“Hi there,” she said, offering a smile that came off a bit forced. Beneath the red apron she wore jeans and a plain turtleneck, dark hair framing a round face wearing thick glasses.
“Grace?” Ferris asked.
“Yes,” she said, clearly not recognizing him as her counterpart had a moment before.
“I’m Sheriff Ferris, this is Deputy Hawk. We understand you made a call a little while ago about an interloper here in the store?”
The plastic smile fell away as she looked between us, running her hands down the front of her apron, smoothing it flat against her thighs.
“Yes, that’s correct. I didn’t expect anybody to come by though, certainly not in this. I just wanted to make you guys aware that somebody was out there looking and smelling like he did.”
“What did he smell like, exactly?” I asked, drawing her attention to me. I almost made the mistake of asking if it was something chemical, cutting myself off short, ensuring I didn’t sway her decision in any way.
Pausing for a moment, Grace pulled in a deep breath, her mouth twisting up just slightly.
“I don’t know,” she said. “It kind of smelled like rubbing alcohol, only not quite. Which didn’t make sense, considering he was very dirty.”
In my periphery I could see Ferris cast a glance my way, his eyebrows rising just slightly. Without acknowledging him, I extracted the stack of pages from my pocket and unfolded them, rifling through to the image of Cuddyer and holding it out.
“Could this be the man you saw?”
Behind the lenses of her glasses, her eyes grew a bit larger as she looked from the paper to me. It was clear she wanted to ask what all this was about, why a simple call about vagrancy had turned into showing her mug shots, but to her credit she did not.
“No,” she said, shaking her head slightly. “I’m sorry.”
Placing the photo at the bottom of the stack, I moved on to Maxx.
“How about this man?”
Frowning slightly, the woman looked from me to the image, her lips parting just slightly.
“Yes,” she said, pulling her gaze away from the image almost instantly. “He’s older now, looks a little different, but that’s the guy, for sure.”
Again I could see Ferris glance over at me. This time I met his gaze, nodding just slightly.
“Tell me,” I said, “you wouldn’t happen to remember what it was he was buying, would you?”
Chapter Forty-Three
“Rubbing alcohol, cotton swabs, Vaseline, Advil,” I said, rattling off the first few things Grace had told us. There was a lot more on the list, more than a dozen items, though the rest of it had eluded her, not being able to linger close enough to see everything.
She was unequivocal though in stating that aside from a can of Pringles and a Mountain Dew, not one thing in his basket was for consumption.
“Looks like the makings of a first aid kit, don’t know you think?” I said.
“Right,” Ferris agreed, walking away from the store. As soon as we were in the truck, he jammed the gear shift into drive and punched the gas, the chains biting into the shallow snow of the parking lot.
Unimpeded by the thick covering of white on the ground, we tore through the lot, making the best time we had all day, before moving out onto the road, the going again slowing to a crawl.
Fortunately for us, Grace’s busybody tendencies caused her to watch as Jasper left the store, standing at the front window as he pulled away. She had apologized for not being able to get a license plate number, making sure to jot down what she could about his truck though, even watching which way he went.
As we already knew who he was, and who the truck likely belonged to, there was no need for the plate number. Seeing which way he headed though helped us immensely, giving us a direction to go, a set of tracks to follow.
“So how do you see it?” Ferris asked. “Cuddyer was the guy doing the cooking, Jasper his gopher?”
I nodded once, thinking through where he was going. “Possible, maybe even likely. From what we know about Jasper Maxx, he definitely wouldn’t be the guy in charge of anything. Just like this here, his role was as an errand boy, nothing more.”
A few feet away Ferris looked over at me, doing a double take before turning his attention back to the road. “But you don’t like Cuddyer for the cook?”
For some reason, between seeing the operation first hand, the video at the hospital, and now both men’s sheet, something wasn’t sitting right with me. There was still a hole there, my mind struggling to process everything just yet.
“Again, possibly,” I conceded, “but it doesn’t seem to fit. Remember, we saw two men on the video pull Yvonne Endicott into the truck. Neither one looked to have any trouble moving, certainly not bad enough to indicate they’d been in a blast.”
Ferris let out a long breath, the sound clear over the heater. “Dammit,” he muttered, smacking the top of the steering wheel with his palm. “Forgot about the video. So now we’re looking at three guys.”
Three fit better with the size of the lab at the house, though I remained silent. I didn’t want to agree with him, to make him believe there were only three when there could easily be more.
Leaning forward, I extended a finger, tapping it against the windshield. “More than that if you count them.”
It took Ferris a moment to pick up on what I was alluding to, his eyes squinted tight. There he remained before running a hand over his face.
“Treads, from the snow coach.”
“Yep,” I said. “So we know Grace was right. Jasper came in for supplies, took off in this direction, the cavalry moved in right behind him.”
Ferris shifted the front of the truck just a bit, aligning our tires with the treads. There we remained for several minutes, neither saying anything, both deep in thought.
Whatever operation Cuddyer had been running was big. The ruined barn proved that, but even more so was the fact that reinforcements had arrived, in a snowstorm, just over 12 hours later.
