Soundbyte (-byte series Book 5)

by Cat Connor

  “They reported a missing person. No names. Just that it was feared a missing man, a hunter, drowned in the Potomac by Harper’s Ferry.”

  “Good,” I replied. “For once they haven’t gone nuts with details.”

  Campbell leaned back in his seat. I heard the leather creak.

  “How did you survive?” I said, as I indicated and changed lanes.

  “I almost didn’t,” he said there was a hint of strain in his voice.

  My eyes flicked to his face. He was losing color.

  “You all right?”

  “Sure,” he replied.

  “You don’t look like you took a beating. Maguire went back to Maria.” I was thinking aloud. “He shot you or stabbed you?”

  “For a contract killer, he’s crap with a pistol and a moving target,” Campbell replied.

  “Through and through?”

  He nodded. “I dove into the water when I saw the gun. He’s also crap at moving targets in water.”

  “I can have a doctor meet us.” Kurt wouldn’t hesitate to come if I made the call.

  “I’ll be okay. It’s a flesh wound.”

  I lifted the two-way radio from its cradle and held the squawk button. “SSA Conway to comms, over.”

  “Go for Conway, over.”

  “Request police backup at the following address, over.” I gave the address and listened while comms read it back to me. “Silent approach. Over.”

  “Four cars responding, Agent Conway, over.”

  “Thanks. Have paramedics join them. Over.”

  For about three minutes, we traveled in total silence. Campbell was hurt and would need medical attention as soon as we could get it, flesh wound or not. I didn’t want to lose him. He was all we had to make sense of the mess in front of us.

  “Campbell,” I said, tapping his forearm with my right hand. “You still with us?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “I’m okay.”

  Lee laughed. “Know someone else who says that.”

  “So what is this all about?” I said. “It’s not diamonds for the sake of diamonds. It has to be diamonds as currency. There’s more to it though, and it isn’t anything to do with the curse of the Heathcote diamonds and the remaining Bleich, Zachary, wanting all the power. I don’t think the family was killed over diamonds. The fact that Bleich was a jeweler seems incidental as far as the deaths go. What was Sutherland blackmailing him with?”

  “You’re pretty smart,” Campbell said. “I’ve been tracking Maguire for three years. I thought I knew everything there was to know about him and his connections, which by the way are vast and not people anyone in their right mind wants to be involved with.” He took a breath and adjusted his position. “I thought he’d met Zachary by accident. He looked like the perfect guy to get diamonds for Maguire. I kept a close eye on them, but there was never anything that changed hands. They seemed to be friends.”

  “That’s what Zachary says, he wanted Maguire notified of his family’s deaths, but he calls him Brown,” I said.

  “He would, Maguire has been using that cover for many years, on and off,” Campbell said.

  “So the connection was friendship?”

  “No, it wasn’t. They’re half-brothers,” Campbell replied.

  A fitting Sir Walter Scott quote popped into my mind. ‘Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive!’

  “You’re going to have to explain that connection. I know the twins are not Sigmund’s children but that Zachary is,” I said.

  Campbell smiled. “You remember that prime time soap from the eighties, Dallas?”

  “As in who shot JR?”

  “That’s the one … the story surrounding the Bleich family could rival any soap opera, even the Ewing’s.”

  I wasn’t far wrong with my Days of Our Lives imaginings then.

  “Zachary doesn’t know any of it, does he?” I said.

  “Not as far as I am aware.”

  “Sutherland?”

  “She married that name.”

  “So who is she?” I said.

  “She’s Maguire’s mother.”

  “And Zachary is Maguire’s half-brother? So Fiona Sutherland blackmailed Sigmund Bleich by threatening to tell all … obviously one diamond wasn’t enough and she wanted to do some serious damage. Guess it’s true what they say about a woman scorned.”

  “Yes. Told you this was a soap opera.”

  I saw two Fairfax Police Department cars just ahead of us. “We’ll follow these guys in.”

