Dead and Gone

by Jack Patterson

  “You do realize this might make you more of a target, if we aren’t able to put these guys away?”

  “Damned it I do, damned if I don’t. Besides, if they come after me later, maybe I can pay off Carson’s debt. In the short term, this is what’s best. I need to put all the money I get in the hands of capable surgeons instead of thieving thugs.”

  “I guess you know what you’re doing then. Do you want to go over this one more time?”

  She checked her phone. It was 10:30 in the morning and she was already on her third cup of coffee. “I’ve got it down.”

  “Good luck.”

  She dialed the number back that the caller had used to make the initial threat.

  “Hello. Who is this?”

  “This is Jessica Tanner and you called me about a debt my husband owed you.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, you told me I have a week to pay up, but I’d like to take care of it today.”

  “Today?”

  “Yes, in two hours at the Phoenix International Raceway.”

  “Lady, last time I talked to you, you said you didn’t have any cash. How do I know this isn’t a set up?”

  “Because I’m going to have enough money to pay off his debt, and I got a generous man to forward some of it to me.”

  “I read you weren’t gettin’ any money because of his crappy life insurance policy. That had to suck, huh?”

  She took a deep breath. “Well, that’s all about to change.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yes, just keep watching the news. If you don’t hear anything that makes you think otherwise before noon, don’t come. Otherwise, I’ll see you here at 12:30. I’m texting you the location right now.”

  For a moment, silence. Then, “Okay, I got it. I’ll be watching. And if you’re lying to me, I’m going to add a late payment fee.”

  “I’ll be waiting.” She hung up.

  The FBI agent leaned forward and patted her on the knee. “Excellent work. Do you think he bought it?”

  “Sounded like it to me.”

  “Great. This could be huge for the agency to catch these guys like this.”

  “It’ll be great as long as Cal Murphy comes through on his end.”

  “Better call him and find out what’s happening.”

  Jessica picked up her phone again and dialed Cal’s number.

  “Jessica? How are you?”

  “I’m hangin’ in there. Anything happen yet?”

  “Not yet and I’m not sure it will.”

  She gasped. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean J.T. Beaumont wasn’t the guy. I’ve got him admitting to hiring someone to stalk me and Kelly, but he adamantly denied having anything to do with Carson’s accident.”

  “And you believe him?”

  “I could tell when he was lying before—and he seemed different, like he was telling me the truth.”

  “Cal! You’ve gotta do something. I already called Goldini’s thugs. If they don’t hear something by noon, they said it’s off and they’re going to add some late fee to the deal.”

  “Don’t worry, Jessica. I’ve got a few more leads.”

  “Better get on them fast. We’re running out of time or else this thing is going to blow up in our faces.”

  “Just stay calm. I’m doing the best I can.”

  She hung up and threw her phone down on the couch next to her. Burying her head in her hands, she started to weep.

  CHAPTER 53

  CAL’S PHONE BUZZED with a text message from Folsom. It was full of instructions for the types of stories he wanted accompanied by deadlines and word counts for each one.

  He shoved his phone back in his pocket before another message buzzed his phone.

  Call me ASAP

  Cal rolled his eyes.

  Now he wants to play nice and be my buddy.

  Cal dialed his number. Folsom picked up before the first ring finished.

  “Where are you?” Folsom asked.

  “I’m not at a strip club, if that’s what you mean.”

  “You’re a real comedian, Cal. Seriously, are you at the track?”

  “I’m here. What do you need?” Cal wanted to derail the conversation and let Folsom know what frightening things he’d experienced in the past twenty-four hours while trying to chase down NASCAR’s story of the decade, perhaps the biggest story in the sport’s history. But he decided against it. Too little time.

  “I just got a call from Owen Burns.”

  “The Davis Motorsports Team crew chief?”

  “Yeah, that’s the one. He said he’d been fired last night but he wants to talk with you about an exclusive.”

