Tracer

by Dustin Stevens

  Drake dropped his fork. Leaned back. Looped an arm over the chair beside him. “Huh. I’ll have to take a look at that.”

  “Too bad Ava isn’t here to go with you,” Sage added. Returned to eating without matching Drake’s gaze.

  “Cute,” Drake replied. Continued to stare off at the wall. Think about his earlier encounter with Tierney.

  “So, again, spitting mad part?”

  Without shifting his focus, Drake replied, “Old man lied through his teeth to us.”

  “Still...”

  “And he was condescending as hell,” Drake finished. Shifted his focus back to the table.

  “That explains it,” Sage said.

  Drake nodded in agreement.

  “Where is Kade tonight anyway?” Sage asked.

  “I think after a few days at home, he was itching to get back out on the prowl,” Drake said.

  “With my brother, the itching usually comes after the prowl,” Sage said.

  The retort drew a crooked smile from Drake. “Touché. Can’t blame the guy right now though. I think he’s hopeful the holidays have pulled in a bit of fresh meat.”

  Sage coughed back a laugh.

  “Ajax?”

  Drake shook his head. “Not until Sunday.”

  “Ouch,” Sage said. “So what’s next for Sherlock Holmes and his horny sidekick?”

  Drake ignored the joke. Chewed the last of his salad.

  He’d been working on that very question since leaving Hamilton.

  “Think out loud,” Sage prompted.

  Drake shifted his attention to Sage and shook his head. “I need to track down this Wanda Pritchett, the Co-Chair. So far the only version of events we’ve heard came from Tierney.”

  “A less than reliable source?”

  “Sure seems that way,” Drake said. “I have no idea why he’s lying, but he seems hell-bent on doing so.”

  “Okay,” Sage said. “And then what?”

  “I don’t know,” Drake admitted. “Depends what she has to say. Might go talk to the veterans group again. May head back to Memorial and pick Sara’s brain some more.”

  Sage leaned back in her chair. Smiled.

  Drake noticed the look. Rolled his eyes. “Don’t. Sara is a client. And I’m not convinced Rink and her don’t have a thing going.”

  “That’s not what I was smiling about,” Sage said. Held her hands up by her sides.

  “Then what?”

  “You’re getting better at this. Remember that fiasco with the babies? You were like a bull in a China shop. Now, you’re starting to let things come to you a little more.”

  Again Drake raised his eyebrows. Looked over the thinning dining room.

  “Yeah, that was sloppy as hell,” Drake admitted. “But I knew it. I just didn’t see any other way.”

  “And now you do,” Sage said. “That’s all I’m saying.”

  Drake looked back at her. Nodded.

  Said nothing.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Gone With the Wind.

  That was the first thing Drake thought as he parked the truck. Looked up at the enormous ranch house before him.

  Two stories tall. Sweeping front porch. Thick white columns. Large trees dotting the front lawn.

  “Damn,” Drake muttered. Turned the engine off.

  This wasn’t a Montana cattle ranch. It was a southern cotton plantation.

  On steroids.

  Drake stepped out of the truck and walked towards the front door. Kade had offered to join him again, but he balked. Wasn’t sure how long he would be. Where he was going after meeting with Wanda.

  How she would take having two young men show up on your doorstep.

  Outside, the day was a carbon copy of the one before. And the dozen before that.

  Milky white sky. One unending cloud that blanketed the western half of the state. Threatened to unleash snow at any point.

  Blustery, cold air. The smell of pine and ice crystals in the air.

  His shoes clinked against the hardwood porch as he approached. Pressed the doorbell. Heard chimes playing throughout the house.

  Several moments passed as he stood waiting. Picked up the sound of footsteps approaching.

  The door swung open to reveal a woman somewhere between late fifties and early seventies. So little of her original self remained though, it made pinpointing an age difficult.

  Lips a bit too full. Skin a touch too tight. Makeup applied with a heavy hand. Hair that was an unnatural shade of auburn-orange.

