Blood Silence (28 page)

“I hear you,” Mac replied.

“Do you?” Brock asked, sensing a throwaway remark.

“I stopped at a gas station on the south side of town as I rolled in here this afternoon. Within five minutes, I saw a drug deal go down and a prostitute jump up into the cab of a semi just before I was offered services by a not-completely-unattractive lady of the night, and I didn’t see a cop or sheriff until I got to the law enforcement center fifteen minutes later,” Mac answered seriously. “I get it—there is more than you can handle going down around here. The infrastructure hasn’t caught up with the growth.”

“Exactly, Mr. McRyan. If we can’t close it within a day or two, it very quickly finds its way to a pile and slowly but surely finds its way to the bottom. Until you showed up today, I hadn’t thought about Adam Murphy in three days, and he’s been dead a week.” She sighed, shook her head, and took a drink of her beer. “I felt a little ashamed.”

“First, call me Mac. Mr. McRyan just doesn’t sound right. Second, what bothered you about the Murphy case?”

“Who said I was bothered?”

“You did. You said it in your chief’s office with your eyes, your body language, and the mere fact that you looked up who I was after I left. All of that says to me you think there’s something amiss. So, Detective Brock, tell me what bothered you about the Murphy case.”

“If I’m calling you Mac, you’re calling me Leah.”

“Okay. Fair enough. What bothered you about it, Leah?”

For the first time since he’d sat down next to her, Brock looked Mac in the eye. “It wasn’t a break-in. It was a hit.”

“Did they come in on the prowl?”

“They?”

“If I’m right about who did this, there are two of them. So … on the prowl?”

“Yes, I think they came in on the prowl.”

“No surveillance system in the apartment building?”

Brock went back to watching the TV. “No. Until recently, those weren’t things that were needed around here. But even without it, to get into that building without being seen, to get into the apartment without being seen?” She shook her head and sipped her beer. “That takes skills. Skills you don’t find in the people around here. That’s something you bring into town.”

“Tell me about what you saw, what you found, and what you think,” Mac suggested as he casually twirled his whiskey glass and then finished the last of its contents.

“The medical examiner set his time of death as between 3:00 and 4:00
A.M.
”

“Cause?”

“Shot between the eyes.”

“Hmm, figures.”

“What? Why?”

“Where was he found?” Mac asked, dodging the question for the moment.

“He was lying on the floor, on his back, in the hallway that ran from the bedroom out to the family room.”

The bartender approached, and Mac ordered another round and took a quick look at the menu. “Did you eat?”

“Yeah, but go ahead. They make a solid stuffed burger in here.”

“Cheese-stuffed, Juicy Lucy-like?”

“Yes.”

Mac ordered a stuffed bacon cheeseburger basket. “So what do you think happened the night of the murder?”

“Murphy got home around midnight.”

“How do you know?”

Brock took a drink of her new beer. “A neighbor came into the building same time he did.”

“You check the neighbor out?”

“She’s not involved, unless she and her two roommates were all in on it, and they weren’t. They were all freaked. The witness is just a young girl, maybe twenty, who was getting home from her shift working the drive-thru at Burger King.” Then she turned a little sour. “By the way, do you realize they’re paying people $18.35 an hour to work the drive-thru?”

“I’d read that somewhere.”

“She makes more than I do.”

“Seriously?” It was Mac’s turn to be surprised.

“Yeah, I’m making barely thirty-five thousand, and I have a son I’m supporting.”

“What about Dad?”

“Who knows?” Brock answered bitterly. “He blew town three years ago, and I have no idea where he is.”

“Must be tough,” Mac offered. “Your job isn’t the easiest one for a single mom.”

“You’re right about that. I can’t afford a house, and the rents are sky high around here for an apartment or townhouse, so for the last two years we’ve been living with my folks.”

“That helps, right?”

“Yeah,” Brock nodded. “They like watching their grandchild, but still …” She looked down at the bar and her beer. “Ten years ago, my salary would have bought me a decent house and a nice, quiet life. Now …” She exhaled. “I wonder if we can even stay, given the cost to live here and what’s happening to our town. I know it’s been great for a lot of people, but honestly, there are times I wish they’d never found a drop of oil around here.”

