Terry Odell - Mapleton 01 - Deadly Secrets

by Terry Odell

  But if you are reading this, it means that I have found you, and that the transcripts should be arriving shortly. I have confessed my sins to you, and it pains me to have you know that I, who shares your blood, was a cruel monster. If you choose to burn it without reading, I understand. If you choose to take this information with you to your grave, I also understand. But know that I have always loved you.

  Your brother,

  Heinrich

  ###

  Gordon spread a map of the county on the tables in the war room. If Buzz was on the run, he couldn’t have gotten far. Colfax had deputies setting up a checkpoint on the main route to the Interstate, although Buzz was probably too smart to try to head for the highway. No, he’d have someplace more isolated in mind. But there were countless possibilities, each more remote than the next.

  Gordon thought of Karl Franklin, killed in one place, transported to another, and the car abandoned. Had Buzz already taken care of Rose? Was she in the trunk of a rented blue Ford Fusion, on her way to being dumped or buried somewhere?

  Damn, all the forensics bells and whistles on the planet weren’t going to find them. He was a small-town cop, and he needed to remember that. More often than not, simple legwork got the job done.

  “Got anything?”

  Gordon looked up at the sound of Colfax’s voice. “Nothing new. I want to swap one of your deputies for my man at the Kretzers’. He’s waiting for a call from Turner, but I’ve got a better use for his skills.”

  For once, Colfax didn’t come back with a snappy retort. He got on the radio and ordered one of his men to report to the Kretzers’.

  Ten endless minutes later, the room filled with somber-faced officers, their frustration and guilt that their previous mission to unearth Betty’s killer had failed almost palpable. Gordon skipped pleasantries or platitudes.

  “Listen up, people. We’ve got a repeat of what we’ve done before, but things are more urgent. About thirty minutes ago, Bradley—Buzz—Turner took Rose Kretzer from her home. He’s our most viable suspect for two murders. We are going to find them. The old-fashioned way. I want every door knocked on, every citizen, every visitor questioned. You’ve got flyers with the car information and pictures. Someone out there has seen something. Find them. Use the secure radio channel or your cell phones. You’ve got your assigned sectors. Go.”

  Other than chairs scraping across the floor and the sound of footfalls, the room was silent as the officers filed out.

  “You look like crap,” Colfax said. “Get out there. I’ll coordinate from here.”

  “I’ll be close,” Gordon said. “I’ll check Finnegan’s and any other places still open. Hit more people than door-to-door. I’ve got Solomon on Turner’s house and neighborhood.”

  “Alone?” Colfax’s brow lifted.

  “He knows what he’s doing. He’ll call for backup if he sees anything. We don’t have the personnel to spare.” Gordon hoped that was one decision he wouldn’t regret. But they needed optimal coverage, and they needed it fast.

  “I’ll see if I can shake a few more deputies loose.”

  Gordon nodded his thanks and headed for Finnegan’s. Heads turned and a hush blanketed the room when he entered the bar. Mick set down a glass he was drying and came out from behind the counter. Word got around fast.

  “How can we help, Chief?” Mick wiped his hands on a towel tucked into his apron. “Coffee’s on the house for any of your guys as long as we’re open.”

  “I know they’ll appreciate it. The county deputies are out too.” Gordon surveyed the room, seeing primarily familiar faces. “Mind if I take a booth to interview everyone?”

  “You can have my office.”

  “No, easier out here where I can keep an eye on things.” He addressed the crowd. “Most everyone here knows Rose Kretzer, and that she’s missing. Our best lead says she’s with Buzz Turner. I’m going to ask each one of you to think about where we might find him. Any places he frequents, people he hangs out with. Maybe he’s mentioned where he might go to get away from it all. I know it’s an inconvenience, but I’m going to ask you all to stay until you’ve talked to me. Let’s get started.”

  Gordon slid into a booth and set a notepad in front of him. Three men stood. Gordon gestured toward them. After exchanging glances, one stepped forward. Nick Upton. Retired, divorced, lived in the hills. Gordon picked up his pen. “Good evening, Nick. What can you tell me?”

