With a Vengeance (19 page)

“Can you tell me anything about his voice? Did he have an accent? Anything distinctive about it?”

“No accent. But he sounded old.”

“Old?”

“Yeah. He didn’t talk like the guys I hang out with. He talked like you.”

McCoy muffled an exasperated sigh.

Pete decided in this case to take “old” as a compliment. “Tell me, Snake, do you make a point of meeting total strangers in desolate locations to make drug buys?”

“Well, yeah…no. But he was offering me a really good deal.”

McCoy covered his face and groaned.

“What about the ATV you were riding? You told us you sold it.”

“I did. I sold mine. I borrowed that one from a buddy so I could get out there. Which reminds me. When can I get it back? He’s gonna be plenty pissed when he finds out I ditched it.”

“That might take a while. It’s being held as evidence.”

Snake swore under his breath.

“Why did you take your friends with you? To share the wealth?”

“Well, yeah. I told you I wasn’t gonna sell it. Honest. And I didn’t really trust that dude who called me. Especially when he told me to come alone.”

“He told you to come alone?”

“Yeah. He made a big point of telling me twice—no, three times.”

“Yet you ignored him?”

“Hell yeah. I’m not stupid, you know.”

Pete managed to maintain a poker face, but noticed McCoy roll his eyes. Another scribble in his notebook caught his attention. “By the way, where were you between seven fifteen and eight thirty Thursday evening?”

Snake rubbed one of the studs piercing his brow. “Thursday? I already told you. I was at Rodeo’s. Ask anyone.”

“We did. Everyone agreed you were there. But we also learned you left at quarter after seven and didn’t come back for forty-five minutes. Where were you?”

The kid’s face flushed. He leaned over and whispered in his uncle’s ear.

“You
what
?” the attorney asked.

Snake leaned toward him as if to whisper some more, but McCoy blocked him with a hand. “No. I heard you the first time.” He gestured toward Pete, clearly exasperated. “Just tell him already.”

Pete waited.

This should be good.

Snake shifted again. “One of my buddies offered to give me another piercing. So that’s where I went.”

“To get a piercing?”

McCoy closed his eyes and shook his head. “Do yourself a favor. Don’t ask where and definitely don’t ask to see it.”

Oh.

Pete was saved from asking anything more about the new jewelry. Baronick stormed back into the room and motioned for him to step into the hall. Pete gratefully excused himself, gathered his notebook, and followed the detective.

Baronick pulled the door closed behind them. “The phone number’s a match.”

“To what?” Pete asked.

“The number in Snake’s received calls list is a match to the burner phone used to call EOC last night to report the car fire. And that’s not all. The tread marks from the ATV Snake abandoned don’t match any of the tracks we’ve found. Not the ones from the hunting blind and not the ones from any of the crime scenes.”

“Which supports Snake’s story claiming he’s been set up.”

Baronick made a pained face. “Looks that way. And before you can say ‘I told you so,’ you were right. That kid isn’t exactly the brightest bulb in the box.”

“What about the rest of the tread marks? Do the ones from the hunting blind match the ones from the previous nights?”

“Afraid so.”

Pete glanced at his watch. Almost three in the afternoon. Damn it. “Looks like we have another long night ahead.”

Twenty

Zoe parked Sylvia’s Escort next to Wayne’s unmarked black sedan in the Police Department’s lot. Pete’s personal vehicle sat in the next spot.

There was another car too. A dark Mercedes. She had no clue who it belonged to.

The bells on the door clanked and jangled when she entered. Pete and Wayne, who stood in the hallway outside the conference room door, looked up.

Pete spoke to the county detective in a voice too low for her to hear and aimed a thumb over his shoulder toward the room.

Wayne nodded and moved in that direction while Pete headed toward her.

“I need to talk to you,” she said.

He must have picked up on her anxiety. “Come into my office.”

As she entered, she eyed the coffeepot in the corner, but the last thing she needed was more jitters. Instead, she passed it and pulled one of the chairs closer to his desk.

Pete settled himself in his own chair. “What’s going on?”

