Silent Approach

by Bobby Cole

  She backed out of the room and went down the main hall. The next room was a catchall. In the corner were fishing rods and tackle boxes, a deer stand, camo waders, and a bag of mallard-duck decoys. There were several hunting jackets thrown on top of a mounted deer head, and a treadmill that looked like it hadn’t been used in years. It all looked like he’d just moved in and hadn’t arranged anything. The agent saw everything but a set of golf clubs, and again thought—hopefully, now—that he might just be out golfing after all.

  The gun safe was the largest item in the room. It was the size of a refrigerator, and purely for investigative reasons, she tried the handle and found it locked.

  Emma felt strange looking around the house of the man she had a personal interest in, but she was doing it as Agent Emma Haden in search of answers to a nagging hunch.

  As she walked back to the living area, her cell phone rang. The caller ID indicated it was Agent Garner.

  “What did you find out from the bartender?” she asked, getting right to the point.

  “Not much. He hasn’t seen Walker today. He was there until about ten last night.”

  “Shit, I was hoping he would say he closed the place down.”

  “But he said that they rarely see him on Sundays, for whatever that’s worth.”

  “There are other places he could go.”

  “Emma, what are you thinking?” Agent Garner asked.

  “I don’t know. I’m at John Allen’s house, which is a barn, and he’s not here, and it just doesn’t feel right.”

  “You have good hunches.”

  “I just think it’s really odd that I can’t find him today. He was so excited about the artifact sale to Winston Walker. I really feel like he would have called me this morning to be a part of arresting Walker.”

  “He’s still not answering his phone?”

  “Nope. And I just can’t believe he’s out playing golf or something.”

  “Okay, let me think. If his phone is on, we can have it triangulated and at least get an idea where he is. That’s if his phone is on.”

  Emma snapped upright where she stood. “That’s a great idea! Can you do that today?”

  Garner laughed. “Well, I’m enjoying a lazy Sunday afternoon watching my Cardinals play the Royals, but for you, yes. I’ll get with the technical guys and see if I can pull some strings.”

  “Thank you. I owe you one.”

  “No problem, but I hope you’re wrong, because I know you’re thinking the worst.”

  “He’s a good guy. He’s just pretty green at this law-enforcement business.”

  “I get it,” he said. “Stay by your phone, and I’ll let you know what I find. Oh, text me his phone number.”

  “Will do. Thanks again,” Emma said as she sat on the couch in John Allen’s den.

  She immediately texted John Allen’s number to Agent Garner, then leaned back and looked around. She decided she might as well try and call John Allen again. “Hey, I’m at your house” would be awkward to explain as a potential girlfriend, but it would be easy as an agent.

  The phone rang twice in her ear before she heard another phone ringing in the room. She stood and heard it again, then hurriedly walked to the counter in the kitchen and saw it lying there with her name on the caller ID. Her heart leaped into her throat. His phone is here! No one, no one, goes anywhere without their phone these days.

  Setting John Allen’s phone down, Emma noticed a fancy wooden box at the end of the counter that looked out of place. She opened the top and saw the skull. Her mind raced. She knew she’d heard the tape of John Allen selling it to Winston.

  Winston had determined the skull was a setup and somehow had come back to get John Allen to prevent him from exposing him. That has to be it!

  Emma dialed Agent Garner as fast as she could and explained her find. He agreed it was unusual.

  Hurrying to the door, she said, “Let’s pick up Winston Walker!”

  “It’s the weekend,” Agent Garner said. “Maybe John Allen just left his phone?”

  “No way!”

  “Just because he left his wedding ring and phone at his house—on the weekend, mind you—doesn’t mean he’s in some kinda trouble.”

  “Mack, I gotta feeling.”

  “Do you even have your gear?” She knew he was just trying to buy some time and calm her down.

  “It’s all in my trunk.”

  Garner laughed. “You’re always prepared.” He sighed. “Let me get the boys together, and we’ll meet you in Meridian in a couple of hours. I’ll be in touch with details.”

  “I’ll be there,” she said. As she walked with purpose to her car, Emma realized she still had John Allen’s ring in her hand. She immediately went back inside and placed it on his nightstand, then took one more look her around and soaked in John Allen’s world.

  John Allen hadn’t been able to find anything jagged and exposed to rub the zip ties against in hopes of breaking them. It was like somebody had purposely removed anything that might be used. When he hopped into a stream of sunshine, he could see his feet were swelling and turning darker. The ties were constricting his blood flow, and he could only assume his hands were suffering the same fate.

  Frustrated and rapidly becoming dehydrated, he stared at the handles on the boat winches used to raise deer up to be gutted and skinned. If the handles were two feet lower, they would be useful to help him break his zip ties.

  He’d been in the skinning shed for hours upon hours, and throughout most of them it had been baking in the hot Mississippi sun. He had no idea how long he’d been inside, but he could tell the sun was starting to fall from the sky. His boxer shorts were soaking wet. He knew he needed water. A green water hose lay curled on the floor like a long serpent but wasn’t connected to an outlet. It aggravated him that he couldn’t find an outlet and finally guessed it must be outside. Leaning against a wall, he closed his eyes and worked to take shallower breaths as he tried to rest and conserve his energy.