  She gave Drake a once over. Smiled and stepped to the side.

  “Mr. Bell, please, come in.”

  “Thank you,” Drake said. Stepped inside and wiped his feet. “I appreciate you meeting with me Ms. Pritchett.”

  “Please, Wanda,” she said. Waved a hand at him. Led him into a parlor to the right.

  Drake followed her into the room and took a seat in an armchair. Everything in the room looked to fit with the southern plantation motif.

  Bookshelves lined with leather bound volumes. Furniture in red and gold designs. A baby grand piano.

  “Can I get you anything?” Wanda asked. Settled herself down on the end of the couch across from him.

  “Oh, no thank you,” Drake said. “You have a beautiful home here.”

  Allowed his gaze to take it all in.

  Again Wanda waved at him. “I know it’s a bit much, but my husband was from Georgia. Used to imagine himself as a Southern plantation owner.

  “Gentleman Jay, that’s what he used to jokingly refer to himself as.”

  Drake smiled. Nodded.

  “I understand completely. I myself come from Tennessee.

  Wanda smiled. Slapped her leg. “Oh, so you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  “I do,” Drake confirmed. “I know you must be quite busy, so I promise to keep this short.”

  “Nonsense,” Wanda said. “Since Jay passed on, there isn’t much for me to do around here.”

  “Oh,” Drake said. Cursed himself for not picking up on her use of the past tense when first speaking about her husband. “I had no idea.”

  Again, careful not to dole out false apologies.

  “That’s how I came to be on the Commission to begin with,” Wanda said. “When he passed two years ago, I stepped in to finish his term.”

  “I see,” Drake said. “And the ranch here, do you still...?”

  “Oh yes,” Wanda said. “Every bit as many cattle as we were working when Jay was still around. He was always very meticulous about running the place like a business. Wanted to make sure it would keep on going long after he and I were gone.”

  “Wow,” Drake said. “Very impressive.”

  There were no false congratulations in the statement. He truly meant it.

  “I understand you’re working for Lukas Webb?” Wanda asked.

  “The family has asked me to look into the incident, yes,” Drake said. Didn’t want to use the word ‘shooting.’

  The answer wasn’t entirely the truth. Wasn’t entirely a lie either.

  He decided to leave it at that.

  “You were there that night, right?” Drake asked.

  “I was,” Wanda said. “So terrible, so very terrible.”

  She shifted her focus towards the window. Watched as a car rolled by on the road outside. Waited until it was gone before continuing.

  “Holt and I are co-chairs, so we were seated in the middle of the table. Frank and Harvey sit on the left. Billy beside me on the right.”

  Her gaze went back to Drake. “All a bunch of ranches here in the valley for decades. Major boy’s network. The only reason I’m there is because of what happened to Jay.”

  Drake nodded. Boy’s networks in Montana were something he was beginning to understand.

  Fast.

  “If you don’t mind,” Drake said. Kept his voice low and even. Not quite soothing or patronizing. “Can you walk me through it?”

  Wanda pushed out a
heavy sigh. Dropped her shoulders several inches with the exertion.

  “There isn’t a whole lot to tell. We were on the second item of our agenda when Lukas raised his hand to speak. Holt turned him down and told him he had to wait until public comment.

  “Lukas didn’t much care for that and tried to speak anyway. Holt got a little red, threatened to have him removed, so Lukas got up and left.”

  Several questions sprang to mind, but Drake let them pass. Didn’t want to interrupt her rhythm. Wanted the entire story out before he started pecking at individual aspects.

  “I thought the whole thing was a little unnecessary, but didn’t think much else about it,” Wanda continued.

  “A few minutes passed and we moved on to the next topic. Harvey was the point person on it, so I was looking down the table at him when the first shot went off. Sounded like a thunderclap inside the room.