“I’ve been to see Yancy.”

“Oh? Is he all right?” Pete winced. “I mean, I know he isn’t all right, but—”

“He’s about the same as when we saw him yesterday.”

“Good. I’ve been intending to check on him.” Pete let his voice trail off. He studied her, his eyes narrowing. “He told you something?”

“Yeah.” Zoe started with her morning visit with Curtis, poured out the tale of Lucy’s connection to young Jason Dyer and her volatile visit to the ambulance garage, told of Sylvia’s revelation about Hector’s shooting prowess, and concluded with everything Yancy had told her regarding the confrontation at the accident scene and Hector’s survivalist background. Including the guns. And Seth’s part in the confrontation.

Pete remained silent even after she’d finished.

“Did you know any of this?” she asked.

“Not nearly enough,” he said, his voice a low growl.

She thought of the Mercedes parked out front and Wayne’s retreat into the conference room. “Are you questioning someone?”

“Eli Sullivan turned himself in. He and Andrew McCoy are across the hall.”

“Eli? Snake? How on earth can he afford an attorney like McCoy?”

“Family discount.”

Zoe didn’t make the connection.

“McCoy is Sullivan’s uncle.”

“Oh. What’d he have to say?”

Pete’s mind appeared stuck on Zoe’s disclosures. “He claims he was set up. Someone called and lured him out there with the promise of a drug buy.”

“A
drug
buy? He told you that?”

“Indeed he did.”

“Huh.” Zoe leaned back in the chair. “And you believe him?”

Pete met her gaze. “Would you admit to scoring drugs for any reason other than avoiding homicide charges?”

She considered the possibilities. “Lesser of two evils?”

He shook his head. “If the kid was smart enough to stage three scenes to bait emergency responders, I think he’d be smart enough to come up with a better alibi.” A pained look crossed his face. “And the more I get to know Sullivan, the less I think his name and ‘smart’ belong in the same sentence.”

No argument there.

A spark glimmered in Pete’s eyes. “I wonder if Hector owns an ATV.”

Pete pulled into the Livingston’s shady driveway half expecting to see a camo-clad Hector lurking behind one of the trees. Remembering how the man had slipped up on him during his last visit, Pete suspected he’d never see—or hear—Hector unless he
wanted
to be seen or heard.

The silver Hyundai was parked in front of the dilapidated garage, although not in the same spot as before. The dented blue Ram pickup was noticeably absent. Pete swung his Ford Edge around and backed in front of the Hyundai. This time the garage doors were closed.

He climbed out of the SUV and paused to survey the place. Last night’s rain had scrubbed the air clean, creating a perfect early autumn afternoon. A few wispy clouds floated in a deep blue sky. Humidity had dropped well into the comfortable range. Nothing moved. Not a leaf. Not a squirrel or a bird in the maples. Perhaps the local wildlife knew the owner of this property was an avid hunter and had moved to more hospitable digs.

Staying alert, Pete strolled toward the house knowing he was being watched, provided anyone was home. At the back door, he knocked. Waited. Listened. There was no hint of footsteps, no rustling from inside. He knocked again. “Hello?” he called. “Miss Livingston? Hector? Vance Township Police. Anyone home?”

When Pete still received no answer, he ambled back down the porch steps. A pinpoint red light in a nearby tree drew his eye. A trail cam was aimed at the back of the house…and at him.

Pete stared into the lens with the same expression he’d use with a suspect, letting Hector know he was aware of the camera.

As Pete headed back toward his vehicle, he wondered if that was the only camera Hector had rigged up. Probably not. So much for clandestine snooping.

A bird yelped from behind the ramshackle garage. Pete stopped. A case could be made that the birdcall sounded almost human. Like someone calling for help. Sworn to protect and serve, Pete had a duty to investigate.

Yeah. That would work.

The flatbed trailer he’d almost tripped over on his last visit was gone, revealing a wide, previously concealed path next to the structure. The weeds had been flattened from frequent use, and Pete noticed the parallel set of grooves in the earth carved from a small vehicle. Riding mower?

