A Killer Past

by Maris Soule

  ‘I’ll be there.’

  He ended the called abruptly, and she dropped the phone onto the passenger’s seat. I’ll be there. Ha. Like he was there when that gang invaded her house?

  She glanced in the rear-view mirror. Headlights indicated a car following her.

  Maybe he would be there when she found Shannon. If his 911 call earlier that day was any indication, he’d been keeping an eye on her for some time.

  ‘OK, David,’ she said to the reflection in the mirror, ‘let’s go get ’em.’

  Mary clicked on her brights and brought the Chevy up to sixty. She kept her gaze on the road ahead, scanning the edges for deer. Rossini had nearly hit one. She didn’t need to.

  Two cars passed, heading the opposite direction, back to Rivershore. The car behind her had dropped back some. Otherwise, there were no cars on the road.

  She whizzed by the Hill and Dale Vineyard, passed farmhouses, and fields of grapevines. Clouds covered the moon and stars, her headlights illuminating a limited arc of road and roadside ahead.

  She didn’t see the flashing red and blue lights behind her or hear the siren until the car was almost on her tail. A quick glance at the speedometer brought a groan. Sixty-five. Ten miles faster than the speed limit. She didn’t need this. Not now.

  Mary eased her foot off the accelerator, ready to pull over to the side of the road. Her mind raced for excuses. Sergeant Rossini had asked her to come? To hurry? She didn’t realize how fast she was going?

  That was the truth.

  She thought …

  The need for an excuse ended the moment the sheriff’s car flew past her, lights flashing and siren blaring. A sickening sensation invaded Mary’s stomach as she watched the patrol car speed on ahead. Something had happened. Something bad.

  To Rossini?

  To Shannon?

  Again, Mary stepped on the gas, following the lights of the patrol car and praying the Sheriff’s Department had been called out for something totally unrelated.

  Wishful thinking, she realized, the moment she saw Rossini’s Durango by the side of the road, the sheriff’s car – lights still flashing – pulled up behind it.

  She stopped next to Rossini’s SUV and rolled down the passenger window to see into the car.

  ‘Keep going,’ a deputy yelled, getting out of his cruiser.

  ‘What happened?’ she yelled back.

  ‘Keep going,’ the deputy repeated, coming up between her car and Rossini’s.

  ‘I was talking to him just minutes ago,’ she said. ‘He was trailing a car.’

  ‘Ma’am, either move your car or I’m going to arrest you.’

  She moved her car.

  Mary pulled over in front of Rossini’s SUV, but she left the Chevy’s engine running. The moment the deputy realized she’d gotten out of her car, he switched the beam of his flashlight from the interior of Rossini’s Durango to her face. ‘Ma’am, I told you to keep moving. Get back in your car.’

  She shielded her eyes with her arm and glanced at the Durango, and then to her left at the woods.

  Another car passed, heading north. For a moment she thought it was David, but the car traveled on. And it wasn’t a white Impala.

  ‘Ma’am, are you listening?’

  She looked back at the woods. Though she couldn’t see clearly, the distance between the trees was wide enough for a driveway. A two-track? Had Rossini stopped because the black sedan pulled in there?

  ‘Ma’am!’

  Her gaze went back to the deputy. His stern look and posture reminded her of a cartoon character. She could almost see the smoke coming out of his ears.

  ‘No sign of him in the car?’ she asked, keeping her voice as calm as possible.

  ‘This is the last time I warn you,’ he growled, but he switched the beam of the flashlight to the Durango’s interior, as if assuring himself no one was in the SUV.

  ‘We need to look for them in there,’ she said and started for the two-track that led into the woods.

  ‘In where?’ The deputy swung his light beam toward the trees. ‘Ma’am, come back here.’

  Mary ignored his demand and hurried down the barely discernible driveway. She was actually pleased the deputy ran after her. His flashlight gave her enough illumination to see where she was going and after less than a minute, to know neither Rossini nor Dubois were ahead of her. The way the grass was pressed flat, both going forward and slightly off to the side, told the story of a car that had gone down the two-track only so far and then backed up.

  ‘They’re not here,’ she said, stopping abruptly.

  The deputy ran into her, nearly knocking her down. ‘Ma’am,’ he repeated, stumbling to catch his balance.

