Lucas Holt Series: Books 1-3

by JP Ratto

  “In Pennsylvania, Broome to be exact.”

  “How…” A flash of memory reminded the lawyer of his last conversation with Glick. Shit. “Why are you there?”

  “Doin’ my job, sir.”

  “Your job was to get your ass back to New York City. You’re fired, Glick. Come get your car and go home to North Carolina.”

  A moment of silence hung between them. Cain could hear the former officer suck in a deep breath and blow it out again, causing an annoying whiz in the lawyer’s ear.

  “You might want to reconsider, Mr. Cain.” Glick said in a calm southern twang. “I think you should know what’s going on here.”

  Finally getting through to Glick should have been a relief. Instead, he grew more anxious; his nerves were too raw to relax. He didn’t trust the North Carolina ex-officer to follow through with anything he asked of him. But he was desperate and had no other options.

  Cain stood, rounded his desk, and paced across the gold and red Aubusson carpet to a window. He peered down at the dizzying myriad of people walking up and down Fifth Avenue. He closed his eyes and asked, “What’s going on?”

  Glick gave Cain an abbreviated account of the events of the past couple of days, including a version of his encounter with Holt. Douglas Cain listened, while at the same time deciding on what to do next. Karen Martin may still be alive. The fact another young woman died was a complication he hadn’t counted on. Crocker had been sloppy, which was totally out of character. Cain needed to stop him before the whole situation was brought to light and traced back to him—and Grayson.

  “Does the local law enforcement have any idea what happened to the dead girl or Karen Martin?” asked Cain.

  “Not as far as I can tell. They’re scouring the area for evidence and the missing girl, but so far, nothing.”

  “What about Holt?”

  “He’s here now. Not sure how he found out the Martins were in Broome. He’s as lost as the sheriff. She’s thwarting his efforts and pretty much told him to get out of town.”

  That was a break for Cain. Having finally reached Glick and having a good idea where Crocker was, his next step was to make contact. It was only a matter of time before the sheriff and Holt figured things out. He also knew enough about Lucas Holt to know the PI would not go away.

  “Glick, you might be able to redeem yourself by doing exactly what I tell you.”

  Chapter 33

  There were two places to stay in Broome. One, a small hotel in the square, and the other a bed and breakfast conveniently located at the edge of the woods, not far from Doc Clancy’s haunted house. I had booked a room at the latter.

  I kept my promise to Sheriff Grange and passed on visiting the medical examiner. The proprietors of Sweet Slumber B&B, an older couple, lived in a separate extension of the house. I had an earlier conversation with the innkeeper, Mr. O’Donahue, about Broome, its history and terrain. He mentioned there were many unused trails in the mountains around Broome. One in particular was behind his property. If you hiked deep enough, you could pick up another unused trail, which connected with Moose Horn. These trails would be worth exploring. The O’Donahues were busy with another guest. They waved as I passed on my way to my first-floor room, which was at the back of the second biggest house in Broome.

  The home, a sturdy colonial, had wood floors covered with area rugs that didn’t squeak under my weight. My room was comfortable, with a view of the woods. I checked the relatively new door and windows. They opened and closed easily and quietly. I’d be able to come and go without alerting the others in the house.

  I’d settled in the room, my stomach sated, when Mrs. O’Donahue came to tell me the sheriff was there to see me. I stopped at the doorway to the sitting room. Her back to me, Maddie Grange stood at one of the bookcases, scanning the inn’s offerings. She’d changed from her uniform into dark jeans and a white, filmy blouse contoured at the waist, which hung loose to the top of her hips. Under the yellowish light in the ceiling, her red hair glowed like a tequila sunrise. She turned.

  “Oh, how long were you standing there?”

  Relaxed in my observation of the sheriff, I’d leaned on the doorframe and had folded my arms across my chest. I pushed off the jamb and moved toward her.

  “Not long.” I motioned to the sofa. “Would you like to sit?”

  She shook her head. “No thanks, this won’t take long. Mr. Holt…”

  I interrupted. “Call me Lucas, and may I call you…”

  She looked like she was about to refuse my offer of familiarity, but instead smiled.