Who they were or where they were coming from was anybody’s guess, but their having a snow coach showed it was an eventuality they were prepared for.
“Lookit here,” Ferris said, extending a finger over the steering wheel, drawing my attention in the direction he was pointing.
Looming ahead, just barely visible through the snow, was a dark shape, a vehicle of some sort, most likely a truck. Tilted on a side, it sat just off the side of the road, a thin layer of white almost obscuring it from view.
“You don’t think?” I asked, raising my hands and cupping them on either side of my eyes, creating tunnel vision to get a better view.
“It would have to be, wouldn’t it?” Ferris asked, the truck a short distance in front of us. “Who else would be out in this?”
I reached into the console beside me and took up the Kimber. Again, I checked to make sure a round was chambered and flicked the safety off, waiting as Ferris pulled to within just a few feet of the rear bumper and came to a stop.
“We have to assume this is him, right?” he asked, leaving the engine running, his voice low.
“Yes,” I said, not a bit of hesitation, watching as he reached into his jacket and drew his weapon as well.
Like most older law enforcements types, he opted for the Beretta M9, a model with a larger grip and a magazine holding 15 rounds.
“I’ll follow your lead,” I said, shoving my door open, the frozen metal squawking in protest. Stepping outside, I wrapped my hand around the base of the gun, my finger lying just outside the trigger guard.
My left hand I cupped beneath it, ready to use as support if needed.
Moving around to the front of the truck as fast as the snow would allow me, I fell in behind Ferris. Adrenaline pulsated through my system, the warmth it provided offset by the cold enveloping my lower body.
Wind whipped over the exposed surface of my cheeks, the skin already raw, beginning to burn from the sensation. Cold gnawed at my finger
s as I squeezed the metal base of the gun, my focus singular, ignoring every warning sign my body was giving me.
Walking up to the side of the truck, Ferris balled his right hand into a fist and banged it against the metal, a dull thump echoing out on contact. He hammered at it twice in succession before stepping forward another couple of feet and pounding again.
“Jasper Maxx! This is Valley County Sheriff Rake Ferris! Open the door and keep your hands where I can see them!”
Moving out a couple more feet from the truck, I had Ferris and the driver’s door both in a direct line of sight. I was close enough not to have my view obstructed by snow, feeling my pulse pass through my temples, my right index finger tapping at the side of the gun.
The angle of the truck was too severe to allow him to do anything from the passenger side. If an attack was going to come, if Maxx was lying in wait, it would have to be from this side.
I appreciated the fact that Ferris announced himself as the sheriff, told Maxx to open the door and keep his hands up. There was no consideration for the truck belonging to somebody else, no concern for the driver being injured.
Given what we knew, what had transpired in the preceding day, it was the only way to play it.
The ground around the truck was chewed up by the tracks of at least two people, maybe as many as four or five, the treads of the snow coach just 10 feet away, the steps connecting the two.
Best guess was that somebody had come along in the wake of Maxx going off the road and picked him up, helped him transfer over whatever supplies he had.
Still, we had to be certain before moving on.
Ferris made it as far as the back edge of the cab before looking over his shoulder to me. He held his left hand up and pointed to the door, letting me know that he was going in.
Without responding I plowed three steps forward, snow spraying up around me as I moved to within just five feet of him, the loaned gun at the ready.
Without lifting his feet from the snow, Ferris slid sideways, burrowing his way through, stopping just back from the door. Leaning forward, he grasped the handle, easing it open a few inches, the dome light inside coming on as he did.
It was only then that I saw it, the piece of thin black string connecting the door to the frame, the material silhouetted by the interior light. My voice caught in my throat as I took just one half step forward before diving at Ferris’s back, dropping the Kimber and reaching out with both hands for his canvas coat.
Barely clearing the top of the snow, I pulled him backward, falling flat to the ground, him landing on top of me, his head smacking me in the nose.
We had no more than hit the ground when a blinding flash of light spread across us, followed by a thunderous roar and the sound of glass shattering, a shower of debris falling down around us.
Chapter Forty-Four
A circle a little over 18 inches in diameter was the best Yvonne could manage. After what she guessed to be 16 hours with no fluids, she was fortunate to have even that much urine in her system.
Squatting over nothing, trying to balance herself just inside the door, was not an easy task. Doing it in front of a man she now knew to be a drug addict made it even less so.
Despite the fact that he was unconscious, she still couldn’t ignore him as she did what she had to, blood flushing her cheeks.
Afterward, she retreated to her chair, trying to make her head was as clear as possible, knowing she would need it in the coming minutes.
Just the sight of the small puddle, no matter how pathetic the act of creating it might have been, brought her renewed purpose. Pressing her mouth into a tight line, she drew in a deep breath and stood, the pain in her head having receded, making way for the task she was about to undertake.
She crossed the room and took up the small ceramic heater. The exterior surface felt hot between her hands as she carried it to the far end of the table and placed it on the corner.
Grabbing the table under the top edge, she pulled it over until it was just a couple of feet away from the entrance. The corner of it was positioned close enough to catch the door as it swung open, the heater directly above the puddle on the floor.
