When he walked into the garage that morning, the first light of day was filtering through the tall stained-glass windows. It gave the place a crimson tint. He walked past Streeter’s Buick and wondered if there was anything going on between its owner and Carol. Despite being increasingly jealous, he liked Streeter. Always loose and steady. Plus, he had that killer weight room. Behind the Buick was Carol’s white Saab. The light from the stained glass hit her windshield like blood. Then Jeff looked closer and realized it wasn’t the light he saw. It was blood. He froze. “Holy shit!” was the best he could do. He walked to the driver’s door and leaned over the windshield. Red fluid—thick and syrupy—dribbled down the front of the pane. In the middle, a white paper was taped to the glass. At least mostly white, since some of the blood had spilled onto it. There was typing on the paper:
Further we go, marching to your death,
You have to know by now what to expect…
Those first two lines were enough. “Damnit!” the cop yelled. “How’d he get in here?” He hurried back through the garage door to the bottom of the stairs and radioed for assistance. Jeff knew that the man in charge would come down his throat with a meat cleaver for letting Swallow into the church. But for now, Barrows just kept asking himself, “How the hell did he get in here without me hearing him?”
Carol was surprised when she woke up to find Streeter shaking the bed. He had never come into the room while she was sleeping. But here he was, in his bathrobe, no less. She was puzzled. He couldn’t be getting amorous. There wasn’t a hint of lust on his face. He seldom betrayed anything when he was under stress, but now he looked more stern than usual.
“Carol.” His voice was mild but firm. “Are you awake?”
“I am now.” She sat up. “What is it? You look like they just took Jeopardy off the air.”
“Throw something on and meet me out there.” He nodded toward the door and then glanced at her blue nightgown, which showed several inches of soft cleavage. Actually, he more than glanced.
“I’ve got something on and you seem to like it.” She half smiled, half frowned. “Maybe it’s more than you’re used to seeing me wear to bed, but it sure got your attention.”
“Grab a robe, this is serious,” he said and then walked out.
When Carol got to the main room, Streeter was working with the Mr. Coffee on the kitchen counter. Jeff Barrows was standing near the steps. Next to him was the day officer, an older Hispanic man. No one was even close to smiling.
“What’s going on?” Carol pulled lightly on the belt of her pink terry-cloth robe. It was short but thick and it made her look almost plump. And sexy, especially to Barrows. “What is it?”
“When was the last time you went to your car, ma’am?” the Hispanic officer asked.
At first she blinked in confusion. “What happened?” Her voice rose. She blinked again like her eyes burned, but she didn’t cry. “Late last night, I guess. Why?”
“Don’t worry. Everything’s under control,” the cop said. His voice was even, soothing. “Officer Barrows said you went down there right after he came on duty. That would have been around midnight. Is that what you mean?”
“Yes.” Now she started crying, but her voice was more calm than her face. “I took my gym bag down and brought up my briefcase. I worked very late. Well into the morning.”
“Did you notice anything unusual about your car while you were down there?”
“No.”
“Did you hear anything?”
“Of course not. What happened?”
The officer shot Streeter a glance and then looked back at Carol. “Apparently, someone got into the garage over the last few hours and left a note on your car. We found it on the windshield.”
“Got in?” She took a step forward and looked at Barrows. Her tears stopped. “How could that possibly happen?”
“Honest, I have no idea,” Jeff said quietly. “I was down there all night. Awake the whole time. There wasn’t one sound. Carol, I’m sorry.”
“Kevin Swallow got in here last night, into this building, and you didn’t hear him?” She glanced at Streeter. “No one heard him. I’m in this fortress surrounded by all you big, brave guys and Swallow still comes and goes as he pleases. What a bunch of incompetent bimbos.” She was shaking noticeably when she finished.
“I knew you’d take it like a trooper,” Streeter stepped in. “Look, he didn’t get to you, and calling us clever names isn’t going to help anything.”