  Cal ran his fingers through his hair and exhaled. “I don’t know if I’ve got time for that, Folsom.”

  “Make time.”

  “Fine,” Cal huffed.

  “I’m texting you his number now,” Folsom said.

  Cal hung up and stared at the text. He dialed the number.

  “Hello?”

  “Mr. Burns?” Cal said.

  “Yes?”

  “This is Cal Murphy from The Observer. I hear you wanted to speak with me.”

  “Yes, I do. Do you have your laptop with you?”

  “Will I need it?”

  “You need to see what I’m going to show you on you computer.”

  “What is it?”

  “Proof that someone sabotaged Carson Tanner’s car—and proof of who it is.”

  “Where are you?”

  Cal jotted down the information and dashed back to the media center to get his laptop. He hustled through the garage before he felt a hand grab a large swath of his shirt and yank him backward.

  “Why the hurry?” a familiar voice asked.

  Cal spun around to see Ned Davis clutching him by the shirt.

  “We need to talk.”

  ***

  OUTSIDE THE RACEWAY, throngs of race fans had already begun to clog the ticket turnstiles. Burns walked backward away from the crowd toward the fence. He stood on his toes and looked above the crowd, searching for Cal Murphy.

  “Lookin’ for anyone I know, Burns?” Alayna French asked as she rolled up on a golf cart.

  “I’m tryin’ to find Cal Murphy. You know him?” he said still scanning the sea of people.

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  Burns ignored her.

  “Too bad about you losing your job and all,” Alayna said.

  He stopped and glared at her. “How’d you know about that?”

  “There’s not a story on the infield that gets past me.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  Burns’ eyes suddenly widened and sweat started to bead up on his face.

  “Are you all right? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

  Burns shook his head and reached into his pocket. “Look, find Cal Murphy and give this to him.”

  “And what do I tell him when I see him?”

  “Tell him it’s from me—and that it’s elementary, my dear Watson.”

  “Huh?”

  Before Alayna could utter another word, Burns vanished into the crowd. She watched as a pair of men in dark suits raced past her golf cart in the same direction as Burns.

  ***

  CAL SQUIRMED AWAY from Davis’ clutches and shrugged him off.

  “Don’t you walk away from me,” Davis said.

  Cal stopped and turned. He walked steadily toward the owner and stopped a couple of feet short as he glared at him. “Did you think I was just going to ignore what was going on here?” Cal laughed sarcastically. “Not a chance. I know what you’ve been up to this whole time.”

  Davis pointed his finger in Cal’s face. “What I’ve been up to is guarding the interests of this team and making sure some rogue reporter doesn’t ruin everyone’s livelihoods around here.”

  “Livelihoods? Is that all you’re concerned about? What about lives—like Carson Tanner’s? You care about that?”

  “What’s done
is done. I can’t change the past.”

  Cal leaked a wry smile. “Want me to quote you on that?”

  “For the past week, you’ve done nothing but make trouble for this team. All you care about are sales and web hits. You couldn’t care less about the people’s lives your stories are hurting.”

  “Couldn’t care less? Couldn’t care less? Are you out of your mind? The only reason I’m doing this is because I actually care about people, starting with Jessica Tanner, who’s widowed and pregnant and practically penniless.”

  “And I offered to take care of her.”

  “To keep her quiet,” Cal huffed. “You think I can’t see right through your motives?”

  Davis puffed his chest out and wagged his index finger. “And you don’t think I can’t see through yours?”

  “You have no idea what sacrifices I make to track down these stories.”

  Davis laughed. “Sacrifices? You have no clue what everybody in this organization goes through just to make this team competitive.”

  “I doubt their wives are stalked and shot at.”

  Davis stared at Cal, slack-jawed. “What are you talking about?”

  “Why don’t you ask Beaumont?” Cal slapped Davis on the shoulder. “I’d love to stay and chat, big guy, but I’ve got a meeting with your fired crew chief. Something about a video I need to see. Later.” He didn’t wait for a response and turned toward the garage gate.