Or ATV?

He picked his way to the rear of the garage, keeping vigilant for signs of movement and for hidden cameras.

Behind the building, a smaller lean-to had been pieced together from odd-sized sheets of T-111 siding, some of it painted, some of it blackened from weather exposure. Pete recalled similar scraps stashed inside the garage.

He followed the path to the rear of the lean-to where a pair of rickety plywood doors sagged open on warped hinges. He eased closer, his hand instinctively resting on his Glock.

The lean-to held an assortment of what appeared to be automotive parts. Belts and gizmos, which Pete didn’t recognize, hung from nails pounded into the two-by-fours that framed the structure. Several red plastic gas cans sat in one corner. A snow plow, the kind he’d seen attached to the front of a garden tractor—or an ATV—perched on blocks in another corner.

The bulk of the space, however, was empty. A pair of oil spots on the floor suggested two small vehicles usually resided there.

As Pete’s eyes grew accustomed to the shed’s lack of light, he noticed a series of framed photographs hanging askew on the far wall. He edged closer.

The photographs were covered in a thick layer of dust, but not so thick he couldn’t make out the subjects—Hector and Lucy Livingston posed proudly with a pair of trophy bucks and their high-powered hunting rifles—in front of a pair of ATVs.

“You don’t have to be here, you know.” Sylvia deposited her luggage-sized handbag into the front desk’s bottom drawer. “I handled the phones and the radios here all by my lonesome for many years.”

Zoe hung her own purse over the back of one of the chairs. “I know you don’t need me. But I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway, so might as well do something useful.”

“Don’t tell me you’re joining our insomniacs’ club.”

Zoe forced a smile. “Temporarily. Until they catch this guy.”

Sylvia lowered into a chair with a grunt. “I understand. I know we can’t really do anything to protect our boys.” She raised an eyebrow at Zoe. “And girls. But I feel like I’m keeping watch over them from here.”

“What do you mean, we can’t do anything?” Zoe gave Sylvia a pat on her shoulder. “I think we can do a heckuva lot. You know the back roads better than anyone. Between the two of us, we can shave minutes off response times to these remote locations. That alone could save a life or two.”

Sylvia sighed. “I hope so.”

The police radio next to her elbow crackled to life. “Vance Base, this is Thirty.”

Pete’s voice held an edge that made Zoe’s shoulders tighten.

Sylvia keyed the mic. “Go ahead, Thirty.”

There was a pause. “Are you coming back to work full-time?”

“Yes, and since I’m also a township supervisor, I’m giving myself a raise.” Sylvia released the button on the mic to add an editorial comment off the air. “Smartass.” Keying it again, she asked, “What do you want?”

“I’m at Hector Livingston’s place. No one’s home, and there’s evidence he and his daughter own quads. Put a BOLO out on him and his pickup. I’m going to sit here for a while in case he shows up, but I’m available if you need me.”

“Copy that, Unit Thirty,” Sylvia said.

After another pause, he asked, “Is Zoe there?”

Sylvia gestured to the mic and moved out of her way.

Zoe slid her chair closer to the radio and hit the button. “I’m here.”

“Good. While Sylvia’s handling the BOLO, I want you to contact the EOC, state and county police, the fire department, and your gang at the EMS. I want police response on all emergency calls again. Tell them same protocol as last night.”

Zoe met Sylvia’s gaze and swallowed. “Got it.” She lowered her voice. “Hey, Pete?”

“Yeah?”

“Be careful.”

She could almost hear his smile. “Copy that, Base. Unit Thirty out.”

Twenty-One

As the late afternoon sun filtered through the leafy canopy of Hector Livingston’s yard, Pete stretched out in the Edge’s front seat. Stakeouts in the country were damned boring. Thankfully, he didn’t have to do them very often. But he had to admit, he wouldn’t mind living in a place like this. He’d do a better job of upkeep, of course, but the soft whisper of the breeze through the leaves, the sense of privacy without losing the connection to nature—unlike that idiot who had built a fort-like fence around his place over in the new housing development—the cool shade in the heat of summer and the brilliant color of autumn…

Yeah, he could definitely see himself living here.

