The plate matched.
Adrenaline surging, he reached for his radio.
So much for his quiet night.
“There were no telephone crews in this area today.” Mitch slid his phone back on his belt as he rejoined Cole beside the CSU van parked in front of John Warren’s house.
A frigid breeze blew past, and Cole felt a sting on his cheek. Just what they needed. Sleet. This was as bad as Buffalo weather. Once again he regretted leaving home without his coat last night.
“I’m not surprised.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks and glanced at the house. Lights shown from behind the shades in every room. “Let’s hope Hank finds something.”
“He will, if there’s anything to find. Hank’s the best crime scene investigator I’ve ever worked with.”
“Yeah, but temperamental. And cranky.”
“You’re just mad because he threw us out.”
“We weren’t contaminating any evidence.”
“We had better things to do, anyway.”
Cole shot him a disgruntled look. “Unless you had more luck than I did, canvassing the neighborhood was a bust. So was my call to Carlson’s sister. She hasn’t heard from him in months, and she’s not expecting him for Thanksgiving.”
“Maybe the officers interviewing Kelly’s neighbors will turn up some usable information.”
“I checked. Nothing there, either.”
Cole knew he could have let the street officers do all of the door-to-door questioning here in her father’s neighborhood too, but he hated feeling useless. Without any leads to follow, suspects or witnesses to interrogate, or evidence to analyze, there wasn’t much he and Mitch could do except grunt work. They needed a break, or a new piece of information to follow up on.
“Look, we’re spinning our wheels here.” His fingers closed over the keys in his pocket and he pulled them out. “Why don’t I run you by the office so you can pick up your car? I want to get on the computer and see what I can dig up on Alan.”
“You know, we could be totally off base on that idea.”
“Maybe. But it all fits. And he’s still not answering his phone. If he’s not headed for Chicago or K.C., then where . . .” His phone began to vibrate, and he pulled it off his belt, checking caller ID. “It’s dispatch.” He tapped the talk button. “Taylor.”
“Detective Taylor, we have confirmation from the St. Charles County Sheriff Department that the car we issued the BOLO alert on earlier has been found in their territory.”
His heart stuttered as he tightened his grip on the phone. “Is there . . .” His voice rasped, and he cleared his throat. “Is it empty?”
“Yes.”
“Hang on.” Depressing the mute button, he tried to breathe as he tossed the keys to Mitch. “They have Kelly’s car. I’ll meet you at mine in two minutes.” Without waiting for a reply, he took off at a sprint for John Warren’s front door and resumed his conversation with dispatch. “What’s the location?”
He listened as she gave him the information, taking the steps to the porch in one leap. “Okay. Hold again.” He opened the front door and sped across the foyer toward the hall. He found Hank in John Warren’s office. “I need some stuff from the back bedroom. Now. The pillowcase and clothing items from the overnight bag.”
“I’m not done in there yet.”
“Give me what you can. Enough for the K-9 unit.”
As the man rose, grumbling under his breath, Cole turned away and took the phone off mute. “Okay. Patch me through to Brett Layton.”
While he waited for the call to connect, he returned to the small foyer and began to pace.
“Layton here.”
“Sarge, it’s Cole Taylor. Mitch Morgan is with me and we’re about to head out to the Weldon Spring trailhead where Kelly Warren’s car has been found. I want to run a theory by you and talk about ordering a thermal scan and getting a K-9 unit out there ASAP.”
Hank reappeared, the requested items in a plastic bag. Cole took it from him and exited the house, sprinting toward the running car where Mitch waited, giving the unit supervisor a full download.
And praying whoever had taken Kelly hadn’t yet had a chance to carry out his lethal plan.
As the sleet intensified, coating the roadways and ground with an icy glaze, Alan cursed. The three miles from the trailhead to the fast-food outlet where he often got a cold drink after biking had been a lot slower going than he’d expected. Especially since he’d tried to stay away from the two-lane highway and hug the woods. He’d finally had to leave his cover as he approached the I-64 overpass, but at least the roads were deserted except for an occasional lone car creeping along. He’d slipped and slid across the bridge, then picked up his pace.