  Mary had a feeling the deputy might try to arrest her, or at least detain her. To make sure he did neither, she side-swiped his legs, completely taking him off balance and dropping him to the ground.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, already heading back to the road. ‘I’ve got to find them.’

  By the time the deputy caught up with her, she’d slid back behind the steering wheel of the Chevy. He reached for her door handle as she stepped on the gas. Gravel kicked out from under her tires, and though the flashing lights of his patrol car made it difficult to see, she had a feeling he gave her the one-finger salute.

  ‘Damn you, Dubois,’ she muttered as she drove away from Rossini’s SUV.

  At least she hadn’t seen a body lying along the two-track, but she hadn’t spent enough time looking to be sure Dubois hadn’t stashed Rossini’s body in the woods. She didn’t want anything to have happened to the sergeant. He was a nosy pest, but a concerned pest. A nice guy. She never meant to get him involved in this mess. Never meant to get her granddaughter involved.

  Mary blinked back tears and slowed her car.

  Where to now? How was she supposed to find Dubois? The note he left in her car didn’t give a clue. The only thing she knew was the man drove a black sedan and was last seen heading down this road. Could be he knew Rossini was following him and came this way simply to trap the sergeant. Once he eliminated Rossini, Dubois could have doubled back, could have gone a different direction.

  But no. Hadn’t David said they’d tracked Dubois to some place north of Rivershore and southwest of Allegan? That would put him right in this area.

  But where?

  She looked in her rear-view mirror. In the distance she could see the flashing lights of the deputy’s car dropping farther and farther back. At least he wasn’t coming after her. She slowed her Chevy and tried to think.

  One thing about rural areas: people noticed things. People talked to each other. Strangers stood out. If Dubois was staying anywhere around here, someone would have noticed.

  Most of the houses and farms she passed were set back from the road, and she wasn’t eager to pull into one this late at night. It would take too long to explain who she was looking for and why, and if Dubois was at one, the moment she drove up, he’d know, making her vulnerable.

  A crossroad up ahead and a store on the corner gave her an alternative solution. An ‘open’ sign just below an ad for beer blinked on and off. One car sat in front of the store, another parked by the back. Mary stopped her Chevy near the door.

  ‘Greetings,’ the dark-skinned man behind the counter said the moment she stepped inside. ‘How may I be of service?’

  ‘I’m looking for someone,’ she said, noticing another man back by the coolers, just his head and shoulders visible above a shelving unit filled with chips and non-perishable grocery items. A baseball cap covered thick gray hair and wide red suspenders crisscrossed a blue-and-gray plaid flannel shirt.

  ‘What kinda someone?’ the guy with suspenders asked, coming around the end of the shelves carrying a twelve-pack of beer.

  ‘Someone who drives a black sedan,’ Mary said. ‘He may have driven by here just a while ago. He’d be new to the area. Arrived just a few weeks ago.’

  Suspenders looked at the Indian clerk, then ba
ck at her. ‘Any particular reason you’re lookin’ for this guy?’

  ‘I think he may have my granddaughter with him.’ Let them think what they liked. She didn’t want to go into a long explanation.

  Suspenders made a face. ‘One I’m thinkin’ of’s pretty old. Maybe sixty or so. Wouldn’t be your husband, would it?’

  ‘No, he’s not my husband.’ And Dubois wouldn’t be in his sixties, but some people looked older than they were. ‘This man’s kidnapped my granddaughter.’ And may have killed a police officer, she feared, but no need to add that. ‘You know where he lives?’

  Again Suspenders looked at the clerk. ‘That city-slicker ever tell you where he was staying?’

  ‘Not me.’ The clerk emphatically shook his head and rang up Suspenders’ beer. ‘He scared the shit out of me.’ He looked at Mary, his eyes widening, and he put his fingers up to his mouth. ‘Oh, pardon, ma’am. I mean he frighten me.’

  City-slicker. Scary. Mary was getting an image. ‘And this man drove a black car?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. Black with four doors.’

  ‘I think it might have been a rental,’ Suspenders said. ‘Day him and I was both in here, he was complaining about the heater. Said it were the worst rental he’d ever driven.’

  ‘He was in here more than once?’ That would mean he was staying somewhere close by.

