Shatter the Night

by Emily Littlejohn

  Then the clock struck seven o’clock.

  The doors opened.

  People streamed in, some dressed in their very finest evening wear, others getting into the spirit and wearing capes and tall hats and Victorian-era costumes. Not shockingly, I knew several of them … but if they were surprised to see me, they didn’t show it. Everyone was too excited, too jazzed, for the evening. People had been saying for years that Cedar Valley lacked any kind of cultural arts. Sure, we had the library and the history center and the annual fairs and holiday markets, but theater, real theater, had been sorely missed.

  We’d set up the metal detector at the interior theater doors, not the front doors, and now people slowed to a trickle, moving through the gates one at a time, emptying their pockets, flashing open their purses. If they seemed concerned by the security precautions, no one said a word. In this day and age, we were all too used to such things at stadiums, concert halls, and airports.

  I scanned each face, not seeing anyone who looked like Griffith. If he was in disguise, it was a good one. And if he’d made it in, he’d done so without any obvious explosives or weapons on him.

  I saw Gloria Dumont enter, accompanied by the mayor on one arm and a prominent businessman on the other. She looked stunning in an emerald-green ball gown, a delicate diamond choker around her pale, slender neck.

  In my head, I reviewed the layout of the theater once more. Front lobby, with a total of six doors. Two back doors at the rear of the theater, and a side entrance door from one of the dressing rooms. The dressing rooms … there were six of them, on the smallish side. Then in the lobby, the restrooms, too … the balcony seats …

  I bit my lip. God, if anything happened … it would be a stampede.

  Ramirez appeared at my side. When I turned to greet her, I nearly gasped. Somehow, perhaps in the restroom or in her truck, she’d managed to clean up and slip into a pair of snug black slacks and a shiny scarlet blouse. She looked as though she’d come straight from home, not from half a day’s hard work.

  “I thought I could help keep an eye on the guests. Fuego’s in the truck, sleeping. Figured I’d blend in a little better if I changed.” Ramirez noticed Finn gaping at her from across the lobby and turned away, looking out over the sea of people still coming in through the doors. “This is crazy. That director is a lunatic. He should have postponed opening night until Griffith is located, secured.”

  “I agree, but it’s not my call. All we can do is play the hand we’re dealt. That’s politics for you in a nutshell: people without expertise and knowledge making decisions the rest of us have to live with.” I paused, noticing an older man with a cane slogging through the crowds, his face pointedly out of view. After another tense moment, he looked up and I recognized him; a former city councilor. Not Griffith.

  “What do we do if we spot Griffith?”

  Ramirez was reckless; she proved that to me on the trail run, and at the pub. The last thing we needed in a crowded theater was one loose cannon going after another.

  “You leave Griffith up to Finn and me. Just be ready to back us up if it comes to that. And Ramirez?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Finn is one of the good guys. He’s an idiot, of course, terrible with relationships. Some days I don’t know whether to punch him or call his mother, ask her to get on his case. But I’m telling you … he’s a good man.” I glanced across the lobby, where Finn was chatting up a pair of local schoolteachers dressed in low-cut blouses. I sighed. “Contrary to all appearances, of course.”

  Ramirez was quiet a moment, then said, “Thanks. I appreciate the vote of confidence in him. As you can imagine, my trust in the man is shattered at the moment. But in time … we’ll see.”

  Within twenty minutes the lobby was empty again. From inside the theater, I heard the rustle of hundreds of bodies finding their seats, saying hello to their neighbors, gasping in awe at the renovations. Aside from his cast and a few others, Nash Dumont had been religious about keeping people out of the theater until opening night. It worked; intrigue had been building for weeks. I realized to my horror that the theater was filled with almost all of the town’s most important people: the mayor and members of city council; city management administration; the wealthy residents who helped keep Cedar Valley afloat with their generous donations to the hospital, the library.

  The very lifeblood of this town could be wiped out in one fell swoop.

