Days of Reckoning (16 page)

“You can cover up a lot when the Chief of Police is on your side,” Sam countered.

She chewed on her lip and conceded that point, then returned to the issue at hand. “So it looks like Damon is some sort of rogue operator.”

“That’s my guess. We have no clue about his background; maybe he’s got ties to another group that wants these weapons. Maybe he’s some left-wing militant on a crusade. Who knows. We won’t until we find him.”

“What kind of weapons do you think we’re talking about?”

“The Sheriff is being kind enough to run a trace on the rifles I found. They probably came from a National Guard or Reserve armory. They’re older models, but can fire automatically. There was plenty of room for more in that pit I found. Someone could have scored a major heist on one of the armories. So the guns are floating around without any papers. Beaumont has them because people are used to seeing him with military equipment, especially since he’s got a Class III license. He’d make a great fence between the militia and a supplier.”

“Why would the militia want them, then? Those AK’s we found are decent enough for their war games and survivalist bullshit. Why run the risk of being caught with stolen hardware?”

“You’ve got me there. Unless they had something planned and didn’t want the weapons traced to them. Most new firearms have spent bullets and casings sent to the FBI so they can be traced if they’re stolen or used in a crime. But military hardware that’s already stolen…” Sam left the thought hanging, allowing Miranda to draw her own conclusions.

“Sounds like bad news. Maybe Damon’s done us a favor.”

Sam laughed without a trace of humor. “Maybe. But anybody who kills that efficiently shouldn’t be running around the streets with that kind of arsenal.”

Miranda pondered that point. Sam was right. She was efficient. And merciless. Not totally without remorse, but still…. She would probably be labeled a sociopath. That didn’t set very well with her. After all, everyone she had killed had been involved with hurting or killing her brother. Theoretically the state would have done the same thing. But she knew how plea bargains and such worked. All she had done was serve justice.
Of course, that’s what they all say….

Jesse McClintock and Tim Butcher sat drinking beer in Eldon Marshall’s trailer home. Their host paced back and forth in the narrow room, smoking furiously on a cigarette. “Do either of you have any idea what the fuck happened?” he asked in a growl.

The seated men shook their heads morosely. The papers that morning had shocked the hell out of them. It was just beginning to sink in that Chief Wainwright’s decision to send them home had been arbitrary, and it could easily be them lying in the morgue as any of the others.

Jesse crumpled his beer can. “What do we do now?”

Tim answered with another question. “You think the Feds are onto us?”

Eldon shook his head. “Don’t know. Papers didn’t say nothing about our unit, just that the Chief and several local sportsmen were killed in a major gunfight the other night.”

“You think that kid Damon did it?” Jesse asked.

“Had to of. Who else besides us knew about that meeting?” Eldon replied.

Tim crumpled his can and rose to retrieve another one. “Well what the fuck did he do that for? Shit, I thought he was one of us. I can understand him poppin’ Henry Beaumont, ‘specially if that old fart was going to the Feds about us. But this shit just don’t make any sense!”

“Maybe Henry wasn’t gonna go to the Feds,” Jesse countered. “Maybe Damon’s been working for them all along. Some sort of commando or something.” Tim looked at him like he was crazy, but Eldon nodded thoughtfully.

“Could be. Jesse, you and your wife are the ones who put him up in that rental. You know anything about this boy that we don’t?”

Jesse shook his head. “Nah, we just put him up ‘cause the Chief told us too. Wainwright said he was a hotshot from West Virginia, oughta help us out real good. You know all that, just like he said at that meeting way back last fall. We gotta help bring this kid up and all that shit. Keep him away from the law in West Virginia. He and Justin Leider seemed to hit it off real good, but then Justin fucked up that job, and we all know what happened to him. Maybe it’s some sort of revenge thing, you know?”

Tim shook his head. “Nah, I was there. Damon’s the one that handed Justin the gun. I think he was more pissed than any of us was. After all, West Virginia ain’t our turf. That was Damon’s job. Chief just leant out some help is all.”

“Do we know what went on over there?” Eldon asked.

Jesse nodded. “They torched some nigger church, is what I heard. Weren’t no one supposed to be there, just making a statement is all. But I guess the pastor and his secretary were staying late, and got a call out. They got burned real bad, from what I hear. Don’t see how it matters none, though. They’re already black.”

The three men laughed for a moment, but the heaviness returned and enveloped them again. Eldon sat down and brooded. “Okay, the way I see things is this.” He lit up another cigarette. “Sooner or later the Feds are gonna come knocking at our doors. I’m sure there’s papers or a rolodex or something in the Chief’s possession that has our names on it, and folks are gonna start asking questions.”

“But we ain’t done nothing yet,” Jesse protested.

“Right. And they can’t prove that we ever was gonna, because there ain’t no illegal weapons that we have, unless you two have got some of your own. In which case I suggest you hide them somewhere far away. Now,” he cleared his throat, “I think we got to worry more about Damon than the Feds. So Jesse, you need to go in and talk to that Detective Connor fellow.” Jesse opened his mouth to protest again, but Eldon held up a hand. “You don’t have to talk about us at all. Just tell him what you know. Send him over to that house, send him over to West Virginia, wherever. Just to take the heat off of us a little.”

“Okay. I think I can handle that.”

“Good. Now we all gotta lay low for a while. Damon’s more than likely gonna come looking for us too. But maybe he’ll be cocky, seein’ as how he dropped the Chief and all our boys. We gotta keep an eye on each other. Jesse, you should probably send your old lady over to stay with her sister or something. Then you guys can bunk out here with me.”

