by JP Ratto
I shook my head in self-recrimination. I should have left Glick and gone after the sniper. Needing a diversion, I asked Maddie, “How long have you been Broome’s sheriff?”
“Five years.”
“And before that?”
“Baltimore. I was a homicide detective.”
“Really? We have something in common.”
Maddie glanced at me and smiled. “I know. How long have you been a PI?”
“Let’s see…not quite fifteen years.”
“Why’d you leave the police force?”
She’d checked me out. The conversation I started was becoming a Q & A and I’d rather be the one asking the questions.
“It’s a long story, and we don’t have enough time now.”
She shrugged, accepting my non-answer. We drove the rest of the way in silence.
The sheriff knew exactly where she was going and we arrived in minutes. We turned off Farm Road onto a narrow lane edged by a row of overgrown shrubs. The tall weeds and grass pressed into the gravel on the lane showed more than one vehicle had passed through.
The remnants of an old ranch-style house stood a few yards from the road. A barn lay ahead at the end of the lane. Sheriff Grange pulled up next to Brimmer’s police car, got out, and scanned the area for her deputy. I left the car and stood beside her.
“Where is everyone?” I asked. The fact no one was there to meet us made me uneasy.
“I don’t know. I told Brimmer not to go anywhere until I got here.”
“How many did you send with him?”
“Two others. Mullen and Delaney. Mullen grew up here and knows the mountains and trails better than anyone. Delaney has worked with me since I came to Broome and is one of my best volunteers.”
“I’m going to take a look around,” I said.
“Okay, then we’ll go inside together,” Grange said and told me not to wander.
She tapped her holstered gun, as if to make sure it was there, before she walked away. I moved to the front of the building and stepped back to take a good look. The barn was massive and a tired, worn red that blended with the tall oaks surrounding it.
The main door was jammed shut. I didn’t bother trying to open it. Circling the building, I noticed two Dutch doors, one on each side. Upon closer inspection, I found someone had removed the nails that held one closed. Whoever did it had come prepared; the job was clean and efficient. Sheriff Grange met me at the door as I finished my examination.
“That the way in?” she asked.
“Looks like it. Ready to go inside?”
She nodded. I opened and held the door for her. The sheriff pulled her weapon before entering. I did the same and followed.
Except for the stalls that lined one wall and the loft, the inside was one huge room. The ceiling, held in place by trusses connected to thick square posts, was spotted with holes. Strewn with old dried straw, the floor crackled under our feet.
Anyone inside would hear us. Chances were the sniper and his hostage were gone, but Brimmer and company still hadn’t shown up, so we used caution.
“I’ll cover you,” I whispered to Sheriff Grange.
She holstered her gun for a moment to pull out a flashlight. Light in one hand and weapon in the other, she moved forward.
A canopy of trees prevented daylight from entering random openings left by rotted patches of shingles in the roof. After a cursory scan of the inside with her flashlight, Sheriff Grange headed for a fixture hanging from a rafter, and pulled the attached string.
A low-watt yellow bulb cast an eerie glow on the single spindled-backed chair underneath it. Several large drops of blood lay on the seat.
“Think it’s fresh?” Sheriff Grange asked.
“Can’t be sure, but if pressed, I’d have to say yes. And someone placed this chair intentionally under the only light source in the place. My guess is our guy tied the girl to it.”
“So, you think it’s her blood.”
“It’s impossible to know. Even though I was able to get off a few shots, I have no idea if they hit the guy. Did your men find any blood when they searched the woods where Glick was shot?”
“No. But the sniper didn’t necessarily travel a straight path away from the scene.”
The sheriff shone her light on the rough-hewn post behind the chair—on something etched into the wood—something familiar to me.
“You see this?” she asked, pointing to a triangle with a vertical dagger through it. “Isn’t that the sign for—?”
“Delta Force,” I answered before she could finish the question.
“Lucas, what’s your feeling about him?”
“Off the top of my head, based on how Glick was killed and what I’ve seen here and on the trails, this guy is a pro.”
“A hitman?” The sheriff shook her head. “That doesn’t make sense. A hitman rarely kidnaps his target. And besides, who would hire an assassin to kill a young woman who has no enemies?”
I left the question unanswered and moved to the stalls and made a quick check of each one. They were empty. Only thing left to search was the loft. I climbed the ladder as the sheriff stood below shifting her torso back and forth, her gun still drawn. All the trap doors were closed, each topped with a clump of brittle hay. One pile caught my eye as it looked arranged—a neat mound compared to the flattened masses atop the other four doors.
I hesitated to stick my arm into it in case someone decided to hide a bear trap among the straw. Instead, I grabbed a pitchfork that leaned against the wall and prodded the hay. Three jabs and the pitchfork came up empty. I threw piles of hay to the side. Before I could stop the motion of another jab, I heard a slight buzz. At the same time, I felt the tines penetrate an object. I pulled upward and tossed the pitchfork, and what was attached, into another pile of straw.
“Maddie, run!” I yelled.
I slid down the rungs of the ladder and grabbed a stunned Sheriff Grange by the arm. The soft buzz was now a loud frenzy of insects I could see swirling around the hayloft.
