“Anyone here?” he shouts.
He waits several seconds, and then slinks over to the yellow postcard and picks it up. Unlike last time, he doesn’t take it to his office to read. When he’s seen all he needs to, he takes a deep breath, relieved to know the Whittaker fire is set for Thursday night.
He heads back to his car and drives off. Jar switches to the tracking app to make sure he goes home.
“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” I say to Evan.
“I wasn’t tired.”
I look from him to Jar and back. “You can never tell anyone you saw this. I mean anyone. Police, FBI, whoever. As far as you know, you weren’t aware that anything was going on. And you absolutely can never mention us.”
“Don’t they know about you already?” he asks. “I mean, you’re the ones doing the investigation.”
“Do you know what a black ops mission is?”
“Um, it’s a military thing, isn’t it?”
“It can be, but not always. It’s a secret mission. So secret that the agency who initiates it will deny its existence. Think of our investigation kind of like that. We’re going to make it easy for the usual authorities, but they’ll never know we had our hand in it.”
“You mean you’re not law enforcement?”
“We’re on a whole other level than your normal law enforcement.”
“I can keep my mouth shut, if that’s what you mean.”
He’s responded to my nonanswer with a nonanswer of his own. Have I told you how much I like this kid?
“Yes,” I tell him. “That’s exactly what I mean. So, will you?”
“Yeah, of course. No one will ever know.”
It’s the best I can hope for.
“Now might be a good time for you to go to bed,” I suggest.
“Oh, uh, sure.”
It’s good he’s choosing to not press his luck by trying to stick around. Smart move.
“Good night,” he says as he gets out of his chair. “And-and thank you again for helping me and my brother. I…” Whatever else he was going to say, he decides to keep it to himself and just gives us a nod and heads toward the back.
Once we hear the bedroom door close, I walk to the hallway to make sure he actually went inside the room. He did. But who knows? He might have his ear pressed against the door, hoping to overhear our conversation. I know I would in his position.
I return to Jar and say in a low voice, “Remind me about the part of the plan where we show Evan everything.”
“I did not change the plan. You did.”
Okay, technically she’s right, but—
“I told him a few things to keep him satisfied,” I say. “That’s it. I didn’t show him all that.” I wave at her computer.
She grimaces. “I did not do it on purpose. I went into the kitchen to get some water. When I returned, he was at the table, looking at my screen. He is very quiet.”
She’s right about that. So right that I shoot a glance at the hallway, half expecting to see Evan lurking there.
“I thought it would be better to share with him some of what we’re doing than to tell him to forget what he saw and return to his room,” she adds.
Given the circumstances, it was the right call. Doesn’t mean I’m any happier about it.
“We need to put a cowbell on that kid,” I say.
“What is a cowbell?”
“It’s a bell you put on a cow. You know, so you can hear where she is.”
“Huh,” she says. “Then we definitely need a cowbell.”
“You mean we need more cow—you know what? Never mind.”
She stares at me like I’m crazy, then looks at her computer. “Chuckie is home.”
That’s good news. The last thing we need is Chuckie wandering around Mercy. Especially since we have one more task to take care of tonight.
Jar and I put the still unconscious Bergen into the bed of our truck, which is backed into his open garage. I’ve moved his Accord a block away.
After we make sure his house looks like it normally would, we take him to the Travato, where we tie him to the bed in back.
Jar installs one of our remaining video bugs so we’ll be able to remotely monitor him, and we head back to town.
The last item we need to deal with is Bergen’s car. I want things to look like he’s not home in case Chuckie comes back, which means the Honda needs to be moved out of the immediate area. What I’d really like to do is move it out of town, but that’s not an option.
“We really need to talk about getting you driving lessons,” I say.
“I already know how to drive.”
“A motor scooter, not a car.”
“I have watched you. It does not look difficult.”
I laugh. That’s not a theory I’m willing to test tonight.
“I’ll be right back,” I say.
I’ve parked the truck several blocks away, on a street with a couple of auto repair shops and a construction supply outlet. It’s the perfect place to hide Bergen’s Accord. The walk back to his car takes me about six minutes, and the return drive less than one. I leave the vehicle in a spot in front of the supply company. By the time someone notices the car has been there for a while, it won’t matter anymore.
I hop back into the truck and we head home to get some rest.
Tomorrow, after all, is going to be a big day.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The destruction of Charles Price begins on Friday at 9:04 a.m., with me on the phone.
My call is answered after the second ring. “Mercy Driving Range. This is Travis.”
“Travis Murphy?” I say. Yes, I’m using the modulator. This time my tone is pitched a little higher and older, like someone in his sixties.
“That’s me.”
“Mr. Murphy, this is Anthony Ruiz. I’m a nurse at St. Mary-Corwin Medical Center in Pueblo.”
“How can I help you, Mr. Ruiz?” The chipper tone in Travis’s voice has slipped into something more subdued.
“I’m calling about Paul Bergen. I understand he’s an employee of yours.”
