With a Vengeance (18 page)

Snake ignored the glass of water, choosing to keep his arms tightly crossed. “Just riding with friends.”

“So why’d you run?”

“’Cause you cops was chasin’ me.”

“We were chasing you because you ran. Your buddies complied with Officer Williamson when he ordered them to stop. You didn’t. Why?”

Snake glanced pleadingly at McCoy. “Do I have to answer him, Uncle Andy?”

The lawyer fixed Pete with a hard stare. “Let’s cut to the chase. We are aware that you suspect my client—”

“Your nephew,” Baronick said.

McCoy turned slowly to give the detective a withering look before bringing his gaze back to Pete. “You suspect my client of some rather heinous crimes.”

“Murder,” Baronick said. “Aggravated assault. Arson. Just to name a few.”

The attorney’s jaw clenched.

Realization hit Pete.

Baronick and McCoy knew each other. And not in a good way. “Yes,” Pete said to McCoy. “We do.”

“I didn’t do none of that shit,” Snake said, his voice trembling.

McCoy put a hand on the table in front of his nephew. “Quiet. Let me handle this.” To Pete, he said, “We want to cut a deal.”

“A deal? For what?”

“My client has information that you may find helpful. He’s willing to give you a statement, but in exchange, you agree not to press charges against him for…certain minor crimes he might have to admit to in order to give you this helpful information.”

“Minor crimes?” Baronick said. “Like possessing drugs with intent to sell?”

“I wasn’t gonna sell none of it.” Snake’s voice had soared into falsetto range. “I planned on using it myself and sharing it with my friends.”

Pete hid a smile behind his hand and lifted his gaze to meet Baronick’s. Mastermind? Yeah. Right.

Nineteen

Zoe paused in the doorway of Yancy’s hospital room, debating whether to enter. He was alone, his eyes closed and his jaw slack. She knew from experience how difficult it was to get real rest in these places and considered walking away, leaving the patient to his nap.

On the other hand, she really needed to talk to him.

She crept into the room, wincing at the squeak of her shoes against the floor. Yancy didn’t stir. She eased into the most comfortable-looking chair in the room.

Yancy appeared much as he had the previous day. Right arm bound to his torso. Oxygen flowed through tubing to a nasal cannula, which sat cockeyed under his nose. Two bags of fluids dripped into his arm from a pump attached to the IV pole. Zoe strained to read the labels on the bags.

One was dextrose—sugar water, a typical maintenance fluid to replace his lost blood volume. The smaller bag was an antibiotic to fight the potential for infection. Another pump contained morphine—the same stuff that made him loopy yesterday and was probably knocking him out today.

“Zoe?”

She flinched.

Yancy’s eyes were open, although his lids appeared heavy. “When did you get here?”

“Just now. Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I wasn’t sleeping.” He shifted in the bed—a monumental task. “Goddamnit. Can you give me a hand here?”

She leapt to her feet. “What are you trying to do?”

“I keep slipping down in this damned bed and can’t get back up with only one arm.”

“Hold on a minute.” Zoe pressed the button on the bed railing to lower the head. Then, ordering the fire chief to bend his knees and press with his feet while she tugged on his good shoulder, she managed to maneuver him in the preferred direction. “There.” She pressed the button again, this time to raise his head.

“Who’d have thought sitting would be so hard?” Yancy grunted.

Zoe contemplated pointing out he was alive at least, but decided he already knew.

He fumbled with the sheets coming up with a button attached to a cable and pressed it. The morphine pump. “Weren’t you and Pete just in here?”

“That was yesterday.”

“Yesterday? Oh. I guess my days are running together a little.”

She pointed at the IV. “Drugs will do that to you.”

Yancy shrugged. His eyes hardened. “Did anything else happen last night?”

“The shooter staged another ambush, but the police showed up and scared him away.”

“Anyone hurt?”

“Nope.”

He gave a relieved sigh. “Good. Did they catch the son of a bitch?”

“No. He got away.”

Yancy swore. “Did they at least figure out who he is?”

“Snake Sullivan’s still at the top of the list.”

The fire chief snorted. “That moron’s lucky if he can tie his shoes.”

Zoe pulled her chair closer and sat down. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“About the shootings?”

“Maybe.” She thought of Curtis in a similar room. Different hospital. Same gunman. “Do you know Hector Livingston?”

A look crossed Yancy’s face that Zoe had never seen there before. Anger didn’t quite cut it. Loathing was more like it. “That SOB? Hell yes. What about him?”

“Did you happen to be on call a few weeks ago at a traffic accident on Oak Grove Road?”

“Minor two-vehicle collision. Yeah, I was there. Hector was driving one of the cars.”

The back of her neck tingled.

Hector, Yancy, Barry, and Curtis. All in one place. “What happened?”