“What’s the matter?” she yelled as I dragged her behind me.
“Hornets. Run!”
“Hornets? What the hell—”
“C’mon—outside!”
We exited the barn, closed the door after us, and ran a few yards away. I turned and saw a stream of the large wasps flying out through the roof.
“There were hornets up there? Don’t you know better than to stir up a hornet nest?”
“It was an accident. The damn thing was hidden in a pile of hay.”
“Just your luck.” Maddie Grange smiled.
“Nothing lucky about it,” I said. “I’m sure someone put it there for us to find. It’s a message.”
“A message? For who?”
“For me.”
Chapter 39
Before the sheriff could ask why I thought the etching and hornets were meant for me, Brimmer and his deputies trudged out through the trees. Maddie Grange turned, placing her hands on her hips.
When they were within hearing distance, she shouted, “Where the hell have you been?”
Brimmer trotted closer. “Sorry, Sheriff. We noticed a worn path on the other side of the lane heading toward the house. By the depth of the footprints it was someone large or perhaps one person carrying another. We wanted to check it out.”
“And what did you find?” she asked.
“Nothing. We followed the tracks through the woods and wound up right where you saw us come out. The trail led us nowhere.”
Sheriff Grange scanned the property. “Did you search the house?”
Brimmer nodded. “Yeah, thought it might fall down around us. We were careful, though. Nothing inside. No sign anyone has been there.”
I looked at the sheriff, who remained quiet. Focused on the ramshackle building, she gnawed on her lower lip. Something was on her mind. She hadn’t informed Brimmer or the others about my theory of a message. The clock was ticking away so I prompted a response.
&nb
sp; “What’s our next move, Sheriff?”
Still staring at the neglected house, she started at the sound of my voice. She gave me a quick glance and then turned to Brimmer. “Steve, this guy can’t have gone far. See if you can find the vehicle he used—a truck or SUV. He may have tried to hide it off road somewhere.”
“My guess is its black,” I offered. “And it will have local plates. He’ll want to blend in.”
Sheriff Grange nodded her agreement and continued to instruct Brimmer, “Drive up to the north route. Check any trailheads and vehicle access roads into the woods heading south.”
“Sure thing, Sheriff.” Brimmer motioned to Mullen and Delaney and then noticed the activity at the roof of the barn. “What’s going on up there? Looks like a swarm of wasps.”
“Yeah,” the sheriff said to Brimmer. “There’s a hornets’ nest in the loft.”
“Really? We didn’t see one when we checked inside.”
“It was hidden,” I said. “Good thing for you, you didn’t find it. They can do some nasty damage.”
“Sounds like you’ve had personal experience,” Brimmer said.
“Not me, but someone I knew.”
“Wow, hope he’s okay,” Brimmer sounded sincere. “Getting stung by an army of hornets would make me crazy, if it didn’t kill me first.”
I didn’t respond aloud, but I doubted the person I knew was okay. In fact, far from it on so many levels. Remembering the event that was so long ago I’d all but forgotten, I could hear Crocker’s harsh threat.
“Holt, I know you did this. I’ll never forget. You won’t know when or how, but I promise somehow you’ll pay.”
He was out there somewhere. Watching. I could feel it. But it was daylight, and I wasn’t alone. Was Karen still alive? If Crocker was Cain’s hired gun, would the lawyer have given the order to kill Grayson’s daughter?
I didn’t doubt Cain had any reservations about killing me if it was to save the senator from scandal. But Crocker may have decided on his own plan. He had the chance to put a bullet in my head and chose not to. He wanted me to know the executioner and the reason for my death. I had to assume Karen was not dead, and to save her, I had to play the assassin’s game.
I needed to come back after dark. Alone.
Brimmer left to scour the area for Crocker’s vehicle. I thought even if they found it, there would be nothing of use in it. A professional assassin doesn’t leave anything behind. Then again, since Crocker had turned the job into a personal vendetta against me, he may have slipped up.
Sheriff Grange walked toward the house and stopped ten feet away. I came up beside her. “What’s on your mind, Maddie?”
She looked at me, and I could have sworn I saw tears in her eyes. She blinked them back. “What’s on my mind? Finding that girl.”
“You seem preoccupied with the house. Brimmer said no one had been inside.”
“I know, but I think I should see for myself.”
I followed Maddie up onto the wooden front porch, which hadn’t been treated in two decades. Infested with termites, some planks looked like weathered lace. “Be careful where you walk. This porch could fall out from under you. It’s a shame. Looks like it must have once been a nice property.”
“It was. A long time ago.”
I could hear the catch in her voice. Maddie pushed through the door into the house. There were a few pieces of furniture scattered throughout. Dingy gray curtains hung at the windows. Three small bedrooms off to one side were empty. She moved quickly from room to room, hesitating for a moment in a tiny pink one.
“Little girl’s room,” I stated the obvious.
“Color is awful,” Maddie said. “I hate pink.”
She brushed past me, headed for the kitchen, and was about to exit the back of the house when her cell phone buzzed. Maddie listened, nodding to me as she said into the phone, “Okay, have it brought to town. See you back there.” She ended the call.