  John Allen was growing delirious and had to force his mind to focus. Left unattended, it raced with memories of Sadie and the life they’d been trying to build before tragedy struck. The lights of the fire truck right before the crash were vivid in his mind. He replayed the accident over and over, flinching each time. His mind drifted to a scene of his parents standing at the fence while he played center field in a Little League baseball game. They’d never missed a game, all the way through high school. The next scene was Sadie walking down the aisle toward him on their wedding day. She was so beautiful. Memories flooded him as he fought to hang on to consciousness.

  After an hour of directing his helper, Winston’s Suburban was loaded with the only things he cared about. He’d packed little from inside the house. There was the television, a laptop computer, and a wireless router that only worked half the time. The Internet was his connection to the artifact underworld, which he intended to keep an eye on, and it would be critical in his new career as a model photographer as well. He packed the clothes he liked best, a pillow he bought off a TV infomercial, a small strongbox that contained what little cash he had left, and a small pistol he’d acquired in a bad trade.

  His helper carelessly tossed a set of golf clubs in the back that rattled like metallic bones. The idiot had no idea how expensive they were. He was trying to squeeze a fake leather recliner into the back when Winston hobbled out and told him about the pistols under the house. The big guy pushed, and the recliner popped inside.

  “Under the house?” he asked dubiously.

  “Yeah, Runt put ’em there this morning. I need you to crawl under and get ’em.”

  “Are there spiders under there?”

  “I don’t know. Here’s a flashlight. You can have the rocks,” he said, referring to the meth Runt had stowed. “I just need the pistols.”

  “How big are the rocks?”

  “You’ll be happy,” Winston said with a knowing look on his face.

  The big guy remained hesitant,
but Winston knew the thought of the meth rocks would motivate him. Squatting down, the light illuminated the darkness and damp dirt under the house. It was a prime spot for spiders and snakes, and the guy knew it.

  Winston struggled back inside to make certain he had his Square card reader for his iPhone, another piece of business equipment he needed. It was critical for his scams, and he envisioned it being useful in the near future.

  When he arrived back outside, his helper was crawling out with pistols in one hand and the rocks tightly squeezed in the other. The flashlight was in his mouth. Winston generously made a gift of the flashlight, though he never thought about helping him brush the dirt off his sweaty shoulders and back.

  “Where you going?” the big guy asked as he admired his prize.

  Winston knew better than to tell the truth, as somebody would eventually question him. He even considered killing the big guy just so he couldn’t talk, but quickly decided he might be more useful to help create a diversion.

  Hobbling to the back of his Suburban, Winston finally said, “I think I’m gonna head to California. I have a big publishing opportunity out there.”

  He looked around at the place he’d tried to make into a similar version of the compound his father had maintained for the wealthy family. It had never been anything grand, but he’d always thought he would add on as his businesses flourished. He had almost five acres. He’d planned to build a four-car garage and a workout area. One night while high on cocaine and watching the US Open, he’d decided he needed tennis courts, even though he’d never played the game. That never got past the idea stage, though. He’d also planned to redo the whole house, but that, too, had just never happened. He’d had a few good years, but he’d spent the money. After more bad years than good, it was falling apart. Everything needed maintenance, and it was time to move on and let the bank have it. He was tired of his life and needed a new start. He’d never be accepted in the crowd he wanted to be in, not in Meridian. To hell with ’em, he thought.

  “Am I gonna see you again?” the big guy asked as Winston closed the back hatch.

  “Who knows? But I tell ya what. You’re welcome to stay here in the house until I get back.”

  Chapter 31

  Hoss had spent two agonizing hours trying to get Gina to give up how she’d come into her $1,000 chip. She’d dug her heels in and wouldn’t talk until Hoss explained that if she had stolen the whole forty grand’s worth, she’d be on the hook for a federal crime. Then he convinced her that as far as he was concerned, she had stolen all of it, and he planned to prosecute.

  As this reality set in, Gina sobered and finally told him that her boyfriend had given her the chip. With tears welling up in her eyes, she went on to say that she hadn’t stolen anything in her life.

  “Do I need a lawyer?” she asked.

  “Not if you just tell me the truth,” Hoss assured her. “That’s all I want. I’m really not out to pin this on you. I just want to find out how your boyfriend came into possession of that chip.”

  Gina took a deep breath and further loosened her resolve. “He really ain’t my boyfriend. I mean, we ain’t serious. I just wanted a new tattoo, that’s why I was cashing it in,” she admitted.

  Hoss wanted details, names, and times. Gina hung her head and reluctantly told him what she knew. There really wasn’t much to tell. Her boyfriend had dropped by this morning and had given her the chip. She knew he had at least one more chip because he’d shown it to her, and basically that was all she had for him.

  Sliding a notepad across the table, Hoss looked pleased and smiled for the first time since they’d been locked in the bare room. “Write his name and address down for me.”

  She picked up a pen. “After this, can I go?”

  “Soon. We need to verify your story. If it checks out, you’re free to go.”

  “I’m telling you the truth.”