  From inside the theater, a sudden hush descended. I left Ramirez in the lobby and peeked inside. The lights had dimmed and I stepped into a shadowy alcove at the rear of the theater. Looking down, I could see the backs of hundreds of heads, all at a gradual downward decline toward the stage. Looking up, to my right and then my left, were the balconies. Each held eight seats, and I saw to my right that Mayor Cabot and her husband sat front and center in the balcony closest to the action.

  A single spotlight hit the stage and Nash Dumont stepped from the shadows into the light, resplendent in a black tuxedo. The audience began a slow clap that moved quickly into a standing ovation, the thunderous applause filling the space with what felt like magic, and life. It truly was as though after years of slumber, the theater itself had awoken and would not be held back from anything. It was the sense that tonight’s performance was pulsing blood and breath into the wood, the brick, the very fabric in the chairs.

  Dumont said a few words, thanking sponsors and his wife, Gloria. From the front row, she stood up and took a quick bow, though it was impossible to pay much attention to the warm-up act. I was too busy scanning the crowd, looking for Milo Griffith. Even as I looked, though, the room grew dimmer, the crystals on the giant chandelier blinking out, one by one.

  And then the play started.

  A low rumble of thunder shook the stage. Three witches entered from stage left, clad in black robes, their hair loose and long and studded with twigs. As they began their lines, quite literally setting the stage for the mayhem and intrigue that was to follow, I gave the theater one final scan and slipped back into the lobby. Ramirez had left by then, and Finn had moved to the concession stand, where he sipped from a bottle of water.

  “Anything?”

  Finn shook his head. “No, and nothing from the rest of the team. Either Griffith is a ghost, or he’s not here.”

  “He’s an ex-SEAL, Finn. He spent years learning how to evade the enemy, how to hide out in the open. He could be here and we’d never know it.”

  For the next several hours, including a fifteen-minute intermission during which the audience stormed the restrooms and refreshment stand, I held my breath. As the scenes changed, and shadows came and went on stage, I could have sworn the heavy chandelier was at times swaying, but the light fixture held fast and true, a testament to its construction.

  The understudies for Milo Griffith and Maggie Armstrong did wonderfully, and the whole cast received a standing ovation. From the wings, I caught sight of Waverly in all her golden splendor wiping tears from her eyes, then clapping enthusiastically.

  After a few minutes of cajoling, Nash Dumont joined his troupe on stage and took a bow. Though he wore a humble, shy expression on his face, there was a look of smugness in his eyes that he couldn’t quite hide.

  This was his night, and thus far, nothing and no one had ruined it.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chief Chavez slammed his notebook down on the conference table and glowered at us. “So where the hell is Griffith? You were sure he’d be at the theater, and he wasn’t. I’ve got limited resources, people. Jesus, what if he’s not even in town anymore?”

  It was Friday afternoon, late in the day.

  After the play ended and the theater cleared out, Finn and I and the team had spent the rest of the night patrolling the town. We stopped at pubs and restaurants, the movie theater, even the twenty-four-hour high-end fitness club on the north side of town.

  No place was too small or too large for us to check.

  But we’d found nothing and finally
, around three a.m., we’d each driven home for a couple of hours of shut-eye. Then we’d been back at it again, working in pairs, checking and rechecking potential targets.

  And now here we were, back at the station, getting our asses chewed out by Chief Chavez.

  The whole team sat around the conference table staring glumly at one another. Sheriff Underhill was nowhere to be seen, and I wondered if she’d stuck around all night, or headed out in the evening after the play had started.

  Chavez continued. “What’s the plan, people? What’s next?”

  “Look, Griffith knows that we know who he is. Whatever his plans were, they’ve been momentarily thwarted. But … he’s not going to give up that easily.” I tried to remain calm.

  I thought about the maps on Griffith’s closet walls, the way one in particular had seemed familiar and yet strange. Then it came to me and with it, a sinking feeling in my gut. Griffith was in the one place that I never wanted to return to. But it looked like I’d have to.