“They found a black truck. A rental. Probably belongs to our guy.” She scanned the kitchen. “We’re done here, Lucas.”
Chapter 40
Perched high above with a clear view of the barn and house, Crocker had watched from a tree as Holt and the sheriff moved about the property.
He panicked after the deputies searched the house and left. The sheriff had taken an interest in the old building and surrounding area. He worried she would decide to search all the grounds. He wasn’t ready for them to find the girl yet—if ever.
When they had emerged from the house, Crocker followed Holt through his binoculars as they walked to their car. The sheriff slid behind the steering wheel. Holt paused before getting inside. When the PI raised his head toward the treetops, a rush of excitement had washed over the assassin. Holt seemed to look directly at him.
***
Fixing the grappling hook to a heavy branch, Crocker dropped a rope and, after checking its grip on the wood, slipped down to within eight feet of the ground. He cut the rope just above his head and dropped onto a soft mound of brush and leaves piled at the tree’s base.
Crocker ran to the root cellar to check on Karen Martin and prepare for his confrontation with Lucas Holt.
Chapter 41
Convinced Crocker held Karen Martin somewhere nearby, I didn’t want to leave the property north of Farm Road. I was sure if we continued to search the grounds and found her, it would have been difficult to keep her safe from the sniper’s bullet. He could see us. But we couldn’t see him. To even the playing field, I had to go back under the cover of darkness at a time when Crocker would tire of waiting for me.
Maddie was quiet for most of the way back to town. Entering the dilapidated house, I had the distinct feeling she’d been there before and knew the property. Strangely, she wouldn’t admit it. I gave her every opportunity to share, but instead she’d given me a brief history of Broome’s logging industry.
Was I reading too much into her mood? I could easily check who owned the small defunct farm. Maybe the county owned the property. I turned to Maddie.
“Is there a site map or survey available for that property to see if there are other buildings—places you could keep a hostage?”
She shook her head.
“You’re clever, Lucas, but I doubt it. It’s an old place, and a lot of files went up in flames a couple of years ago at County Records. And even if there is a survey, it would take forever to dig it up. They aren’t too organized over there.”
An excuse. I could smell one a mile away.
“Maddie, I think you’re hiding something. Remember, a young woman’s life is at stake here.”
“I know what the stakes are. You want to know who owns the property? I do. And I’m angry as hell that there’s every reason to believe it’s being used to hold a young woman hostage.”
“You own it? So you know the place well.”
“Lucas, I haven’t lived there since I was seven years old. If I knew where the girl was, I’d tell you.”
We pulled up to the sheriff’s office. Maddie jerked the Explorer into her reserved spot. She threw it into park and left the vehicle, slamming the door behind her. I followed her inside. She found Brimmer and began grilling him with questions about the black truck being stripped and examined in Marty’s Garage and Body Shop.
Does everyone in Broome do double duty as a crime investigator?
Any further attempts to talk with the sheriff were thwarted when Daniel and Sarah Martin showed up demanding to know what was being done to find their daughter.
“Why haven’t you found her?” Daniel Martin shouted to the sheriff. “Who was killed on the hill behind our house? Does he have something to do with Karen’s disappearance?”
“Mr. Martin, I want to assure you we are doing all we can to bring your daughter home.”
“And just what is that?” Daniel Martin asked.
“We’ve narrowed down an area, but we have to be cautious.”
“Oh my God! Why?” Sarah Martin gasped. “How
dangerous is this person? Do you know who he is and why he has Karen?”
Maddie looked at me and so did the Martins.
“Mr. Holt.” Sarah Martin stated my name as if their daughter’s disappearance was my fault. Perhaps it was. I had a fleeting thought. If only I hadn’t taken this case. I shook off the moment of guilt and tried to provide the Martins with a glimmer of hope.
“We’re not sure where Karen is or why she was targeted. It’s possible someone is trying to keep me from finding her. I don’t believe someone’s intent is to harm your daughter. But we have to take every precaution to make sure she is returned safely.”
The Martins didn’t appear appeased by my speech. In fact, they looked more terrified—and enraged.
“Are you saying, Mr. Holt, the real target here is you?” Daniel Martin’s face was taut with anger. “Do you mean to say, our daughter’s life is in danger because you came to Broome to find her?”
I didn’t know what to say. Of course, that was the reason. At that point, I didn’t dare mention who I thought had kidnapped Karen and in all likelihood had been responsible for Mary Wells’ death. I gave Maddie a dark stare, thanking her for directing the Martins’ wrath at me. She nodded, “you’re welcome” and then took over the conversation, offering the Martins coffee along with assurance Karen would be found.
The Martins left and before I could speak to Maddie privately, Delaney drew her attention to some more information about Crocker’s truck. I moved closer. She acknowledged me and allowed me to listen in. As I suspected, the vehicle was clean; there were no personal effects, no blood or trace evidence. So far, we had nothing to prove who killed Glick and Mary Wells.
“Sheriff, what about using dogs to find the missing girl?” Delaney asked.
“We don’t have immediate access to trained dogs. Make some phone calls to see who has any available and how soon they can bring them here.”