  The man hung his head, fumbled with his cap. “Probably nothing.”

  “Why don’t you let me decide? You might have something helpful and not know it.”

  With the ice broken, more volunteers offered their thoughts, most of them related to opinions of Buzz’s stories. As Gordon worked his way through the interviews, he relayed any possible leads to Colfax, who alerted the nearest officer. It was slow going.

  Gordon rubbed his eyes and motioned the last patron forward, searching his memory for a name. The man was a relative newcomer. Worked out of town. Probably stopped for a drink on his way home and was now regretting it.

  The man lowered himself across from Gordon. “Keith Valade.”

  “What can you tell me, Mr. Valade?”

  “It’s nothing. But you did want to talk to everyone.”

  “A whole lot of nothing can add up to something. Every detail can be important.” He felt like a recording, but it seemed to relax people, get them talking. Now, if there was some magic way to get them to cut to the chase…. He smiled.

  “I’ve lived here about six months. Early on, Mr. Turner tried to get friendly. I figured he was just being a good neighbor. We’re kind of isolated. That’s why we moved here. My wife and I love it in the mountains, away from people.”

  Gordon nudged the conversation back to Buzz Turner.

  Keith pinched the bridge of his nose. “He invited me fishing. Took me to this out of the way spot. Said it was his secret place. I wondered if he was gay, trying to put the move on me, but he knew I was married. And he’s so much older. I figured he was lonely, so I went a few more times.”

  “Did he have a cabin there?”

  Keith shook his head. “No, it was strictly woods. But from the way he’d go on about how a person could come out there and totally disappear, that nobody knew about it but him, that it was the one place in the universe that sang to him—those were his words—I thought I should mention it. When we went, he told me I shouldn’t tell anyone else about it, but I thought that was because of the fishing.” Keith smiled. “We did get some awesome trout.”

  Gordon’s cop radar blipped. Buzz’s condo was empty, and the neighbors hadn’t seen him this evening. “Could you give me directions?”

  “Maybe. I wasn’t driving, and wasn’t familiar enough with the area to know all the turnoffs.”

  “Could you give me an approximation if I showed you a map?”

  Keith seemed calmer, more confident. “I could try.”

  Gordon left a stack of business cards on the bar, telling everyone to call if they had any new information. “I want you to come with me to the station,” he said to Keith.

  Minutes later, Gordon had the map spread on his desk. Keith leaned over it, palms splayed, arms locked, brows knit in concentration. Finally, he lifted his hand and traced a dotted line representing an unpaved road about ten miles out of town. “I think this is where we turned off.”

  Trouble was, “think” wasn’t a guarantee. And there were no fewer than eight other choices, assuming all the preliminary turns Keith had pointed out were correct. They’d need serious manpower to cover that expanse of territory, especially if there was no cabin, no structure, no logical place to conceal Rose, nowhere to keep her tucked away while Turner made whatever demands he had in mind.

  Colfax pulled up a mapping program on the computer and started zooming in. “Too many trees,” he grumbled. “Be nice if the damn rental company installed LoJack on their vehicles.”

  “Wait!” Keith’s voice reminded him they weren’t alo
ne. “Zoom out.” Colfax did. “There. That rock formation. By the fork. I remember it. That’s where we turned off.”

  “Enough for me. Get the GPS coordinates.” Gordon turned to Keith. “Thank you. You can go home.”

  Keith stared at the monitor one last time. “I hope…I hope it works out.”

  Gordon scribbled down the numbers Colfax read from the computer and grabbed his jacket.

  “You’re not going alone,” Colfax said.

  “No. You’re driving. My SUV is in the shop.”

  “Who’s minding the store?” Colfax asked.

  “Getting to that.” Gordon walked to Dispatch, Colfax dogging his heels. “Irv, get Solomon on the radio. Tell him we need Buster, and give him these coordinates.” He read off the numbers Colfax had given him. “Get Connie in here to back you up. And tell the night duty officer to get to the station. He’s got the con.” He took a breath and met Colfax’s gaze. “Anything else you think I’ve forgotten?”