  Cal looked over his shoulder to see Davis busily dialing his cell phone. He knew he didn’t have much time.

  ***

  CAL STOOD OUTSIDE the gate on a plastic bunker, hoping to see Burns more easily. Burns had told him he was wearing a red hat and sunglasses along with a black jacket. But so far, nothing.

  Where are you, Burns?

  “Well, I do declare, if it isn’t Cal Murphy.”

  Cal looked down to see Alayna French wheeling to a stop in front of him in her golf cart.

  “Hi, Alayna.”

  “Lookin’ for Owen Burns?”

  Cal hopped down from the bunker. “How’d you know that?”

  She smiled. “I know everything, remember?”

  “Seriously, how’d you know?”

  “I just ran into him a few minutes ago. He looked like he was in a hurry, so he asked me if I knew you and requested that I get this to you.” She handed him the thumb drive.

  Cal inspected it closely. “Did he say anything else?”

  “He just said something like, ‘Tell him it’s elementary, my dear Watson.’”

  “What the heck does that mean?”

  She laughed. “I don’t know. I guess you’re Sherlock and you’re supposed to figure out whatever is on there.”

  Cal took the thumb drive from her and jammed it into his pocket.

  “Need a lift?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “Well, climb on in. We’ve got a race to get you to.”

  ***

  CAL JAMMED THE THUMB DRIVE into his computer and waited for the file to appear. He glanced around the media center, full of sportswriters banging on their keyboards to finish up their last stories before the race festivities began. The pre-race shows blared over the intercom system as several racing experts explained how today’s finish would make an impact on the championship race. Outside, it was eerily quiet. Only the droning buzz from the growing crowd and the occasional public address announcement filled the air, which would soon be dominated by the roar of forty-three engines.

  Cal clicked on the folder and selected the only file in it. He watched in disbelief. Then he played the video he sent himself from Ron Parker’s phone. It was a match. Only this time, the footage Burns gave him was clearer—so much so that he could positively identify the person tinkering with Carson Tanner’s car.

  Elementary, indeed.

  Cal’s phone buzzed. It was Jessica again.

  “Well? Anything?” she said.

  “Yep, give me fifteen minutes and this is going to be everywhere.”

  “That’s about all we’ve got,” she said.

  Cal stared at his keyboard and typed in a few searches. It didn’t take him long to find something he’d never noticed before in all his research, something that was now so obvious.

  He stood up and saw Eddie Simpson talking to another reporter in the corner. Cal headed straight for him.

  “Eddie, you need to see this,” Cal said.

  Simpson followed Cal and covered his mouth as he watched the incident unfold.

  He pointed at the screen. “Are you sure that time stamp is accurate?”

  Cal pulled out his phone and started the other video. “It matches the time stamp on this phone. No reason to think two cameras colluded to change the time.”

  Simpson rubbed his face with both hands and groaned.

  Cal remained serious. “I’m heading down to the garage now. Care to join me?”

  CHAPTER 54

  CAL HUSTLED TOWARD the Davis Motorsports Team hauler with a line of people in tow. He’d wrangled a television cameraman away from his pre-race buffet, while Simpson had grabbed Rick Plimpton, the vice-president of competition, and filled him in along the way.

  “I’m not so sure about making a spectacle out of this,” Simpson protested, as he struggled to keep pace.

  Cal waved him off and didn’t turn around. “I thought you guys liked all the off-track drama. Great for ratings, right?”

  “I just think there might be a better way to do this,” Simpson said.

  “I’m sure there is, but not today. By the time I explained to you why it has to happen this way, it’d be too late.”

  Clutching his laptop in one hand, Cal turned the corner and set his eyes on the Davis Motorsports Team crew. They appeared to be enjoying a plate of ribs, potato salad, and baked beans, while they laughed at some story Dirt was telling.

