Through the Evil Days: A Clare Fergusson/Russ Van Alstyne Mystery (Clare Fergusson and Russ Van Alstyne Mysteries) (46 page)

“Where the hell are the Feds? Have they contacted you?” Like them, he kept his voice low.

“We have a problem,” Kevin said. “Hadley, tell him.”

“When we briefed earlier this afternoon, Agent O’Day made a comment about Hector DeJean’s mug shot. He told the tac guys it was an old picture, that DeJean is bald now.”

“Go on.”

“Chief, I can’t think of any way he’d know that. DeJean hasn’t been arrested since he got out of jail three years ago. He’s got no known connection to LaMar. When could O’Day have seen him?”

“Visiting the Johnsons? Or maybe the MacAllens?”

“The O’Days never had any direct contact with Mikayla,” Kevin said. “And believe me, the Johnsons wouldn’t have had a picture of Hector DeJean around.”

“Well? I take it you two have a theory?”

“I think O’Day knew what DeJean looked like because the two have met. Recently.”

“When we found out about the connection between the Johnsons and the LaMar case, we thought Mikayla had been taken to pressure Mr. Johnson.” Knox blew into her gloves. “What if we were right?”

“Think about it, Chief. You’re a bad guy who wants to keep Johnson from testifying—”

“I’d have him capped. Plain and simple. This isn’t a game of Clue, guys.”

“Testifying against
you,
” Kevin went on. “You want him to stand up in court and say yes, he was there, and he saw someone else hit those two drug dealers.”

“Mr. Johnson wouldn’t budge if anyone threatened his daughter,” Hadley said. “I think he’s pretty much given up on her. But he loves Mikayla. If LaMar has Mikayla, he can call the shots, as long as she stays alive.”

Kevin stamped his feet. “That’s where DeJean comes in. Mikayla has a complicated schedule of medication she needs to take. The average meth head or muscle LaMar could call on wouldn’t be able to keep her alive past a week. But her father was motivated.”

“He and his wife had already taken a course in how to care for a post-transplant child,” Knox said.

“We think”—Kevin looked to Knox, who nodded—“the plan was for DeJean to snatch his daughter, lay low for a couple days, then get out of the area with the help of LaMar’s pet agents.”

“Let me get this straight.” Russ stripped off his glove and rubbed the feeling back into his face. “You’re accusing two veteran FBI agents of conspiracy in kidnapping, arson, and murder? Based on the fact that one of them knew Hector DeJean is bald?”

“Vince Patten had it right,” Kevin said. “The Albany detective who worked with us. He told us the O’Days had been there forever. They weren’t ever going to rise further in the ranks. Maybe they got tired of chasing bad guys who always got away. Maybe they decided they deserved a cut of the pie, too.”

“Kevin—” the Chief began.

“Where are they right now? Did they brief you on the situation inside?” Before Kevin could stop her, Knox had switched on her flashlight. She played it over the surface of the bridge, the bottom of the road, the trees crowding in on either side. There was no one there.

“They could have decided to secure DeJean and the girl in their vehicle and then come back.”

“Without notifying any of us? How did they just walk in and take DeJean without raising any sort of alarm? If Mikayla is the key to putting away LaMar, how come there are only six of us here?” Knox switched off the light and turned toward him. In the renewed darkness, her face was a pale oval. “Chief, you always tell us to trust our instincts. Would you, unarmed, get into their car right now?”

He weighed his answer a long moment. “No.”

15.

Clare would have kept going right past the spot where she and Lieutenant Mongue had waited that afternoon if Bob hadn’t prevented her. “If there really is trouble, driving into the middle of it and then leaping out of the truck is a good way to get yourself killed.”

“You’re right.” She downshifted and let the pickup roll to the side of the road. In the darkness, the headlights tunneling through the woods made her feel claustrophobic. “I just keep thinking about how absolutely cops trust each other. And how vulnerable they all are if that trust is betrayed.”

“Park the truck crossways, straddling the road.”

She twisted around in her seat.

“There’s only one cleared way out of here, right? I may not be good for much right now, but I can be the last line of defense.”

“Bob, if they rammed you, you could be seriously hurt.”

He waved a hand. “Not as hurt as Russ would be if his truck gets wrecked.” He dug the Taurus she had taken from Travis Roy out of the duffel bag. He held it out to her, grip first. “Take this.”

She shook her head. “I won’t use it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I thought Russ said you were in the army.”

