by Chris Stout
One of the men, Officer Hal Golding, waved in greeting. “Glad you could make it, Sam.”
“Evening Hal. What have I missed?”
“Squad came and drove off with Hector. He’s pretty bad. His cruiser is there in the driveway. Kevin Jones found him; he’s the other cruiser. Scott Pepper and Arnie Freed came on their own. Sheriff’s Department has a pair of cars touring the county, looking for ditched vehicles and the like.”
Sam walked with Golding over to Gutierrez’s vehicle. “What kind of evidence have we got?”
“Kevin’s kept everyone away from the cruiser, except to get Hector first-aid. The others have been combing the near-by vicinity, looking for shell casings and whatever else they can find. No one’s been in the house yet, but the lights are on, so somebody was in there waiting.”
Sam accepted an offered flashlight from Golding and peered into the cruiser. The driver’s side door was open and the window was shattered. Inside, he could see blood on the dashboard, steering wheel and seat. The keys were in the ignition, but the engine was off. The radio handset lay in the passenger’s seat. Sam played the beam of light over the passenger seat and saw a neat hole in the side of it. “Looks like he was in the car when he was shot.”
Golding nodded. “He was hit twice; once in the chest, right side. The other was in the back of the leg.”
“Any blood on the driveway leading to the house?”
“Some, but not a lot, and it’s all pretty close to the vehicle.”
“So Hector swings by this place, sees the lights on. He gets out of the car here. Why?”
“Check out another vehicle?”
“Sounds right. Some type of vehicle is sitting in the driveway. He goes to look at it. Gets shot, comes back to the car, gets hit again.” He rubbed his chin. “Doesn’t work, though. The other vehicle can’t get past his car. His takes up too much of the driveway.”
“Maybe it was parked on the side of the road or something.”
Sam nodded. “Unless it was a motorcycle. That could get by. Frank said he was beaten and shot, right?”
“Yeah, he had bruises on his face. And his weapon was missing. We figure they took it after they shot him.”
“Hmm. Maybe. I wonder if he got any shots off?” Holding onto that idea, Sam called back to the station and asked Frank to check the hospital for gunshot victims. Then he turned to Golding and said, “I want to check out that house. People have been in there, and my guess is Hector went to find out who they were.” He called the other officers over and told them to keep the scene secure while he went in. He also told them to be ready to move in case he needed backup. Then he and Golding walked up the long drive to the front of Beaumont’s home.
Chapter 14
Miranda was picking up a pair of spent shell casings when she heard the sound of tires crunching on gravel. Cursing under her breath, she grabbed the MAC-11 off of the kitchen table and loaded a fresh magazine, dropping the old one into the mag-pouch at her waist. One fully loaded spare remained.
Avoiding the blood that bathed much of the kitchen floor, Miranda leapt into the den. She stepped around Shane’s body and made her way over to the shattered window. Chips of glass hung from the frame; she knocked them aside and pulled herself through the opening. She moved to the corner of the house, listening intently.
#
“Jesus! What the hell happened to the window?” Jimmy Cole asked as he and Bill Banks made their way up the front steps of the lodge.
Bill, who was still wound up from shooting a cop, pulled his partner off of the porch and drew his .357. “Somethin’ fucked went down, is what happened. Wish I’d kept that police gun,” he muttered.
Jimmy looked confused for a moment; then understanding dawned on his face. Shane and the Chief probably didn’t smash their own window out. He drew a 9mm from the waistband of his pants. “What do we do?”
“Stay low and cover me. I’m gonna take a peek through that window.”
Jimmy crouched low while Bill crept up the stairs to the porch. He whipped his head back and forth, picking up shadows and imagined demons in every bush and tree. One of them seemed to move towards him. He gasped.
“Sweet Jesus!”
Jimmy swung his head back up to his partner. Bill was pale, even in the dark, and leaned against the porch railing for support. “What is it?” Jimmy whispered.