“Wasn’t the garage locked?” Carol sat down on the nearest couch. She wiped her face with her right hand and then pulled a crumpled tissue from her robe pocket.
“Mr. Streeter said he recalls locking the garage door,” the day officer interjected. “He was the last one to come in.”
“Except for Kevin.” Carol looked at each of them and then blew her nose quietly.
“Evidently, although we’re actually not sure who it was,” the day cop offered. Then, after a pause, “The lab people will be here soon to dust for prints. I’m going to ask that you remain in the loft until we’re done cleaning up down there.”
Carol nodded and was quiet. Finally, she looked at the bounty hunter. “There’s no place that’s safe, is there? And now he knows where you live, Street.”
“I thought of that myself,” was all he said.
Carol went back to the bedroom to shower. Streeter headed downstairs to do the same, with Barrows following him to the first-floor hallway. The Hispanic officer stationed himself in the garage to drink coffee and to wait for the lab technicians.
When Streeter got out of the shower and finished dressing, he called Nathan. He had told him the night before that he’d pick him up about nine to go to Evergreen. “I’m running a little late, Terry,” he said.
“No sweat. When do you think you’ll get here?”
“Give me an extra hour or so.”
“Why the wait?” Terry asked.
“We had a little break-in last night. Someone came by and put a note on Carol’s car. Left a damned mess, too.”
“Say what? I thought you had the mounties over there watching out for you. The cop get drunk or something?”
“Who knows? But I want to talk to Carol and then see what the police find. It had to be Swallow.”
“The man knows where you’re at now. Knows how to get inside your house. How’s that sitting?” Terry asked.
“Not very well. That cop they had over here’s no Eliot Ness but he’s sharp enough. And this place gets locked up every night. I can’t figure how he did it.”
Terry was silent for a moment. “I talked to Cullen a little while ago. Apparently, he had a chat with Laurie, his ex, and she mentioned that you and me are working together. Now he wants to meet with both of us.” There was another pause. “Wants Laurie in on it, too.”
Streeter frowned. “I thought you told me they were mortal enemies. Didn’t Cullen think she might even come after him?”
“I know. It doesn’t figure. The two of them must have gotten together yesterday and hammered something out. Who knows? Neither one’s got the common sense of a turkey. But he sure wants to meet us at the office around four. That okay with you?”
“Yeah. We should be done in Evergreen before then. I’ll be by in an hour.”
When he hung up, Streeter went back to the garage. The police had finished dusting the car and all the doors and windows for prints. They’d removed the note from the windshield and were packing up. One uniform was standing over at the small side garage door taking photos. Barrows was hanging near the Saab, just staring at it. His thick shoulders slumped like he was carrying a heavy dumbbell in each hand. Poor guy was half in shock. The bounty hunter walked over to him.
“Carol’s safe, you know,” he told the cop.
Barrows didn’t seem to hear him at first and then he looked up. “What?” There was no color in his face, and even his beard looked pale.
“I said, basically, you did your job. Carol wasn�
��t hurt. You were sent here to protect her, not the Saab.”
“Right. You and me both know the only reason she’s alive is because this prick wants her to squirm some more. If he can get to the car, he could have gotten to her, too. Everyone knows that. These guys”—he nodded toward the officers—“you, Carol. Most of all Swallow. Let’s call it like it is, okay?”
“Look, you can sit here and beat the hell out of yourself or you can get back in the game. Carol’s fine and your job is to help keep her that way. My suggestion is that you find out what happened here last night and then figure out how to make sure it doesn’t happen again. You can’t change what’s already done.”
Barrows looked closely at him. “This is pretty hard to keep down.”
“You’ll be fine,” Streeter said. He looked at the Saab and then back at the cop. “They getting any good prints?”
“Not off the car.” Barrows looked slowly around the garage. “It was wiped clean. They might get something from that side door.” He looked back at Streeter. “But there was no sign of a forced entry. Are you sure you locked it when you came in?”