  I swallowed hard and said, “The Ashley Forest. Milo’s gone to ground at the ruins, in the Old Cabin Woods.”

  Finn exhaled, was skeptical. “There’s nothing there. It’s been snowing off and on for the last week. He’ll freeze; he can hardly risk starting a campfire.”

  “There’s an underground root cellar that’s still intact. He’ll hunker down there and use the ground cover to shield smoke. It’s dense back there; no one would notice. Chief … Griffith is committed to his mission. He’s not going anywhere until he sees it through. He’s a professional. A few nights in a protected shelter will be a cakewalk compared to the sniper’s nests he has been in.” I stood, anxious, then sat back down. “We’ve got to go in tonight, as soon as it’s dark. A small team. We’ll get in nice and quiet and take him by surprise.”

  Chavez slowly shook his head, a scowl deepening the lines between his eyebrows. “Those woods are littered with traps and mud pits. You’re talking about going into unknown territory with a skeleton crew in pitch-darkness against a Navy SEAL–trained sniper, who has had the last few months to get the lay of the land. You’re out of your mind. We go in tomorrow, full force, at first light. Surround the place and flush him out.”

  “No. It has to be tonight,” Finn said urgently. “Gemma’s right; Griffith won’t wait any longer. Whether the theater was his target or not, he’s going to make a move tonight.”

  The chief stood and leaned forward on the table, fixing his gaze on the five of us. “My answer is final. We go at dawn. Prepare a tactical team. I want all roads in and out of the Ashley Forest guarded by two-man teams. I want a tracker, with a fresh dog, ready to go by five o’clock. Everyone wears a vest. Get maps of the forest, especially the ruins. Understood?”

  “Yes, Chief,” I muttered.

  Chavez exhaled. “Good. Get a move on.”

  Outside the conference room, Finn and I looked at each other.

  I read the unspoken words in his eyes and nodded, just once.

  Though it might cost us our jobs, we were going into the woods.

  Tonight.

  * * *

  For all his faults, and he had many, Finn knew his people. Within ten minutes, he’d managed to convince Armstrong and Moriarty to join us. Armstrong was an easy sell. And Moriarty was always up for an adventure, especially if that meant sticking it to the man.

  Even when the man in question was Angel Chavez, a chief he admired and respected.

  “This could get us all fired,” I said by final warning. We were in the alley behind the police station, Moriarty taking a smoke break, the rest of us ostensibly keeping him company. Our voices low, our eyes peeled for anyone entering the alley at either end. “I’m serious. I think catching Milo Griffith tonight is worth the risk but you all need to be sure. You need to be one hundred percent in.”

  “I’m in.” Armstrong bummed a cigarette from Moriarty and clamped it between his teeth. Armstrong’s eyes were mere slits, his voice a low growl. “I’m going to tear Griffith’s head off.”

  “Yeah, I’m in if Armstrong gets first dibs on the thug. A father needs that kind of opportunity. It’s healing.” Moriarty lit Armstrong’s cigarette, then yanked it from his partner’s mouth. “Give me that, you’ll hate yourself if you smoke it.”

  “No one’s getting first dibs on anyone. We take him in by the book, nice and easy. It’s the only chance any of us have of making it through this with our necks intact,” Finn said. He ran a hand through his dark hair, glancing behind him at the setting sun. “The chief won’t fire all of us. He’d have no detectives left. That’s a move he can’t make.”

  I glanced at the sun as well, watched it move fast in the western sky, dropping farther and farther down. I pulled a map from my back pocket and flattened it against the alley fence. “We need to be in place by nightfall. Moriarty, you take the entrance on the north road. It’s the farthest from the cabin, but all along Griffith has done the unexpected. He could have an escape vehicle stashed there. If you find it, disable it. Armstrong, you take the trail on the western edge. It’s the cleanest route to the cabin. Griffith may try to elude us by doing the obvious, running right back into town. Finn, you’ve got south, and I’ll take east. There’s no trails or roads, so we’ll have to hike in. We’ll approach the cabin and try to catch Griffith by surprise.”