  “And the light, oh my, the light. You’ve never seen such a thing. After that, one of the men flipped the table up on its edge and we ducked down behind it. We heard a second rifle shot, then a bunch of smaller shots fired.

  “After, we just kind of huddled where we were for awhile. Waited for all that light to fade away. Once we emerged from behind the table, most of the people in the room had cleared out.

  “I could hear sirens in the distance.”

  By the time the last sentence came out, Wanda’s voice was just above a whisper. Her hands were folded in her lap, fingers twisted together.

  A bit of moisture lined her eyes.

  “What happened after that?” Drake asked. His voice low to match hers.

  Wanda made no attempt to look at him as she answered. Her voice and her gaze both had a distant quality to them.

  “The police were the first to show. They secured the scene. Right after that came the paramedics. They determined Lukas was still alive, loaded him up and took him away.

  “How he survived all those shots we heard, I don’t know.”

  Drake nodded. “You mentioned that the whole thing felt a bit unnecessary. What did you mean by that?”

  The puff of auburn-orange hair remained in place as Wanda shook her head from side to side.

  “In my time on the board, we’ve never been what you would call sticklers for procedure. Most of the time, if somebody wished to speak, they spoke.”

  “Any idea why Mr. Tierney made such a show of wanting Lukas to wait for the public comment period?” Drake asked.

  The fingers continued to writhe in her lap. “Public comment was something he put in place a couple meetings back. Said it would make us more efficient.

  “Most of the time our meetings are pretty simple, so there was no call for comments of any kind.”

  Drake grunted. The actions Wanda was describing and the placement of Lukas’s shots were beginning to link up.

  Their significance was not quite clear to Drake.

  That would be next on his to-do list.

  “Do you remember what it was that Lukas wanted to speak on?” Drake asked.

  Wanda nodded. “We were discussing the new state designation plan.”

  The words held no meaning at all to Drake. He had seen them on the agenda he picked up from the crime scene.

  Nothing else came to mind.

  “State designation plan?” Drake asked.

  Wanda nodded. Remained with her gaze aimed out the window. “It has to do with how the state handles brucellosis. I’ll be honest, I don’t know a lot about it. The company runs the ranch now, I just sign things when they bring them to me.”

  “That’s quite alright,” Drake said. “I’m more interested in what happened that night right now.”

  Wanda nodded.

  “Just one more question and then I’ll be on my way,” Drake said. “I can tell this is difficult for you to relive.”

  Another nod.

  “What did you mean by the light?”

  Wanda blinked twice. Turned her head at the neck to face him.

  “It was nothing I’ve ever seen before. Bright red light that hung in the air. Like standing next to a flare, or a firework, or something.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Boredom.

  Much worse than sitting through an Agriculture Commission meeting.

  Having to sit and do surveillance.

  McIlvaine slid his body low behind the wheel. Rubbed his fingers together in front of him. Blew on them in an attempt at warmth.

  Didn’t dare turn on the engine.

  Didn’t want the sound to be heard or the exhaust to be seen rising in the air.

  A flash of movement drew his attention to the front door. Caused him to slide a little lower in his seat.

  The guy Holt had told him to follow, Drake Bell, emerged. The old lady with a bad dye job from the meeting followed him out.

  They stood and talked for a moment on the porch. The old hag even gave him a hug before the guy climbed into his truck and drove away.

  McIlvaine waited a full minute before starting his own rig. Pulled out of the tree-lined lane he was parked in just down the road.

  Laying on the gas, he followed the single road back into town. Took the curves fast. Caught sight of the black truck ahead of him within two miles.

  Easing his foot off the gas, McIlvaine followed the remaining five miles back into town. Used the cover of traffic to pull a little closer.

  Figured out within three blocks where they were headed.

  Stayed close behind Bell to make sure.

  Fifteen minutes after leaving the Pritchett Ranch, the black truck pulled into Hamilton Memorial Hospital.

