“Oconto County sheriff. How can I help you?” a man asked.
That wasn’t the woman I’d spoken with earlier. I’d have to rehash the situation for this dispatcher, or better, try to bypass him altogether and speak with someone in charge.
“Hello, I’m Lieutenant Carl Kane from the Tampa, Florida PD. I’m looking to speak with the deputy in command.”
“Regarding?”
“Two missing persons.”
“Um, one minute.” He put me on hold.
I thumbed the lever for the blower further right. It was already on high, so I twisted the temperature knob for the heater. It was already as far into the red as it would go. I brought the phone back to my ear.
“Deputy Reigns,” a man answered.
“Deputy, I’m Lieutenant Carl Kane from the Tampa, Florida PD. I have parents in your area that I believe to be in danger. I’m about twenty minutes out. I wanted to see if a deputy could meet me at their property to have a look around.”
“Danger how?”
“Earlier today, I took gunfire from a number of men. I’m worried that they also went after my father and stepmother. I haven’t been able to contact them.”
“What is the address?”
I gave it to him.
“One second,” he said.
I could hear him clicking away at keys on a keyboard.
“It says a deputy responded to a call earlier but found nothing out of the ordinary at the residence.”
“They didn’t look inside. From one cop to another, I wouldn’t ask for assistance if I didn’t feel that it was warranted.”
“I’ll get someone dispatched out. Twenty minutes, you said?”
“Yes.”
“Someone will meet you there.”
“I appreciate it.” I hung up.
Chapter 22 - Kane
I drove up my dad’s winding street. Two properties past his, the land turned into the Nicolet National Forest. To say the area was sparse was an understatement. The entrance to his driveway came into view. I saw a car parked, running, its headlights shining against the front of his house. Snow covered the roof of the three-bedroom single-story cabin. To the left of the cabin was the two-story matching workshop that my father was in the process of completing. As I turned in, I saw a lightbar on top of the waiting car. It was a sheriff’s cruiser. The driver’s door was open, and the sheriff stood half out of his car, facing me. My headlights lit him up. I clicked them off and pulled alongside his car. Then I shut off the motor and stepped out.
“I’m Lieutenant Carl Kane. The one who asked you out here.”
“Deputy Kinnear. This is my second time being here today. It looks the same as it did before. I gave the door a knock. No one answered. I tried getting a peek in the windows but couldn’t see anything. What’s going on? Something about a shooting?”
I stared at the house. All the lights were off inside. I looked back at the deputy. He was six foot, with an average build. He wore a blue winter hat with the word Sheriff embroidered across the front in yellow. His radio was clipped to the shoulder of his large matching-blue jacket.
“Some family members and I took gunfire from a group of men this morning, and I haven’t been able to get ahold of my father or stepmother, who live here.”
“Is this their primary residence?”
“Yes.” I pointed at the house. “We need to get inside.”
“Keys?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I’ll get the door open. My father isn’t one for spare keys stashed outside.”
“I can’t just let you break into a house that isn’t yours, in front of me.”
I started toward the house and spoke over my shoulder. “Then look the other way.”
I took the six steps up the elevated wood deck on the front of the house. I glanced in the side window that looked into the kitchen. A nightlight plugged into the wall provided a small amount of illumination. I saw no one.
He followed me up the steps to the front door. I thumbed the latch and pulled the screen door open. I twisted the knob—it turned.
“It’s open. My father would never leave the place open,” I said.
He pointed at the door and rested his hand on his sidearm.
I was glad it wasn’t locked. I wasn’t sure I would even be capable of kicking in the front door. My father had built the place with his bare hands a few years back. He was a stickler for craftsmanship. Each log the cabin was made of had been individually cut from his property. I doubted his front door would just fold in.
I pushed the door open and reached in to click on the living room lights. Everything appeared normal. The antler chandelier that my dad loved so much hung from the vaulted ceiling. The moose head over the fireplace was there, like always. The television was off. All tables, furniture, and knickknacks appeared in place. I walked in, and the deputy followed.
“Dad!” I called.
My shouting didn’t receive a response. If he was there, he would have come when cars entered the driveway. I glanced right, into the kitchen and small dining area—empty and untouched.
“Are you sure they didn’t take a little getaway somewhere?” Deputy Kinnear asked.
I waved the comment away. “He was expecting me within a day or two. The last I spoke with him, he didn’t mention leaving. My father isn’t the biggest traveler.”
I walked through the dark wood floored living room and flipped on the hall light that led back to the bedrooms. I froze. At the end of the hall sat the master bedroom. The door was open, and a nightstand and lamp lay on the floor.
“Deputy,” I said, pointing.
He drew his weapon and took the lead down the hall.
“If there is someone in the residence, show yourself now,” he called.
There was nothing but silence.
We got to the first door on our right. It was closed.
“Bedroom,” I said quietly.
He twisted the knob and looked in.
“Empty,” he said.
We continued down the hall. The other bedroom and bathroom were also empty. He called his warning again into the master bedroom—no response. Kinnear reached in and turned on the lights. He stepped in and cleared the room. We were alone.