The pines growing next to the road softened the sounds of passing cars. Through his open window, Pete thought he heard a vehicle slowing down.

Hector’s blue pickup turned into the driveway and chugged up the slight grade toward Pete, an empty flatbed trailer bouncing and clanking along behind.

Hector pulled into the empty spot next to Pete, cut the engine, and stepped out. Pete climbed out of his SUV as well.

Hector eyed the Edge. “What’s the matter? Did the township muckety mucks take your police car away?”

“It’s in the shop.”

Hector grunted. “What’re you doing here?”

Pete nodded toward the trailer. “Where are your ATVs?”

Hector lifted his chin, glaring down his nose at Pete. “What ATVs?”

Pete couldn’t very well admit he’d seen the photo without confessing to prowling around Hector’s property, something the man would likely figure out if he had another well-hidden trail cam back there. But for now, Pete preferred to play his cards close to his vest. “I’ve heard you and Lucy have a pair of quads.”

Hector didn’t even blink. “Can’t imagine where you’d have heard that.”

Pete decided to change directions. “Where’s your daughter?”

Hector shook his head. “No idea. The girl’s of legal age. I don’t keep track of her.”

Pete didn’t buy that for a minute. He leaned back against the Edge, crossing one leg in front of the other, trying to look casual. “Must be hard. Having a beautiful daughter. Young guys must be lining up at your door wanting to take her out.”

“Not so much as you’d think.” Hector eyed Pete with the faintest hint of an amused smile.

From the man’s tone, Pete wondered if Hector meant the girl’s craziness kept the boys at bay, or if Hector and his gun collection scared all but the gutsiest away. “Still, you’re her father. I’m sure you do your best to protect her.”

All signs of amusement faded from Hector’s face, replaced with disgust. Or boredom. Reading this guy was a challenge. “That what you’re here for?” he asked. “To ask about my kid?”

Fine. So much for casual. Pete uncrossed his legs. “What I really want to know is where you were the last few nights.”

The smug smile was back. “You got a warrant?”

“I just want to talk.”

Hector shook his head and brushed past Pete and around the SUV. “No warrant, no talk.” He stopped in front of Pete’s vehicle and turned back to face him again. “And since you ain’t got a thing on either me or my daughter, I know damned well you don’t have a warrant. Get off my property.”

Pete watched as the man turned on his heel and started toward the house. “I hear you were involved in a traffic accident out on Oak Grove Road,” Pete called after him.

Hector froze.

Pete expected the man to face him. Expected a look that would tell Pete he had his man. Instead, Hector stood a little taller and continued ambling to his back door. His history with guns and the missing ATVs combined with his scuffle with several of the victims were cause enough to take him in. But Pete suspected Hector would gladly go to prison—even to his grave—to protect his daughter.

Pete slid behind the wheel and keyed the mic on his shoulder. “Vance Base, this is Unit Thirty.”

Sylvia’s voice came over the air. “Go, Unit Thirty.”

“Cancel the BOLO on Hector Livingston.” Pete glanced at the man climbing the back steps into the house. “And put one out on Lucy Livingston instead.”

Zoe sat alone at the police department’s front desk, having insisted that Sylvia go home two hours ago. The late nights were wearing on the older woman, and even though she argued, she eventually gave in.

The clock on the wall read a few minutes after one. Zoe stood and stretched, listening to a series of small pops in the shoulder she’d injured a couple of months ago.

Radio chatter was minimal at this hour, so she strolled down the hall and found Pete seated in the conference room, glaring at the whiteboard. He looked up when she entered, and she noticed the dark circles under his weary eyes.

“I thought you left with Sylvia,” he said.

Zoe slid into the chair next to him. “Didn’t we have this same conversation last night?”

A tired smile flickered across his face. “Anything new?”

“Nope. Wayne’s sitting across the road from Hector’s driveway. At last report, Hector hadn’t left and Lucy hasn’t returned. Nate’s been keeping an eye on the Sullivan house. Snake’s staying put like a good boy. No word on Lucy. And no ambushes. Don’t suppose there will be now. He—or she—likes to strike at dusk.”

