Evelyn David - Sullivan Investigations 01 - Murder Off the Books (12 page)

Chapter 17

It was dark, it was cold, and it was a gamble.

Mac sat in the 1996 Nissan that belonged to Sean O’Herlihy. After leaving the funeral home, he’d gone by Jeff’s place to pick up a new set of wheels. He was sorry that Sean was in trouble again but glad to drive something decent for the night’s stakeout. Whiskey was enjoying the back seat. She was stretched out behind him, sound asleep.

Mac had been parked at the end of the alley that exited on 29th Street for over an hour. He was hungry, cold, and the only one getting enough rest lately was his dog. And to top it all off, somehow he’d found himself in the middle of a double homicide, playing nursemaid to a bunch of kids and a prickly middle-aged woman.

At Mac’s request Ray had returned to the funeral home for a little chat. Borrowing Rachel’s office for the interrogation, he’d grilled the teen for half an hour about his funeral escapade. But most of what Ray told him wasn’t anything he hadn’t already figured out. Ray had reported that Sam had called him at six that morning and asked him to pick up the disk, telling him it would be hidden under a concrete garden troll in the neighbor’s yard. Ray had gone on to explain that he’d had to borrow his boss’ jacket for the funeral since he had already been at work on an oil change when he got Sam’s call. The teen had been apologetic that he hadn’t been able to get all the grease out from under his nails before going to a funeral, explaining that he wasn’t trying to “disrespect the dead guy.”

Ray had revealed that he wouldn’t have known Dan Thayer except that Sam had given him a heads up to look for the red scarf. The teen claimed that he had no idea where Dan was now or how he got away.

The only useful thing Mac had gotten out of the whole interview was a glimpse at the photos arranged on Rachel Brenner’s credenza, right next to the bouquet the woman had unexpectedly received earlier in the day. There were several photos of Sam, at different ages, and one with his Uncle Dan taken at an Orioles game at Camden Yards. But what caught Mac’s eye was a photograph in a Lucite frame of an elderly couple standing next to a young girl who had a head full of unruly brown curls. Next to them was a small boy astride a pony, clad in a cowboy hat and boots. Mac flipped over the frame: “Grandma, Grandpa, Rachel and Dan, Thayer Farms.” The back of the photograph was stamped with the name of the store where the pictures had been developed: Rhodes Drug Store,
Warrenton, Virginia.

So it was a hunch, and until he saw the headlights in the cold darkness, Mac had been wondering if he’d guessed wrong.

He watched the blue Dodge Caravan turn towards Connecticut Avenue. Not until the van was almost a block away did he turn on his own lights and pull out.

***

Mac dropped back further once they left the highway. There wasn’t much traffic on Route 211 into Warrenton. He was counting on the dark night to hide his identity. Rachel had never seen him in this car. A black Nissan certainly blended in more easily than the bug-mobile, he thought.

Suddenly, he saw the blue van’s blinking left turn signal. Rachel turned into the driveway of Napoleon’s, a fancy restaurant that appeared to still be doing a brisk business despite the hour. Mac continued straight down the street, but quickly pulled over and doused his headlights. He watched Rachel get out of her car and head into the white Greek Revival building.

He waited another minute before getting out, leaving a snoring Whiskey on the back seat. He clung to the shadows and peered in the restaurant’s first floor window. More than half the tables in the softly lit room were filled, but he saw no sign of Dan Thayer or his sister. Mac moved down to a second window and glanced in. He considered his limited options and decided he didn’t like any of them.

Walk into the restaurant and confront the siblings, if they were there. But suppose Thayer were armed and felt cornered?

Call for backup. But Mac didn’t know the local police force and didn’t have any standing in any case.

Wait outside for Rachel to come out, hopefully with her brother? But suppose Dan decided to exit out the back?

“Shit,” he muttered. He ducked down under the window lintel and snuck around to the back of the building to check out the kitchen. Thayer had been a short-order cook. Maybe an old friend was hiding him.

The backyard was dark except for the glow from the florescent fixtures in the kitchen. Deep shadows blanketed the lawn and a damp chill seeped into his bones. He inched along the back wall, moving closer to the kitchen window.

“Don’t take another step.” The voice was low, gravelly, and not ten feet away.

His heart skipped a beat, maybe three, before he dove behind the dumpster, fumbling for his gun.

“Shit,” he muttered. His heart was pounding hard and fast like a jackhammer on a city street; his breath was heavy and ragged; his muscles ached as he plastered himself to the side of the metal garbage bin. He could hear footsteps moving closer. With both hands around his old service revolver, he leaped to a firing stance, his trigger finger twitching.

Rachel Brenner stepped out of the shadows and glared. Even in the dim light he could see her eyes flashing with unmitigated rage, quickly matched by his own.