  “Okay, Lucas, and you can call me Sheriff.”

  She laughed before I could gauge whether or not she was kidding. “You look like a boy who was told he couldn’t have dessert. Sure, call me Maddie.”

  At that moment I wished Karen Martin was home safe and sound and I could spend time with this woman in a more personal and enjoyable way. Timing is everything.

  “What brings you here, Maddie?”

  Deciding to sit, she dropped into one of the oversized club chairs in the room and crossed one long leg over the other.

  “I said I would update you after I interviewed Karen’s boyfriend.”

  “You said you’d call.” I gave her a wry smile, and I could see the hint of a blush.

  “Yes…in any case, the boyfriend, Sam Winters, showed us an old campsite off the main trail.”

  “And?” I asked, eager for some good news.

  Maddie shook her head as she spoke. “Nothing. Someone did a thorough job of cleaning up. The only tracks were coming and going directly from the trail. We determined those belonged to the girls and Sam.”

  “That means we’re not dealing with an amateur.”

  “I agree. We searched a radius of fifty yards out from the edge of the camp. We found evidence in a few places where someone could have traveled to the campsite. It doesn’t narrow it down enough, though. I have men searching anyway. We could spend days scouring the area.”

  “Thanks for keeping me posted.”

  “I wish there was more to tell.”

  Maddie rose from the chair and walked to the inn’s front door. I opened it and followed her outside to her car. After she slipped inside, I shut the door. The window was open. I leaned in.

  “What will you do now?” she asked.

  “I’m going to hike some of the unused trails Mr. O’Donahue mentioned. I don’t want to step on your toes.”

  “Sounds good,” Maddie said, and started the engine. “Between the both of us, we should cover a lot of ground. Don’t forget to return the favor and let me know what you find.”

  “You bet,” I said, and watched the sheriff drive off in a cloud of dust along the gravel driveway.

  Planning to get a few hours’ rest before beginning my own search of the woods, I set my phone alarm for 5:00 a.m.

  Sleep didn’t come easy. Partly due to thoughts of Maddie Grange and why she’d come to deliver the results of the interview with Sam in person. I hoped she was motivated by the same feelings that caused me to be glad she did.

  Once thinking returned to my brain, my restlessness came from the realization that as more time passed, the more likely I would find a corpse.

  ***

  Oh God, it reeks. Like something died. Karen tried to stretch her bound legs. Every joint and muscle ached when she moved—and when she didn’t. Drawing a deep breath, she regretted it when the foul odor of rotted leaves, animal droppings, and her disheveled, unwashed captor assaulted her nose. The rancid stench nauseated her.

  Opening her eyes and choking back a sob, she fought to remember how she came to be there.

  Who is this monster?

  The man who sat against the opposite wall of the tomblike space slept with his head dropped at one shoulder. A small puck light rested on the dirt floor near his leg, illuminating his huge frame. Some of his long, black hair escaped its binding and hung over one eye and cheek. Karen shuddered at the sight of his reddened, cratere
d face, made more frightening by errant, scraggly whiskers and a large bent nose. She closed her eyes, not able to look at him any longer.

  Karen took quiet, shallow breaths so as not to wake him and to calm her nerves. It was no use. What does he plan to do with me? Her tongue felt dry and gritty. I’m hungry and so thirsty. Tears drizzled over Karen’s cheeks to her mouth and chin. She licked the salty drops and swallowed. Her throat burned with bile. I won’t let him see that I’m frightened. She wiggled her bound hands to free them as her mind flooded with more questions. One question rose above the rest. One she wanted to push to the back of her mind for fear of the answer. What happened to Mary?

  ***

  Crocker woke from a nap to the angry eyes of Karen Martin.

  Tonight, her mumbled efforts to goad him contributed to his exhaustion. His captive lay on her side facing him, still bound and gagged. She wore a man’s long sleeve shirt, open at the front, over blue jeans. Both were filthy from the damp dirt floor. He sat up, leaning against rickety wooden shelves.