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ the clerk said. ‘Many times. Usually he buys ice, but first time he stops here, he wants to know if we sell lanterns.’

  ‘Did you happen to notice which way he went when he left here after buying ice?’

  ‘I saw him go that way,’ Suspenders said, pointing out the window at the road heading west.

  Mary felt she was getting closer. ‘Any houses that way recently been sold or rented?’

  ‘Not that I’ve heard of,’ Suspenders said and looked at the clerk. ‘What about you, Rashe? They didn’t sell the old Springer farm, did they? I saw a car there last week.’ He glanced at Mary. ‘Farm’s been abandoned for over a year. Car I saw was white, though, not black.’

  ‘Where exactly is this Springer farm?’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  JACK’S HEAD THROBBED and his shoulders ached. With his arms wrapped around the four-by-six behind his back and his wrists tied together, he could barely move. Roughly eight feet away, Mary Harrington’s granddaughter was in a similar position, seated on the cold cement of the barn floor, tied to what might have been a support beam for a stall that never was finished. On the other side of the barn, Agent David Burrows stood near his white Impala, swinging a pair of short wooden rods attached by a chain. As he rotated his wrist in a circle, the two rods appeared as one, the palm-wide chain no longer visible.

  Jack had seen the weapon used in martial arts demonstrations and in Bruce Lee movies, and he knew a well-placed strike could break a block of wood, shatter an arm, or crush a skull. Burrows seemed to be having trouble controlling the two rods. He missed a catch, and the rods and chain clattered onto the cement floor. Then he nearly hit himself with an attempted switch-up. Each time he made a mistake, he glared over at Jack, daring him to say anything. Jack knew better. The lump on his head and the ropes around his wrists put him in a vulnerable position, and this man was too dangerous to irritate.

  But when Burrows put a dent in the Impala’s fender with a miscalculated strike, Mary’s granddaughter yelled at him, ‘Way to go, you bastard. You’re sure no James Bond. I doubt you’re even an agent, least not for any real government agency. Bet you made everything up, even that bit about my grandmother. You’re just a creepy old man, and if you don’t let us go, you’re gonna be in a lot of trouble.’

  Still holding the two rods clasped together so they were barely visible, Burrows strolled over to stand in front of Shannon Harrington. ‘And just who is going to give me trouble, missy? You?’

  ‘No, my dad,’ she said, glaring up at Burrows. ‘I bet he has the police out looking for me now.’

  ‘Here’s your policeman.’

  Jack grimaced when Burrows motioned toward him. Some policeman. He’d walked right into Burrows’ trap. Jack had no idea what Burrows hit him with, but he was already hogtied and lying across the back seat of the sedan by the time he came to.

  Jack wasn’t sure how long he’d been out. All Burrows said when Jack groaned was, ‘Welcome to the party, Sergeant,’ and then he backed the black sedan out of the woods and drove a short distance to the farm they were now at.

  For Jack, the most deflating aspect of the whole ordeal was how easily Burrows had managed to get him out of the car and into the barn. Mary’s granddaughter was wrong. Burrows might be in his late sixties, but he was still strong as an ox, and the hold he’d put on Jack’s arm was painful. Now here he was, tied up and helpless. Maybe it was time for him to retire.

  If he lived through the night.

  ‘My dad will have the whole police force out. The FBI. Everyone,’ Shannon Harrington threatened.

  Burrows laughed. ‘The only one I want to find you is your grandmother.’

  ‘Why?’ she asked, voicing Jack’s same question. ‘I thought she was your friend.’

  ‘We have no friends,’ Burrows said. ‘Your grandmother broke a promise and can no longer be trusted.’

  ‘What promise?’ Jack asked the same time the girl did.

  Burrows looked over at him. ‘To keep a low profile. To never do anything that would draw attention to the agency.’ He walked over to stand by Jack. ‘You’re the reason I’m here, Sergeant Rossini. You and Pan. She had to go and get her picture in the paper, go and beat up those boys, and you had to start nosing around. You and your son.’ Burrows grunted. ‘Now I’m going to have to eliminate him, too. Too bad. You shouldn’t have asked him to look into Pandora’s past.’

  The thought of John being killed sent a chill through Jack. ‘Leave my son out of this.’