  “Nope. Let’s boogie.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Megan had to remind herself to breathe. Sam set the letter on the coffee table and stared into nothingness. She’d never seen him so—empty. Without thinking, she went to his side. Sitting beside him, she enfolded him in a gentle embrace. She tasted salt and realized she’d been crying.

  “Ich liebe dich. I love you, Sam.” The words barely made it past the thickness in her throat. How many times had she said that as he’d tucked her in as a child?

  “Ich liebe dich auch,” he said, but his “I love you too” seemed automatic, a reflex formed by long-established ritual.

  He pulled away, and she jerked back. But he stood and walked, robot-like, down the hall toward the powder room. When the door closed, she turned to Justin. “What should we do? We have to ask him about the journal. He’s read the letter, so he knows it exists. If he has it, or knows where it is, maybe we can trade it for Rose.”

  Justin scooped his hands through his hair. “I’m trying to figure out how that reporter found out about it.”

  “It doesn’t matter. We have to save Rose. If Sam knows where the journal is, that’s our bargaining chip.”

  “I hate to hurt him. He’s upset enough as it is.”

  “He’s the one who always said how important it was to tell the truth.”

  “And the one who pretended his past didn’t exist.”

  The doorbell interrupted. Her heart pounded. Officer Solomon appeared, gesturing to them to stay where they were. If he noticed their emotional state, he gave no indication. “That should be for me.”

  He checked the peephole, then swung the door open admitting a uniformed deputy. “This is Deputy Olivera. He’s going to take over. If you get a phone call, use the extension in the study.” The deputy came inside, and Officer Solomon trotted across the porch, his footfalls heavy on the wooden steps.

  His abrupt departure sent a frisson down Megan’s spine. Had they found Rose? Was she hurt? Sam strode into the room. Megan made a quick round of introductions and offered to make coffee for their new watchdog. Relieved when he declined, instead asking to be shown the study, she led him down the hall. He looked around, then checked the recording equipment. “Looks good. You can get back to your family.”

  “Did something happen? Is that why Officer Solomon left?”

  “No, ma’am. Just switching assignments. They’re doing some door-to-door, and he knows the area.”

  Although there had to be more, she retreated. Gordon knew what he was doing. Sam was her first concern.

  In the living room, Sam sat in the center of the couch, Justin beside him. Sam motioned for her to join them. When she sat, he put his arms around them. Megan leaned into him, happy to take a moment of comfort. And how had things done a complete reversal? She and Justin had been worried about protecting Sam, yet he seemed to be taking care of them.

  Justin spoke, dumping a dose of reality into the brief tranquility. “Opa, I can’t imagine what you must feel, but there’s more. Your brother’s daughter, Ingrid. She married and had a son. He…he got in touch with me a few weeks ago. About the journal. He demanded I get it for him. He said if I didn’t …”

  “So you couldn’t ask me?” Sam said. “All this—the visit, the remodeling—was so you could find some old book?”

  Justin leaned forward, the heels of his hands pressed against his eyes. “I…you’d never spoken of a brother.” His voice quavered. “I didn’t know how to tell you there was a possibility your brother had been a Nazi. And a war criminal. I…I wanted to keep from hurting you and Oma.”

  “And now Rose is gone.”

  Megan jumped in. “Sam, we didn’t know. We were both trying to find the journal and turn it over to this new cousin of Justin’s.” She paused. “I guess he’d be your nephew.”

  “Grand-nephew,” Sam mumbled. “Family. Mein Gott.”

  “And Justin’s cousin swears he had nothing to do with Buzz Turner,” she continued. “Apparently there are two people who want this journal. Do you know anything about it?”

  “Two people wanting this secret book?” Sam convulsed into laughter so intense Megan was afraid he’d gone hysterical. She gripped his hands. Deputy Olivera rushed into the room.