“Well, while Jesse’s talkin’ to the cops, you and I can reinforce this place a bit. Put some extra wood on the walls, move the heavy furniture up against them, shit like that.”

Eldon let out an exasperated sigh. “Well, it’s different when it’s a man’s home. Defending that’s still legal, even if we ain’t allowed to defend our country.”

“Oh.” Jesse didn’t sound convinced.

“Look,” Eldon said. “We gotta stick together here. There’s some psycho nut gunning for the very people who’ve been sheltering him. The Feds are gonna be sniffing around real close. We’re in a real shitty spot, and if we don’t help each other out, we’re all fucked.”

That seemed to get through to the younger man. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll go see if I can find this cop Connor. You boys make them walls real thick, you hear?” He crumpled his beer can, missed when he tossed it at the trash, and got up to go find Sam.

The desk sergeant shook his head. “Probably not ‘til tomorrow morning. He went out to the Sheriff’s Department, then was going home for the day.”

Jesse wanted to swear, but thought better of it and kept his mouth shut. “Well, is there any way I can call him?”

“Sure. I’ll give you his extension and you can leave a message for him. He’s pretty religious about checking voice-mail.” Jesse didn’t look convinced, so the desk sergeant continued, “If you want, I’ll take your number down too, have him give you a call. That way you’ll at least hear from him in the morning.”

“Okay, I guess that’ll work.” Jesse hurriedly scribbled his name and a number on a proffered notepad, then picked up the telephone receiver while the desk sergeant dialed Sam’s office number.

Chapter 20

Miranda sat with Sam in his living room. He had another notepad, braced against his knee, and drummed a pen against it. “I think we’re finally getting somewhere,” he said.

Miranda sipped at a beer. “Looks like it. We’ve got the prints of everyone that was found dead, plus a few others.”

“Including Damon’s, I’m willing to bet.”

The County Sheriff’s forensics team had lifted the prints of the five dead men from the various weapons found at the Lodge. Additionally, the prints of Jesse McClintock, Tim Butcher and Eldon Marshall were pulled from the assault rifles and pistols in the basement. Another, as yet unidentified, set of prints was also found. Sam suspected them to belong to Damon, who wouldn’t necessarily have a record with local law enforcement, but his prints might be on file nationally.

“These other guys all have various misdemeanors, usually public intox or drunk and disorderly,” Sam said. “They may have done worse stuff, but with the Chief helping them out it would all have gone away. With no felony or domestic charges against them, they can still buy and own firearms and ammunition. This other guy,” he tapped a circled question mark, “we don’t have any record of.”

“So he must either be a perfect angel or from out of state,” Miranda said. “Wainwright might have been able to help with charges, but he would still have had to print him.”

“Right. I’ve sent off a priority request to the FBI to see if I can get a line on this guy. Sheriff said he’ll send a request to the counties in West Virginia, northern Kentucky and Western PA, maybe eastern Indiana. All that’s gonna take some time.”

“Which we probably don’t have a lot of.” Miranda mentally calculated the days left until “Unity Day.” There weren’t that many, but the clock was ticking. She wondered how much more she would have to do to keep herself in the clear until then. Right now it looked like three more would have to die, assuming she didn’t have to take drastic measures.

“No,” Sam said, “we don’t. But we have these three.” He listed off their names. “And we know where they live and work. So maybe we can catch a break and get to them before Damon does.”

Now that would be nice
, Miranda thought. “So when do you want to try to find these guys?”

“How tired are you?”

“I’ve been working on a degree and this job all year. I can’t remember when I haven’t been,” she replied. “So I’m good to go.”

“Great.” Sam put aside his notepad and rose from his recliner. “Then let’s go out and get some coffee to clean the beer from our systems, and see what these guys are up to.”

#

Jesse McClintock did not want to go back to Eldon’s trailer, at least not yet. The last thing he could imagine wanting to do was trying to outfit a mobile home to withstand a siege. Eldon was nuts if he thought extra plywood and rearranging the furniture was going to save them. He needed to find Sam Connor, and he needed to find him fast. Much as he hated going to “Big Brother” for help, right now it seemed to be the only way to keep himself alive.

After his unfruitful trip to the police station, he stopped off at a local bar. No harm there, he thought. Damon Shearer was unlikely to try and take him out in a public place. Better to stay out among people he knew, at least until he could get hold of Connor. Then maybe he could go into witness protection or something like that. Besides, the bar had better beer than Eldon did. Jesse hated tasting metal with a beverage.

He sipped his beer, ate some bar food, and considered his situation. Jesse decided that it sucked. Damon was after him, if the Feds weren’t already they would be soon, and if he did go into hiding then the militia movement would probably hunt him down for fear that he would rat them out. He hadn’t considered that earlier. Maybe it was better that he hadn’t found Detective Connor after all. Shit, he didn’t know what to do. He decided one thing was for sure: before he went anywhere else he was going to go home and get his nine, loaded and locked, and start carrying it wherever he went. State licensing laws be damned; they were probably unconstitutional anyway. At least, that’s what the Chief had always said… but then look at where the Chief was now.

“Fuck me!” Jesse shouted, slamming his empty glass to the bar. Several heads turned to stare at the commotion. He ignored them and motioned to the bartender for a refill. His gun could wait; after all, the Chief had been carrying a piece and had still been blown away.