’n you didn’t drive yourself to work today. Your car’s got jack-all traction. Can you call that friend of yours and get a ride in his all-wheel?”

  “Flynn?” She glanced out the window. The driveway looked like a skating rink. “Yeah, I guess so.” She pulled her phone from her pocket. “I’ll call him after I take my shower.”

  “Well, you can take one, but it won’t be much fun without no water heater.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  Granddad shrugged. “Furnace and fridge. Everything else is—whaddaya say—expendable.”

  She sat on her bed in her unlit room and called Flynn. His voice, when he answered, was thick with sleep. “Mm. Kevin here.”

  “Do you have power over there in Fort Henry?”

  “Hadley? What the hell time is it?”

  “I don’t know. Six, six fifteen.”

  He groaned.

  “I thought you always get up at the crack of dawn.”

  “To work out. The community center’s closed. There’s this ice storm on? Have you heard about that?”

  “Yeah. And it looks like the town is blacked out. How about you?”

  She heard a faint creak as he rolled over. “Nope. M’light’s on.”

  “Lucky. Will you come and get me on your way? I don’t want to try my Escort on these roads.”

  “Yeah, sure.” He yawned. “Just lemme shower and get dressed. I’ll be there in forty minutes.”

  “I’m so jealous. We’re out of hot water. Think of me while you’re enjoying your shower, will you?”

  It wasn’t until after she hung up that she realized why he had laughed so hard.

  * * *

  Apparently the police department generator was rated for a much higher load than Granddad’s, because it was business as u
sual at MacAuley’s morning briefing: The lights were on, the temperature was warm, and Harlene’s board was lit up like normal. What was different was the crowd. Noble and Ed were already out handling storm-related problems, along with the two part-timers, Tim and Duane. The entire Fire and Rescue traffic crew was at the station, its members picking up the state accident report kits. “Nobody gets any tickets,” MacAuley told them. “Just fill out the form and make sure they get the paperwork for their insurance companies.”

  “What if there’s injuries?” one of the crew asked.

  “Just get ’em into an ambulance unless there’s more’n one vehicle involved. Harlene’ll let you know if you need an officer. If you see a downed line, get a barricade up first, then call National Grid. You close a street, call it in to Harlene. She’ll update everybody.”

  By the time he got the road crew briefed and out the door, MacAuley was steaming. “Goddammit. I swear to God, I’m gonna kick Russ’s ass from here to Buffalo and back for ditching us. Who takes a goddamn honeymoon in January?”

  Hadley figured that to be a rhetorical question.

  “You haven’t heard from him yet?” Flynn asked.

  MacAuley hiked up onto the table where the chief always sat. “No, goddammit.” He glanced around, noticed where he was, and hopped off again. He kept his mouth in a fierce frown, but Hadley could see the worry in his eyes. “Frigging staties can’t help. They got one of their own missing. Not to mention they’re more shorthanded than we are.”

  Flynn glanced at Hadley before looking at the dep. “Chances are good he and the reverend are just stuck up there, you know. It’s a pretty remote location. Hard to get to once the roads ice over.”

  “I know that, goddammit.” MacAuley’s snarl did not disguise his growing concern over the chief and Clare. He flopped open the increasingly thick Johnson kidnapping file. “Okay. Let’s get a sense of where we are.”

  Hadley spread her hands. “The pedophile gave Mikayla’s location away to Travis Roy.”

  “Troop G upstate reported they had a request to run Roy’s license plate, but they haven’t been able to ascertain which of their troopers made the request. All of the staties are on the lookout at this point, we still have leads, okay?” Lyle said to them.

  “Find Roy, we’ll find the girl. They’re probably with Annie Johnson,” Hadley said.

  “If he hasn’t already killed her.” Flynn’s assessment made Hadley frown. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said. “LaMar thinks her testimony can put him away. He’s probably offering enough money to make her mother consider doing the deed.”

  MacAuley crossed to his usual spot by the whiteboard and picked up a marker. “Delighted as I am that you two have already cracked the case, indulge me.” He started scribbling on the board. “Back in July, Lewis Johnson went down to Poughkeepsie to pick up his granddaughter and saw Tim LaMar capping two guys.”

  “The Feds think they were two of his lieutenants who’d been dipping into the profits,” Flynn said.

  “They’re worried about Johnson getting hit before he can testify. They decide the best defense is to hide him in plain sight. Without letting us know.” MacAuley turned toward them. “There are some guys down there who’ll be getting a personal visit from the chief and me once all this is in the can. Friggin’ feebs.” He turned back to the board. “In August, Mikayla’s mom, Annie, has an accident that might not be an accident. She gets cranked on meth and drives her car into a tree. She’s okay, but her kid’s liver is damaged enough to need a transplant.”

  “Which she gets from Mikayla’s father,” Hadley said.

  MacAuley tapped the old circ sheets he had pulled on Hector DeJean. “The dad’s got a record going back to juvie. Assault, assault with a deadly weapon, dealing, possession, weapons charges—he’s been inside more’n he’s been out. Then he gets out of Plattsburgh and suddently he’s a choirboy. Not so much as a traffic ticket in the past three years. I’m not sure if I buy that.”

  “His alibi—” Flynn began.

  “Has holes in it. I’m a little more convinced by the fact he’s got a wife and a job. Did that check out?”