  “You really think we should split up?” Finn looked doubtful. “Chavez was right; those woods are a death trap if you don’t know your way around them.”

  “It’s our only shot. There’s no way that four of us traveling together will take Griffith by surprise; but, if by some miracle we did and he escaped, the easiest routes out of the woods would be unmanned.” I folded the map and stuck it back in my pocket. “Right. We’ve got about forty-five minutes before that sun sets. I want everyone in black, with vests. Backup flashlights and batteries. It’s going to be dark out there.”

  “Where do you want me?”

  I spun around to see Jimmy standing in the shadows. He stepped forward, a sly smile on his face. “I’ve been shooting since I was twelve years old. I’m sick of standing on the sidelines. I want a piece of the action.”

  “Son, step the hell down.” Finn put a hand on the intern’s shoulder and gripped it, hard. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

  “I’ll tell the chief.”

  “No, you won’t. You don’t want to spend the next six months with the four of us as your enemy.” I tried a gentle smile. “You’ve got what, one more semester left at the community college? Finish school and then apply for the academy in Denver. We’ll put in a good word for you.”

  “I’m going with you tonight and you’ll write me a letter of reference. The best damn letter you’ve ever written.”

  Sighing deeply, Moriarty tried. “Come on, Jimmy, get with the program. You’re a civilian. We can’t let you join us, period. No matter how much we’d like to.”

  Jimmy smirked. “What are you going to do, lock me in the trunk of your car? Sun’s setting. Tick tock.”

  I sighed, frustrated but knowing we couldn’t waste another second. “He’s right. Jimmy, you’re riding with me. We’re putting you on the third-floor balcony at the Montgomery house. You’ll have eyes on the whole forest. Grab four pairs of night goggles from the supply room and four flare guns. You’ll have to sign them out, but no one will question it; just tell the officer you’re working with me on a special assignment. Meet us in the parking lot in three minutes.”

  “What the hell am I going to do with flare guns on a balcony?”

  “We’ll have the flare guns. You’ll have your phone. First sign of trouble, one of us will shoot. At that point, it’ll be all on you, Jimmy. The second you see a flare go off, you call in reinforcements.” I was talking fast, shepherding Jimmy out of the alley, praying the others would hustle and get in place.

  We were nearly out of daylight.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Edith was shocked to see me, clad in black with a ski
mask rolled up on my forehead, a man with a backpack of supplies by my side. I had to hand it to her, though; she didn’t ask any questions, just nodded when I asked if Jimmy could make use of her attic and balcony for the night.

  She murmured that Tom had left Colorado that morning, headed to an audition in Los Angeles, then on to Seattle for the television pilot. She seemed more relaxed than the previous times I’d seen her over the last few weeks and I wondered if she was finally simply having a moment to herself to catch her breath.

  I left them in the foyer, counting on Edith to get Jimmy up to the third floor. As I raced out the front door, I heard her ask him if he’d like coffee and a slice of pie, and I allowed myself a brief smile.

  Jimmy would be just fine.

  Once I was inside my car, driving to the edge of the forest, the smile slipped away. What the hell were we doing? If we survived the night, there was an excellent chance that we’d all be out of a job come morning. Chavez would be furious and rightly so; we’d disobeyed a direct order, and worse, allowed an intern to be party to our insubordination. My stomach rolled as I had a momentary vision of the sun rising behind Chavez as he swore in four officers to replace the four detectives he would shortly be throttling.

  The moment passed as I turned off my headlights and pulled the car over to the side of the road. As the engine fell silent, the first thing I was aware of was the near-total darkness that surrounded me. Outside the car, it was bitterly cold. The thick cloud cover would work to my advantage, but it took a few minutes to let my eyes adjust to the dark.

  The second thing I noticed was the silence. Though it wasn’t late, the trees seemed asleep, still and unmoving in the night air. I crossed the road and stood at the edge of the woods. If my calculations were correct, I was directly east of the old cabin ruins, where the homesteader and his dog had died all those years ago.