“National Guard. I had my fill and then some in Iraq. I’m done with guns. I’m switching over to the chaplaincy corps. If they let me,” she added to be honest.

“Huh. You’re just a bundle of contradictions, aren’t you, Reverend.”

“Aren’t we all.”

As he asked, she used the truck to barricade the road. She left it running, lights on, to give fair warning to anyone coming over the hill above. She took Russ’s Maglite, the warmest hat, and Oscar.

“The dog?” Bob asked.

“I said I wouldn’t use a gun. I didn’t say I’d forgo protection.” She ruffled Oscar’s fur. “Usually, I’m the one who gets asked this, but—”

“I’ll pray for you.” He grinned. “Probably better this way. Everyone knows Catholics’ prayers count more.”

Clare was still smiling when she closed the door.

She held the Maglite in front of her until she made the first rise. She didn’t see any vehicles at the side of the road up ahead, but she couldn’t recall what Russ had said about the distance, and she didn’t want to stumble across the FBI agents lit up like a circus. She shoved the flashlight up her sleeve, letting the lens rest against her gloved fingers. It gave a subdued glow, enough so she wouldn’t trip over her own feet, but not so much as to draw unwanted attention.

Just as he had when he traveled across the ice with her and Russ, Oscar stuck close and stayed quiet. She reached a second hill and still couldn’t see the squad cars and SUVs they had met this afternoon. At the third crest, she turned off the Maglite. She stood a few moments, letting her eyes adjust until the blackness around her lightened into shades of gray: pale snow, ashen trees, charcoal forest. Stars burned hot in the narrow sky between the pines. Oscar nudged her leg, and they went forward again, a little more slowly.

Her hearing sharpened in the dark; she could make out the creak and snap of branches, the shiver of pine needles, the far-off tu-whut of an owl, hunting early after so many nights of frozen rain. And, fainter than the owl, a voice.

No, two voices. The road curved ahead, but she saw no light or movement, so she kept to the open. The road wasn’t in good shape—frozen over, then churned by the vehicles that had followed Russ up here—but it offered faster travel than the deep snow between the trees would. When she reached the curve, she left the path, sinking into knee-deep snow. Oscar wanted to stay where it was easy to walk, and it took her two attempts before he joined her. She scratched his head in lieu of spoken praise.

The noise of an engine starting. She waded between birch and hemlock, keeping the road in sight. She could see something now. The glow of headlights, facing away from her, shining brilliantly against Kevin Flynn’s yellow Aztek. The voices continued, less audibly. A man and a woman. Clare pushed forward, needing to identify the speakers, thinking she was going to feel a complete idiot if she was sneaking up snow-ninja-style on Kevin and Hadley Knox.

Suddenly, the voices were louder. The people talking were walking away from a black SUV, its engine running, toward the Essex County squad car parked a few lengths behind it. Clare froze in place behind a burly maple, her hand clutched in Oscar’s coat to keep him still.

“—handle Roy,” the male voice was saying. “I’ve eaten dinners that were smarter than he is. We can keep him quiet until he’s locked up. Then he can have an accident.”

“Fine. Fine.” The woman sounded agitated. “But what about Johnson? What’s going to prevent him from testifying once the girl is dead?”

Mikayla.

“LaMar’s going to have to take care of that.”

“Goddammit! I hate this!” Even angry, the woman kept her voice down. “Nobody was supposed to get hurt, Tom. That was the whole point. That we could take care of it better.”

“No, the point was to keep LaMar from getting convicted. We can still accomplish that.”

“Over a pile of bodies!”

“Do you want to march back down and surrender to the locals? We’ll spend the rest of our very short lives behind bars before ‘accidentally’ getting shivved in the laundry.”

“No, of course not.”

“Then screw your courage to the sticking point, my dear. Hector DeJean, at least, won’t be a loss to anyone.”

Clare couldn’t hear it, but she could imagine the woman’s defeated sigh. “All right. Let’s do it.”

Oh, dear Lord, no.

They walked back toward the SUV. Clare followed, struggling through the snow, trying to keep up without being seen or heard.

She couldn’t see the passenger side of the vehicle from where she was wallowing in the drifts, but she could hear the clunk as the door opened. The interior light sprang on, and she caught a glimpse of DeJean’s head.

“It’s time for your escape, Hector.” The man stepped back as DeJean got out of the SUV. She could see him clearly in the wash from the headlights now, the tall FBI agent.
You called it, Lyle.

