The Quest: Countdown to Armageddon: Book 6 (15 page)

-32-

     The information Frank gave to the chief was sparse, and a bit depressing.

     “I wish I had more, but I’m limited on what I can do.”

     The chief asked, “Why?”

     “Because of this gag order. I have a short list of names of men who might have had a grudge against John Castro. But I can’t question them because word will get out that we suspect a cop.”

     “But you’re the one who wanted the gag order.”

     “I know. But looking back, maybe it was a mistake.” 

     “Well, say the word, Frank, and we can lift it anytime. Just understand there will be consequences.”

     “Meaning?”

     “Oh, you know as well as I do what I mean. The thin blue line. Officers feel a strong need to watch out for their own. If the word gets around you’re suspecting one of them, you’ll be a pariah. No one will want to talk to you. They’ll avoid you like the plague. And when you call them in for questioning they won’t cooperate. They’ll plead the fifth to everything you ask them. Even if they have nothing to hide. Even if they’re innocent. They’ll plead the fifth so they don’t accidentally say something that will put away a fellow officer.”

     “Do you really think that would happen, given John’s popularity?”

     “Frank, it always happens. Nobody on this force wants to be known as an officer who won’t back up his brothers. Even when they do something incredibly stupid.

     “Take my word. Even as popular as John Castro is, none of my officers will cross the brotherhood. As soon as you remove that gag, the man who shot John will drop down to number two on their list of enemies. You, my friend, will become number one.”

     Martinez studied the anguished look on Frank’s face.

     “Mark my words, Frank. Now, then. Are you going to remove that gag and bring everything into the open?”

     “Not yet. I’m not desperate yet. But I’ll hang onto that card in case I need it.”

     Martinez handed Frank a folder across his expansive oak desk.

     “This may help.”

     “What is it?”

     “A new lead. It’s probably nothing. But then again, it may be something. One of our patrol cars was turned into vehicle maintenance because the driver’s seat was stuck all the way back. Wouldn’t slide forward.

     “The mechanic found a .556 casing wedged in the rail. That’s his statement.”

     “So?”

     “So, like I said, it’s probably nothing. But John Castro was shot with a .556 and you say a cop might have been involved. And finding brass in a patrol car is highly unusual. In fact, it’s strictly against department policy. Officers are only supposed to discharge their weapons at the firing range. And they’re not supposed to take any souvenirs with them when they leave.”

     Frank scratched his head.

     “Who was the car assigned to?”

     “Corporal Robbie Benton. Twelve years on the force, a good officer.”

     “Hmmm… that name’s not one of the ones on my list of possible grudge holders.”

     “I didn’t think he would be. I understand that he’s a good friend of John’s, and is close to the Castro family as well. So it’s probably a waste of your time. But since you’re treading water I thought I’d throw it your way anyway.”

     “Where’s the casing?”

     Martinez opened his top right desk drawer and took out a plastic zip-lock bag. Sealing the bag was heavy tape, bearing bright red letters:

                               EVIDENCE

     He handed the bag to Frank.

     “I don’t know why I even bothered, actually. We no longer have a ballistics lab. No fingerprint experts either. We still take prints of everyone we book, but just throw the cards in a pile because nobody knows how to process them.”

     Frank smiled.

     “We don’t need no stinkin’ ballistics experts.”

     Martinez gave him a puzzled look.

     Frank explained.

     “I got my certification in bullet matching years ago. It’s still valid. Of course, I learned the old fashioned way. With a dual microscope. Before everything went computerized. I assume you’ve still got the old microscopes somewhere?”

     “Probably in the basement storage room, covered with an inch of dust.”

     “The nice thing about twentieth century technology is it was made to last. Blow the dust off of it and it’ll work just fine. Mind if I go down there and look?”

     “See Sergeant Wilcox for the key. He’s the property manager. He can probably tell you exactly where they’re at.”

     There was a knock on the door and Martinez’ secretary popped her head in.

     “Sorry to interrupt, chief, but I knew you’d want to hear this. We just got a call from the hospital. John Castro has come out of his coma and is talking.”

     Martinez’ demeanor changed immediately.

     “Well, hot damn! It’s about flippin’ time.”

     He reached into his desk drawer for his keys and stood up.

     “The microscope can wait a little longer, Frank. I’m going to St. Mary’s Hospital. Want to go along?”

     “Sure, why not? I’ve been looking forward to meeting the man everyone thinks is Superman.”

-33-

     By the end of their first day out of San Antonio, Tom and Sara were roughly halfway to Castroville and the resolution to Sara’s burning question.

     They decided to bed down for the night at a rest stop on Highway 90. It had been abandoned since the blackout turned all highway traffic into dusty statues, but still offered some creature comforts.

