by Kylie Brant
Machines surrounded the bed, all hooked to its occupant. Bandages swathed Sheila Preston’s eyes, cheeks, and arms. Cady could only imagine the rest of her body bore similar injuries.
The sight of her made Cady’s bumps and bruises pale in significance.
“Who’s . . . there?” Sheila’s voice was little more than a rasp.
“Cady Maddix and Miguel Rodriguez with the Marshals Service.” Miguel held up a finger. Cady nodded. They might not have more than a minute. “Do you know who did this to you?”
“I saw you.” The words sounded as if they hurt to utter. “I was coming across the street after eating and you . . . you were in your Jeep. By the office. I was careful to check for different vehicles in the lot. When you got out, I knew you were cops of some sort. I ran.”
Cady winced. Yes, Sheila had run. And the action had nearly cost her life.
Footsteps sounded outside in the hallway. Cady’s tone went urgent. “Who would have wanted you dead?”
“Sutton. David Sutton. The son of a bitch ruined my life.” Sheila’s words were choked. “He approached me. I hadn’t seen him in years, but one day I came home and he was on my porch. I sent the girls in the house. He wanted me to do . . . some favors. When I refused, he got ugly. He’d always had a temper. He said if I didn’t help he’d hurt the girls. Sutton knew where they went to school and to childcare. I believed him when he said he’d kill them. How could I not?”
There was a low murmur of voices outside the door. Cady could feel the remaining time slipping away. “The favor was to go see Samuel Aldeen in prison?”
“Monthly. Sometimes Sutton gave me information to share with him. Usually . . . I just sat there with that horrible man while he whispered about my girls. He said he had pictures of them in his room. I don’t know how he could have. He said . . . lots of things.” A visible shudder shook the woman’s body. “I did what I was told. I brought a car there. I’m not stupid. I knew what it was for. But what was I supposed to do? Let my girls die? I figured . . . they’d catch him quickly. No way he would even get off the grounds. Then my family would be safe. I was going to move out of state. Find a different job. Maybe change our names. But he wasn’t caught.” Sheila released a long sigh. “Unless he’s been captured?”
“Not yet. What do you know about David Sutton?”
Sheila shook her head slowly. “Nothing. We worked together for a bit, but that was two decades ago.”
“Did he say anything to give you a clue where he lived? Did you see his car?”
“No. He only issued threats. And . . . the one time he came to my house there was no car out front. I remember looking. After that he called me. He’d made me give him my number. I only saw him once.”
They’d had her phone number from the contact list from Fristol. But when they’d had the company ping it, it’d come back as out of service. “You have a new phone,” Cady said grimly.
“I used one he’d given me to call Fristol. He . . . he said to make sure I got rid of it after.”
“Do you remember a woman Sutton dated named Aurora Pullman?”
“No. But he always had women.”
“How about Aldeen?” Miguel put in. “Do you recall anyone he dated from back then? Anyone he was friends with?”
“Not really. He seemed nice enough. I mean, I was shocked when I’d read what he’d done. I would never have guessed it. But I didn’t socialize with any of them outside of work.”
The door opened behind them. “What are you doing in here?” Cady turned to see a nurse with a fierce expression on her face. “Visitors have to check in at the nurses’ station. And no more than one at a time. Five minutes maximum each hour.”
“I . . . can have . . . visitors? Did you call my sister?”
“And your mom.” The nurse’s voice gentled as she went to Sheila’s side, checking the readout on the screen above one of the machines. “You two,” she said over her shoulder. “Out.”
“One more minute.” Ignoring the nurse’s glare, Cady said, “Sheila. Was there anything else you did for Samuel Aldeen?”
The woman’s lips quivered. “Yes. Once. About eight months ago, Sutton gave me an address and told me to go there and pick up a package. Then I had to drop it off somewhere else. I wasn’t supposed to look in it, but I did. If it had been drugs, I wouldn’t have done it. But it was just an MP3 player.”
“Where did you pick it up?” Miguel shifted closer to the bed.
