Drift

by L T Ryan

  Savage looked down at Hatch. “Shit.”

  “Understatement of the year. If I’m on scene, they’re going to hold onto me for interrogation. No way are they going to let me move about freely with two bodies to account for. Justified or not.” Hatch stood, handing the fingerprint cards to Savage. “And that just can’t happen.”

  “Then what? One road in and out of this place. We can’t just drive off.”

  “I can’t, but you’re the sheriff. You can leave. Turn the scene over. Leave Sinclair here as a liaison and tell them you need to check on the status of the prisoner.”

  “And what are you going to do?”

  “Run.”

  “What?”

  “Remember where you dumped me off when we executed the search warrant?”

  “Sure. But if I recall, I didn’t drop you off—you jumped out of a moving vehicle.”

  “Semantics.”

  Hatch took off into the darkness, her long legs striding effortlessly on the downhill stretch of property leading to the cover of the thick brush as the troopers arrived on scene.

  Hatch navigated the creek bed lining Jed’s property, moving quickly under the cover of night.

  She’d finished her trek through the creek bed, a harder task to accomplish in the pitch dark. What little light was provided by the intermittent moonlight was completely obscured by the high pine and thick brush.

  Hatch waited in the dark. From her position, she could see the lights, but the sound didn’t carry far enough to reach her. The state police’s crime scene technicians had erected several flood lights, bathing the hilly rise in a pale white. She could barely make out the spots where the dead men lay, frozen in time by the bullets Hatch had fired.

  Even in the cool temperatures, Hatch managed to work up a bit of a sweaty lather while on her run. As she remained crouched and waiting, the dampness of her blouse amplified the effect of the rapidly dropping temperature. A taste of winter was in the air, and she knew it wouldn’t be long until the landscape harshened to its hold. Hatch hoped to be long gone before that came to pass.

  The sound of an engine pushed through the quiet stillness surrounding her and moments later headlights swept over Hatch’s hiding place. The tires slowed, crackling along the unpaved surface of the road. The vehicle was close. She waited, not wanting to reveal her position prematurely in the event it wasn’t who she expected.

  “Hatch?” Savage’s voice was just above a whisper.

  She stood up. The suburban was stopped ahead of her position by a few feet. Hatch moved around the back of the vehicle, avoiding the bright white of the headlights and only temporarily silhouetted by the red of the brake lights. She saw Savage’s face in the rearview mirror, his attention focused on the area illuminated by the cone of light.

  She approached the passenger side and rapped on the window. Savage jumped, nearly coming out of his seat. His nerves were on edge.

  “You scared the life out of me.”

  Hatch climbed inside. “I bet you say that to all the girls you pick up from a roadside ditch.”

  “Just the cute ones.” He smiled, tossed the cards with the prints at her, and drove off.

  She hoped their gamble would provide some insight into the man she’d killed.

  25

  Savage entered the main space of the sheriff’s office with Hatch by his side. It was empty, except for Barbara, who was manning the main desk. Did she ever go home? “Where’s Cramer?” he called out.

  Barbara rolled into view from behind a four-drawer filing cabinet and thumbed in the direction of the bathroom. “He’s in his personal office. You know—the one he spends most of his patrol shift in. From the sounds of it, he’s been hard at work in there.”

  Savage rolled his eyes as the woman laughed at her own joke.

  “Do you know if he finished processing Chisolm yet?”

  “Yes. He finished up about ten minutes ago. Did you want to put a call into Corrections to make arrangements for him to be transferred to their facility?”

  “No. We’re going to need a little bit of time with him beforehand.”

  “Fair enough. Just let me know when you need me to take care of that.”

  “Will do. And Barbara, thanks for staying late tonight.”

  “It’s not every day our town sees this sort of thing. I wouldn’t dream of missing out. It’s like being given front row seats to a private screening.” She returned to her desk, disappearing back behind the bulky cabinet.

  Savage turned to Hatch. “Are you ready to have a little chat with our guest?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  “Barbara, we’re going to head to Chisolm’s cell and bring him into the interrogation room.”

  She appeared again from behind her file cabinet and tapped the headset she’d donned. “Just give me a call on the radio when you’re ready for me to release the cell lock. And you do know you have a key to the cell doors on that big key chain by the back door.”

  “I know. Old habits from my days in Denver.”

  Savage led the way back toward the holding area.

  Outside the door of cell two, Savage’s eyes widened in horror as he peered in to inspect the status of their prisoner. “Barbara, open the cell door immediately! And call medics!”

  A buzz and click announced the lock’s release. Unlatched, Savage yanked the handle, slamming the massive door open with a loud bang as it came to an abrupt stop against the metal frame on the opposite end.

  On the floor near the bolted bedpost was the sprawled body of Bill Chisolm. The large man’s face was a bluish purple. His eyes bulged wide, the whites of which were covered in red blotchy spots. Petechial hemorrhaging occurs for a variety of instances, but in this case it was the obvious sign of strangulation. Intense pressure in the veins cause the capillaries in the eye to leak, creating bloody Rorschach-like patterns in the sclera.