The fire chief let his head drop back against the pillow. His gaze shifted to the ceiling tiles as if the answers lay there.

As Zoe watched, his eyes drifted shut, and for a moment, she feared he’d fallen asleep. But he took a deep breath and said, “The accident wasn’t much of anything. The other guy—can’t remember his name—swerved to miss a deer. Smacked into a tree. Wasn’t hurt, but his car partially blocked the road. Hector was traveling the other direction. Came around a blind turn, saw the car, but couldn’t stop in time. Clipped the back fender and ended up in a ditch.”

As everyone had told her, the accident didn’t sound serious. And yet she knew there was more. “What else?”

Yancy’s eyes opened, but his gaze remained focused on something Zoe couldn’t see. “No one was hurt, but the cars were both inoperable. Plus, the one that hit the tree was smoking, so we were called in.”

“We?”

“Fire, ambulance, police.”

She came forward in her chair, resting her arms on the bedrail. “Come on, Yancy. What aren’t you telling me?”

He turned to meet her gaze, the same angry look in his eyes. “Hector used to be an okay guy, but that was ages ago. After he lost his wife, he went batshit crazy. Blamed everyone for his bad fortune. Did you know he used to be on the fire department?”

“Sylvia told me.”

Yancy nodded. “He quit after his wife passed. Quit everything. Took their daughter and all but crawled into a cave. Got into that survivalist hooey.”

“Survivalist? How do you mean?”

“Stockpiling shit. Canned foods. Bottled water. Guns. Gasoline for a monster generator. Hell, I’m surprised he didn’t tape tinfoil to his windows to keep out aliens.”

Zoe’s grip tightened on the bedrail, her brain stuck on one thing Yancy had said. “Guns?”

“Lots of them.” He tugged at the brace on his arm. “No one really cared. About him being into that survivalist stuff, I mean. He didn’t bother anyone. In fact, he stayed completely to himself. What bothered me—and some others—was his daughter.”

“Lucy.”

Zoe wondered if Yancy knew her as Loco Lucy.

“Yeah. What the damned fool does to himself is one thing. But dragging that girl into it was a whole other matter.”

“Dragged her into what?” Zoe couldn’t picture the petite diva, crazy as she was, in camo, eating rations from a can.

As if reading Zoe’s mind, Yancy gave a slow, knowing smile. “His paranoid world. He taught her to shoot when she was barely big enough to hold a damned gun. Took her hunting. She bagged a deer one year. I remember there being a question about legality. Oh, the deer was legal, all right. But we were all pretty sure she was too young for even a junior license.”

The idea of Loco Lucy with a rifle turned Zoe’s stomach. She forced her mind back to the present though. And the crash on Oak Grove Road. “I get the feeling something more happened at that two-car accident.”

“Probably my own damned fault. Couldn’t keep my trap shut.”

Finally something that didn’t surprise Zoe. Yancy was notorious for his lack of tact. “What’d you say?”

He fumbled with his morphine button, as if considering zapping himself into a coma rather than answering her questions. “I knew better. You don’t badmouth a guy’s kid.”

“You said something about Lucy?”

“That girl goes through men the way most people go through loaves of bread.” Yancy looked at Zoe askance. “I know she’s got her hooks into your buddy Curtis right now.”

Zoe decided to keep their breakup to herself for the moment.

“Well, a while back, she had a fling with Jason Dyer.”

“I’d heard something about that.”

“She was older than him. The damned kid thought he’d snagged himself the brass ring. He also thought he was in love and gonna marry her.” Yancy’s voice deepened into a menacing rumble. “Of course, he needed to graduate high school first.”

Zoe imagined Rose’s son, Logan, involved with a girl like Lucy, and mother-bear instincts kicked in.

“I don’t know which pissed me off more. Hector’s girl messing around with Jason or her dumping him and breaking his heart. Anyhow, that day at the wreck, Hector was being his usual
charming
self, so I made some crack about his daughter needing to be locked up for fooling around with an underage boy.”

The comment hit too close to home for Zoe, bringing back a flash of memory from last winter—only with an underage girl and a grown man. She shook it off. “Was Jason there when you said it?”

“Hell no. I’d never have brought it up in front of the kid. He was devastated as it was.” Yancy’s expression changed from disgust to regret. “Probably shouldn’t have said anything with Curtis standing right there though. I guess he didn’t know. Looked like it knocked the pegs out from under him.”

Zoe pictured the scene. Tried to imagine what went through Curtis’s mind at the revelation. Was this the impetus behind their breakup? No doubt it was what he’d wanted to tell her and Earl. But not in Lucy’s presence.

Yancy went on, interrupting her musings. “Hector went all postal. Cussed me out. Said my mouth was gonna get me in a world of hurt one day.” His eyes widened. “Holy shit. Do you think…?”