  A few seconds later we were parked and exiting the car. Lee handed out bulletproof vests.

  “You should fit Sam’s,” he said to Campbell handing him a vest. “You need a hand?”

  Campbell nodded. “Thanks.” He struggled out of his jacket. A bloodstain spread across the right side of his shirt above the waistband of his jeans.

  “That doesn’t look too good,” I commented. “I think we need to get someone to look at that.”

  “I’m fine. No need.”

  “As soon as paramedics arrive you’re out of here,” I said. “You sure you’re okay to come in?”

  “I’m okay.”

  My turn to laugh. It’s exactly what I would say. I wasn’t about to argue with him. “Let’s go.”

  Four police officers stood near a marked car, five feet from us. I watched as a police car angled across the street about a hundred yards up the road. Behind me, I knew the same thing just happened. The police officers in front of me were wearing vests. Good to know they were ready.

  I stopped by them. “We’ll take the front door. Two of you take the back – go right. The other two take the back – go left.”

  They all nodded.

  The police officers split up. They ran in front of us then disappeared from view. I slipped my Glock from my holster and racked the slide. The telltale clicks from next to me confirmed Lee and Campbell had chambered rounds as well.

  “We good?” I said.

  Lee nodded, his open palm slid across mine catching my fingers in his. “Alert and safe, Chicky.”

  I led the way to the front door of the single story home and knocked.

  The waiting was a killer. Adrenaline pumped.

  I knocked again and reminded myself to slow down my breathing, to steady my pounding heart, and adrenaline-fueled jittery nerves.

  The last knock was followed by footsteps walking toward the solid door. I heard a click. Lee tapped my arm and pulled me sideways as a blast hit the door blowing a fair-sized hole right through it, spraying where I’d been standing with splintered wood. I glanced at Campbell. He winked. He was fine.

  Police called into the house from the back. Lee hollered from the front, “FBI! Drop the gun! Come out with your hands in the air!”

  How many times do we have to be in this position? Why can’t people just play nice?

  Another shot followed, blowing more of the door outward.

  “What’s her first name again?” I whispered to Campbell.

  “Fiona.”

  I turned my attention to the person with the shotgun.

  “Fiona, please. We need to talk to you about your son.”

  No answer.

  “You don’t want to talk about Pearce? Then how about your husband. Is Quinn there? Can we speak to him?”

  “No one speaks to Quinn,” said a female voice. “No one, am I clear?”

  “Very. Is that you, Fiona?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’d like to talk to you about your son.”

  “I don’t have a son.”

  I signaled to Lee and held up three fingers, he backed away holding his phone. Keeping out of the line of fire, he made the call to SWAT 3.

  I whispered to Iain Campbell, “Looks like I might need my rifle, it’s in the back of my car.” I slipped the keys into his hand.

  He nodded and moved away. I saw his hand seek his injured side as he walked. He wasn’t okay. He was stubborn but he wasn’t okay.

  �
��Fiona, where is Quinn?”

  “He’s here.”

  “Is he hurt?”

  “No.” A little indignant twinge sounded in her voice. Maybe she’d decided to play innocent when it came to wanting him dead or maybe the moment passed and she now needed him alive.

  “Can you send him out here to me?”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Don’t make this a hostage situation, Fiona. Just send out Quinn then you and I can have a chat about your son.”

  “I don’t have a son!”

  “Okay, then just send out Quinn.”

  “No.”

  I changed my approach. “Do you know our policy on hostages?”

  “No.”

  Shoot the hostage if necessary. Once they’re out of the equation it’s much easier to deal with the hostage taker. Level that playing field.

  “I have no qualms about shooting a hostage to remove him from the equation. Negotiating with terrorists is not my thing.”

  Silence.

  In the background, I heard a man’s voice. Pleading.

  Sucked to be him today.

  “I’m not a terrorist! This is a domestic situation. Nothing that needs police or FBI,” Fiona hollered from deep within the house.