  Chisolm’s torn undershirt was fastened around his throat in a makeshift noose. The fabric, pulled tight, was almost invisible under the folds of skin cinched around it.

  Hatch and Savage quickly set to work, trying to free the unmoving man from his constriction. Savage pulled a knife from a leather pouch on his belt, carefully cutting the shirt near the knot and releasing him from the binding. A hum and hiss came from the man’s mouth as the trapped air released.

  Savage ran his fingers into position along the carotid, desperately seeking a pulse. Hatch watched as he sat back, the answer written on his face. Bill Chisolm, the man who held information they desperately hoped to gather, was dead.

  “Doesn’t add up,” Savage said. “Why would he kill himself?”

  “Maybe there’s more at stake than we realize. The arrest, his agreement to talk to us, might’ve left him in a bind. Literally.”

  Savage shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense. Regardless of whether he cooperated with our investigation or not, his father is the richest man in the county. Probably the neighboring five counties combined. He’d have the best defense money could buy. And you know as well as I do, money can easily outweigh evidence.”

  “People do stupid things when facing a life sentence. I’ve seen that before, too.”

  Savage stood. “Let’s pull the tape and see.”

  At his desk, the computer showed several live feeds from the scattered surveillance cameras around the sheriff’s office. Exterior cameras covered the front and back of the building. There was a camera in the sally port, booking area, interview rooms, and the two cells. And out of all of them only one was turned off. Cell Two.

  Hatch watched as Savage brought the administrative settings up and began manipulating the camera, digitally rewinding it to the point at which their suburban drove away from the station house. They took Cramer’s car, not the Suburban. As soon as their vehicle was out of sight, Cramer appeared, exiting the back door. He was smoking and talking on his cell phone. The call took less than a minute to complete. After which, Cramer flicked the cigarette and disapp
eared back inside.

  Savage adjusted the playback speed, increasing it until something changed. They watched Chisolm in his cell. He was unmoved, slumped in the same despondent position he’d been in when Hatch last saw him. A few minutes of nothing passed before Cramer appeared inside the cell. A verbal exchange took place.

  “I can see they’re talking. How come there’s no audio?” Hatch asked.

  “It’s been intermittent, and by that, I mean off more than it’s on. I put a work order in with the town. The technician is supposed to be coming out this week.” He shook his head in frustration, realizing now under the current unforeseen circumstances, the repair should’ve been higher on the priority list.

  They both turned their attention back to the screen and watched the silent movie play out as Cramer escorted the man from his cell. The two then entered into the booking area. For the next several minutes Chisolm was fingerprinted and photographed. It was a relatively uneventful exchange. Cramer returned the man to his cell and closed the door.

  Cramer appeared as he walked through the booking area on his way back to the main office space. One minute and twenty seconds later, the feed to cell two went dark.

  A toilet flushed and Don Cramer exited. Hatch looked up from the screen at the man, who didn't seem to notice them in Savage’s office.

  Savage was typing again, and then nudged Hatch with his elbow. She looked down as Savage pointed to the screen. The camera shutdown command had been sent from Cramer’s computer terminal.

  Hatch gestured at the man walking out of the bathroom. Speaking in a whisper, she said, “Speak of the devil.”

  “I think Deputy Cramer’s got some serious explaining to do.”

  Savage stood. His large frame in motion caught Cramer’s attention, and he turned in their direction. The portly deputy’s face did little to belie his nervousness. He tried to smile, but it came out wrong.

  Cramer walked over to his desk area and grabbed his coat off the back of his chair. He was in a hurry.

  “Don, where are you headed off to in such a rush?”

  “Just going to run my security checks. I’ve already finished up with Chisolm.”

  “About that.”

  Savage walked toward Cramer as Hatch moved along the wall. Instinctively, her hand drifted toward the snub-nosed .38 revolver still tucked in her waistband against the small of her back.

  Cramer’s eyes bounced from Savage to Hatch in increased rapidity, making him look like he was suffering from a manic episode.

  “I think we need to have a talk. You’ve got time. Those security checks you’re so worried about aren’t going anywhere.” Savage’s hand neared the butt of his duty weapon, floating just above the tang’s dovetail. His voice remained calm, but Hatch could see the focused intensity in the Sheriff’s eyes.

  Cramer started to absently shake his head no, taking a cautious step in the direction of the exit. “I’ve really got to get going.”

  “Funny. I’ve never seen you so desperate to do police work before.”

  “My mother’s sick. I’ve got to go and look in on her.”

  “What is it Cramer? Security checks or your mother?”

  He eyed the back door hard but didn’t try to counter the failed argument.

  “You keep looking toward the exit. That’s not going to happen, Don. You need to stay here and talk to us.”

  “I didn’t do it.” Cramer dropped his coat to the floor. At the same time, he retrieved his gun from his holster and pointed it at Savage’s head.

  Hatch’s revolver was moving, and a fraction of a second later, she had it leveled at Cramer. Savage was frozen with his left hand raised in submission and his right firmly locked on the butt of his holstered Glock.