Pete’s eyebrows shrugged.

“What?” Zoe asked. “You think he’s gonna change his MO?”

Pete chuckled. “I love it when you talk cop.”

She gently swung a leg, kicking him under the table. “Why would you think he’d change now?”

“I just don’t want someone else getting killed because I let my guard down.”

She sensed there was more to it and held his gaze.

He sighed. “If Hector’s as much into the survivalist culture as it seems, he could have military equipment. Like night-vision goggles. He knows we’re being especially vigilant around dusk. And he knows we’re on to him.”

Zoe filled in the blanks and didn’t like it. “You really think Hector’s our guy?”

Pete pushed up from his chair and sauntered toward the whiteboard. “We’ve got him under surveillance and nothing has happened tonight. So far.”

“What about Lucy?”

He stared at the notes on the board. “I definitely want to talk to that girl.”

Zoe rose and moved to his side.

Part of the scrawl on the whiteboard was a timeline of events, locations, types of ambushes, and names of victims. Another part of the board listed Eli “Snake” Sullivan with notations about his connections to the victims. Then there was Hector and Lucy Livingston, and a list of names under them—
Jason Dyer, Rick Brown, Snake, Curtis Knox
. “Who’s Rick Brown?”

Pete rubbed the stubble on his upper lip. “One of Lucy’s ex-boyfriends.”

“I figured that much. I knew about the others, but never heard of him. Is he from around here?”

“Not according to Hector. Apparently the kid died in a motorcycle crash out in Ohio about six months ago.”

Zoe eyed Pete. “You don’t sound so sure.”

He shook his head. “Something about the name keeps bugging me. I swear I’ve heard it before, but I can’t place where.”

She rolled the name over in her mind. “Rick Brown. Doesn’t ring a bell for me. It’s kind of common though.”

Pete choked out a short laugh. “That’s what Hector said.”

“Still…” She pressed a finger next to the name on the board. “If he died in a motorcycle wreck, fire and EMS would have responded. What if Lucy blamed them somehow for his death? Maybe a mistake was made, or maybe she believes there was.”

Pete raised an eyebrow at Zoe. “But if it happened in Ohio, why take it out on our local guys?”

She fixed him with her best
duh
look. “She’s crazy.
Loco
Lucy. Remember? She thinks I’m in love with Curtis. Why wouldn’t she take out her grudge on any ol’ emergency responder who was handy?”

Pete turned deliberately to face her and folded his arms. “She thinks you’re in love with Curtis?”

Zoe’s cheeks warmed. “I told you that earlier.”

“No, you most certainly did not. You told me she came to the garage and pushed you around because she thought Curtis was in love with
you
, but not the other way around.”

Zoe offered him a sheepish grin. “Yeah, well. She deserves the nickname Loco Lucy for a reason.”

“Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“In love with Curtis.” One side of Pete’s mouth slanted upward.

Zoe slugged him in the arm. “No.”

He made an exaggerated pained face and rubbed the spot. “Ow. Medic!”

“I didn’t hit you that hard, you wimp.” But she reached over to touch it anyway. “And Curtis isn’t in love with me either. Everyone knows my heart is spoken for.”

“Oh? Anyone I know?”

She made a fist again, and he lifted both hands in surrender, laughing. Closing the distance between them, she leaned against him, suddenly drained from the last four days. He wrapped her in both arms and pressed his cheek to her hair. Their closeness…the safety of his embrace…felt more right than anything she’d ever known. She opened her mouth, but the words—
I love you
—stuck.

“You might be on to something,” he said. “About Lucy possibly blaming the rescue team in Ohio for Brown’s death. I need to do some digging into that motorcycle crash.”

Zoe eased free of the clinch. “But not tonight.”

His hopeful look suggested he had something other than rest on his mind.

“You need to go home and get some sleep,” she said.

“I’m not that tired.”