“He is. But he’s not here right now. I’m expecting him at any—”
“Mr. Bergen won’t be coming in today. He was involved in a car accident early this morning and was admitted here.”
“My God. Is he all right?”
“Nothing life threatening, but he’ll need to stay with us for another night or two. He was worried about work, so I told him I’d call you and explain the situation.”
“I appreciate that. Let him know not to worry, and I’ll get someone to cover his shifts. Tell him to concentrate on getting better.”
“I’ll do that. Thank you, Mr. Murphy.”
I hang up.
At 9:17 a.m., Jar finishes reviewing footage taken that morning from our various bugs. Thanks to the postcard confirmation I left for Chuckie last night, he’s much more relaxed this morning. Which is why it’s the first time he realizes his sons aren’t around.
“A school project,” Kate says, playing it off as nothing important. “I sent Evan along to keep an eye on him, you know, just in case Sawyer….” She lets it hang.
“Whose house?” Chuckie asks.
“The Campbells’.”
Frowning, Chuckie says, “I don’t know any Campbells.”
“They moved here last fall. Nice family. They go to the Methodist church over on Lincoln.”
She’s really good at this, which makes me think she’s been weaving stories for years to keep the peace.
“What’s the husband do?” Chuckie asks.
“Engineering, or something like that. Works for the county, I think.”
I stare at the screen, looking for any signs Chuckie will explode about not having personally given the okay for his sons to be away. There’s a moment or two when I think it could go in either direction, but he keeps his cool and only says, “Does he need a new car?”
“I don’t know, but I can ask.”
; He grunts and returns his attention to his breakfast.
I’m pretty sure if there wasn’t a fire scheduled for tonight, he’d be more interested in Evan and Sawyer’s whereabouts, but he has a lot on his plate right now. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s thinking it’s a good thing they’re not around to bother him.
Jar shows me two more sets of clips. The first is from 7:09 a.m., when Chuckie arrives at work. Like he did on the morning after he received the last postcard, he makes another trip to the donut shop. Though we don’t have a shot of him getting rid of the card, I’m sure it’s been ripped and dumped into a receptacle along the way, likely the same dumpster as before.
The second set of clips starts at 7:43 a.m., shortly after he returns with the donuts.
He’s in his office, door locked. On the screen of his computer is the website for his bank. I watch as he initiates a transfer of thirty-five thousand dollars to an account at another institution.
“Let me guess,” I say. “To RS Shepherd?” That’s the shell company owned by Nicholas Huston.
“Correct,” Jar says.
Thirty-five thousand dollars brings the total Chuckie has sent Huston to exactly five hundred grand. A nice round number.
When the clip ends, I tell Jar I’ll be right back and head out to my motorcycle.
As I suspected, Chuckie has no imagination. The torn postcard is right where I predicted it would be. I put it in my pocket, pick up a dozen donuts at the shop around the corner, and head back.
It’s 1:53 p.m., and we have a logistical problem we have not been able to solve.
That’s not quite accurate.
Jar did suggest something that would work, but it’s not a solution I want to use. Unfortunately, we’re getting closer and closer to go time and I have yet to come up with anything better.
I swear under my breath.
“You are getting worked up over nothing,” Jar says. “It will be fine.”
I close my eyes, hoping another solution will suddenly pop into my head. When it doesn’t, I say, “Fine. Let’s talk to him.”
Jar retrieves Evan from the back bedroom.
“What’s up?” he asks.
I get out of my chair and motion for him to take a seat. “We may need your help.”
His eyes light up. “Yes. Of course. Whatever you need.”
“Do you drive?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Can you drive?”
“I’ve tried. Once.”
That’s what I was afraid of.
He sees the disappointment on my face and says, “I have friends that do.”
I already don’t want to involve Evan. Bringing one of his friends in, too, seems more than a step too far.
I’m about to say as much when Jar jumps in and asks, “Do you have a friend who drives, whom you trust?”
He smiles. “I do. She’s very trustworthy.”
I look at Jar, as if she’s crazy for asking him that question.
She looks at me and says, “There. Problem solved.”
Twenty minutes later, Bergen shows signs of waking.
“We shouldn’t be much more than an hour,” I tell Evan. “Sit tight and don’t talk to anyone.”
He gives me a thumbs-up like we’re members of a team.
Which in a way we are, I guess.
By the time Jar and I arrive at the Travato and climb in—ski masks and face masks firmly in place—Bergen’s eyes are wide open, though he still looks loopy from the drugs.
As I approach the bed, he stares at me with the same fear as yesterday.
“Please,” he croaks. “I need water.”
I grab a bottle from the cabinet, drop it on the bed, and untie his hand.
He starts chugging the water bottle, a good portion of it missing his mouth and drenching his shirt.
While I was dealing with his water situation, Jar retrieved one of our camp stools from storage and brought it inside. She passes it to me now, and I place it by the end of the bed and sit.