At last the outlet was in sight.
Detouring into the deserted parking lot of a small office building, he checked for security cameras. All clear, as he expected. Modest operations didn’t often spring for elaborate security.
In the back, he found the requisite dumpster. After pulling the plastic garbage bag out of his backpack, he tossed in the towels, restraints, shower cap, and the socks that had covered his sport shoes in the trailhead parking lot. Then he wadded the bag into a small bundle and pushed against the ice-encased lid with one hand.
It didn’t give.
Annoyed, Alan set the bag on the ground, tugged his leather gloves higher on his wrists, and pushed with both hands. The ice seal broke. Excellent. He picked up the bag, lifted the lid, and tossed it inside. He’d dispose of the latex gloves at the fast-food outlet.
The sleet was coming down harder now, and he ducked under an overhang on the office building as he pulled out his cell to order a cab. It could take a while to get one on a night like this, but he was in no hurry. His job was finished. All he had to do was drive to his sister’s in K.C.—but he wasn’t going that far tonight. An hour out of town, at most, in this weather. He’d finish the trip tomorrow.
As he suspected, the cab company made no promises about a pickup time. So he didn’t rush to get to the restaurant. And once there, he spent a few minutes in the restroom, cleaning up, checking that his disguise was still intact, and disposing of the gloves.
Much to his surprise, the cab pulled up ten minutes later as he was sipping a cup of coffee at one of the tables by the window. He downed the last few mouthfuls and exited into the storm, head bent against the relentless pounding of the sleet.
“Picked a bad night to be out, buddy.” The driver looked over his shoulder as Alan slid into the cab.
“A bad night for car trouble too.”
“That what happened?”
“Yeah.” He’d worked out his story on the miserable jog up Highway 94. “I met a friend from out of town for a quick cup of coffee, and when I went out to my car afterward it wouldn’t start. My wife’s up to her neck in pies or I’d have called her.”
“I hear you. I wouldn’t tell this to the wife, but I volunteered to work this shift. Too many relatives under one roof at our house. And too much noise.” He checked a clipboard beside him. “You’re going to Chesterfield?”
“That’s right. Valley View Apartments.” The friend who’d lived there had moved a few months ago, so even if he ran into anyone, he wouldn’t be recognized.
“Okay. Sit back and relax. I’ll get you there, but no promises how long it will take with this weather.”
Alan buckled his seat belt, already thinking ahead to part B of the plan. Once he got to Chesterfield, he’d call another cab from a different company. He’d instruct that one to leave him a couple of blocks from where he’d parked his car, near John Warren’s house. He’d walk to his car, point it toward Kansas City—and start thinking about how he was going to celebrate his final payoff from Rossi.
Things were going exactly as he’d planned.
“There’s the entrance to the parking lot.” Cole leaned forward in the passenger seat and peered through the sleet. They were having trouble keeping the wind
shield clear even with the defroster running full blast. If Kelly was out in this, he hoped she was dressed warmly.
He refused to consider the possibility that her attire might not matter.
Mitch swung in, tires crunching on the icy gravel as he drove toward the far corner, where two St. Charles County squad cars and a Department of Conservation vehicle were parked.
Cole’s phone began to vibrate, and Brett’s number flashed on the screen.
The supervisor wasted no time on preliminaries. “We have a no-go on the thermal imaging. The weather’s too dicey for the helicopter. A St. Charles K-9 unit is en route to the trailhead, with an ETA of five minutes. One of our own K-9 units is on its way too. A CSU van has also been dispatched. We had a patrol officer do a drive-by at Carlson’s house, but there was no activity. And unless we have more to go on with him than supposition, that’s about as much as I want to do at this point. What’s your location?”