“Here in town. I don’t remember the address, but it was a gray house on Eighth and Tulip. There was an old swing set in the front yard. I remember, because it’s odd not to find them in back of the house.”
“Who gave you the package?”
She shook her head slightly. “There were several people in the home. One of them called him Philip. I didn’t talk to him much. Sutton gave me his address and told me what time to be there. I gave the man—Philip—my name and he handed me the package. That’s all.”
Interest piqued. “Did you smuggle it into the facility?” Cady could tell from the nurse’s stance her time was running out.
“No. I took it to this run-down house several miles past Waynesville. I was told there’d be a red ribbon tied around the back porch and I should leave the package there. So I did.”
“Minute’s up.” The nurse gestured to the door. “Out with you both.”
Cady reached into her pocket and took out a card, laying it on the table next to the bed. “If you remember anything else, I left my number. We’ll let you get some rest now.”
“Marshal?” They’d only taken a couple of steps before Sheila stopped them. “How much trouble am I in?”
“I don’t know,” Cady answered honestly. “You aided and abetted a federal inmate’s escape. But the fact you were coerced will be a consideration. You need to get an attorney.”
She pushed open the door, and she and Miguel stepped into the hallway. Lockhardt looked up. “Sorry. I held the nurse off as long as I could. Did you learn anything?”
“We appreciate your efforts.” Miguel propped his shoulder against the wall next to the officer. “She verified our suspicions about who was behind the attack, although she couldn’t place the man at the scene of the explosion.”
“There’s not much doubt he’s responsible,” Cady put in. “And he’s used threats before to get her to cooperate.” She let Miguel relay the woman’s connection to Aldeen.
“Some lawyer is going to see she skates for her part in the escape,” Lockhardt predicted. From his tone it was clear he regarded the possibility far differently than Cady did. “With our luck, she’s gonna get off on coercion.”
Cady said nothing, but she hoped he was right. From what she’d seen in the hospital room, Sheila Preston had already paid enough.
She and Miguel didn’t speak until they were outside the hospital. “A first name and part of an address. That’s more than we had when we walked into the hospital room.” Miguel unlocked the car and they got in, with him behind the wheel. Given her aches and pains, she hadn’t argued when he’d suggested driving.
“Damn straight.” Cady fastened her seat belt. Maybe this one would be the link they were looking for.
“Do you think she told us everything she knew?” He started the ignition.
“She’s got to be on massive amounts of painkillers. They might be the reason for her loosened tongue, but I don’t think the woman could have kept her story straight if she wasn’t telling the truth. I figure she delivered the MP3 player to the home of the substitute custodian from Fristol. Joe Bush.” At least they finally had the answer of how the process notes had been converted and embedded in the audio files: Bush smuggled Aldeen’s MP3 and the notes out. Either he or Sutton delivered them to Philip. Sheila finished the loop by getting it back to Bush, and he likely got it to Aldeen. The remaining mystery was the reason behind the fugitive’s interest in Eryn Pullman.
While Miguel backed out of the parking lot and headed for the exit, Cady pull
ed out her cell and punched Eighth and Tulip into the GPS. “Maybe this Philip will lead us to David Sutton.”
“I’m getting tired of chasing maybes. We need something solid,” he grumbled.
Cady silently agreed. They had a whole lot of suppositions. A couple of near misses.
And two dangerous men still on the loose.
“This has to be it.”
Miguel slowed in front of a dark-gray house that—like the rest of the neighborhood—had seen better days. The skeleton of a rusted swing set sat off-kilter in the front yard.
They got out of the car and approached the structure. A board was missing from the second step. When they stepped over it, Miguel remarked, “Wonder how many times someone comes out at night and puts their foot right through the hole? Good way to break a leg.”
Cady didn’t answer. There’d been times in her childhood she’d lived in similar places with her mom. Only when she’d gone to school had she realized how dire their circumstances were compared to her friends’.
When she knocked at the scarred front door, a woman with a baby opened it, eying them suspiciously. “You cops?”