     The men’s and women’s restrooms no longer worked, but were equipped with skylights which let in the rays of the sun and afforded an occasional traveler a place to clean up in private.

     And also, a dry place to duck into during a passing rainstorm.

     Tom and Sara loved the rain, and didn’t mind riding in it. They’d brought ponchos, and they did a pretty good job of keeping the pair dry.

     Sara’s horse, however, was just a little bit skittish every time she heard thunder in the distance.

     When lightning struck a mile away directly in front of the riders, Nellie almost bolted.

     Sara was able to calm her, but decided that riding any farther might be risky.

     “There’s a rest stop just ahead,” Tom had suggested. Let’s stop there for the night.”

     Another amenity the rest stop offered was several outdoor grills, each next to a large picnic table and under a wooden roof.

     The grills once allowed travelers who carried charcoal briquettes on their journeys to cook their steaks, or hot dogs, or burgers. It was essential on  a lonely highway where the nearest gas station or restaurant was many miles away.

     Since the blackout, however, any travelers who happened by were on foot or on bicycle. Or, like Sara and Tom, on horseback.

     None of those methods of transport were conducive to the lugging of heavy charcoal, so in recent months visitors had gathered firewood from the nearby brush and started campfires in the grills.

     For generations, serious campers have lived by the camper’s creed. A key element of the creed is to always leave a campsite better then you found it. And always do what you could to help the next camper’s stay a little easier.

     Tom had grown up camping and living that creed, so he wasn’t surprised at all to find one of the grills already loaded with tinder and kindling, and several dry logs on the ground next to it.

     Dry wood was a very good thing, since the rainstorm had soaked all the other wood for miles.

     “God bless you, whoever you are,” he muttered as he pulled out his lighter and started the fire.

     They brought the horses under the overhang with them, and kept them calm until the rainstorm passed.

     Then they tied them to a mesquite tree in a field of tall grass, and unrolled their bed rolls next to the roaring fire.

     Sara pulled out a container of homemade beef stew that Scarlett had given them.

     Tom said, “I hope they didn’t go through all the trouble of slaughtering a cow just to pack our provisions.”

     “No. She said she made this by taking half a pound of beef jerky they’d saved from their last slaughter. She simmered the jerky in beef stock with the vegetables. She said it’s one of the best things she makes, and Rhett just rants and raves about it.”

     Indeed, it was the best stew Tom had eaten in a very long time.

     “Wow. This puts canned stew to shame. Did you take notes on how she did this?”

     “Yes, I did. And while I don’t think this is any better than Linda’s, I’ll make a point to make you a batch when we get back home again.”

     “That, young lady, is what I was hoping you’d say.”

     “Hey Tom, can I ask you something?”

     He looked up from his plate of stew.

     “Sure. What’s on your mind?”

     “The young girl back at the library. Millicent. I felt so bad for her. I wanted so much to help her. But when I looked at you, you were so quick to tell me no. I was just wondering why.”

     “Because I knew what you wanted. You wanted to grab her and hold her and never let go. I know because I felt the same way.

     “But you have to remember that we’re going on a mission into strange territory. We don’t know who we’re going to encounter. Some may not be friendly. We certainly don’t want to be lugging a young child into such a situation.

     “Besides, it’s not my place to tell you it’s okay to adopt a new member of the family, when I’m not the one who’d have to raise her. If all goes well, we’ll find your mom and bring her back with us. Whether or not she wants to collect anyone else for your family should be her decision, not yours and certainly not mine.”

     “Tom, I would never ask Mom to take in another mouth to feed. I agree that taking Millicent to Castroville would have been a bad idea. But I don’t need Mom’s help to raise her. Jordan and I are perfectly capable of doing that ourselves. And little Chris would love to have a big sister.

     “On our way back, after we find Mom and bring her back with us, I want to visit that library again. I want to see if I can find Millicent, and I want to ask her if she’d like to come to the compound with us and join our family. And if she says yes, I will consider her my daughter, and will raise her as such. No child should be left in the predicament she’s in, with no one to love and no adult to watch out for her.”

     Tom was touched.

     “Well, I’ll be. All this time I thought you were just a snotty-nosed whippersnapper. But somewhere along the line, when I wasn’t paying attention, you’ve turned into a very mature and very loving young woman.

     “Good for you. But I still have one more question. If you take young Millicent back with you and make her your daughter, that’ll make Jordan her father.

     “And as such, shouldn’t he have some say-so in your decision?”

     “Yes. And I plan to call him on the radio when we return to San Antonio to talk to him about it. And to have him talk to Scott and Linda to see if they have any objections. But trust me. Jordan will love the idea.”

     “How do you know?”

     She laughed.

     “Because he agreed long ago to let me be the boss of us. And because he loves me. That’s how I know.”