Going Once (Forces of Nature)

by Sala, Sharon

  The line went dead in Don’s ear. He put down the phone. His hands were trembling, and the walls had begun to blur.

  * * *

  Tate dropped his cell phone in his pocket and then turned around. Nola was standing behind him. He shrugged.

  “The call was inevitable. It’s over.”

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “I will always be okay with you in my life.” He scooped her up in his arms and kissed her soundly. “We had hopes of viewing the kill site but found out it’s already under water. However, the witness is talking to the Tidewater police at the moment, so we’re going to go talk to her, too. Cameron will be here with you, okay?”

  “Of course.”

  “There’s a big Walmart in Tidewater. I think you’re due a sketch pad and some supplies, yes?”

  Nola’s eyes lit up. “Oh, thank you, Tate, thank you. At last I’ll get a piece of my life back.”

  “And we’ll bring back some food for supper, too, so don’t think about cooking for everybody. You’re not the maid.”

  “I didn’t mind, but I’ll gladly pass on the job. Wade is never full.”

  He grinned. “We know. So, see you later, honey. I don’t have to tell you to be careful, because I know you will.”

  “I trust no one, right?”

  “Right.”

  A few minutes later he and Wade were gone, and she and Cameron were on their own.

  “I’m going to take a nap,” she said, “so you don’t need to worry about babysitting, okay? Do your work or whatever you want. I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay, but I won’t be farther than the living room, so yell if you need anything.”

  “Will do,” she said, and then stopped in the bathroom to get a hair band so she could braid her hair. It wasn’t the best job she’d ever done, but at least her hair wouldn’t be a tangled mess when she woke up.

  She pulled back the covers and crawled into bed, then stretched out and closed her eyes.

  * * *

  The vulture was back, sitting on the roof of the Feds’ trailer and still looking in Hershel’s direction, which reinforced his need to remove what he considered his jinx. He’d watched two of the Feds leaving and knew which one was still there. His name was Winger. A big guy with a steady gaze. It wouldn’t be easy to put him out of commission without killing him, but that option was off the table.

  The trick would be choosing a disguise that Winger wouldn’t see through. He’d already done the cop here, but that would still be the best way to take the Fed off guard. He’d be thinking Hershel was one of his own when he opened the door. Satisfied with his decision, Hershel began pulling out gear and running through the little monologue he would use to get himself inside.

  * * *

  Tate and Wade got into Tidewater just after 1:00 p.m. and went straight to the police station. They’d been there once before, the day when they’d gone to the hospital to talk to Nola, and recognized the sergeant on duty. When he looked up, it was apparent he recognized them, too.

  “What are you boys after now?” he asked.

  “We would like to talk to the woman who saw the man who shot her husband and father-in-law,” Tate said

  “That would be Patricia Fremont. She’s gone to her parents’ house here in town, but I need to call and make sure she’s up to it. I heard she’s had a breakdown.”

  Tate frowned. “Tell her that we won’t intrude any longer than we have to, but that it’s vital that we speak to her.”

  “Hang on,” the sergeant said, and picked up the phone.

  Tate stepped away from the desk while the cop made the call.

  “What do you think? Will she talk?” Wade asked.

  Tate shrugged. “She has to.”

  A few moments later the sergeant waved Tate over.

  “She’ll talk to you. This is the address. Go down the street to the first stoplight and take a right. The street you want is ten blocks down. Take a left. House number is over the garage.”

  “Thanks for the help,” Tate said.

  “Just catch the crazy bastard,” the sergeant said.

  They left the police station, both of them thinking about how hard this interview was going to be. When this woman had woken up this morning, she’d had a husband and a father-in-law, and before noon they’d both been dead.

  “She’s going to be pretty fragile, probably still in shock,” Tate said.

  “Do you think the killer will focus on her like he has on Nola?”

  “I can’t say for sure, but I’d say not right away. He’s going to blame any later mistakes on Nola, because she broke his perfect record, and he’s going to want to deal with her first, even though she’s even less likely than Mrs. Fremont to be able to ID him.”

  “He’s crazy,” Wade said.

  Tate nodded. “Quite possibly literally. Hey, give Cameron a call and tell him to look for any stories of Katrina survivors who were hospitalized for mental problems after losing someone they loved.”

  “Will do,” Wade said, and made the call.

  The phone rang a couple of times, and then Cameron picked up.

  “Hey, Wade.”

  “Hey yourself. Tate wants you to set aside any stories you find of people who had mental breakdowns after Katrina, too.”

  “Yeah, I figured that out and I’ve already started separating them out. How’s it going?”

  “Well, we’re here and on the way to interview the latest witness. She’s gone to her parents’ house. Everything okay there with you two?”

  “Yeah, all except that vulture is back on the roof. I heard the damn thing land.”

  Wade frowned. “Are you serious?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. Otherwise, Nola’s taking a nap and I’m on the job. See you when you get here.”

  “We’ll call you when we get ready to head back that way and take orders for supper.”

  “Good. Talk to you later.”

  “Yeah, later,” Wade said.