“Cady Maddix and Miguel Rodriguez with the Marshals Service.” The door was swinging shut before she got the words out. “Looking for Philip,” Cady called before it could slam in their faces.
It remained open a crack, the woman still staring suspiciously through the small space. “There’s no Philip here.”
“How long have you lived at this address?”
“Six months, and it’s just me and my baby.”
“Maybe he was the previous tenant,” Cady suggested.
The woman opened the door wider. “Could’ve been.” The baby began to fuss, and she bounced it a little as she spoke. “I got some junk mail in someone else’s name at first. Philip . . . N something.” She shook her head. “Don’t remember the rest of the last name. Sorry.” The baby let out a wail, and the woman backed away a step.
“Not a problem.” The door was closed before Cady had completed the sentence.
“Now we’ve verified a former address and part of a name.” There was a bounce in Miguel’s step. If Cady weren’t so stiff maybe she could match it. “We’ve got enough to check with the post office and see if the former tenant here left a forwarding address.”
“Philip Nieman’s moved up in the world,” Miguel observed as he did a slow roll by the man’s new address an hour and a half later.
Cady surveyed Nieman’s new digs. It was nothing fancy, but the neat single-story boasted vinyl siding and shutters, with a detached double garage and the remains of a neglected lawn. It represented leaps rather than steps above the last place the man had lived.
“Three cars in the drive.” Miguel passed the house.
“The curtains in the front picture window are closed, but there’s a garbage container on the curb.” When the house was out of sight, Miguel turned the corner to round the block and take another drive by. There was no activity outside the house. But given the multiple vehicles in sight, someone was at home.
“Let’s split up. I’ll go to the front door. You hang back and cover the side and rear exits.”
Cady didn’t protest. Given her appearance, Miguel would draw far less attention than she would. She settled sunglasses on her nose while he parked halfway down the block. When he turned the engine off, Miguel shrugged out of his coat to reveal a long-sleeved T-shirt. Twisting, he reached over the seat and snagged a hooded sweatshirt. Shrugging into it, he pulled a baseball cap out of the pocket and used the rearview mirror to settle it on his head.
“Did you really just check yourself out?”
“Nothing wrong with making sure I look the part.”
“And which part will this be?”
“Pizza delivery.”
She nodded. It was a tried-and-true gambit to get an otherwise recalcitrant person of interest to open the front door. They got out of the car, and she waited for Miguel to retrieve the pizza boxes they carried in the trunk as props. “Let me get in place before you ring the doorbell.”
Cady started walking to the house three doors down from Nieman’s. She passed through the adjoining yards to get to the rear of the properties. Although she saw a curtain twitch at a window in one of the homes, no one came to the door. At Nieman’s yard, she dropped to her knees and crawled below window level. There was a small wooden back porch and concrete steps leading to the side entrance. Situating herself between the porch and the driveway, she prepared to wait.
They’d run Nieman after they got his name from the post office. The man’s record showed a few drunk and disorderlies and a ninety-day sentence in the Mecklenburg County Jail thirteen years ago. He’d been clean ever since. Maybe Nieman was simply skilled with electronics. There was nothing inherently illegal about the work he’d done on Aldeen’s MP3 player.
His association with David Sutton, however, raised suspicions.
“Pizza delivery.” Cady heard Miguel’s voice. A moment later, someone must have come to the door.
“Who the hell ordered pizza?”
“The bill says Philip Nieman. Got a pepperoni and a taco,” Miguel said.
A woman’s voice sounded. “I could eat. Give him some money.”
“That’s bullshit. Shut the fucking door.” Cady tensed as the third voice sounded.
“Just pay him, Phil, who the fuck cares?”
“Philip Nieman? Deputy US Marshal. Get down on the floor. Get down! Runner!”
Cady drew her weapon when she heard Miguel’s shout. A moment later the back door burst open and a man vaulted over the railing of the small wooden porch and sped in the direction of the drive. He skidded to a halt when he saw Cady.