Bill didn’t answer. Jimmy went up the steps to check on his partner, and then a sharp ripping sound tore through the still night air. Chunks of the railing flew up at Jimmy, then he felt a horrible burning in his arm and side. He stumbled on the stairs. “Bill!” he cried.
The gunshots propelled Bill Banks into action. He charged for the end of the porch and jumped over the railing. He landed hard, grunting in pain. Another burst of fire tore into the wall of the lodge over his head. In the silence that followed, he pulled himself to his feet. Jimmy called out again. Another pair of shots, and Jimmy didn’t cry out anymore. Bill held his revolver in both hands, pointed it at the corner of the lodge and stepped forward.
#
The MAC’s wire-frame stock was fully extended and tucked into her shoulder. Miranda estimated that she had emptied about half of her magazine. She peered over the sights at the corner of the lodge and walked with slow, deliberate steps. When she was by the front steps, she glanced down at the man she had shot. He was struggling to pull himself up to the porch.
“Bill!” he called out in a rasping, desperate cry.
She swiveled her weapon and fired twice into his head. His body spasmed for several seconds, but she didn’t pay attention to it. She was already moving away from the building, stepping out of the dim circle of light cast by the fixtures inside. Her attention was riveted on the corner of the lodge. As she anticipated, a figure swung around and fired a pair of shots in the direction of the stairs. The flash of the gun distorted her vision, and her own stream of bullets went high. The figure swung back around the side of the house. Miranda swore and moved to her right.
#
Bill had two shots left in his revolver; he had not reloaded after shooting Gutierrez. He debated his options. Whoever was out there had an automatic weapon. He couldn’t run for the trees; the attacker would cut him down instantly. He couldn’t guard both corners of the lodge, so if he stayed put, he risked being taken from either side. He decided to head for the rear of the building. Hopefully he would get there before his assailant and be able to get inside, where he knew there were more guns and ammo.
Bullets followed him as he rounded the corner. At least he knew where the attacker was. He charged for the back door. It was locked. He had no time to fumble for a key, so he moved to the window. He saw it was shattered as well. A glance through it revealed Shane sprawled on the floor. Bill panicked, and instead of trying to pull himself into the house, he ran.
It probably wouldn’t have mattered whether he tried to get inside or not. Miranda was already taking aim from the rear corner of the lodge. Bill ran across the back yard, onto the makeshift shooting range set up by Wainwright. Without taking time to aim he fired his last two shots behind him. They slammed harmlessly into the wooden logs of the cabin’s wall. Miranda let him run a bit further, until he was almost at the edge of the ambient light cast from inside. She led him with the sights, forced herself to breathe slowly, braced for the light buck of the machine pistol, and squeezed the trigger.
Bill literally stepped into the stream of bullets. The first two passed harmlessly in front of him, but he didn’t have any time to stop himself, and the next eight tore neatly into his back and side. He pitched forward, rolling to a stop.
Miranda rose from her crouch, letting the MAC dangle again. As she had when she first entered the lodge, she pulled her Glock from its holster. Bill wasn’t moving when she strode up beside him. She didn’t care; she fired a pair of shots into his head anyway. Glock still in hand, she turned around and headed back to the lodge, moving around the corner, out to the front lawn and down the road towards her hidd
en vehicle.
Chapter 15
Hal Golding and Sam Connor had their weapons drawn as they approached the front door to Beaumont’s house. Sam tested the handle; the door was unlocked. He shouldered it open and stepped inside, moving quickly to his left. Hal was just behind him, securing the right side of the entryway. Sam moved into a small dining room; Hal checked into the living room across the foyer. Nothing. They made a hurried inspection of the first floor. Finding it empty, the pair moved to the steps in the front hall. With Hal covering him, Sam moved up the stairs. The second floor also was empty.
“What now?” Hal asked.
“Have Kevin come on up. You two start looking for evidence. I’m going to take a look at that shed out back, see what’s in there. I guess the rest of the boys ought to head home.”
“Watch yourself out there, alright?”
Sam smiled. “If anything goes down, you’ll be the first to know.”