“Of course. I do it automatically every night. Swallow might be good, but I can’t believe he got his hands on a key to the door.”
Barrows shrugged. “There’s no other way to get in here besides right past me in the hall. That’s pretty unlikely, because I was there all night and the other first-floor doors were locked. Or else he’d have to come through the overhead doors, which would have made a ton of racket.” He paused. “Carol was just down here before. Ruiz, the day man, let her look around. She wanted to read the note.”
“Do you know what it said?”
Barrows shook his head. “No. The typical bullshit he always writes, I suppose.”
Streeter nodded and headed upstairs to see how Carol was doing. When he got into the loft, she was sitting at the kitchen table thumbing through a legal pad. She seemed distracted, but calm.
“Feeling any better?” he asked.
“I’ll live.” She glanced up at him.
“They told me the side door wasn’t tampered with,” Streeter said. “Swallow just walked in, no problem. I always keep that door locked.”
“Kevin probably knows all about locks. He knows about every-thing else that’s mechanical. I swear, he could build a rocket launcher out of a cigar box and some firecrackers. I bet that lock didn’t even slow him down. I’m sorry he found us, Street. Is Frank okay with all this?”
“I haven’t seen him yet but I’m sure he’ll manage. We knew this would happen eventually. He probably just followed you home.”
“That Mexican officer told me he thinks it was animal blood smeared on the windshield. There’s something else you should know. That note on the windshield.” She looked down at her pad. “What he wrote. I think he was talking about you.”
Streeter went to the table and stood over her. “Oh yeah?”
She looked up. “There’s a lot of the usual crap about the list getting smaller. But he also wrote, ‘Pain will be the end, a mutiny for the bounty. Death will come to the one who serves you daily.’ You’re a ‘bounty’ and you serve me daily.”
“What did he mean by ‘mutiny for the bounty’?”
“Who knows? But I’m sure the word ‘bounty’ can’t be a coincidence. The cops serve me daily, but you’re the bounty.” She reached her right hand to his and squeezed it. “Be real careful, Street.”
He glanced down at her hand. “We’re all going to be more careful from now on. Look, be extra nice to poor old Barrows, okay? He blames himself for everything. He’s not going to be any good to anyone if he’s pouting like that.”
“I’ll be nice.”
“I’m going to be gone for a few hours. There’s something I’ll want you to look at later. Ruiz’ll be downstairs, and you should stay up here until I get back.”
She nodded. “Where the hell can I go?”
As he walked down to his car, Streeter thought about the note. “Mutiny for the bounty.” Did Swallow just get the name of the movie wrong or did he actually mean something specific by that? Swallow usually picked his words carefully in the stupid little poems. Why should this be different? It nagged Streeter as he drove to Terry’s.
FIFTEEN
Nathan was waiting in front of his apartment building when Streeter pulled up. He lived in Brooks Towers, on 15th Street. It’s a luxury forty-two-floor high-rise in a mostly office-and-commercial area not far from the city’s huge performing-arts complex. The Towers is a prestigious address and Streeter could easily see Terry living there. Sporting a long-sleeved white Ralph Lauren polo shirt with the tails out, beige Dockers, and sandals, Nathan was leaning against a cement planter and reading The Wall Street Journal through prescription Vuarnets. He casually tucked the paper under one arm when Streeter honked from the curb. Then he moved toward the Buick, slow and cool, like maybe the entire Dallas Cowboys cheerleader squad was watching him.
“Hey, ace. You expecting Dan Quayle to meet us up there?” Streeter asked as Terry slid into the passenger seat.
Behind the shades, Terry lifted his brows. “Can’t all of us look like white trash.”
Streeter glanced down at himself. He was wearing a gray T-shirt, faded Levi’s, and a pair of black Chuck Taylors. Work clothes and tightly fitted. He put the car in drive and pulled out into traffic. “I thought we decided that you were going to bring something in case there’s trouble.”