“We just pulled in to the trailhead parking lot. We’re going to need paramedics standing by.”
“A team in St. Charles is already on alert and prepared to move. Keep me in the loop.”
As Brett ended the call, Cole looked at Mitch. “He’s not buying Carlson’s involvement.”
“I can’t blame him. It’s a stretch. And we don’t have any hard evidence.”
“Yet.”
Mitch didn’t respond as he pulled to a stop behind one of the police cruisers. Before the brake was set, Cole was out the door and jogging toward Kelly’s car. A young deputy came forward as he approached.
Cole pulled out his credentials and flashed them at the man without stopping. “St. Louis County PD.” He didn’t pause until he was a dozen feet from the car. “You checked the trunk, right?”
“Yes. Those were the orders from my captain. My slim jim worked, so I was able to pop it from the inside. But I wore gloves.”
“Good.” At the sound of crunching gravel, Cole shifted toward the entrance.
“That’s one of our K-9 units.” The deputy waved the Suburban over.
Cole started back to his car to retrieve Kelly’s things, but Mitch met him halfway, plastic bag in hand.
He took it from him. “This better work. The helicopter’s grounded.”
A burly man, balaclava pulled over his head and wearing combat boots, cargo pants, and a thermal jacket, emerged from the Suburban. Cole moved forward and introduced himself.
“Rick Stephens.” The man returned his handshake, then shook hands with Mitch. “You guys aren’t exactly dressed for this weather.” The man gave them a once-over as he opened the back door of his vehicle.
“We just flew in from Buffalo. A hike in the woods wasn’t part of our game plan.”
Rick reached inside, pulled out an insulated black windbreaker, and tossed it to Cole. “This will help.” He leaned in further and retrieved some rubber boots and a ski mask. “So will these. You won’t be making any fashion statements, but they’ll keep you warm.”
“Thanks.”
“Trent!” The man leaned around Cole. “See what kind of cold-weather gear you can scrounge up for our friend here.” He motioned to Mitch.
The deputy acknowledged the instruction with a wave.
“Okay.” He snapped a leash on the energetic German shepherd pacing around the back of the car. “Bo is an excellent tracking dog. If the victim’s here, he’ll find her. Tell me what you know.”
Cole gave him a rapid-fire briefing as he slid his arms into the windbreaker, replaced his shoes with the boots, and pulled on the ski mask. Mitch did the same with the gear the young deputy rounded up for him, ditching his dress shoes as well for a pair of mud-caked work boots that Rick dug out of the back of the Suburban. The deputy had also come up with gloves for both of them, and Cole gratefully slid his fingers into the fleecy warmth. Better.
“So the last sighting of the car was about six-fifteen in Kirkwood.” Rick checked his watch as he retrieved night-vision binoculars and a small backpack from his vehicle. He slipped the pack over his shoulders and handed the binoculars to Mitch. “These may come in handy.”
“I’m estimating it took him forty-five minutes to get here,” Cole said.
“That would be about right. Which puts their arrival at two and a half hours ago.” Rick squinted in the direction of the trailhead and wrapped his hand around the leash as Bo sniffed the ground at his feet. “If the victim was mobile, they could have covered a fair distance in that amount of time. This trail is over five miles long. If she wasn’t mobile, we might not have far to go. But with the weather worsening, we’d better get moving. That the scent we’re after?” He gestured to the bag in Cole’s hand.
“Yes.” Cole handed it over.
The man opened the bag and poked through it, extracting the pillowcase. “Let’s start with this.” Setting the bag with the remaining items on the backseat of the Suburban, he walked over to Kelly’s car, then let Bo take a whiff of the fabric.
The dog found the scent in seconds, near Kelly’s trunk, and tugged on the leash, urging Rick toward the trailhead. Cole pulled out his Sig Sauer and followed. Mitch fell in behind him.
“One of you come with us too. And bring a radio and flashlight.” Cole issued the instruction over his shoulder to the deputies as he started down the path.