  ###

  Gordon breathed in the brisk night air, the scent of pine and earth wafting on the breeze. Buzz Turner’s out of the way spot, assuming Keith Valade had been correct, was definitely remote. They’d been on dirt roads for the past five miles, and hadn’t seen a sign of civilization. Cell service had disappeared half an hour ago. No radio contact with the station for the past fifteen minutes. Damn mountains. The GPS gave coordinates, but none of the local roads—if you could call them that—had been digitized for their system. He’d been staring at a red triangle on a white screen ever since the last turnoff.

  “This is it,” Colfax said, turning onto a side road.

  Gordon’s pulse accelerated at the sight of the large rock formation Valade had pointed out. Shadows danced in the headlights as the car navigated hairpin turns and bounced over the bumpy road.

  “Crap,” Colfax said. “Which way now?” He stopped the SUV. Ahead, the road forked in three directions. A department SUV sat on the shoulder, lights flashing. Colfax pulled alongside, and Solomon rolled down his window.

  “Hey, Chief,” Solomon said. “Where to?”

  “Valade didn’t mention hiking in.” Gordon pointed to the left, the widest option. “We’ll try that one. You try the other two. Maybe Buster will pick up a trail. Buzz’s car has to be here somewhere.”

  Colfax aimed the SUV down the road. Images of Rose being bound and tortured filled Gordon’s head. He shoved them away, concentrating on being a cop. A cop in the field, not behind a damn desk.

  His heart pounded away the seconds. His radio crackled. At least they had car to car coverage. “Buster alerted,” Solomon reported through the static. “Meet you at the fork.”

  Colfax swung the SUV around and backtracked to the fork and Solomon’s SUV. The German shepherd sat at Solomon’s feet, whining and quivering, impatiently awaiting the order to get to work.

  “Let’s do it,” Gordon said. “Colfax, you wait here in case he tries to rabbit. Solomon, you sure this is the right road?”

  Solomon displayed a sweater. “I borrowed this from the Kretzers’. We went about fifty yards down each possibility. This one got Buster excited.” Solomon gestured to the rightmost option.

  Buster swerved toward Gordon, barking. Then the dog sat, cocking his head at his master. Gordon recognized the sweater as one he’d folded and put away. “I touched that. And Buzz probably did too.”

  Solomon praised Buster for finding Gordon, rubbing the dog’s ruff. “Rose’s scent should be the strongest, but finding Buzz would work, too.” He gave him the sweater again. “Okay, Buster. Find.”

  The dog bounded off, nose in the air. In seconds, he’d disappeared into the darkness, dragging Solomon behind. His flashlight illuminating the trail, his heart ha
mmering, Gordon followed. This was being a cop. Not worrying about budget line items.

  A frenzied barking brought Gordon to a halt. He swept the area with his light. Weapon drawn, Gordon rushed toward the sounds, the beam from his flashlight bouncing as he ran.

  Buster sat, panting. Solomon stood in the middle of the narrow road, his weapon trained on Buzz, who knelt, one hand raised in surrender, one clutching his belly. Gordon pointed his light at the man. Sweat glistened on his face despite the chill. Fear showed in his eyes, which seemed trained on Buster.

  “Don’t move,” Gordon said. “Or we’ll release the dog.” An empty threat, because Buster wasn’t an attack dog. But Buzz wouldn’t know that. He hoped.

  “She tried to kill me. I’m hurt. You gotta help me,” Buzz said, right before sinking to the ground.

  Gordon and Solomon reached Buzz within seconds. Gordon crouched beside the man, his flashlight revealing a dark stain spreading at Buzz’s midsection.

  Solomon lifted Buzz’s shirt. “Knifed.”

  Gordon called for Colfax. “Get in here. Call the medics. We’ve got an injured man to transport.” Damn, he should have had rolled the medics from the start.

  “On my way,” Colfax said.

  “I’ll wait here,” Gordon said to Solomon. “You go find Rose.”

  Solomon and Buster raced off. Gordon applied pressure to Buzz’s wound. Where the hell was Rose? Had they fought? Was she lying somewhere, hanging on by a thread? As triage went, this sucked. He had an injured man, probably a killer, in hand. And his victim, somewhere in the great beyond, condition unknown.