I stared at the scene. Aside from the tipped-over nightstand and lamp, the bed was a mess. Blankets and sheets were lying on the floor, something my stepmother wouldn’t have stood for. The dresser that the television sat on was pushed back. The television was knocked over. Picture frames were knocked over. Then I saw something that made my stomach sink. There was blood on the carpet. The light Berber of the bedroom had a number of drips and small blood pools at the closet door.
I walked over and knelt. “Call it in,” I said.
Kinnear called back to his station.
I shook my head, taking in the scene. “Dammit, Dad,” I mumbled.
The deputy got off his radio. “What?”
I waved my finger over the blood. Then I stood and followed the castoff. “It looks like he fought. The state of the room suggests it for certain.”
“We have some people coming,” Kinnear said. “It should be about twenty minutes or so for the other deputies, a little longer for someone from the crime lab.”
I nodded.
“Is that a walk-in closet?” he asked.
I stared at the door. The knob had blood on it, and the door was cracked open.
“Yeah.”
Kinnear held his gun out to cover me. I stepped to the left of the door.
My stomach knotted at the thought of what was on the other side. It could have been my father and stepmother’s bodies. It could have been them beaten and tied up. It could have been nothing. I pulled my hand back into my sleeve. If prints were on the closet, I didn’t want to disturb them. My heart thumped in my chest. I reached out and slipped my covered fingers to the back side of the door—then I swung it open the rest of the way. Kinnear stepped to the door opening with his weapon pointed in.
&n
bsp; He slipped the pistol back into his hip holster. “We’re clear.”
I swung my head around the door opening—no bodies. My eyes immediately went to another puddle of blood at the base of the standing gun safe. A four-inch circle of red stained the closet carpet. A bloody sliding handprint marked the gray metal safe door near the combination lock.
“He went for his guns,” I said.
I stepped into the closet and got a better look. The safe door hadn’t been opened.
We stepped back out into the bedroom.
I assessed the amount of blood from the two locations. Combined, there wasn’t enough blood loss to be a kill.
“I’m going to have a better look around the rest of the house,” Kinnear said.
“Yeah.”
I stood in place, looking over the room and trying to recreate in my head how it could have gone down. We didn’t see any signs of a struggle anywhere else in the house. My father would have had a gun in his hand before anyone could have gotten through the front door, and we found no forced entry. That led me to believe that whoever got in had picked the lock and ambushed them while they were sleeping. My father then sprang from bed, scuffled with the attacker, or attackers, and went for his gun safe.
I walked around the far side of the bed—my father’s side. His reading glasses and local newspaper were still on the nightstand. I found a little more blood on the carpet and something else. I knelt and got a better look. It was a broken tooth. I followed the drips of blood. On the floor against the wall molding were two more.
I smirked. My father had gotten a couple of good licks in and left us something to work with.
“You find something over there?” Kinnear asked.
I looked over the bed at him standing at the door. “Teeth. One of the attackers.”
“You know for sure?”
I nodded. “My father and stepmother both have dentures.”
“I got something in the bathroom.” He waved me to come along.
I stood, left the bedroom, and followed him two doors down the hall.
Kinnear stood to the side of the door and pointed me in. “Toilet,” he said.
The lid was up, and I glanced inside. Two cell phones lay beneath the water.
“I found drips of blood leading back through the house, outside. Hard to spot if I wasn’t looking for it. Blends in with the color of the hardwood floors.”
I bit at my lip and bobbed my head in confirmation. “Let’s give the workshop a once-over until everyone arrives. See if the cars are there. I don’t want to risk disturbing any more evidence with us trampling around back and forth through the house.”
We headed for the front door.
Chapter 23 - Ramon
Ramon thumbed the button on his radio. “Status?”
Low static came through his earpiece. “I’m in position. Waiting on you,” Daniel called back.
“Do you have a shot?” Ramon asked.
“I keep getting flashes of them passing the windows. Nothing clear. It looks like they are heading out.”
“Got it. Go dark.”
Ramon took his right hand from the radio and brought the assault rifle to his shoulder. He motioned to Rodrigo and pointed at the front door.
Chapter 24 - Kane
“Hold on a second, Kinnear,” I said.
He stood at the front door, holding the knob.
“What?”
“I just want to check something out quick.”
I walked to the refrigerator in the kitchen and opened the door—mostly empty: a few miscellaneous condiments and leftovers, no beer, no soda. I looked in the sink. A stack of dirty dishes lay inside with a couple coffee cups.
“What are you thinking?” Kinnear asked.
“I think these guys stayed here for a bit. Sandy, my stepmother, would never leave dishes in the sink. My dad would never be without beer and soda in the refrigerator.”
I stepped on the flapper to open the recycling bin. It was full of beer bottles. I did the same with the garbage can next to it. Inside were miscellaneous candy and fast-food wrappers. I glanced at the side of a crumpled-up bag from a fast-food restaurant. My father and Sandy didn’t eat fast food. I grabbed the bag from the corner and lifted it from the trash. The receipt was stapled to the outside. I brought it to eye level and read it—a couple breakfast sandwiches. I looked for a time and date.