“Are you an idiot? I almost shot you,” Mac shouted. Realizing his hands were shaking, he lowered the gun and stuck it back into the shoulder holster under his jacket. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You could have gotten yourself killed. Stupid fool.”

“What am I doing?” Rachel railed. “And who are you calling stupid?” She stepped closer, her face within inches of the detectives. “Why are you following me?”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“That’s the second time you’ve called me stupid. Do it again and you’ll be singing soprano in the church choir,” she yelled.

Calming down, Mac prudently took a step back and put some distance between himself and Rachel’s knees. “Where’s your brother?”

“I don’t know,” she snapped.

“That’s crap and you know it. What are you doing in Warrenton on a Thursday night if you’re not meeting your brother?”

“None of your business. I can go anywhere I damn well please,” she shouted. “But if you don’t leave me alone, I’m going to get a restraining order against you.” She glared at the private detective then spat out, “Do you think showing up in that death car is going to scare me into turning in my brother?”

“Death car? What the hell are you talking about woman? I didn’t come within fifty feet of your precious van,” Mac sputtered.

“You know exactly what I mean,” Rachel insisted. “That’s the car–or it’s like the car we chased after that poor woman got…got killed.”

Mac’s jaw dropped and he was momentarily speechless. Then days of frustration finally boiled over. “Do you mean to tell me that you waited in the dark to confront whoever was driving the car or a car that looks like the one that was at the murder scene that night? You were going to what? Give the killer a piece of your mind? Lady, you 
are
 an idiot. Go ahead. Get yourself killed. Fat lot of good it will do your brother or son.”

He turned and started to walk away, disgusted with the whole mess, but Rachel grabbed Mac’s arm and spun him around. “Stay away from me and my family.”

“You just don’t get it,” he growled. “I’m on your side. Or at least I have a more open mind about your brother’s involvement than the cops do. If they find your brother before I do and he does something incredibly stupid, and given the way the rest of his family is acting I wouldn’t be surprised….”

Rachel started to object, but kept silent when she saw the fierce look on Mac’s face. His voice low, but firm, he added, “If your brother gives any hint of resistance, the cops will shoot him. They’ve got two murders on a big college campus to solve and they’re not looking to make friends with the number one suspect on their list.”

Rachel inhaled sharply and rubbed a hand over her face.

“Tell me where he is. Let me meet him and see if I can get him to turn himself in. I’ll take him to
Greeley myself,” Mac urged.

Rachel was silent weighing her options. Finally, taking a deep breath, she whispered, “I think he’s holed up in the woods on our grandfather’s farm. I’m meeting him in the barn.”

“Take me there.”

Rachel slowly nodded, then followed Mac as he led them back around the restaurant to her van.

***

“You have two flat tires,” Rachel announced, dryly stating the obvious as the lights from her minivan illuminated the Nissan.

Mac turned his angry gaze from the Nissan’s back tires to the woman in the driver’s seat who was still staring in fascination at the disaster scene. “No kidding!”

“You have a lot of flat tires.”

When he didn’t respond, Rachel gave his darkening expression a quick glance.

Suddenly, he gasped. “Whiskey!”

Mac threw open the passenger door and, with a high school sprinter’s speed, crossed the ten feet separating the van from the dark sedan.

She followed close on his heels.

The car was empty.

Chapter 18

“Slow down!” Rachel stumbled as one foot caught the hidden edge of a grave marker. She stopped and leaned over, her hands on her knees, catching her breath. She was grateful that she’d chosen to wear her favorite purple Nikes for her meeting with Dan at the farm. If she’d worn the black pumps she’d started the day with, she’d be nursing a broken ankle at this point. She pulled up her jacket sleeve and pushed the button on the side of her watch, illuminating the dial–12:05 A.M. She was already more than a half hour late. The irony of her attending a funeral at noon and running around a cemetery at midnight didn’t escape her oxygen-starved mind as she worried about whether or not Dan would wait for her since Mac Sullivan certainly wasn’t.

Straightening, Rachel glanced around her. The cemetery was a couple of blocks south and west of where their cars were parked. When the detective had discovered the broken passenger window and the unlocked door, he seemed to forget she was with him. She’d watched Mac take a flashlight out of the Nissan trunk and search the soft earth on the edge of the road. Then following some tracks that only he could see, he’d headed off into the night, all the while calling the dog’s name. She’d debated for almost a minute whether to follow him or get back in her van and drive to the farm alone. It wasn’t an easy decision, but worry over the dog won out. What if Whiskey were injured? How would Mac get the dog to a vet if she left him with a disabled vehicle? She might not care for the man, but she held no grudge against the dog.

“Mac?”

The wind was picking up and if he answered her, she didn’t hear him.