“Are you kidding me? You’re exhausted. So am I. And I have to be on duty tomorrow night.” She realized the time. “I mean tonight.”

“Tonight?” He frowned. “You aren’t on duty again until Tuesday.”

“We’re pulling extra shifts so B crew can attend Barry’s viewing and funeral. Earl and I are covering tomorrow—
tonight
.”

A strange look crossed Pete’s face. “You’re right. I’ll drop you off at Rose’s.” Lowering his voice, he added, “We both need to be on the top of our game.”

Pete dragged back into the station well before his eight o’clock shift began. Sleep?

He might have dozed on and off for an hour. Tops. He’d be able to sleep when he cleared this case.

Zoe was on duty tonight.

Granted, he didn’t want
anyone
else to fall victim to this shooter. Not another firefighter. Not another paramedic. Not another cop. Not a civilian either, although so far all the targets had worn uniforms. But the idea of Zoe being in the line of fire set his every nerve on edge.

He dumped an extra scoop of Maxwell House into his Mr. Coffee before hitting the power button and sinking into his office chair. Pulling out his cell phone he punched in Baronick’s number.

The detective’s “Morning, Pete” sounded drowsy.

“Did I wake you?”

“Ha. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Catching me sleeping on the job. Sorry to disappoint.”

“Give me an update on Livingston.”

“His truck hasn’t moved. No one in. No one out.”

Pete checked his watch. “I’ll be out to relieve you within the hour.”

“Bring coffee.”

Pete ended the call and placed the next one to Nate, who reported Snake hadn’t gone anywhere either.

Apparently all the township bad guys had gotten a good night’s sleep even if the police chief had not.

Pete left his phone on his desk and rose.

After a stretch and a yawn, he shuffled back to the gurgling coffeemaker to pour a cup. Inhaling the steam, he returned to his desk and thumbed the computer’s power button, sipping the hot brew while the machine booted up.

Hector Livingston knew he was under surveillance. Of that Pete had no doubt. The man had wisely opted to lay low all last evening and all night. Was it a coincidence that no ambush had been set yesterday?

Pete hated coincidences.

Snake hadn’t been smart enough to arrange any of the recent incidents. But Hector? Hell yeah. Hector was smart—scary smart. He owned a quad. Two of them, as a matter of fact. He carried a grudge against all the victims. And he was an avid hunter known to be skilled with a high-powered rifle.

How had he known who would be on duty? Or did it matter? Was it sheer luck that all of his victims happened to be on the emergencies he’d set up and called in?

Lucy might have known.

As Curtis’s fiancée—or ex-fiancée—Lucy would have been aware of his and Dickson’s schedule. But she wouldn’t have known which team on the crew would respond to the call.

Would she?

Pete jotted a note to look into the girl’s connections with the county dispatchers. Hell, she’d probably dated one of them.

Pete’s train of thought returned to his computer, which was taking too damned long to load.

Where was Lucy? If she was helping her father with this sick game of revenge, she might be out there somewhere, setting up the next fake accident scene. Maybe Hector had called her to warn her about the police being on to them—and sitting at the foot of his driveway. Maybe she was hiding out, waiting for the police to look the other way before springing the next trap.

Only there was no way on earth Pete was looking the other way.

The computer was finally ready. He typed in his password and logged on to the internet.

Ohio was a big state, and Pete had no idea where in it Rick Brown had lived or died. Hoping he’d get lucky, he typed Rick Brown and motorcycle into Google’s search box, only to pull up an extensive list of sites about a man who was well known for restoring bikes. Not the man Pete was looking for.

He pulled up a people finder site and tried again. The number of Rick and Richard Browns it found was longer than even Pete had expected. And none of the ones listed in Ohio seemed right. Staring at the screen, he thought back to what Hector had said. The kid wasn’t from around here and had died in a motorcycle crash in Ohio. And Hector hadn’t claimed to be sure about even that much. Plus, simply because Brown died in Ohio didn’t mean he’d lived there.

As Pete scrolled down the list of faces and locations, his phone vibrated on the desk. Baronick’s name and number lit up the screen.