“Nine sixteen this morning in Townsend. A couple miles down the street,” I said.
“Think they are still in the area?”
“I don’t know. We’ll leave this for your crime-lab guys.” I set the bag on the counter.
Kinnear pulled his jacket sleeve back and looked at his watch. “Fifteen minutes or so until everyone shows up.”
I nodded and pointed at the door. “Let’s check the shop quick.”
Kinnear twisted the knob and opened the door. He thumbed the latch for the screen door and pushed it open.
I heard a shot. The storm glass over the screen door shattered, and Kinnear fell back into me. More successive shots broke the night air—semiautomatic gunfire. Bullets ripped into the wood around the front door. Kinnear’s backward momentum took us to the ground.
Kinnear moaned. “I’m hit.”
I grabbed him by the shoulder of the jacket and pulled him back through the doorway. I kicked the front door shut.
“How bad?” I asked.
He didn’t respond.
“How bad!” I yelled.
“I’ll be fine.”
Kinnear scooted himself backward toward the wall across from the door. He tucked himself between the breakfast bar and my father’s recliner. He took his service weapon from his hip. “Do you know the combination for that gun safe?” he asked.
“I do.”
“Good, because I’m not going to be able to hold anyone off with a bullet in me.” Kinnear winced in pain and scooted closer to the wall. He took aim at the front door and thumbed at his police radio to call in the shots fired.
As he moved, blood leaked from the bottom of his jacket.
I tried to stay low and ran for the bedroom. Each window I passed in the hall exploded in from gunfire behind me.
“Multiple shooters,” Kinnear said.
I didn’t respond.
Whoever was shooting from the back was at distance. I dove through the doorway of the master bedroom and went for the phone, lying on the floor. I flipped it off the receiver and hit 9-1-1 but didn’t wait to talk. I went for the closet, and three more gunshots rang out. The bedroom’s bay window facing the driveway shattered into the room. I crawled through the glass on the floor for the closet.
I spun the dial on the safe: 16-12-27. They were the dates of my, my sister’s, and my stepmother’s birthdays. That made it easier for my father to remember. I clicked the handle down and pulled open the door. My father’s guns lay before me: two shotguns, a couple hunting rifles, and a Heckler & Koch UMP submachine gun. The choice was easy. I grabbed the submachine gun, an extra thirty-round magazine, and a Colt pistol from the top shelf. I jammed the pistol and gun magazine into my jacket pocket. I left the safe door open and crawled back to the hall.
I could see Kinnear sitting in the same position, next to the recliner, tucked in against the wall. “Are you okay?” I called.
“Yeah,” Kinnear yelled back.
“Where are those other sheriffs?”
He looked at me. His face was filled with a mix of pain and what looked like worry. “I called in a ten fifty-three. I didn’t get a response.”
“They said they were on their way though, the last time you spoke?”
He winced again. “Yeah, hopefully they get here pretty damn soon.”
“Just hang tight.”
I started down the hall. Moving quickly, I lunged past the first window facing the back of the property. I heard two shots, followed by the rounds plugging into the hallway wall a split second later. I spun my arms around the broken window with the Heckler & Koch and fired five q
uick shots into the darkness. Return fire came as soon as I pulled the gun back. I needed to get the shooter’s location. On my stomach, I crawled to the light switch, reached up, and killed the hallway lights. I retook my spot at the edge of the window. I fired out again—ten shots left to right. I jerked the gun back through then rolled to the second window, where I stayed low and watched.
He returned fire through and around the window I’d just left. I saw the muzzle flash from his gun. I had him. He lay a hundred yards up the hill, amongst the trees. I rested the barrel on the window sill and unloaded the gun on the area, fifteen shots directly toward him. As soon as the magazine was empty, I lunged from the window. On the hallway carpet, I dropped the empty magazine and clicked in the full one from my pocket. No return fire came. I crawled to Kinnear in the living room.
“Are you still hanging in there?” I asked.
His right hand held his gun on the door. His left was inside his jacket. “I’m losing blood.”
“Where are you hit?”
“A round went through my vest on the side. I took another one in the chest that the vest stopped.”
“Watch that door,” I said.
I pushed the recliner from Kinnear’s side, stretched out, and grabbed the wooden leg of the coffee table. I struggled to pull it toward him. My father had built it years back—it was thick, heavy, and extremely overbuilt for its use. The top was three-inch-thick planks of oak, more than suitable as a shield. After getting it in front of Kinnear, I pushed it onto its side for cover.
“Let me see. Keep that gun on the door.” I unzipped his jacket. A puddle of blood trapped inside spilled to the floor. Kinnear squirmed. I pulled at the buttons on his blue sheriffs-issue shirt, to expose the vest. I immediately saw the bullet to his heart that the vest had stopped. I tugged at his shirt bottom, tucked into his pants. His side below his rib cage was soaked in blood. I saw a rip in the fabric where the bullet entered.
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