“Not that I’m not interested in your living arrangements, but …”

“Right, sorry.” Brock nodded. “Sometimes I just need to vent for a second, you know?”

“I do,” Mac offered in a toast. “Ours is not an easy job.”

“True that,” Brock replied with a little smile. “As for Murphy, he got home at midnight, and I think he went to bed. His alarm was on, set for 6:30
A.M.
, and the way the blankets were flipped up suggested to me he was sleeping, heard something, flipped off his blankets, and got out of bed. He came into the hallway in a T-shirt and boxers and started walking toward the family room and then boom—one right between the eyes.”

“So why does the chief say it’s just a break-in?”

“Because that’s what the evidence says, for the most part. Murphy’s wallet, cell phone, and computer were gone, and the place was ransacked. Apparently he liked watches and had a collection of them. They were all gone. In fact, anything relatively small and of value was gone. Given that evidence, it was easy for him to chalk it up to a break-in for anyone who asks. If it was a hit, that gets more complicated to investigate and would require resources that—”

“You don’t have, or if you use them, it leaves you way short somewhere else. I understand. I don’t agree with the approach, but I understand how that decision gets made.” He finished the last of his whiskey and flagged down the bartender for a beer as his burger basket arrived. Mac took a couple bites of his burger. “So for all intents and purposes, it looked like a break-in.”

“But it wasn’t,” Brock answered. “At least I didn’t think so.”

“Why?”

“He was shot in the head, professional-like.”

“And let me guess,” Mac asked, “
nobody
heard a thing.”

“Correct. I was thinking maybe a silencer?”

“Leah, if the guys I’m thinking of did Murphy, I’d almost guarantee it. That’s how they came at me two nights ago.”

“They came at you?” Brock asked.

Mac explained who Sterling and Meredith were and described the break-in at Meredith’s and the chase through the neighborhood. “Meredith is lucky to be alive. Heck, I’m lucky.”

Brock just shook her head. “What the hell is this all about?”

“I haven’t figured that out yet,” Mac answered. “Tell me—what do you know about the Buller family?”

Brock turned in her chair and gave Mac a good, long look. “That was the sheriff’s case, but that was just …” She heaved a big sigh. “Just awful. I mean, the children…” Her voice trailed off.

“Why were the Bullers killed?”

“I heard they attributed it to meth addicts, that the break-in had all the hallmarks of it.”

“Yeah, just like yours had all the hallmarks of a burglary.”

“You’re saying they’re connected?”

“I think they are.”

“What links them together?” Brock asked.

“I’m looking for that link.”

“You’re not up here just looking? You have something that connects it, don’t you?”

Mac nodded.

“What?”

He hesitated.

“I’m
waaaay
too interested now. You can’t leave me hanging.”

“I found the Bullers’ property records and a copy of the investigative report on their murders in a hidden safe in Sterling’s office. Now, why would he have all that?”

Brock shrugged. “I don’t know, but I bet Sam—excuse me, Sheriff Rawlings—would be interested to hear about it. Unlike Borland, Rawlings desperately would like answers to those murders.”

“I plan on it when he gets in tomorrow.” Mac noticed Brock catching herself when mentioning Rawlings. “You know the sheriff well?”

“Sure,” Brock answered. “We work in the same building. We’re cops. I see him around often. He’s a good guy.”

An hour later, another beer and just some light talk, Mac paid their tab and scanned the bar one last time. If he was looking in the right places and talking to the right people, he was going to be drawing attention that would draw interest. That interest could be waiting around a corner or following.

As he drove back to the hotel, he took a lengthy route, doubling back twice, constantly monitoring his rearview mirror, but he didn’t sense or a see a tail. When he arrived at the hotel, he circled the parking lot, his Sig under his right thigh, but nobody was waiting. He found a parking spot in the front row underneath the windows for his room and backed in and parked, watching the entrance to the parking lot for a few minutes, but there were no new arrivals or vehicles loitering that gave him pause.