“Mac? Where are you?”

A flash of lightening lit up the sky and she saw him for an instant. He was about 40 yards ahead of her, moving towards the back fence.

Hurrying, she reached the chain link fence just as the lightening flashed again. She was in time to see Mac bend down on one knee, his flashlight trained on a spot next to the roadway.

“Mac?”

She watched him turn towards her voice, then turn back round and pick something up off the ground. When he got to his feet, the light from his flashlight shone on a short piece of rope. She squinted, brushing the curls that were blowing around her face out of her eyes. No. Not a rope, she thought, her heart sinking. It was a leash–or rather part of one. A leather leash with a long grey hair clinging to the leather.

The detective walked stiffly towards her, his movements no longer belying his age, his expression one of grim exhaustion.

This time the thunder cracked the sky; torrents of rain followed the boom, drenching them both instantly.

Rachel didn’t ask about the dog, just held out her hand to him as he neared. For a moment she didn’t think he was going to take it, but then he ducked his head and the cold fingers of his right hand encased hers for the briefest moment.

With the pounding rain and his adrenaline seeming to slow, she didn’t have any trouble staying close to him on the interminable trip back to the cars.

***

“Who do you think did this?” Rachel asked as they made their way through the graveyard. The raging storm had abruptly eased, leaving the rain a soft, but steady drizzle. The mud from the cemetery oozed in her sneakers and Rachel increasingly felt the cold from her rain-soaked clothes.

“I’m going to kill the bastard,” Mac growled.

“Who?”

“If he so much as touches a hair on her
….”

“Who?” She yelled again and yanked on his coat, trying to get him to stop.

Mac shook her off and picked up his pace.

Rachel reached for her cell phone. “Do you want me to call AAA?” She hustled to catch up with him.

Mac shook his head. “I don’t belong to….”

“I do. We’ll give my
….”

He put up his hand to silence her.

“Look you can’t leave the car on….”

“Shut up,” Mac said sharply, stopping in his tracks.

“Excuse me?” Rachel snapped back.

He cocked his head, listening to the night sounds.

Rachel heard the rumble of a passing car on the highway about twenty-five feet ahead.

Suddenly, Mac began running.

“What’s the matter now?” Rachel yelled, trying to keep up with him, but failing as he quickly outpaced her. She slipped on the wet grass but caught herself on the edge of a gravestone, banging her knee in the process. She struggled to right herself and half-limped, half-ran the last ten feet to the highway.

She saw Mac huddled on the ground next to her van. A keening sound filled the air.

“Are you okay?” she called as she neared his position. “Oh my God.”

Ignoring her bruised knee, Rachel knelt down and brushed her hand lightly over the Irish wolfhound’s body. Whiskey flinched when Rachel touched the dog’s right hip, then struggled to stand.

“
Shhh
, stay girl,” Mac whispered, quickly removing the leather muzzle and the remains of the broken leash from the dog.

Whiskey settled back down, her muffled howls turning to whimpers.

“I’ve got a blanket and some bottled water in the car,” Rachel said, getting to her feet. “How badly is she hurt?”

“No obvious wounds. Her hip seems tender,” Mac said, feeling carefully along the dog’s body. “I need to get her to a vet. But this time of night it–”

“We can take her to this emergency animal hospital in Rockville. It’s open. We took our cat there when she got sick after eating my husband’s wedding ring. I should have wondered then why it was on the nightstand instead of his finger,” Rachel sniffed. “Anyway, there’s a vet available all night.”

Mac nodded and gingerly lifted Whiskey into the van, stretched her out on the bench seat in the back and tucked the blanket around her. He also tossed the muzzle onto the floorboard.

***

“Who did this?” Rachel had held off asking until they were well underway.

“Not sure,” Mac said gruffly.

Rachel glanced in the rearview mirror. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would someone take Whiskey? It’s not like she just got out. That leash and muzzle means someone tried to kidnap her.”

Mac didn’t answer.

Rachel glanced again in the mirror, but the private detective was lost in thought, staring out into the darkness as his fingers tenderly trailed through the big dog’s hair. She turned her attention back to the rain-slicked road.

“How’s she doing?” she asked after another ten minutes had elapsed.

“Quieter,” Mac said softly. “She’s taken a little water
….”

“Not too much,” Rachel quickly interjected.

“She’s breathing better,” he added.

“Good.” She paused and then said, “Who did you think did this?”

“I said I didn’t know,” Mac answered sharply.

“But you thought you did. In the cemetery. You said you’d kill the bastard,” Rachel insisted. “Is this connected to the murders?”

“No. I think it’s connected to a wannabe exterminator.”

She glanced in the rear-view mirror. “Exterminator? A Hit Man?”

Mac shook his head, his expression grim. “No. A Bug Man.”