  “Shit,” McIlvaine muttered. Drove on past. Went a quarter mile down the road and turned into the parking lot of a Catholic Church.

  He turned the truck around so he was facing out towards the hospital. Took up his cell-phone and hit send.

  It was answered after a single ring.

  “Tierney.”

  Same indifferent voice. Same undercurrent of condescension.

  McIlvaine felt the muscles in his jaw contract. Shook his head to the side.

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  “Find out anything?”

  “The kid met with Pritchett. From there he came straight back to the hospital. He’s inside now.”

  The information was met with a moment of silence. McIlvaine waited it out.

  The old man loved giving orders. He’d spit them out again soon enough if there was something he wanted done.

  He always did.

  “How long was he in there?” Tierney asked.

  McIlvaine checked the clock on the dash. Worked the math backwards in his head.

  “Twenty minutes. Twenty-five at most.”

  “Hmm,” Tierney grunted. Again fell to silence.

  Once more, McIlvaine waited him out.

  “Where are you now?”

  McIlvaine twisted in his seat. Glanced over at the sign along the front of the church. A simple affair, white letters against a brown backdrop.

  “The Catholic Church of Hamilton parking lot. He turned into the hospital, I went on so as to not draw suspicion.”

  Another few moments of silence. The sound of chewing over the line.

  “Alright, stay put a while longer,” Tierney said. “See how long he stays at the hospital, where he heads after he leaves.”

  A derisive snort slid out from McIlvaine. “How long is a while longer?”

  “Long enough to see if he heads north towards Missoula or goes somewhere else.”

  “And if he does?”

  “Stay on him.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Obvious.

  Blatantly, impossible-to-ignore, almost an insult, obvious.

  That’s how glaringly out of place the tail was.

  Drake spotted the truck the moment he pulled away from the Pritchett Ranch. Just a couple hundred yards away from the house, parked in tight beside a clump of trees.

  Dark silhouette sitting low behind the wheel.
>
  Every bit of land on both sides of the road was owned by the Pritchett’s. There were no other houses in either direction.

  No reason for the truck to be there.

  Drake pretended not to notice and drove on towards town. Alternated his gaze between the front windshield and the rearview mirror.

  Saw the truck came into sight a few miles outside of town. Slow its pace. Remain a constant distance back from him.

  Once he reached the edge of Hamilton he took out his cell-phone. Scrolled through his call log. Hit Send.

  Rink answered after three rings. Sound of skates and sticks audible behind him.

  “Yes, sir,” Rink said. Sounds behind him faded away.

  “Hey, where are you at right now?” Drake asked.

  “Practice,” Rink said. “Why? What’s going on?”

  Rink, a former hockey standout that accounted for the nickname everybody knew him by, now coached the Missoula Marauders hockey team. Somewhere between college and the NHL in terms of talent.

  Light years from either on the grounds of prestige.

  “I’ve got a tail,” Drake said. “Headed towards the hospital now.”

  “Shit,” Rink muttered.

  “I was going to ask you to trade rigs with me for a while.”

  “Like I said, I can leave now,” Rink said. “Or, Sara is there. You want me to call her?”

  Drake weighed the information a moment. Eased through a yellow light. Changed into the outer lane as he crossed into town.

  “Yeah, please. Ask her to move her car around back. I’ll park out front and go in. Find a side entrance and take her ride from there. Won’t be but an hour or so.”

  “Done,” Rink said. Signed off without another word.

  Drake flipped the phone onto the seat beside him. Checked his rearview mirror.

  Spotted the truck matching his movements a block behind him.

  Slowing his pace, he turned into the Hamilton Memorial Hospital parking lot. Drove along the back of it, keeping his truck parallel to the road.

  Waited for his tail to catch up.

  Just as the two trucks pulled even, nothing more than a sidewalk and a patch of grass separating them, Drake chanced a glance over.

  Felt a flash of recognition in the back of his mind.

  It was replaced immediately by a flush of anger.