“Deputy US Marshal,” she shouted, training her gun on the man. “Down on the ground. Hands behind your back.”
He wheeled and ran in the opposite direction. Biting off a curse, Cady took up pursuit, holstering her weapon as she ran.
Normally, she’d outpace the man, but her muscles were still stiff. She chased him down the alley and through another yard. He leaped over a small hedge, knocking over a row of metal garbage cans in the process. Cady attempted to hurdle the bushes and failed. She struggled through the clawlike branches. He threw a look over his shoulder and, seeing her falling behind, headed for the adjoining yard with its tall wooden fence.
She knew exactly what he was about to do. Cady turned back and picked up one of the empty toppled cans and ran around the hedge after him. It took the man two tries, but he jumped up, his fingers grasping the top of the fence, and began hoisting himself over it. She ran closer and raised the garbage can over her head, hurling it with all her strength, smashing the stranger in the back of the legs. He clung to the fence a few moments longer before sliding to the ground.
Her muscles sang a chorus of complaints as she reached his side, weapon ready. “On your stomach. Now.”
He was already on the grass. He rolled over. “Fucking cop. You fucking broke my leg. I’ll sue your ass.”
“And I’m going to arrest your ass.” She holstered her gun to put the cuffs on him and hauled him to his feet. Although he did limp a bit at first, by the time she was nudging him inside Nieman’s front door, he was walking fine, although still bitching bitterly.
“Sit.” She pressed a hand on one of his shoulders, and he slid down the wall she’d guided him to.
“I’ve got a couple of CMPD units on the way.” Miguel’s brows rose when he saw her torn jeans. “These three have quite an operation going here. It was in plain view when they opened the front door.”
“I told you before, it’s not my operation.” This from another man sitting against the opposite wall, arms cuffed behind his back. Cady recognized him from the background check they’d run. Philip Nieman.
“The hell it isn’t. You hired us both.” This from the lone woman in cuffs.
“Shut up, Debbie,” the runner snarled.
Cady scanned the area. Four folding tables for
med two rows in the front room. Atop them sat several computers, each with a device attached. Magstripe readers, she realized. If that wasn’t a giveaway of an illegal operation in plain sight, the stacks of credit cards on one of the tables would have been. She walked over to pick up a few. She read different names on each of them before looking at Miguel.
“Have you advised them this sort of op is considered a felony in the state of North Carolina?” The crime was simple. Steal the cards either by swiping wallets or purses, then run them through the devices. The information contained on the magnetic stripe on the back displayed on the computer screen. The crew filled out credit applications with the victim’s personal identification, changing only the address to a drop box or vacant home.
“Are you selling them on the deep web or using them yourselves?” She directed the question to Nieman. He turned his face away. Probably both, she figured. They had only to order big-ticket items. Electronics were the favorites. Then they’d pawn them or sell them online for instant cash.
“Philip admitted he met David Sutton a long time ago in county lockup.”
Damn. Cady felt a spark of annoyance at Miguel’s words. They’d spent a lot of time looking at Sutton’s cellmates when he was in prison and had even run down some old high school classmates. They hadn’t worked their way far enough in the man’s background. Not enough to level the same scrutiny at anyone he might have met while in jail for prior arrests.
“Did you make any cards for Sutton?” Cady walked slowly up and down the aisle between the tables, studying the computer screens before shifting her gaze to Nieman.
Sirens sounded in the distance. The woman emitted a low wail, but Nieman’s expression turned calculated. “I didn’t do David’s. He made them himself. He’s the one who turned me on to this venture.”
Adrenaline kick-started in her chest. “And do you have a list of the names and numbers he used?”
“Lady, like I was telling your buddy here, I have a list of everything. But the only way you get it is if I face no charges.”
“We’ll tell the prosecutor you’re a cooperating witness in a major investigation.” Miguel raised his hand to stall Nieman’s objection. “We just need to make a phone call before going through these computers ourselves. You’ve already told us the information we want is on them. You don’t have a lot to deal except saving us some time.”