  Tate began slowing down, looking for house numbers.

  “There it is,” Wade said. “The white frame house with the blue trim.”

  Tate pulled into the drive. “I’m not looking forward to this, so let’s get it over with.”

  Wade patted his pocket to make sure he had a notebook, and then got out and followed Tate to the front door. It opened before he had time to knock, and a large man stepped into the doorway.

  Tate took out his badge. “I’m Special Agent Benton from the FBI, and this is my partner Special Agent Luckett. We appreciate the opportunity to speak to your daughter.”

  “Larry Conway. My daughter is in the living room. The doctor’s done been here and gave her something to calm her down, so she’s a little sleepy, but she wants to talk to you. Follow me.”

  They walked into the foyer and took a right into the living room. Several people were there, including a twentysomething woman wrapped in a quilt and holding a cup of coffee in her hands as if it was the Holy Grail. Even though the weather outside was sunny and calm, and the temperature was comfortable inside, she was shaking.

  “That there’s my daughter, Rebecca Fremont. Y’all take a seat on the sofa next to her. Becky, these are the agents from the FBI.”

  “Thank you,” Tate said, and he and Wade nodded to the others in the room and took their seats.

  The young woman looked at them blankly and then seemed to pull herself together.

  “Is it true you’ve been looking at this killer for a while?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am, it’s true,” Tate said. “May we ask you some questions?”

  But she had one of her own first. “Why haven’t you been able to stop him?”

  Tate sighed. “Because we don’t know what he looks like.
”

  “I saw him!” she cried, and then sat up a little straighter. “I saw him plain as day.”

  “How was he dressed this time?” Tate asked.

  “This time?” she echoed.

  “We’ve learned that he most likely uses a different disguise every time he goes out.”

  “Oh, my God, oh, my God. This is crazy. He was crazy.” She started to weep.

  Tate waited for her to gather her emotions. When she’d calmed down, he urged her to continue.

  “Just tell us exactly what you heard and saw. Don’t leave out anything, no matter how small.”

  “We’d been sandbagging for two days, hoping to hold the water back. I wanted to come in off the farm, but J.R., that was my husband, wouldn’t leave his daddy out there alone, and Jacob wouldn’t leave. So we stayed. I was carrying the family keepsakes to the second floor, and they were filling bags and patching up the little levee we’d built. I heard a pop, and then another one.” She began to rock back and forth, clutching the tissues. “I looked out, and saw J.R. and Jacob on the ground. Blood was running out beneath their heads, and a man was walking out of the trees.”

  Then she put her head down onto her knees and broke into sobs.

  “I’m so sorry,” Tate said. “I realize this is painful, but it’s also the best time for us to talk to you. It’s when you remember everything most acutely. Do you understand?”

  She moaned, then pulled herself upright, wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No, ma’am, we’re sorry,” Tate said.

  “If you can, think of this as something you are doing for your loved ones that they can’t do for themselves,” Wade added.

  She nodded. “Yes, I understand.”

  “You said the man walked out of the trees. What did he do?” Tate asked.

  She leaned forward. “He just stood there, like he was admiring the view. He didn’t see me. I know that. But I saw him. He was middle-aged for sure, in black pants and a black leather vest with a lot of those biker chains for decoration. His hair was black and shaggy, and he had a big, bushy mustache. He was wearing a baseball cap and carrying a rifle with a scope.”

  Wade glanced at Tate. That explained the clean shots.

  “Did you see him fire the weapon?” Tate asked.

  “No.”

  “Can you remember how he was carrying it?”

  She closed her eyes, picturing it and him in her mind, then looked up.

  “It was in his left hand, and then he put it in the crook of his arm and walked away.”

  Strike one, Tate thought. “Did you happen to get a look at what he was driving?”

  “Yes. It was a late model, short-bed Dodge Ram pickup. Couldn’t tell whether it was black or dark blue. If I had to pick a color, I’d say dark blue.”

  Tate’s heart skipped a beat. Strike two. The man in the motor home near the trailer drove a truck like that.

  “Is there anything else you can think of?” he asked.

  “He was bowlegged.”

  Strike three, and he saw from Wade’s eyes that they were on the same wavelength. Tate stood abruptly.

  “This is my card. If you think of anything else, please give me a call, and again, we are so sorry for your loss.” He turned to her father. “Mr. Conway, thank you for allowing us into your home.”

  Her father got up and walked them to the door.

  “Feel free to put a bullet through the bastard’s head for me when you finally run him down,” he said.

  Tate headed for their SUV on the run, with Wade right behind him.

  “Call Cameron,” Tate said, the moment they got inside.

  Wade grabbed his phone and hit speed dial, then waited for the call to be answered.

  “Do you think it’s actually him?” Wade asked.

  “The fact that it could be is concern enough. Using the left hand to carry the rifle, drives the same color and model truck, and has the same damn legs. That’s too many similarities to ignore.”

  The call rang five times, then went to voice mail.

  “He’s not answering,” Wade said. He left a quick “call me” message, then turned to Tate.