Golding spoke into his mike while Sam moved out the front door and waved to the other police officers. Sam holstered his pistol and snapped on his flashlight. He walked around to the back of the house.
The shed loomed out of the darkness like a phantom’s stronghold. Sam checked his watch; it was well past the witching hour. The beam of his flashlight bounced up and down the corrugated walls as he walked towards them. Dew had formed on the grass, and his shoes slid a bit when he wasn’t careful where he stepped. He was almost at the shed when something in the grass caught his eye. Sam turned the beam to his right. It rested on the wooden doors of a tornado shelter.
Sam almost ignored it, but something else glinted in the light as he turned away. He walked over to the door, his curiosity fully aroused. It took a few seconds before he located the glinting object. When he found it, he knelt to examine it. A padlock lay on the ground, looped through a chain. The chain had been cut in the center. Sam played the beam of light over the two doors to the tornado shelter. He reached into the zippered inside jacket of his windbreaker and pulled out a pair of latex examination gloves. Holding the light under his arm, he pulled them on and then reached for the handles.
When he had the shelter opened, Sam saw stairs. That made sense, so he followed them down. He found himself in what looked to be a workroom. Playing his light around the shelter, he found a bare bulb hanging from a fixture. He pulled the cord, and the light came on. It wasn’t much, but at least he could see more of the room. On closer inspection it appeared to be a gunsmith’s shop. Sam walked around a lathe and several workbenches. He had no idea how many of the tools that littered them had been moved since Beaumont had last been down here.
One table in particular caught his eye. It wasn’t especially large or remarkable, but it was clear of junk. Sam went over to inspect it. He theorized about what might have lain upon it. Maybe whatever Damon Shearer had wanted from the store had been here instead. Maybe he found the shelter, broke through the chain, grabbed what he wanted, ambushed Hector….
Sam looked down at the table legs. One of them didn’t seem quite right. He knelt for a closer look. To his surprise, one of the legs was resting on top of a ring in the floor. Sam lifted the table and shifted it a bit. He looked the ring over, then took hold of it and tugged. He had to move the table a bit further, but then he was able to open the trap door fully. He let it drop to the floor with a thud.
The pit in the floor of the shelter wasn’t very deep, but it was wide enough for him to step down inside. Sam peered in, then dropped lightly to the bottom. He had to duck, but there were boxes shoved back in the pit, and he wanted to see what they were. The first one was heavier than hell. Sam had to place his flashlight on the floor above him and tug the box with both hands. Grunting, he lifted it out of the pit and set it on the table. He squinted at the box in the dim light. Faded black letters read “U.S. M193 cal. .223 (5.56 x 45mm).” Sam whistled. He guessed there were about a thousand rounds of military surplus ammunition in the crate. In and of itself, it wasn’t overly remarkable; many hunters and firearm enthusiasts bought surplus ammo in bulk for target shooting. But it was interesting. He ducked back down into the pit.
Two more boxes and a canvas pouch remained. He pulled them all out together. Before he even had them out of the pit he knew what was in them. They had to be rifles. He guessed they were AR15’s. He was mostly right.
Sam let out another whistle when he opened one of the boxes. Inside was an M16A1 assault rifle, the military version of the AR15. The main difference was that this particular make of rifle was capable of fully automatic fire. The other box held an identical weapon. “What’d you get yourself into, Henry?” Sam asked out loud. Both weapons had long been illegal on the civilian market. Someone with a Class III license might be able to get hold of one, and Sam knew Henry held one of those, but still…. Even in law enforcement, these rifles weren’t often encountered, and these had U.S. government property markings, so it was unlikely they had come to the civilian market legally. New versions of the M16 fired a more accurate round and were limited to three-round burst fire, which theoretically conserved ammunition. Gang members and drug dealers numbered among those interested in fully automatic weapons; they didn’t care so much about accuracy as firepower.
Sam rubbed his chin as he opened the canvas pouch. It was stuffed to bursting with magazines for the rifles. He counted twenty of them, divided evenly between twenty- and thirty-round mags. They all looked to be in new condition, still wrapped in plastic and cosmoline.