Granted, it sounded bad. But some of the puzzle pieces didn’t fit. “I doubt it. Barry and Curtis were the first victims. What reason would Hector have to harm them? Besides, whoever he is tried again last night.”

Yancy didn’t appear appeased. “That’s not all though. Hector saw the look on Curtis’s face. Must have figured the kid suddenly had second thoughts about Hector’s little princess. Because he lit into Curtis right after he jumped all over me. Told him if he broke his daughter’s heart, he’d have hell to pay. Poor Curtis looked terrified. Tried to assure Hector he’d never hurt the girl. But Hector kept ranting until Barry stepped in.”

Zoe choked. “Barry?”

“And Seth Metzger. The two of them grabbed Hector and dragged him away. Metzger probably should’ve arrested him, but Hector finally cooled off and apologized.”

Zoe sunk back in the chair, her mind swirling. Barry and Curtis. Yancy and Jason Dyer.

And Seth.

Fear bordering on panic sent an icy chill through her. “Yancy, I have to go.” She climbed to her feet and reached over to give his good hand a squeeze. “You take care.”

“You’re gonna tell Pete?” Yancy knew her too well.

“Yeah,” she said.

Before Seth became the next victim.

“Eli, shut up.” Andrew McCoy appeared ready to slap his client.

“But—”

“Just…” The attorney tightened his fist and his jaw. “Shut up.”

Snake complied, hunched in his chair like a sullen teenager.

Amused, Pete watched the family squabble in silence.

McCoy made a visible effort to regain his professional stature. “About that deal…”

Pete struggled to keep a straight face. “Seems like your client has already confessed to possession of drugs.”

“For which I’d rather see him not charged. I promise you, he’s not guilty of anything more egregious than possession.” The attorney shot a fierce glare at his client. “With
no
intention to sell.”

“Is criminal stupidity a chargeable offense?” Baronick muttered from his seat by the conference room door.

Pete cleared his throat to cover a laugh. At least the detective finally saw the light regarding Snake as an evil mastermind.

If McCoy heard Baronick’s comment, which he surely had, he made a good show of ignoring it. “However, Mr. Sullivan does have certain information that might help you in your homicide investigation.”

Pete grew serious. “Such as?”

“Do we have a deal?”

Pete turned to look at Baronick, who appeared noncommittal. To the attorney, Pete said, “No guarantees. But if your client has something we can use, and if he has nothing to do with the deaths of Barry Dickson and Jason Dyer, I can probably talk the DA into not pursuing drug charges.”

Snake straightened, a smile on his lips.

“
If
,” Pete added, “he agrees to going into rehab.”

Snake’s smile faded.

McCoy gave a nod. “Agreed. Ask your questions.”

Pete sat back and crossed an ankle over one knee. “Why’d you run when your buddies stopped?”

Snake slid farther down in his chair. “Because I didn’t want to get busted.”

“For possession,” Pete offered.

“Well…yeah. I only had a little on me. Some crappy brick weed I’d brought from home. I was hoping to score a lot more though.” Snake mashed his lips together and shook his head. “I knew something was off when that dude called me. But I didn’t know for sure until I saw you cops.”

“Didn’t know what?”

“That I was being set up. Framed.”

Pete picked up his pen. “Start at the beginning, Eli. What ‘dude’ called you?”

“My name’s
Snake
.”

McCoy elbowed him. “Answer the man’s questions,
Eli
.”

He huffed. “I don’t know who he was. Some dude called me and said he’d heard I might be in the market for some good bud. Really high-grade stuff, you know? So I told him, yeah, sure. And he told me to meet him out there in the game lands—”

“Back up a second. He called you.”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

Snake rolled his eyes. “On my cell phone. How else?”

Pete heard Baronick shift in his chair. “Do you have your phone on you?”

“Sure. Why?”

“Give it to me.”

Panicked, Snake looked to his uncle. “Do I have to?”

Pete held out one hand and snapped his fingers. “Do you want us to confirm your story or not?”

McCoy motioned to Pete. “Give it to him.”

Snake dug in his pocket while mumbling something Pete couldn’t hear.

But McCoy could. He turned sideways to fix his nephew with a fierce stare. “Watch your mouth, boy. I’m representing you as a favor to your mother, but I’ll happily walk away and leave your ass to a public defender if you give me any more lip. You understand?”

“Yes, Uncle Andy.” Snake slapped his phone into Pete’s palm.

Pete handed it over his shoulder to Baronick, who snatched it and left the room.

“Do I get a receipt?” Snake asked.

“If we keep it,” Pete said. “This ‘dude’ who called you. What can you tell me about him?”

“Not much. I didn’t recognize his voice, and he didn’t give me a name.”

Stupid
and
trusting. Bad combination for someone determined to be a badass. Pete jotted a note. “So it was a male voice?”

“Yeah. A dude. I told you.”