“I gave her the shots, but I can’t get the pills into her.” Hector’s voice was a mixture of anger and fright. “She won’t swallow. She’s sick. She’s really sick.”

“Give it some time. We brought enough in the bag to treat her for a month.” The female agent sounded soothing.

“It won’t matter if she can’t take it. How am I gonna get her professional help? If I show up in an emergency room I’ll get arrested.”

“Pick up your daughter and get into your truck, Hector.” The man’s impatience was showing.

Don’t do it, Hector!
Clare squeezed Oscar’s fur more tightly. Maybe if DeJean kept talking, there’d be time for one of the MKPD officers to get here.

“We’ll find the name and address of a doctor who will help you,” the male agent went on. “We’ll put it in the e-mail drop box.”

“How soon?”

“Soon,” the man snapped. “But first you have to escape.”

“Okay, okay, goddammit. How is this gonna work? Do I gotta hit one of you?”

“We’re going to give you a few minutes’ head start. Then I’m going to fire my gun, and then we’re getting into our car to ‘chase’ you. When we return to meet up with the rest of the group here, we’ll report you went south, headed for Albany.”

“Okay. Sure. Fine.” The interior lights sprang on again, and Hector ducked. Clare could see him lifting a quilt-wrapped Mikayla and a small satchel. He shouldered his daughter and shut the door. He took a step toward the other side of the road.

Clare plunged across the few yards between her and the road, shaking branches and smashing ice as she ran. She burst out of the cover. “They’re going to shoot you and Mikayla!” she yelled.

The male agent spun toward her, his gun out. She ducked behind the SUV at the same moment the report from his weapon sounded. Oscar began barking furiously. She heard a second shot fired and had time for the thought
Mikayla
before DeJean crashed into the snow beside her. Mikayla let out a weak cry of alarm.

Clare grabbed the back of his coat and dragged them up. “We’re okay,” he gasped.

“Who the hell was that?” the male agent demanded.

“I didn’t see!” the woman yelled. “Come
on
.”

“Into the trees,” Clare said. She pushed DeJean to go first. They broke cover and ran in the path created by Clare’s bootprints. Another shot thudded into a birch, showering Clare in ice. It echoed, and then she heard another, more distant report. “Go,” she breathed, “go, go!”

“Daddy, don’t grab so hard. It hurts.”

“Get the goggles and turn off those damn lights.” The man was in professional mode now, barking out orders.

DeJean pressed deeper and deeper into the woods, breaking fresh trail. Clare, following, grabbed at him. “Goggles?”

“Night vision,” he gasped.

“Stop!” He plunged on, heedless. “Hector, stop! Think!” He paused and turned, panting. “We can’t outrun infrared vision. It picks up body heat, yours, mine”—she looked down at Oscar, quivering beside her—“the dog’s. We have to hide. Dig into the snow behind a big tree.”

“They’ll find us!” Mikayla wiggled and pushed against her wrapping. DeJean cradled her head with one hand. “Quiet, baby. Be still.”

“Russ will have heard the shots. He’s on his way right now.”
Please, God, let that be true.

Hector thrust Mikayla at her. Startled, she grabbed the quilt-wrapped girl. “I got a better idea.” He squatted in front of Oscar. “Hey, good dog.” Oscar let DeJean hoist him up without complaint.

“Wait, what—”

“Keep her safe till your man gets here.” He kissed the side of Mikayla’s head. “Love you, baby.” He bounded off, Oscar in his arms.

Clare stood there, stunned, until the distant slam of a car door. Ambient light she hadn’t noticed disappeared.
Behind a tree,
she thought.
In the snow.
There was a gnarled, thick-trunked oak a couple of yards ahead. She walked in a straight line, praying that the pine she had been sheltering against would keep her out of the agents’ line of sight. She sidled around the oak and dropped to the ground, leaning Mikayla against the base of the trunk. The girl whimpered a complaint. “I know, honey.” Clare cracked the ice crust and scooped out armful after armful of snow. “Just for a moment.” She dug until she had a long trench just wide enough for—
a coffin
—her body.

She stripped off her parka, hoisted Mikayla and stretched out, her back to the frozen ground, the quilt-wrapped girl atop her. “We’re going to play a hiding game,” she whispered. Clare flung her parka over the two of them, tugged part of the quilt over her face, then reached out from beneath her coat and awkwardly tossed as much of the piled snow as she could over them. She kicked her feet, dislodging more snow on top of her boots and shins.