Before he had climbed into the pit, Sam noticed that the dust at the bottom had been disturbed. He wondered what other treasures had been hidden there, and who had them now. He sat and pondered his find for a few more moments, then walked back out of the shelter to find Jones and Golding.
#
Sam managed to grab about three hours of sleep before going back into the office. He arrived just behind Miranda.
“Hey,” she said by way of greeting.
“Hey yourself.”
“You look terrible.”
He shrugged. “Long night.”
Miranda touched his shoulder lightly as he drew beside her. “I heard. I’m sorry, Sam. I know you two were close.”
“Yeah, well, things like that happen, I guess.”
“Is there anything new from the hospital?”
“Don’t know. My guess is there’s still a lot of surgery going on right about now. Chief in yet?” he asked, wanting to change the subject.
Miranda blinked, thankful that he wasn’t looking at her. “I haven’t any idea. I just got here myself. Didn’t see his car though.”
“Shit.”
They went in together. Miranda followed him into his office. “I’m sorry I wasn’t awake to get the message. This business with Damon has me pretty keyed up. I had my phone turned off last night so I could get some sleep.”
“Doesn’t look like it did you much good. No offense. You just look a bit tired is all. Still good, just….”
Miranda smiled wanly. “I understand, Sam.”
Chief Wainwright’s wife had left a message on voice-mail. “Sam, this is Ellie. Harlan didn’t come home last night. I just wanted to make sure that nothing was the matter. I haven’t seen him since yesterday morning. Give me a call and let me know if you’ve heard from him.”
“Uh oh,” Sam mumbled.
Ellie Wainwright came on a second time. “Hi Sam, it’s me again. I just read about poor Hector. In the paper. I’m so sorry. I hope he’s all right. I assume Harlan’s tied up and busy with that. Awful, Awful…. If my husband has a minute, tell him to come home and get some decent food and a change of clothes. I’d bring them over myself, but my car is still in the shop. I hope you boys are all okay. Take care of yourself, Sam. Bye.”
“Shit,” Sam said again.
Next on the machine was Tracy. He didn’t even let her finish her greeting before he hit the erase button.
Miranda caught the look of worry in his eye. “If he hasn’t been home and hasn’t shown up here….”
She began.
Sam brushed past her and called to the daytime duty officer. “Has the Chief stopped in yet?”
The officer shook his head.
Sam quickly scanned the roster. The patrolmen on duty had all been out at Beaumont’s last night. “This is bad,” he muttered. “Miranda, want to help me find the Chief?”
Miranda hesitated for just a moment. “Um, sure. What can I do to help?”
“Follow me.”
Outside he said, “There were illegal military weapons hidden in Beaumont’s home. I think Damon went to get them and got surprised by Heck.” He led her to his car. Miranda didn’t bother explaining that his conclusion was impossible since, by now, Damon was probably floating somewhere in the Ohio River. She briefly wondered how much longer it would be before he was found.
Sam interrupted her speculations. “Now the Chief’s missing. Not a word since yesterday morning.”
She could have solved that mystery for him as well, but again declined. Instead she asked, “So where are we headed?”
“We’ll go out to the Chief’s house, see if he’s maybe shown up there. If not…. Well, I haven’t any idea after that. I guess put out an APB for him and hope for the best.”
He unlocked the passenger door for her and went around to the other side.
#
Chief Wainwright and his wife lived on the south end of Sparta, in a suburban development of houses. Theirs was a simple brick ranch style. Sam noted grimly that there was not a vehicle in the driveway or the open garage. He parked out in front of the house.
Ellie Wainwright was frumpy and heavy-set with white hair tied up in a bun. She was also surprised to see Sam Connor standing at her door. “Why, come in! Did Harlan send you over? He should know better than to make you his errand boy.” She stood aside as Sam made his way into the foyer. “Hello, dear,” she said to Miranda. “I don’t believe we met. Are you new on the force? Harlan said he hired a pretty young lady a while back.”