I lock my gaze on Bergen’s and hold my hand above my shoulder. Jar puts one of our dart guns in it, causing Bergen to suck in a breath.
“No, no, no, no. Please. Not again.”
Jar pulls out her laptop and sets it on the counter. A few seconds later, our computerized voice says, “We trust you slept well.”
“You guys can let me go now. I swear, I won’t light any more fires.”
We figured he might say something like this, so it takes Jar only a few seconds to adjust one of the responses we wrote and play it. “There will be no letting you go. You have committed crimes that you will need to answer for.”
“No, please. They’re never going to let me out.”
This time, no extra typing is needed. “You should have thought about that before agreeing to help Charles Price.”
“I didn’t have a choice!”
A few keystrokes and our voice says, “You did, and you still do.”
“What do you mean?”
“You can choose to do nothing and face the full consequences, or you can do something that may put you in a favorable light.”
He blinks at this last part. “Like what?”
“This is from last night.”
I hold up my phone and play a montage of our conversation with him at his house.
When it finishes, Jar plays another prewritten bit. “The authorities will likely be more lenient if your confession does not sound like it is being forced out of you. We can give them this, or you can rerecord, telling everything you know.”
“That-that’s it?”
Jar types again. “No. It is not.”
“What else will I have to do?”
She plays him the other requirement, and the color drains from his face.
We may not be offering him the lifeline he wants, but it is one I’m positive he will accept.
We arrive back at the duplex at 3:38 p.m.
Bergen is still in the Travato, once more fully restrained. He is also unconscious again, though the amount of Beta-Somnol we gave him will keep him under for only a few hours. That’s because he chose to do the right thing. If he didn’t, he’d have received another full dose.
I pull the truck all the way into our garage this time. It doesn’t quite fit, but it’ll do.
“You got everything?” I ask Evan.
“We didn’t bring much.”
Sawyer is beside him, clutching Terry the Tiger to his chest. “Thank you very much for letting us stay here,” he says. From the rhythm, I get the sense he practiced the words with his brother.
“You’re very welcome,” I say.
“And thank you for letting us use your computer to watch movies.”
From the surprise on Evan’s face, I’m guessing that part wasn’t something they worked on.
“I’m glad you enjoyed them.”
Sawyer turns to Jar. He’s almost as tall as she is. “Thank you.”
She nods. “The world might not always be easy, but you will figure it out. I believe in you.”
He smiles at this. It’s not much, but is more than we’ve seen.
“Let’s get going,” I say.
I enter the garage first and stand at the back end of the truck’s cab, in the narrow walkway I’ve left between the vehicle and the wall. This prevents anyone outside from seeing Evan and Sawyer exit the house and climb into the backseat of the crew cab. Once their door is closed, I go around to the driver’s door and get behind the wheel.
From the living room doorway, Jar watches us back out, and then activates the roll-down door once we’re out of the way. There’s no reason for both of us to go on this trip.
I drop off Evan and Sawyer three blocks from their house, in a parking area behind a closed florist shop, out of sight of the street.
“I’ll let you know when I’m out,” Evan says from the open doorway.
“If it becomes a problem, don’t push it,” I say. “We’ll figure something else out.”
“Don’t worry. It won’t be a problem.”
He shuts the door, takes his brother’s hand, and walks away.
I make it back to the duplex before the boys reach their house, so I’m able to watch with Jar in real time when they step inside.
Kate has been lying down in the master bedroom, but at the sound of the door, she hurries to the stairs. When she sees her boys standing in the foyer, she runs down to them.
There are hugs and tears from Mom, after which she looks them over, as if expecting them to be hurt more than they were by their father.
“We’re fine,” Evan says. “Don’t worry.”
“Where…where were you?” she asks.
“Mom, I told you. Someplace safe.”
“We were with Evan’s friends,” Sawyer says. “They were very nice.”
“I’m glad to hear that, honey.”
“They let us watch movies on their computer.”
“Oh?” Kate looks at Evan, concerned.
“Disney movies,” Evan says.
“Okay,” she says. “Good.”
“I need to change clothes,” Sawyer says. “I wore these clothes yesterday.” I’m happy he’s changed the subject. I was worried he’d give away more about us.
“Oh, honey, of course. Do you want to take a shower first?”
“It’s not shower time.”
“Right. It’s not, is it? Go up and put something else on, then. We’ll do the shower later.” She looks at Evan. “What about you?”
“I could use a change, too.”
“And…are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Mom. Don’t worry.”
He follows his brother upstairs, but it’s not long before he returns. He’s dressed in dark clothes now like I suggested, a long-sleeve black T-shirt and indigo jeans. When he grabs his jacket off the hook by the door, Kate comes out from the kitchen.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“I need to take care of something.”
“No. You need to stay here. You’re grounded, remember?”
He sighs and shakes his head. “I’ve just spent two days taking care of Sawyer, making sure he’s safe. I need a little time for myself, that’s all.”
Mercy (The Night Man Chronicles Book 3) Page 31