  “I believe you, but it’s like Ronald Reagan said, ‘Trust, but verify,’” Hoss replied as he stood up to leave the room. He was mentally tired from the interview and needed a Coke. He figured she did as well.

  As he was walking down the hall to the break room, his officer friend rounded the corner.

  “Hey, Hoss, we just had a call from a concerned fisherman. He says there’s an oil slick bubbling up in Lake Pushmataha near the levee, and a guitar floated up while he was watching it.”

  Hoss rubbed his face with both hands. He didn’t like what he was thinking. “You know anybody with some scuba gear?”

  “Yeah, we got a man that’s trained.”

  “Get him and meet me at the levee as fast as you can.”

  In another couple of minutes, Hoss was cranking over his car’s engine while a knot of dread was building in his stomach. He really liked John Allen. He could have been a lot nicer to him. He hoped this wasn’t what he thought it was. He decided to try John Allen’s cell one more time, and he prayed he would answer.

  One the third ring, he heard a female voice.

  “Hello, this is John Allen’s phone.”

  “Agent Haden?”

  “Yeah, it’s me. I’m at his house. There’s no sign of him, and his phone was lying on the counter.”

  Hoss shifted the car into drive and grunted. “Is there any sign of foul play?”

  “Negative. Have you heard anything from him?”

  “No, not a word. I’m on my way to a lake a few miles from here. An officer saw John Allen’s car in the area early this morning before daylight, and we just got a report of some oil on the water at the lake.”

  Stunned, Agent Haden placed her hand over her mouth, then took it away. “Where is this lake?”

  “It’s a few miles west of Philadelphia. Look, it’s unlikely it’s related. I mean, thousands of people drive down this road every day, and the oil could be from a boat that sank. But I’m going to check it out with a diver.” He didn’t tell her his GPS had pinpointed the car to this location.

  Agent Haden was torn between joining in the arrest of Walker and going to the site where John Allen could be lying at the bottom of the lake.

  “I’ll call you as soon as I know something,” Hoss said.

  Making up her mind, she replied, “I’m on my way. Can you drop me a pin where you are? If you can do that, I can find it.”

  Hoss was familiar with the technology and agreed to do it.

  “I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

  Emma was deeply concerned for John Allen as she pointed her BMW southeast toward Philadelphia with no concern for the speed limit. She hated when she couldn’t understand things, but that’s what made her good at her job. She was able to think from different perspectives and piece together plausible scenarios out of chaos. In this situation, she could only think of one. She felt that Winston had come after John Allen, and she prayed to God she was wrong.

  When the pin landed in her inbox she slowed down long enough to determine where she was going, then floored the gas pedal once again.

  Agent Garner was gathering up some troops to descend on Winston’s home and arrest him. They could do that without her, he explained. He encouraged her to get to Philadelphia and let him know what she found.

  The lake looked normal to Hoss. He didn’t come out here very often, especially in the hot summer. He enjoyed the peacefulness of the water, but his job demanded so much of him he didn’t have time to enjoy it.

  From the edge of the levee he could see a small oil slick on the water’s surface. As he moved closer, a bubble rose to the surface. However, there was no guitar floating anywhere.

  Walking farther down the levee, he could see an impression that tire tracks had made in the recently mown grass. They went straight to the water’s edge and had to lead to the source of the oil slick.

  “Dammit!” he mumbled under his breath, then called the tribal police office on his cell phone. He requested two units and asked for the ETA on the diver. He also wanted to know whether anyone had a boat with a sonar display.

&nb
sp; “10–4, units and diver en route,” was the response.

  Knowing the FBI would be on the scene, he wanted to make certain he handled the situation properly. There could be evidence here that could help make the case, he thought as he looked around. He needed to call the chief and let her know what was happening. John Allen was her golden boy. She would want to know.

  Within three minutes the diver pulled up. Hoss instantly recognized him. He was a young officer, a full-blooded Indian who’d been a football star for the local Choctaw high school until a concussion in a playoff game ended his career. The kid was fearless, a great example of the spirit of the tribe.

  The diver and the officer Hoss had first sent up here joined him at the lake’s edge where they could see the oil slick on the water. It was about fifteen feet in diameter.

  “What ya thinking, Hoss?” the officer asked.

  “Clear enough. That’s gas, oil, or antifreeze, or something from a car. Over there are tracks leading down to it,” he said, pointing with his cell phone.

  “That’s the deepest part of the lake right there,” the diver offered.

  “That’s right. It’s close to forty feet. Can you dive down and check it out?”

  “Yes, sir,” he quickly replied, then started back to his car to grab his gear.

  “Hang on,” Hoss said. The young diver stopped and turned back to him. “Just so you boys know. I’m worried that might be John Allen down there. Let’s not waste any time, but please be safe.”

  The young diver was visibly affected by the news but just nodded and headed off for his gear, his resolve to make the dive clearly fortified. They had all met John Allen, and while they were jealous of his car, they also appreciated what he was trying to do for the tribe. The mood instantly became solemn, and word spread as other officers arrived.

  Hoss had them start by blocking the only road into the lake to keep any rubberneckers from gawking. He worried about boat traffic. There were several out there, enjoying the sunshine.