Deathscape (22 page)

She carried her baby inside, kissing the top of her head, then nuzzling cheeks.

“
What happened here?” her father asked as he walked in behind them, looking at the sofa she hadn’t had a chance yet to drag back into its place. “You look disheveled. Is everything all right?”

Her first impulse was to hide her troubles. But lying to her father wasn’t progress. She had to be strong enough for the truth. So, as Maddie ran off to check out the cookies on the kitchen table, Ashley told him about the FBI.

“
It’s not a big deal. They can look all they want. They’re grasping for straws. I have no connection to Blackwell, so it’s not like they’ll find anything.”

He watched her for a long moment. “I happen to know the best criminal attorney in the state. I’ll have him give you a call before the day is out.”

“
No,” she said, then pulled back a little. She didn’t want her father to keep solving her problems for her. “No, thank you. I have nothing to worry about. I didn’t do anything other than save a man’s life. I already contacted my old attorney. If they want to question me again, he’ll be coming with me.”

There, she stood up to her father. And, oddly, he didn’t seem to mind. He accepted her decision with a look akin to approval.

“
I might be late coming back tonight,” he said.

And for the first time that week, she smiled. “Be as late as you like.” She glanced back at her daughter, who was pouring a glass of milk and missing the glass here and there. Warmth spread through her chest.

“
So you’re feeling well.” Her father’s tone held a touch of concern. “This new thing didn’t bring back any of the old depression?”

“
No.”

“
How are you doing with the anxiety? If you’re scared, you don’t have to stay here alone.”

Giving up her independence wasn’t the answer. “Whatever happened, happened on the other side of the property. Over two weeks ago. The guy isn’t sticking around. He’s probably in another state by now. Yes, it’s creepy, kind of, but I’m okay with it. Bad things happen, and then we move on, right? Life keeps going.”

And she knew her father couldn’t disagree with that. She was quoting his own words, after all, something he’d told her after her mother’s death, a million years ago.

He gave her a brief nod and left them with a brisk, “See you later.”

She locked the door behind him, then skipped to Maddie with a grin.

* * *

Jack started his morning with calling the Lanius gallery and asking about how to reach the mushroom artist, Greg Shatzkin. The guy had been all around the mushroom houses. He could have been the one to track those spores onto the last Blackwell crime scene. He could be Blackwell.

But it didn’t turn out that way. Shatzkin, when finally reached, claimed a solid alibi, teaching at a local college, which was confirmed by the admin office. Another dead lead.

After Jack finished grousing over that, he spent the morning online, checking eBay and Craigslist, checking local listings against the roster of stolen items he had from the burglaries. The work was tedious and not the case he wanted to work, but if this was the price he had to pay for being back on active duty, then so be it.

His hand paused over the mouse as a listing for a laptop came up, same model as on his stolen items list. The hard drive would be wiped clean by now, the laptop pretty much unidentifiable, but he made note of the username—
topjockhere
with numbers after it—then did a search for anything else that user might have listed.

The office buzzed around him, the usual business. He tuned that out as he scanned through some pictures.

He saw things that might or might not be the same as the items he was looking for. He also saw some snowmobile parts that user had traded recently. Made him think of the teens who rode their snowmobiles out around the reservoir.

“
Hey, Joe,” he said as Joe passed by his desk. He showed him the username he’d scribbled on a piece of paper. “What do you think of this?”

Joe shrugged. “Looks like my e-mail address.”

“
Decoded?”

“
Position I played, and my number.”

“
If you had to guess, what position do you think this guy plays?”

“
Captain.”

“
You know the captain of the local football team?”

“
Sure. Sometimes the coach has me come in to give the kids a talk.” He gave a cocky grin. “I’m considered very inspirational. I think Bobby Adamo is the captain now. Principal Adamo’s oldest. Man used to bust me for everything back in the day. Then I played in a few championships, and now they have a separate display case for me in the hallway. Figures.” He swaggered away with a sentimental look on his face.

Jack stood and walked over to Bing’s office, and filled him in.

“
Not enough for a search warrant,” the captain said from behind his desk with a scowl on his face. “Not with these kids. When we make that move, we have to be a hundred percent sure. Their parents will be asking for our badges. Get me more.”

He would. He didn’t need a warrant to talk to the kids. “And if I get more?”

“
We take the little suckers down. Town politics or not, I took an oath to defend our citizenry from dipshits like this.”

Exactly why he liked Bing. Jack was turning to leave when the captain called after him.

“
I hear you’ve been asking about Eddie Gannon at the diner. Is he connected to this somehow?”

Right. Bing got his coffee there too, in the mornings.

Jack took a step back. “Not really.”

“
Are you investigating the Blackwell case?” Bing leaned forward in his chair. “Look at me. This is not my happy face.”

He was right about that. “On the side,” Jack admitted.

“
Do you listen to anything I say? You’re not to investigate that bastard. How many ways do I have to tell you? I hear you took Ashley Price home the other day.”

“
I ran into her in the parking lot. She didn’t have a ride.”

“
Don’t run into her again. I mean it. You have a serious conflict of interest. Even if you find something, you could mess up the whole case. If the FBI catches you meddling, they’ll bring a shit storm down on us we won’t want to see.”

A moment of silence passed between them, tension rolling off both of them. On anything else, he could have backed down, but not on this.