  Jackson Holmes gestured in the direction of the oncoming crew, causing the head of every crew member to spin in Cal’s direction.

  “Tryin’ to make more trouble and ruin this race team an hour before the race?” Russ Ross said. “This is gettin’ old.”

  “Not this again,” Beaumont chimed in.

  “Not tryin’ to ruin anyone’s day. But maybe your new crew chief can explain how he ruined Carson Tanner’s life last week.”

  Holmes froze.

  Ned Davis stormed out of the hauler and surveyed the situation. “What’s the meaning of this?”

  Simpson held up his hand toward him. “You’ll know soon enough.”

  All eyes reverted back to Cal. “Go ahead, Holmes. Why don’t you tell them?”

  Holmes swallowed hard. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

  “Really? No idea? I have surveillance footage that says otherwise.”

  Holmes’ eyes widened. “Footage of what? I didn’t do anything.”

  “I could tell you about it—but I’ll just show you.” Cal opened his laptop and turned it around so everyone could see the screen.

  Gasps emanated from the small circle of onlookers as images of Jackson Holmes using a blowtorch to heat what appeared to be a return spring in a suspicious manner.

  Davis feigned outrage. “Is this true, Holmes?”

  Holmes hung his head. “I never meant for anyone to get hurt.”

  Dirt recoiled and went to punch Holmes before Ross grabbed him from behind and pulled him back. “I oughta tear you apart right here,” Dirt growled.

  Cal closed his computer and shook his head. “When I saw that, I had to ask myself why? Why would anyone want to kill their driver—or perhaps just sabotage their car?”

  Holmes’ eyes narrowed and cheeks turned crimson. “Carson Tanner was a murderer! He deserved it!”

  “You’ve gone from you didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt to Carson Tanner deserved to die in about five seconds. Want to tell everyone here why you did it—or should I?”

  Holmes stood up. “I want a lawyer.”

  “Sounds like a good move on your pa
rt because based on all this, you’re going to need one,” Simpson said.

  Plimpton turned toward Davis. “In light of these facts, we’re going to suspend your team until we can do a further investigation into what role Jackson Holmes played in Carson Tanner’s accident last week.”

  Beaumont ran up to Plimpton. “You can’t do that! This is my shot.”

  Plimpton shook his head. “If you’re good enough, son, you’ll get another shot somewhere else. But it isn’t going to happen today.”

  Beaumont turned toward Cal and walked in his direction. He pointed his finger at Cal as he spoke. “This is all your fault. If you hadn’t been so hell-bent on bringing down this team, maybe we’d be racing in an hour.”

  Cal smiled. “Relax, Beaumont. I may have just saved your life, even though I understand your frustration since I doubt you’ll ever get a shot on this level again after everything you’ve done comes out too. And I hate that for you. You really had potential to be a great driver.”

  Beaumont made a run Cal, who’d turned around and begun walking back to the media center.

  Pop!

  Cal spun around to see Beaumont flat on his back with Dirt standing over him, fist still clenched.

  Dirt tipped his cap to Cal. “Thanks. I had to hit somebody after all this.”

  Cal nodded and continued toward the media center. He looked at the cameraman who’d followed him. “Did you get all that?”

  “Sure did. Are we done yet?”

  Cal took a deep breath. “You are—once you get that aired. I’ve still got plenty of work to do.”

  CHAPTER 55

  CAL SAT IN HIS CHAIR at the media center and pounded out the breaking news. Rick Plimpton gave Cal a quote to add to his story, a story destined to win him an award for spot news reporting.

  He called Folsom to tell him all the gory details as he posted the article to the paper’s website. Less than thirty seconds later, he tweeted out the link. One minute later, his phone blew up with text messages.

  Cal called Jessica. “It’s done.”

  “I know,” she said. “I just got a call from them. They’re on their way.”

  “Good luck. You’ll do great.”

  He hung up and scrolled through his text messages, most of which were congratulating him on the scoop.