  He whispered, “You can have an energy bar and a sip of water. No talking. Piss me off and you’ll be bitchin’ through a slit in your throat.” He pulled the gag below her chin and fed her small bites.

  When done, she rasped, “You stink.”

  Crocker yanked the gag back over her mouth. His eyes bore into hers. After eighteen hours of occasional short naps, he wasn’t in the mood for her bullshit. He relished the thought of her begging when she realized she was being buried alive.

  Chapter 34

  Maddie Grange brushed her hair, pulled it back, and fastened it with a scrunchie. She washed her face and slathered it with moisturizer. The dark circles under her eyes made her groan. I look like a hag. He probably noticed every line on my face. I definitely need more sleep.

  Comfortable in a cotton nightshirt, she flopped down on the bed, grabbed the remote, and turned on the TV. I need to unwind first. She flipped channels. At that late hour, the choices were limited to B movies, forty-year-old sitcoms, and the news. She switched off the television and opened the book she kept on her nightstand. She’d bought it a month ago and had only read twenty pages. Usually she was too tired to get through more than a page or two at night. This should put me to sleep.

  After staring at the same sentence for five minutes, Maddie gave up and set the book aside. The death of the girl found in the woods consumed her thoughts. She hadn’t been involved in investigating a suspicious death since her days in Baltimore.

  Too many violent and senseless killings were one of the reasons she made the decision to leave “Charm City” and settle in Broome. The other filled her with anger and terror every time she thought of it, so she rarely did.

  Alex Clancy told her the mayor suggested he rule the death accidental since it’s as likely as foul play. Of course, Mayor Strickland wanted the trail and campsites opened as soon as possible. Maddie would be very happy if it were an accident. But the fact another girl was missing was not a good sign.

  She thought of Karen Martin—and Lucas Holt. Maddie was sure he wasn’t telling her everything. There was more to this than a birth mother trying to find her biological daughter. She did some checking on Holt after he left her office. Sheriff Grange still had some contacts in Baltimore who in turn had contacts in New York. This is not his usual type of case.

  Regardless, he had a high recovery rate for his clients and if she was honest, she could use his help. She had no doubt he wouldn’t leave Broome until he’d done what he came for. At first, he’d rubbed her the wrong way. He swaggered into my office looking all big-city. I could feel him sizing me up, wondering if I could handle the case. He didn’t know she had worked plenty of homicides in Baltimore. She was more than capable. Maddie sighed. Be honest. She was miffed when she heard he’d been to see the Martins. I would have done the same thing.

  A picture of him at the Grog and Hog slouched in the booth and studying the beer list flashed in her mind. She remembered the boyish grin he used to try to charm her and smiled at the memory.

  Had she made a fool of herself going to see him instead of calling? He actually called her out on it. Ugh. No matter. She’d keep him close by. She needed his expertise—and he wasn’t bad to look at either. Maddie shook her head to clear it. Damn, I’ve lived in the woods too long.

  She picked up her book again, read half a page, and dozed. The book slipped from her hands onto the hard floor. She woke, turned the light off, and rolled onto her side to sleep.

  Chapter 35

  The day promised to be hot. The earlier I searched the woods, the better.

  Dressed and ready to go in lightweight pants, a long-sleeved cotton shirt, and waterproof hiking boots, the only thing missing was some breakfast.

  Mrs. O’Donahue rose early to prepare an urn of coffee and bake some muffins. I drank and ate quickly and managed not to encounter my hosts or any guests. I grabbed a backpack with some hiking essentials, slipped out a back door and veered to the right of the property to walk along a row of tall cedars.

  The sun hadn’t fully risen. I looked to the line of trees in the distance that marked the edge of the woods. Mr. O’Donahue said there were still remnants of a sign that indicated the entrance to Red Fox Trail. An old Broome trail map in hand, I flipped to the section already marked to show the approximate distance from the B&B to the trailhead.

  I’d gone fifty yards when I spotted a small clearing just beyond the cedars. Years of weeds sprouted through what was once a blacktopped parking area. Farther beyond the trees lay a crossroad the map told me was Chambers.