  “Hold on. Let’s not make things any worse tonight. I know you’re feeling desperate. Like there’s no way out of this thing. But there is. You just need to lower your weapon so we can figure out what that is.” Savage’s calm while staring down the barrel of a gun impressed Hatch. More impressive was his ability to issue commands. Few possessed the poise it took to see beyond the tunnel vision of a situation like this.

  “I’m walking out of here! You hear that?” Cramer’s eyes watered, his voice screechy like a boy breaking through the invisible barrier of puberty.

  Hatch cocked the revolver with a loud click. The effect, as intended, caused Cramer to become more unraveled. Panic caused people to tighten up. And that kind of tension made their reactions slightly slower. She planned to capitalize on this should the need arise. The revolver was now in single-action mode, requiring relatively no pressure to discharge the weapon and adding a millisecond of advantage should the situation dictate.

  “Tell her to drop the damn gun!” His eyes pleaded with Savage.

  “Not going to happen.” Savage exhaled slowly. “I’ll give you fair warning, she’s one hell of a shot. From this distance, there’s no way she’ll miss. Do you know she killed two men tonight? And the only reason Bill Chisolm survived is because she decided he was worth more to us alive. Your life now rests in her hands. And the actions you take will help her make that decision.”

  “I’ll still kill you!” Cramer’s breath was a ragged wheeze. Control quickly slipped from the man’s shaky grasp.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, you pull that trigger and you won’t be leaving here alive either. Are you willing to make that call? Are you willing to die here and now?”

  Hatch worked to slow her heart rate. Even at a close distance, everything mattered. There could be no room for error.

  “You’re in a position to help yourself out. There is a way out of this thing, and it doesn’t have to end in bloodshed.”

  “You want me to talk? I may as well put this gun to my head and pull the trigger right now. It’s obvious you have no idea who you’re dealing with. You never should have come to this town.” Cramer, eyes wild, turned to look at Hatch. “And you. You should never have come back!”

  “Didn’t want to. But you assholes went and killed the wrong girl. And I’m not leaving until it’s done.”

  Cramer clenched his jaw. She’d seen this facial expression. It was a determined commitment. Time had run out in this speed date version of a negotiation.

  Hatch began to resign herself to the end game, hoping her shot would render Cramer’s control of his trigger finger useless. She knew in taking the shot, chances of learning critical truths would die with him. The pad of her index finger resting on the half-moon of the revolver’s trigger began to tense when something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye.

  Cramer’s head was knocked sideways as he discharged the gun in his hand. Standing over him with a heavy three-hole punch was none other than Barbara Wright.

  Hatch closed the distance in two strides, landing a knee onto Cramer’s head as she slammed into the man and controlled his wrist. His body went limp. There was no fight left in him. Barbara had made sure of that.

  Hatch put her foot on the man’s gun while she transitioned her knee from his head onto the center of his back, pinning him to the ground in his unconscious state. Looking back at Savage, she saw he was still standing in the same place he’d been. The calm poise dissolved as he cantered his head up at the ceiling where Cramer’s round had gone.

  “I never liked that little runt of a man anyway.” Barbara gave a satisfied smile and shouldered the hole punch like a baseball player taking the plate.

  Hatch laughed.

  Savage walked over without saying a word and gave the older woman a hug while Hatch used Cramer’s cuffs to secure his hands behind his back.

  Hatch stood and placed her foot on Cramer’s back. “We may not have Chisolm, but I think Cramer can fill in some of the blanks.”

  “That’s if he talks.”

  “You do remember the conversation we had about what I used to do in the military?”

  Savage nodded.

  “Then, trust me. He’ll talk.”

  26

  �
��I told you I’m not talking.” Cramer didn’t look up from the spot on the table his gaze was fixed on. “Should’ve just killed me. I’m already as good as dead.”

  Savage leveled a hard gaze. “Is that what happened to Chisolm?”

  Cramer shrugged and looked away.

  “Listen, Don, it’s no secret I’m no fan of you and most likely would’ve been firing you in the near future. But I see no point in you dying over whatever this is.”

  “I didn’t kill Chisolm. He signed his death warrant when he agreed to speak to you. All I did was relay a message.”

  “Then why’d you cut the camera feed?”

  Cramer winced as he gingerly rubbed the lump on the back of his head. “I didn’t want that hole-punch-wielding lunatic to see and call the medics. I knew eventually you’d figure I’d killed the footage, but I hoped to be long gone by then.”

  “Or you’d hoped we’d be dead?”

  Cramer gave a shrug of indifference. “You’ve been sheriff about a month. I’ve lived in this place my whole life. I can trace my family roots back since the town’s beginnings. You waltz in here and think you understand things. That you can apply your big city mentality to us little country folk. In reality, you have no idea what’s going on around here. And who’s really in charge.”

  “I assume your uncle has some piece in this. Is that why you’re really avoiding talking? You’re scared he’s going to be implicated?”

  “He’s just a pawn in the big game of chess that’s been playing out here for years.”

  “This is about Nighthawk Engineering?”