The captain shot him a frustrated look. “I know it’s difficult for you to stand back. I even understand it. But you have to do it anyway. I put you on sick leave. It didn’t work. I put you on another case. It didn’t work. I don’t want to have to ask for your badge.”

That brought Jack up short, both the words and the serious tone in which they’d been spoken. For too many years now, he’d been the badge. The badge was his life. That and Blackwell. “Listen—”

“
Focus on the burglaries, dammit. You’re obsessed. I’m beginning to wonder if you’re not right in the head. You’re crossing a line here. Stay away from Blackwell.”

“
Why?” he challenged. “What the hell is the FBI doing?”

“
Following other leads. They’re looking at Ashley Price again. I heard they got a warrant.”

The wave of protectiveness rose swiftly. “They found anything?”

“
Not that I know of.”

He relaxed a little. “I was thinking too, actually—”

“
Don’t.”

“
Do you think Blackwell ever returns to her place? He’s got an ego on him, fed by the fact that he hasn’t been caught all this time.”

“
Tell me you haven’t been back there by that creek.” Bing glared.

Jack was smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

“
You’ve seen any evidence of him returning?”

Frustration tightened his jaw. “Nothing.” Yet.

“
The reason he hasn’t been caught is because he isn’t stupid. He’s probably out of the state by now.”

“
Maybe.” But his instincts said something else. He was almost sure that Blackwell was still around. He was meticulous in what he did. He didn’t seem like the type to leave a job unfinished. The thought that the bastard might come for him filled Jack with anticipation instead of dread. In fact, he was counting on it.

Bing shoved a folder aside on his desk. “The cabin with all the guns has nothing to do with Blackwell, by the way. Just to set your mind at ease. It belongs to old Albert.”

“
Shoemaker?” He knew the guy, a retired mechanic who sometimes still worked on cars out of his garage at home.

“
He’s been watching some TV show about people preparing for the end of the world or whatever. The old man decided to buy a hunting camp and turn it into a survival bunker.”

“
Shouldn’t he be stockpiling food?”

“
He’s got two hundred cans of kidney beans buried all around the cabin, apparently.” Bing swore under his breath. “Him and his buddies have some kind of club. This is what happens when the city cuts funding for the senior center. Too much time on too many old geezers’ hands. Like I needed something else to worry about. None of them can see worth a damn. Running around in the woods with guns.” He closed his eyes for a second and rubbed his eyelids.

“
Maybe we could offer bingo night here at the station.” Jack tried to lighten the mood.

Bing looked up. “Maybe I can put you in charge of that without messing up.”

“
Not if Albert and his buddies eat all those beans.”

The door to the conference room the FBI occupied banged open and the agents spilled out, just as he said the last word. They headed out the front door, Agent Hunter in the lead.

“
Any news?” Jack hurried from the captain’s office and called after them before Bing had a chance to call him back.

“
Missing-person case up in New Jersey. Two, actually. Female, twenty-one and twenty-three. One kidnapped three days ago from her home, the other one this morning,” the last of the junior agents said before the door swung shut behind him.

In batches.
Jack’s heart rate picked up.

“
See? What did I say?” Bing came out of his office. “Blackwell moved on already. He was never from Broslin. He came here because of you. He tracked you down to stop you from following him.”

No.
“Maybe.” He headed for the door.

“
Where are you going?”

“
Home to rest. My ribs are hurting.”

“
Bullshit. You never admit to anything hurting. I don’t want you near the Feds.”

“
Roger that,” he said, without promising anything, knowing he was risking both his friendship with Bing and his career over this case. And for a moment, just a moment, he wondered if he could toe the line this once, let the FBI bring Blackwell in.

As long as the man was brought to justice—

But no, he couldn’t. For one, he didn’t trust the FBI not to mess up. Two, this was too personal. He needed to personally see it finished. He’d gone too far to pull back. He had too much invested in this.

He strode out of the station, stepped into the falling darkness, and sucked in a sharp breath when the cold hit him. With everything he was, he wanted to drive to Jersey. But he didn’t turn right out of the parking lot, toward Route 1 that would take him there. The crime scenes would be crawling with FBI tonight. He had to give them first look. He would drive over in the morning.

He turned left and drove by his house, packed Ashley’s paintings into his trunk, except one—his. Then he headed toward the reservoir. He needed to think right now, and there was one place that never failed to bring his mind into sharp focus. He wanted to ponder what the new development in Jersey meant, if Blackwell had moved on. If the bastard did know that Jack had been after him all these years, would he expect Jack to move after him again?

For the first time, he didn’t want to. Broslin wasn’t a bad town, better than many. And his sudden inclination to stay didn’t have anything to do with Ashley Price, he told himself, even if he wasn’t sure he believed it.

The victims circled in his mind, along with dozens of questions. But he reached no solution, gained no new insight by the time he pulled his car over on the side of the desolate stretch of road about three quarters of a mile from Ashley Price's house. He got out and started forward. The cold would do him good. It would wake up his brain.

Here he always felt as if Blackwell was right next to him, within reach. And, of course, Ashley was here, not far behind the trees.

He hated Brady Blackwell with a passion that bordered on religious fanaticism. Yet he no longer spent every minute of every day thinking of him. Sometimes now, he thought of Ashley.