Terry looked over at him. “I’m wearing my holster in back. Don’t need a suitcase for a .38 short-nose. Be cool, Streeter. We’re not landing on the beach at Normandy up there. Just taking a little ride in the country, maybe snap a few pictures like we decided on the phone last night.”
“It’s not the trip that’s got me wound up, Terry. I’m not afraid of running into Swallow. It’s not running into him that makes me nervous. That crap at the church this morning’s gnawing at me. I was sleeping twenty feet from the garage and I didn’t hear a thing. The cop on duty was just on the other side of the door and he didn’t hear anything, either. On top of that, Swallow’s note sounds like he’s after me. That definitely is no way to start your day.”
Terry smiled. His teeth flashed as white and even as a row of reflectors. “The hunter’s being hunted. No fun, is it?”
“You got that right. It’s weird being on this side of things. I don’t mind if someone comes in the front door looking for me. Take my chances with that any day. But this guy can be in a different state and still take you down.”
“What makes you think he might come for you?”
“The note he left on her car. Another poem, about a bounty and someone who watches over Carol. It’s mostly her notion that he means me, and she’s been known to be off target from time to time over the years. But she may be right.”
They drove south to Highway 285 and then headed west, toward the mountains. The foothills yawned dramatically in front of them. Both men were quiet as they started climbing toward Evergreen. The old Buick glided smooth as a spaceship. Although Streeter wasn’t much of a mountain man—he seldom went there except to ski—he liked this part of the drive. The highway seemed to slide into the mountains, and the climb felt fluid and effortless. On both sides were huge stretches of rolling meadows, but housing developments were creeping in from the north, from the Denver suburbs.
“Where’d you first meet Cullen?” Streeter broke the silence.
“In Vietnam. A long time ago.”
Streeter glanced at his passenger. “What was it like over there?”
Terry was quiet for a moment. “It was no picnic. I take it you didn’t go.”
“No one ever asked me to. I was in school at the time.”
“College boy, huh?”
“That’s me. I was going to take the NFL by storm.”
“You played ball?” Terry turned to look at the driver. “What happened?”
Streeter shrugged. “What happened? Shit happened. I had problems with a teamm
ate and ended up drifting away from the game.”
Terry was still puzzled but he let it slide. He figured Streeter would explain more if he wanted to. They drove without talking for a while.
“I’m thinking,” Streeter broke the silence again, “that, besides Carol, your partner might be the only other person left on Kevin’s list. Is he aware of that?”
“Yes, sir. The man told me this morning he’s armed to the teeth and ready to shoot anything that gets close.”
“That won’t help much with Swallow. Watts could have had a bazooka and he still would have eaten those ribs. Still be just as dead, too.”
“The guns make him feel better. Besides, I think Cullen digs all the attention. That man never gets rattled in what you’d call a normal way. He was born rattled and that’s just about how he likes it.”
“What do you make of him wanting his ex-wife to be there with us today?”
Terry didn’t say anything for a while. He just watched the sheer mountainsides glide by his window as they wound up the road. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, but the higher they went, the more the temperature dropped. Less than an hour west of town, Evergreen is about thirty-five hundred feet higher than Denver. It’s usually five to ten degrees cooler there in late September. Finally, he spoke. “No telling. Laurie’s one sharp woman but Cullen might still be her fatal flaw. I never could see them together in the first place, so their hooking up now doesn’t figure, either. All he told me was they got together yesterday. At least they’re talking civilly to each other.”
“But why does she actually have to be there when we get together?”
Terry shrugged. “Cullen always liked Laurie to get involved with whatever he was working on. She’s an idea person. I’ve never been married, so I don’t know what a husband thinks about along those lines. Might be he’s more scared than he’s letting on and Laurie comforts him. Or it might be he just wants her around for as long as they’re not fighting.”
“A fine-looking man like you’s never been married? How’d that happen?”
Streeter Box Set Page 30