  ‘It’ll probably be a car accident,’ Burrows said. ‘We often use that as a means of eliminating problems. He’ll be driving home and bam, something will happen. He’ll suddenly feel dizzy and drive into the path of an oncoming car. Or maybe the brakes won’t work, and he’ll drive into a tree. Driving can be very dangerous.’

  Burrows grinned, and Jack strained against the ropes binding his wrists, willing his arms to pull the fibers apart, just as all the superheroes managed in the movies. But the ropes didn’t loosen, didn’t slide off. The only outcome of his efforts was an increased pounding in his head.

  ‘Why me?’ Shannon asked, her voice small and plaintive. ‘Why am I here?’

  Again Burrows turned toward her. ‘Because she’ll come for you. I just hope she’s still sharp enough to follow my clues.’

  ‘Did she really work with you?’ Shannon asked. ‘Did she really kill people?’

  ‘Oh yes, and she was good at it.’ Burrows’ expression softened and took on a look of longing. ‘She was beautiful back then. Absolutely stunning. And such a lovely voice. That lady could sweet-talk any man into taking her home with them, or off to a deserted isle. It didn’t matter if he was Russian, German, or French, Pandora Coye could converse in multiple languages, could make a man think he was the center of her world.’

  He looked at Jack and chuckled. ‘She could get them to tell her secrets. Pillow talk. It’s a man’s downfall.’

  ‘She slept with them?’ Shannon said. ‘With lots of men?’

  Burrows shrugged, his attention going back to the girl. ‘I don’t know how many, but from what I heard, she was a whore before Carl brought her into the agency.’

  ‘You’re a liar,’ Shannon shouted, her voice taking on a hysterical edge. ‘A liar, and a … a terrible man, and …’ she started crying. ‘I wanna go home.’

  Jack hated to admit it, but he felt the same way. He was tired, his head and body ached, the cement he was sitting on was cold, and he didn’t see a good ending to this situation. He wanted to close his eyes and fall asleep, to wake up in the morning in his own bed, to find this was all a b
ad dream.

  But he knew that wasn’t going to happen.

  His best hope was Jennifer Mendoza. She’d said she’d send backup.

  But what good was backup if the officers didn’t know where he was? He certainly didn’t know where he was, other than in a musty-smelling barn that had cobwebs hanging from the rafters and looked as if it hadn’t been used in years. Lanterns sitting on the cement and hanging from several beams supplied some dim lighting, but Jack doubted much would be visible from the outside. Not with the big sliding barn-door closed, and years of dust covering the side door’s window as well as the two narrow translucent panels up near the roofline. Burrows had even brought his car inside the barn, so it wouldn’t be visible from the road.

  Jack thought about that. The white Impala was parked over by the side door, but he’d been following a black Nissan.

  ‘You have two cars,’ he said, looking at Burrows.

  ‘Smart boy.’

  ‘You’ve been spying on her for some time,’ Jack said, remembering that Mary had complained about a black sedan driving up and down Maple on Halloween night. ‘You were in Rivershore even before I started checking up on her.’

  ‘As I said, she shouldn’t have gotten her picture in the paper. No telling when someone from her past might have recognized her. I’ve got enough problems with Congress. I don’t need her popping up, telling that subcommittee what we did in the past, or suggesting we might still be operating outside of the law.’

  ‘I saw you,’ Shannon said, sniffing back tears. ‘That night, while I was giving out candy, I saw you.’

  ‘I know.’

  Burrows smiled, and Jack understood why the girl had been taken. The man wasn’t going to leave any witnesses. ‘So we’re here to lure her to you so you can kill her, then us. And after that? Once our bodies are found, you know others will start probing into her past. I’ve got a file about her in my computer. When …’

  He didn’t get a chance to finish. Burrows shook his head. ‘That file no longer exists, Sergeant. I guess that Anonymous group is still up to its old tricks, breaking into law enforcement files and eliminating certain information. At least that’s what your buddies are going to think when they go into your computer. As for your bodies …’ He glanced over at a stack of bags. ‘I doubt they’ll be found. I’m not sure who lived at this farm in the past, but he was kind enough to leave several bags of lime. And there’s a nice pit out back where he used to dump his horse and cow manure. I’ve already prepared a spot for the three of you. A little lime on top of your bodies will reduce the smell, and once the composted manure is back in place, who’s to know you ever were here?’