  “Call the police and have them send a car to the trailer to check it out. In the meantime, we’re going back.”

  Tate pressed harder on the gas pedal, his lips compressed into a thin line. He wouldn’t let himself think about what this might mean, or that they’d gotten too cocky about keeping Nola safe.

  Sixteen

  Hershel was working under time constraints. Without knowing how soon the other two agents would come back, he had to consider his window of opportunity a narrow one. Because he needed to break the jinx, he had to replicate everything from that day, including what he’d been wearing. So he’d packed the same cap and uniform, the wig and mustache, and headed out the door carrying his bag and a baseball bat.

  The vulture was still on the roof.

  It’s an omen, Hershel. You shouldn’t do this.

  “It’s not an omen, it’s just a big ugly bird,” he snapped, and tossed his things in the front seat of the truck.

  But instead of driving out of the trailer park, he drove all the way to the back lot and pulled in behind the bushes around an abandoned trailer falling to pieces on its lot. He dressed quickly, put on the wig, affixed the mustache to his upper lip and then added bushy brown eyebrows over his own gray ones and got back in the truck.

  This time, as he drove back toward the entrance, he was coming up on the Feds’ trailer from the back.

  He parked his truck out in the street so it would not be immediately visible from the front or the back door, then grabbed the bat, slipped his Taser into the holster on his belt, went to the back door and knocked.

  * * *

  When Cameron heard the first knock, he thought for a moment Nola must have awakened and was thumping around in the back bathroom. But then he realized someone was actually knocking on the back door, which made him immediately wary.

  He pulled his weapon as he got up, and then slipped down the hallway and looked out a window. When he saw a Queens Crossing officer standing on the steps holding a baseball bat, he frowned.

  “What the hell?” he muttered, and with his gun still in his hand, opened the door.

  Hershel was all business, as he knew an officer would be.

  “Sorry to bother you, sir, but we’ve had a report of a missing kid who lives out here, and we’re checking every residence.” He held up the bat. “I saw this laying in the grass and need to check and see if it belongs to any of your kids.”

  “No, no kids here,” Cameron said.

  “Be on the lookout, okay? He’s ten years old, slight build, shaggy blond hair and blue eyes.”

  Cameron was disarmed by the question. “Yeah, sure,” he said, and looked up and out across the backyard, which was exactly what Hershel was waiting for. He swung the bat, caught the agent on the side of the head and knocked him cold.

  “Sorry about that,” Hershel said, and dragged him off the steps where he’d fallen. He laid the agent down in the grass beside the trailer skirt, then pulled his truck up to the back door.

  He didn’t have any way of knowing where Nola Landry would be, but he had to look fast. He moved to the front of the house and realized it was empty, then started down the hall to the bedrooms. The two closest ones were empty, which left the master bedroom.

  He turned the doorknob and peeked in, then couldn’t believe his luck. She was in bed asleep. He hurried toward the bed and shook her.

  “Wake up,” he said.

  “Huh? What?”

  When she began to roll over, he shot her with the Taser, rendering her immediately immobile.

  “It’s tim
e, Nola Landry. I said I’d come for you, and I have.”

  The terror on her face was balm to his soul. This was what had been missing. They had to respect his authority.

  He threw her over his shoulder and carried her down the hall and out the door, and out to the pickup.

  Nola couldn’t believe this was happening. The pain she was experiencing from the Taser was nothing compared to not being able to speak or move. Her whole body was seizing, and when she saw Cameron lying in the grass as the killer carried her out the back door, she wanted to scream, but her muscles had been rendered useless. Despite every promise Tate had made, she was going to die.

  “Upsy daisy,” Hershel said as he dumped her onto the floorboard of his truck, so she was sitting with her back against the seat. He rolled her over like a rag doll, tied her hands and ankles, and then gagged her so she couldn’t scream. Only then did he roll her onto her back and pull off the electrodes. The electrical charge was gone, but her heart was hammering so hard it felt as if it would explode, and the muscles in her body were still seizing.

  Hershel drove out the front gate, right past two kids on bicycles and a lone news van. As he was turning onto the highway, he met a police cruiser running with lights flashing. When he saw the car take the turn into the trailer park, he panicked. It might be nothing, or it might mean that Winger had already been discovered. Either way, he wasn’t staying around to find out. He glanced at Nola, then hit the gas.

  * * *

  If their vehicle had wings, it would have been airborne. Tate was taking the curves on two wheels. His gut feeling was that the new kills had been done specifically to draw them away, making it easier for the killer to take Nola when just one man was standing guard.

  The silence inside the vehicle was brutal as they waited to hear back from the Queens Crossing P.D. When Wade’s phone finally rang, they both jumped, and Tate’s fingers curled tighter around the steering wheel.

  “This is Luckett. Yes. Oh, damn, is he alive? Any witnesses? Thanks.” Wade disconnected. “They found Cameron unconscious by the back door with a head injury, and Nola is gone. A news van saw a late model, dark blue Dodge pickup driving out, but they didn’t see a passenger. They said the driver was a cop.”