Once more Yvonne looked everything over, running the figures in her mind, working up the nerve she needed to see it through.
It would work. It had to.
Tucking herself away in the corner, hidden behind the door, protected by the edge of the table, Yvonne closed her fists and raised them over her head. One at a time she pounded them against the top of the door, swinging her arms like a Polynesian drummer, the entire door shaking against its frame.
One loud hollow thud after another rang out as she continued to beat, hot tears coming to her eyes as her anger, her frustration, her desperation, grew.
She was a doctor, a good one at that. She was young and healthy and was in Montana for the right reasons.
She would be damned if her story ended because a couple of drug runners almost blew themselves up in a blizzard.
“Help! Come quick!” she yelled, raising her voice toward the opening above the door. “It’s bad! Something’s happening!”
Four more times, twice with each hand, Yvonne hammered at the door, making sure she was heard, before retreating off to the side. She stood with both hands gripping the heater, the implement still whirring away, the hot metal beginning to burn her fingers.
Ignoring it, knowing there was no way she would release her grip, Yvonne stood and waited, her heart pounding. Her breath came in shallow bursts as she stood poised, straining to hear the sound of the lock being removed. She wished with everything she had that she could turn the heater off, could listen closely for the man coming for her, but that wasn’t a possibility.
The heater had to be on. She was only going to get one shot at this.
Seconds ticked by, each one bringing renewed anxiety – fear that summoning him before might have used her only chance at getting his attention, that his previous outburst showed a shift in temperament that meant he no longer cared about her or the man on the bed.
The better part of two minutes passed before the telltale sound that Yvonne was waiting for found her ears, the lock scraping against the mechanism on the door. Holding her breath, feeling like her heart had stopped in her chest, Yvonne waited, listening as the lock was pulled free and the doorknob turned.
With her hip pressed tight against the side of the table, Yvonne watched as the door swung toward her, slamming into the corner, stopping just inches from her face.
“What the...“ the man muttered, Yvonne waiting just one more second before shoving the heater off the side of the table and stepping back, pressing her body against the wall.
A single spark flashed, bringing with it a blinding blaze of light. On contact there was a loud bang as the circuit in the heater blew, the whining of the fan she’d been listening to for hours mercifully coming to an end.
Overhead the lights dimmed for a moment before regaining full strength, starting a dull humming sound Yvonne hadn’t noticed before over the whirring of the heater.
Keeping her place against the wall, Yvonne waited a full minute for any sound at all from the other side of the door. She hadn’t heard the man hit the floor, had not picked up on any cursing that would denote the shock hadn’t worked.
Instead, she heard nothing beyond the buzz of the lights.
Waiting as long as her frayed nerves could take it, she used her hip to shove the table away from the door and moved out to the side, craning her neck to see if her plan had worked.
Chapter Forty-Five
Just as fast as the explosion came, it was gone. There was no secondary mechanism, nothing tied to the engine or the gas tank to send the truck up in fiery blaze.
Whoever had rigged the door had done so with a simple explosive device, most likely a grenade, just enough to take out a first responder without drawing anybody else to the scene.
A delaying tactic, nothing more.
“Ferris?” I aske
d, fully aware of his weight still piled on me, his body limp.
“Ferris?” I asked again, drawing my knees and elbows up under me, feeling him topple over.
The snow softened his landing, the sheriff making no attempt to catch himself as he fell to the side, his hip and shoulder burying themselves in the drift.
Around us bits of the interior of the truck dotted the grounds, blacks spots against a white backdrop. Most appeared to be from the front seat, singed pieces of cloth and plastic, charred chunks of yellow foam cushioning, twisted metal mixed in as well.
“Sheriff?” I called again, my voice rising as I pushed myself up onto my knees, flakes of snow clinging to my front side. On the snow around me were puddles of blood, at least one stemming from my nose, a result of his skull connecting solidly as we fell.
Remaining on my knees, I grabbed hold of Ferris’s hip, rolling him over onto his back. Just as before, his body gave no recognition of what was happening as he flopped over flat, his arm swinging free.
The lower half of his body looked the worst, his legs taking the brunt of the explosion after I had jerked him backward. Pieces of metal were sticking out of his calves and feet at odd angles, the wounds still steaming in the cold air. Blood soaked everything from the knees down, the top half of him spotted with soot and debris, but appearing mostly unscathed.
“Ferris,” I asked, sliding up the length of him and slapping the side of his face. “Ferris!”
There was no response from the old man as I pressed my index and middle finger up under his jaw, feeling just the slightest tremor of a pulse, his face ashen.
“Shit,” I muttered, rising to my feet and moving over to the truck door, the force of the blast blowing it away from the cab. I peered around the rear edge of the frame and stared inside, dark smoke obscuring my view.
From what I could see, most of the driver’s seat was gone, nothing more than a metal frame, pieces of cushion continuing to smolder. The scent of singed fabric and my own blood filled my senses as I made a quick assessment of everything, not one thing to indicate a person, or a body, had been inside.
Fire and Ice: A Thriller (A Hawk Tate Novel Book 3) Page 17