  A cop appeared across the porch from me. I beckoned him to come closer and we stepped away onto the driveway and out of sight of the door and any overlooking windows.

  “SWAT is on the way. What’s it like around the back?” I said.

  “Lots of windows, someone pulled all the shades.”

  “Did you see the male occupant?”

  “I got a look in before the shades were pulled. I saw a male tied to a chair in the middle of a room. Looks like a living room. Back of the house, between the kitchen and bedrooms.”

  “Thanks.” I gave him my cell number. We were going to be a while and they needed to be able to keep me apprised of any developing situations. “Keep your heads down. Stay alert. Be prepared to return fire if necessary. We’re counting on you.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I smiled at him. He was fresh, young, and wide-eyed. He made me feel old.

  “You know the way it works when you guys help out Delta A?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  I was tempted to grumble at the ‘ma’am’ but in his eyes I was a ‘ma’am’. His eyes and my mirror. Funny how I don’t feel any older than eighteen. Damn that mirror and that ma’am.

  “When we’re done and the case is closed, I run a bar tab for all LEOs who helped us. Murphy’s bar.” And a good time is had by all. A legacy left over from Mac. He started the bar tab thing as a way of thanking police and it enabled us to get to know the officers who stepped up to help. We’ve made some good friends that way. Making friends and influencing people. I preferred to think of it as undoing years of bad feelings and building good policing relationships. We’re all in this together.

  I caught my thoughts. They made me smile. I sounded like something from a recruitment pamphlet.

  The cop I’d been speaking to grinned and hurried away, keeping his head low.

  I moved back up to the porch but remained out of the way of the destroyed front door.

  “Fiona, it would be better if you sent Quinn out. You and I can resolve this much easier without distractions.”

  “I can’t do that. He’s just as involved as I am.”

  I doubted that. I whispered to Lee, “Find out what she means by Quinn Sutherland being just as involved as she is.”

  “Enough now! Put down the shotgun. Let’s get this over with.” Places to go, a kid to supervise, no time for idiots.

  I saw Campbell coming back carrying my rifle. My eyes scanned the area looking for a vantage point. Garage roof of the house next door was a possibility.

  Campbell and I walked down the driveway to the very end; there were some big trees in the back yard. I waved to the two cops who watched us. With the blinds closed on all the windows, we were hard pushed to acquire a target anyway, so a vantage point wasn’t vital yet. What I needed was eyes inside. SWAT and their clever little fiber optic cameras would be awesome.

  My cell phone rang. When I checked the screen, I saw Andrews’ smiling face.

  SWAT was on site.

  “I’ll come to you, wait for me,” I said and hit the end button. I took the rifle from Campbell. “Let’s go meet Andrews and his team.”

  We hurried, giving a wide berth to the gaping hole that was once a nice front door. A boom made me jump. Shot pounded the side of the garage next door.

  The temptation to yell, “You missed!” was strong.

  If Fiona Sutherland was determined to end her life in a messy blood splatter there wasn’t much I could do to stop her, but I didn’t want her taking her husband along for the final ride. That was my preference, whether I could do anything to help him remained to be seen.

  On our way to the roadside I asked Campbell if Quinn Sutherland figured in anything he’d found. He said he hadn’t. As far as he could tell, Quinn was a good man who loved his wife and had no idea she was a mother. I doubt he expected her to have a child who was a contract killer. The Sutherlands were not blessed with children of their own. They met later in life and they’d been married six years.

  They were in their fifties Why the hell is a sensible loving wife holding her husband hostage and shooting at us with a shotgun? Of course, she was the same woman who allegedly hired someone to kill her husband in an accident. I wondered what it was all about. Money? Maybe she didn’t want to share that big fat diamond.

  I leaned on the black SWAT truck parked behind our car.

  “You all right?” Andrews said.

  “Yeah, this doesn’t make sense.”