Inside his hotel room, he checked the security tool, a small, closed-circuit system with cameras mounted in the room, one in the hallway, and another set to monitor the parking lot. He watched the live feed for the parking lot for a few minutes. Two vehicles, a white sedan and a light-colored pickup truck, arrived and parked. Two pickups left, and then a dark-colored SUV pulled into the lot. It looked a lot like an Escalade. Mac watched as the SUV did a pass through and then exited the lot, going back from the direction it came. Mac went to the window, but the Escalade kept going off into the distance. He watched for a few minutes more, but the SUV did not return. In fact, no other vehicles entered or exited the lot. With the parking lot quiet, he quickly fast-forwarded through footage for the hallway and room, and there was nothing of concern. He secured each of the doors to both of his rooms, putting three strips of duct tape over the gap between the door and the doorframes. If anyone tried to come in, he’d have the noise of the tape ripping loose to help him react. Not to mention he would be sleeping with a gun under his pillow.

His cell phone rang.

He’d dodged her calls for a while now, but he had to answer. “Hey, Babe.”

“I was wondering when you’d finally get to me,” Sally replied, and he picked up the tone. She had something on her mind.

“It’s been a busy day.”

“How’s it going?”

“Fine.”

“How’s Williston?”

It never failed—she always knew. “How did you …”

“I got a call from someone.”

Mac closed his eyes and shook his head, a rueful smile on his face. “Meredith called, didn’t she?”

“Yup.”

Mac sighed and let out a weary, soft laugh. “I bet that was awkward.”

“Maybe a little, but I have to tell you, I’m glad she called so I could find out what my future husband is up to. You’re up in North Dakota in cowboy land on your own? I mean, what could
possibly
go wrong?”

The boys wouldn’t call Sally if he did as instructed, and he figured he’d finesse it if she asked too many questions about his whereabouts. He never counted on Meredith being the rat. He never thought she’d have the guts to call Sally. Unfortunately, his inability to read women’s minds, emotions, or courage remained solidly intact.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with Meredith.”

“I’m fine. She was fine. We talked.”

Mac cringed, almost afraid to ask. “About?”

“About recipes, you moron,” Sally replied tartly, the annoyance in her voice clear. “What do you think we talked about? We talked about
you
, and actually, believe it or not, about
our
wedding plans. Your ex-wife is worried you won’t make it to that date.”

“About our wedding plans?” Mac asked skeptically. “You talked about our wedding plans with Meredith?” This was not going well. He started staring at the mini-bar.

“Yes. The date we think we’ve set, where we’re having it, possible colors and styles for bridesmaid dresses, and possible honeymoon locations. You know, the stuff girls like to talk about.”

“Oh, yeah, I bet,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “My fiancée talking to my ex-wife about my wedding plans. Yup, just a normal phone call between two old friends catching up.
Riiiight
.”

“Well, maybe not.” Sally managed a small giggle, taking some joy in torturing him. “But she called to tell me what you are doing because, based on her own experiences with you, she figured, and rightly, I might add, that you wouldn’t have told me what you’re getting into. She called me to suggest I try to talk some sense into you, and buster, you better not hang up on me!”

Mac was smart enough not to do that but held his ground. “I’m not coming home until I get some answers.” He was ready to fight on this point. There was something up here, and he needed to figure it out.

“I know you’re not.”

“You do?” Wrong again.

“I can’t talk you out of this—I never can. I know you. You’re going to go all in on this just like you always do. That’s who you are. I’ve learned to accept that, and honestly, one of the things that I absolutely love about you is your determination to find the truth. Lord knows we could use more people around here who think like that.”

“So … you’re not mad?” Now he was completely confused.

“Mad?” He heard her sigh. “Yeah … no, I’m just, you know … worried. A cat has only so many lives, Mac. I guess the one thing that gives me faith is that, as reckless as you can be sometimes, you
usually
have a plan. So what’s your plan?”

“I do have one. I’m in the middle of it.” He explained his day and what he’d learned. “Tomorrow, I go see the sheriff about the Buller family murders. Depending on what I find there, I might be on my way back to the Cities very soon.”

Sally wasn’t convinced with the plan. “I don’t know that this sounds like a plan as much as a fishing expedition.”

“Sometimes that’s the plan. I mean, you can’t catch anything if you don’t fish.”