  Hadley looked at her notes. “The delivery company confirmed DeJean was their employee. Mikayla’s doctor confirmed that Hector DeJean was, in fact, the liver donor.”

  “Any financial stress going on? Anything that might tempt him to take LaMar up on his offer?”

  Hadley looked at Flynn. “We haven’t checked out that angle,” he admitted.

  “He had that big boat parked at the side of the drive,” Hadley said. “And the monster SUV to pull it. But if the guy went through surgery to save his daughter’s life, why would he turn around just to sell her to LaMar?”

  Flynn thwapped a pen against his notepad. “It sounds like LaMar is big and getting bigger. Somebody who helps him beat a federal murder rap is going to be in a position to reap a lot of benefit.”

  “So he’s still in play as a POI,” MacAuley said. “The Feds get one of their own, who’s retired up here, to take Mikayla on as a foster kid. Everything is humming along according to plan until Maid for You sends Sullivan to their house.”

  “I still don’t understand why they had the cleaners in when they were trying to keep Mikayla’s location a secret,” Flynn said.

  MacAuley shrugged. “The MacAllens were concentrating on security at the girl’s school and with her supervised visits. It was just sheer dumb luck one of their cleaning crew had a connection to LaMar.”

  “Mmm.” Flynn sounded unconvinced.

  MacAuley jotted on the board. “So Sullivan brings his news to LaMar’s fixer, Jonathan Davies. Davies puts a few feelers out to get a sense of which one of LaMar’s enforcers he wants to sell the info to.”

  “I thought it was whoever dropped the most money in his hand,” Hadley said. “Travis Roy.”

  MacAuley tapped the whiteboard. “Well, that’s where it gets interesting. Roy isn’t even on the Feds’ radar. As far as anyone can tell, he’s cheap muscle, protecting some of the shipments around this area. And he’s a user. That’s amateur. You can bet none of the high-ranking guys in LaMar’s organization touch the stuff they’re moving.”

  “Maybe he’s got ambitions,” Flynn said.

  “Yeah. Let’s look at it from Davies’s point of view. He has the key to Mikayla Johnson’s whereabouts. He’s a smart man. He knows there are two ways this can go down. Either the guy he sells the info to is successful in keeping the witness quiet, or he’s not. If he’s successful, Davies keeps his business with LaMar and also has another grateful officer in the organization. If the guy fails to keep LaMar out of prison, both he and Davies risk getting whacked. We know LaMar has a low tolerance for screwups.”

  “It doesn’t matter in the end, though.” Flynn stood up and headed for the coffee machine. “Mikayla isn’t the one who’s going to testify.”

  Hadley, who was about to ask him to pour her a cup, jerked in her seat. “What if Travis knows that?” Why didn’t I see that before? “Travis and Annie are sleeping together. Annie tells him the story of her dad coming to rescue Mikayla the night LaMar popped those guys. Travis puts two and two together and realizes that LaMar’s got his information wrong. Lewis Johnson is the one who can put him away, not Mikayla.”

  MacAuley tapped the side of his nose.

  Flynn paused, the half-pint carton of creamer in his hand. “So what does that mean? Roy kidnaps the girl in order to blackmail Lewis Johnson into not testifying? Weren’t we already running with that assumption?”

  “That’s one possibility,” Hadley said. “Another is that he wants Lewis Johnson to testify. Maybe he’s got plans to go into business for himself.” She looked at MacAuley. “He already knows Davies, so he has someone who can hook him up with the retail dealers. And his girlfriend is running the smurfing gang.”

  “That’s stupid. Not your idea, Hadley—I mean if Roy is thinking that, he’s stupid.” Flynn walked back to his chair holding a mug in each h
and. He handed one to her. Strong and black, just the way she liked it. “How long do you think it’ll take Tim LaMar to figure out he’s been double-crossed when Roy’s girlfriend’s father puts him away?”

  “I may not have been a cop for very long, but one thing I’ve learned is that most criminals are stupid.”

  “You got that right.” MacAuley held out his hand toward Flynn. “Where’s mine?”

  “Uh…” Flynn looked down at his own mug.

  “Here’s a tip, Kevin. If you want to rise in the ranks, suck up to your superiors, not your partner. She has to put up with you. I don’t.”

  Flynn sighed and surrendered his coffee to the dep. Hadley picked up the thread. “Okay, say Travis thinks he can put one over on his boss. Where does that leave Mikayla Johnson? Is she dead? Alive? Wouldn’t LaMar want some sort of proof that she’s been taken care of?”

  Back at the machine, Flynn was pouring himself another mug. “That was the reason for the arson.”

  “What?”

  “The arson. Why kill the MacAllens? Why burn the whole house down?” He blew on his coffee. “Maybe that was going to be the proof for LaMar. The foster parents killed, the house burned down with Mikayla supposedly in it.”

  “But it was obvious her body wasn’t there.” Hadley took a sip of hot coffee and had a momentary flash of guilt. At home, her kids were stuck drinking Kool-Aid and eating cold cuts. Maybe she could slip away at noon with a couple of Happy Meals.

  “Obvious to trained investigators. Patrick Lent, the state arson guy, told me amateur firebugs often misjudge what a fire’s going to do. That’s why so many of them wind up accidentally killing themselves. It’s not a stretch to imagine Travis thought the fire wouldn’t leave any human remains behind. In which case, he could simply pack Mikayla off to her mother’s apartment. They keep her there until LaMar’s trial is done and then—”