  I still wanted to talk to Doctor Clancy. If Mary Wells was murdered, the details of her death could shed some light on the perpetrator. And if Mary and Karen were together when Mary met her demise, there were three possible reasons for Karen’s disappearance. Karen killed Mary and fled. Karen was injured or dead. Karen was alive and being held against her will. My gut told me Karen wasn’t a killer. I was less certain she was alive. It would solve all of Grayson’s problems if she were dead—and the body never found.

  I thought about possible suspects. Glick was on my tail—undoubtedly hired by someone connected with Grayson. I’d given the ex-officer credit for throwing a few wrenches in my investigation, including the stunt in Smoulder. For all his bravado and threatening notes, I thought Glick capable of kidnapping, maybe—not murder. Perhaps Mary’s death was an accident after all.

  My mind was going in too many directions and time was of the essence. Karen was already missing longer than would be considered a reasonable timeframe for the recovery of a victim of a violent crime. For me, though, no timeframe was too narrow. It had been fifteen years since my daughter’s kidnapping, and I hadn’t given up hope. My ever-present desire to find Marnie drove my success in the victim recovery cases I’d accepted over the years.

  I found the trail sign half hidden under tall fescue and poison ivy. A heavy growth of creeping vines and shrubs created a barricade at the entrance. In addition to the backpack, I’d strapped a sheathed short machete and holstered Glock to my waist. I cut through six feet of overgrowth before I could see a two-foot wide path that wound through the trees.

  The sun rose and morning light broke through the treetops. I had to remind myself of the dire purpose for the hike as I began to enjoy the cool, crisp air and the fresh smell of the woods. A natural mulch of dead pine needles kept the small width of trail clear of grasses. I hiked for a half hour in a northwesterly direction, listening for nature’s sounds of the wild. Sounds I learned to recognize from years of hiking and from my days as an Army Ranger and member of Delta Force.

  I continued to follow the trail west and saw no evidence of recent activity. It was the day after the discovery of the body off Moose Horn Trail. I wondered why the Sheriff hadn’t ordered a search of this area. In any case, I forged on until I noticed a fork in the road. Someone with an untrained eye would pass right by without noticing the awkward bend of the branches on some low shrubs. A few wit
h fresh breaks at the ends lay a couple of feet away. Just beyond the shrubs was a path, tamped with dirt, pine needles, and leaves. I pulled out my machete and used it to brush some aside. It moved away easily, revealing a solid dirt path with a faint but discernible footprint.

  Someone had taken the time to cover his tracks.

  I consulted the map again and decided to continue westward, leaving the northbound fork for later. From that point on, no one had bothered to cover any tracks on the worn, trodden trail. The high canopy and low density of the trees allowed light and rain to disguise when someone used it last.

  A short distance along, the trail widened into an open area that spread to the edge of a cliff. Below were the large backyards of a few houses abutting the mountain. I recognized the Martins’ white saltbox and the red cars in the driveway. The clearing was an ideal spot for observation.

  Although the area at the edge of the overlook had no signs of encampment, a twenty-foot walk north into the trees told another story. The ground was clean. Too clean. Someone had raked out any tracks—human or animal. The leaves, spread evenly or clumped in neat piles, looked unnatural.

  I followed the path northward for ten feet and could see to where the tree line widened enough to allow the passage of a vehicle. Another look at the map revealed a trail crossing Farm Road a mile to the north. Easy access if someone was looking for a way to keep an eye on the Martins, but not necessarily convenient for abduction. Besides, the girl’s body was found in a southwest location, nearer the campgrounds.

  I hiked another few yards and scanned the area, poking and pushing loose vegetation with my machete. I widened my scope a few feet and saw something wedged in a shrub. It was a remnant of the wrapper of an energy bar. I put on latex gloves and bagged the possible evidence.

  Returning to the trail, I searched until spotting a damp clump of dirt and leaves. I stabbed a leaf with my knife and brought it to my nose. It smelled of motor oil. I knew if I hiked far enough I would find tire tracks. The distance was too great to cover up all the evidence, especially if you were in a hurry. Convinced I’d discovered a surveillance site, the odds were high that, at some point, someone had confronted Karen Martin and Mary Wells.