  “Since when do nut jobs with guns ever make sense?”

  “Good point.” I cradled my rifle in my arms. “I need eyes in that house.”

  “I’m on it. Two of the boys are running in the cable now. They found a way under the house. Those cops you have with you are on to it.”

  Campbell cleared his throat. “Conway, do you mind if I …” He fell toward me. I threw my gun at Andrews and caught Iain, breaking his fall with my body, and taking him to the ground with as much control as his dead weight would allow.

  “Paramedics?” I said, as Andrews crouched next to me.

  “There is an ambulance across the road. I’ll get them,” Andrews said.

  This was not the best thing that could’ve happened. I needed more information and now Campbell was out of commission. If plan A doesn’t work, stay cool, there are twenty-five more letters.

  We needed to end the standoff. It was time to go see if we had eyes in the house, take Fiona out, and rescue Quinn. There was a good chance he now knew what was going on. That meant he was valuable to us.

  I wasn’t sure if Fiona intended to kill him or not. She’d tried once but that was by proxy. Doing the deed in person, now that’s a whole other skill set. I didn’t know enough about her to know if she possessed such talent.

  Campbell was crushing me under his weight. My legs were losing feeling. He was still breathing. That was good.

  Two paramedics arrived with a gurney. They lifted him off me. I gave the paramedics a run down, told them he was shot, a through and through, that his current condition could be because of the wound and that I had no idea where or if he received medical attention.

  The bigger paramedic held a clipboard and a pen. He asked for Campbell’s name. The Bonanza theme came from nowhere and damn near floored me.

  I rallied and without thinking, I replied, “Joseph Cartwright.”

  I apologized for not knowing his birthdate or any other personal information and put Delta A down as emergency contact. They took off his vest. Underneath the vest was a deep red wet stain. Blood ran around his waistband coloring the top of his trousers a brownish red.

  A cop appeared. “Can I help?

  “Yes,” I replied. “Escort this ambulance to Inova Fairfax and stay with the patient.
He is Mr. Cartwright.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  They were all so young.

  “Officer?”

  “Ted Konstram.”

  Now that was a familiar surname name. “Josh’s brother?”

  He beamed. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “It’s a family business, I see.”

  Ted nodded. “I’ll stay with Mr. Cartwright.”

  “Thanks.”

  Ted followed the paramedics. Andrews helped me up.

  “You all right?”

  “Yes, of course,” I replied. “Let’s do this thing.”

  Lee was at my elbow with a concerned expression. “Chicky?”

  “I’m okay. Campbell, not so much.”

  Fifteen minutes and seven shotgun blasts later we had a good view into the living room via the sneaky little fiber optic camera doo-dad that SWAT threaded into the house via some devious hole drilling. I sat in the SWAT truck watching the screen.

  I could see Quinn tied to a chair while Fiona paced up and down the room talking on the phone.

  “Can we jam that phone call?” I said. I didn’t want to yet, but would be nice if we could.

  “It’s not cellular.”

  “Are we tracing it and recording it?”

  “We are.”

  “When we’re done letting her talk, can we break into the call?”

  “Sure can. We can also prevent her from calling out and anyone but us calling in.”

  Now, that sounds like a fun way to shit with someone.

  “And she’s talking to whom?”

  The agent manning the monitors and wearing a headset replied, “A male. She hasn’t mentioned his name.”

  “Conversation is about?”

  “It’s incongruous. In one stream, she says she wants this over, in the next she is vowing to fight to the end. She says Quinn is going to die and then that he isn’t.”

  “Sounds conflicted.”

  “I think it’s more than that.” He was writing fast on a legal pad on the desk. “Here, they seem to be talking about mythology amidst the to-ing and fro-ing. What do you see?”

  I took the pad and read the conversation.

  “I’ll be back,” I said ripping off the page and jumping out the truck. “Lee!”

  A voice called back followed by running feet on the sidewalk.