The ice crunched under his feet as he picked his way down the trail, the only other sounds the panting of the dog straining on the leash and the rattle of wind-tossed branches. The sky, black as death in the absence of moon and stars, offered no hint of illumination to guide them. A flashlight would help, but if the perpetrator was still in the area, artificial light would alert him to their presence.
And make it easier for him to pick them off.
Cole tightened his grip on his pistol. He hoped there would be no violence this night.
But with Kelly’s life hanging in the balance, he’d have no qualms about using his weapon.
“We made a lot better time than I expected. I guess the sleet scared all the amateurs off the road.” The cabbie pulled into the apartment complex parking lot.
Alan tugged his wallet from the pocket of his slacks. “It’s the second building. You can stop by the white Taurus.”
As the cab slowed, he checked the meter and pulled out some bills, calculating the tip. A little more than normal because of the weather and the holiday, but not enough to make him a memorable passenger. He handed the money over the seat when the car came to a stop. “Thanks for getting me here so fast.”
The man took the fare and grinned at him. “I wouldn’t want your wife to be any madder at you than she is now.”
Alan had already mentally moved on to the next phase of the operation, and he had to remind himself of the story he’d concocted. “I appreciate that. Have a nice holiday.”
“You too.”
He slid out of the car and started toward one of the units, using the ice as an excuse to walk slowly. By the time he got to the sidewalk, the cab’s taillights were disappearing out the exit.
When he was certain the car was gone, he melted into the shadows, hugging the wall as he skirted the building. No lights shone from the windows in the corner unit, and he took shelter under a small overhang on the patio in the back.
As he pulled out his cell to call the second cab, the device began to vibrate against his fingers. His hand jerked at the unexpected motion, and he fumbled the phone, almost dropping it onto the icy concrete.
Biting back a curse, he tightened his grip and checked caller ID.
The number was blocked.
Could Rossi’s man be calling him back already to arrange a drop? He’d said the payment would be made soon, but Alan had assumed they’d wait until after the holiday. It could be someone else on the line . . . but he didn’t want to risk missing the drop call. He wanted his final payment.
He tapped the talk button and put the phone to his ear. “Carlson.”
“Your payment is ready. And we’re accommodating your travel pla
ns. The drop will be between two and six tomorrow morning at the Shelford Motel at the I-70 Warrenton exit. Take a room at the far end. Leave a note on the door that says ‘Knock for pizza delivery.’”
A click told him the call was over.
Alan frowned. The Shelford Motel? It sounded like the kind of place cockroaches called home. The kind of place he’d spent far too much time in as a kid. Why pick a dump like that?
On the other hand, what did it matter, as long as he got his money? Once he had it in hand, he could stay at the Ritz anytime he chose. With Cindy, if fate was kind.
A spray of sleet lashed against his face, and he shifted away from the wind, punching in the number for the second cab company. With luck, he’d be in his car and on the road in less than an hour. And Warrenton wasn’t far. Even in this weather, he should be able to make it in ninety minutes, tops. Giving him plenty of time to catch a little shut-eye before all his money problems were solved.
Once and for all.
24
Her face was tingling. No, stinging.
Fighting her way back to consciousness, Kelly tried to lift her hand. Pain shot through her wrist, and she gasped. That, in turn, produced a searing pain in her rib cage. As did every breath she took.
She went still. Or as still as she could manage, given the shivers convulsing her—which produced yet more pain that radiated to every nerve ending in her body.
Through her haze of agony, one thing was clear.
She hurt too much to be dead.
That meant Carlson hadn’t succeeded.
Yet.
Gritting her teeth, she tried to shift slightly to see the leg he’d smashed with the rock. But even that small movement sent a wave of blackness crashing over her. No! She had to stay conscious. Had to keep thinking. Had to believe that if God hadn’t taken her yet, he had further plans for her here.
Lethal Legacy: A Novel (Guardians of Justice) Page 29