With a Vengeance

by Annette Dashofy

  Halogen lights attached to rumbling generators turned the darkness into artificially vivid daylight. Law enforcement vehicles from a variety of jurisdictions parked around the periphery of a manmade canyon, the result of decades-old strip mining. A trio of firetrucks formed a barricade of sorts at one end.

  At the center of the chaos, one Monongahela County ambulance. Zoe recognized the unit she and Earl usually drove on their shift, now a lonely witness to the unthinkable. Several yards in front of it rested an overturned all-terrain vehicle. On the ground next to the ambulance, a body.

  Pete cruised the perimeter to park between a boxy truck with Monongahela County Police Department Mobile Command Center emblazoned across the side and a white van bearing the county coroner’s insignia. Franklin Marshall had beaten them there.

  Pete opened his door. “Stay close to me. The scene isn’t secured. We don’t know the shooter’s location.” He glanced toward the ambulance. “And Dickson isn’t going anywhere.”

  The gravity of the situation settled even heavier over her. Barry was dead. Curtis was gravely wounded. And there was a very real possibility that others, including her and Pete, could still be in danger. She shivered. In the distance, hounds barked. Multiple helicopters thwap-thwap-thwapped overhead in a cloudless star-filled sky. “News choppers?” Zoe asked.

  “Some. Plus the State Police.” Pete took her arm, guiding her toward the box truck. “They’re using night vision to search for our shooter from the air.”

  Coroner Franklin Marshall and Officer Kevin Piacenza stood inside the mobile command center truck. The cases Zoe worked had never brought her in contact with it before, and she gave the inside of the high-tech beast a curious perusal. A pair of county police officers wearing headsets manned computer keyboards. Radios broadcast an array of police transmissions.

  “Update?” Pete asked Kevin.

  “No shots have been fired since I arrived on the scene. The K-9 unit arrived about ten minutes ago and is doing their thing. The search helo’s been circling and hasn’t located anything suspicious. Roadblocks are in place.”

  “So we have nothing.”

  “If he’s still out there, he’s hunkered down.”

  Franklin clamped a hand on Zoe’s shoulder. “It sounds safe enough for us to retrieve the body.”

  Pete turned to her. The intensity of his pale blue eyes might have made her blush under different circumstances. Tonight, though, his concern chilled her. Franklin was taking her into a potential active shooting zone, and it was up to Pete to give the green light.

  Kevin looked back and forth at them. “From the position of the victims, we believe the shot came from that wooded area to the west. I had the fire department park their trucks on that side. Circling the wagons.”

  Pete shot a look at the young officer.

  Kevin shrugged. “My granddad makes me watch cowboy shows with him when I go to visit.” He grew serious again. “Anyway, they should be safe.”

  “Provided our sniper hasn’t relocated,” Pete said.

  Zoe’s chill deepened into her bones.

  The coroner, his hand still gripping her shoulder, must have felt her shudder. “You don’t have to go in,” he said, his voice soft, understanding.

  Zoe recalled the time she and Barry had responded to a barroom brawl. The police were tied up with a traffic accident. Rather than wait, Barry put himself in harm’s way to shield her and their patient, bringing them both out unscathed.

  She steeled herself against her fear. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

  Franklin clapped her on the back before heading for the door.

  She followed, pausing to meet Pete’s eyes. His jaw was clenched so hard, she half expected to hear his teeth crack. An unspoken order—be careful—passed between them.

  As she stepped out into the night air, his command over the police radio trailed after her. “The coroner and deputy coroner are coming out. Cover them.”

  Pete hated everything about this incident. Two men he knew and respected, emergency responders, who put their lives on the line every day, had been gunned down by a coward. One wouldn’t be going home again. The other? Too soon to call. And now Zoe was walking smack into the middle of ground zero.

  Pete stepped closer to a bank of monitors showing different angles of the scene. One was trained on the body, and into that frame appeared the coroner’s wagon. Franklin parked close, using the vehicle as an additional barricade from whoever may or may not still lurk in the darkness. The coroner and Zoe climbed out and moved to the rear of the van, removing a gurney. A camera hung around Zoe’s neck.

  “Anything?” Pete asked.

  One of the county techs looked up from his computer. “The State Police helo reports no sign of any heat signatures outside the perimeter. Roadblocks are negative as well.”

  The second tech touched his earpiece. “The K-9 unit is still searching. Nothing yet.”

  “He’s probably long gone,” Kevin said.

  “You willing to bet your life on that?” Pete snapped.

  “No, sir.”

  Neither was Pete. And he sure as hell wasn’t willing to bet Zoe’s. “Take me through it from the top.” His focus stayed glued on the monitors, watching for movement where there shouldn’t be any. Watching Zoe and Franklin process Dickson’s body.

  “According to the county EOC dispatcher, at nineteen forty-six a call came in for an injured ATV rider giving this location. Dickson and Knox responded from the Phillipsburg garage. They radioed they were on the scene at nineteen fifty-two.”

  So the shooter set up his victims shortly before eight p.m. Just after sunset. “If he was up on the hillside to the west as we suspect, the sun would have been low and to his back.”

  “Even without the cover of the trees, they could’ve looked right at him and not been able to see him.”

  “What happened next?”

  “Nothing. That was their last radio transmission. When dispatch couldn’t raise them, she called and asked me to check on them.”

  On the monitor, Zoe was taking photos. “Go on,” Pete said.

  Kevin’s voice grew heavy. “I arrived at twenty twenty-one.” He motioned toward the monitor Pete was watching. “And I found the overturned quad, but the only victims were Dickson and Knox. Dickson was already deceased. Knox was unresponsive, but had a pulse. There was a blood trail indicating he’d tried to drag himself over to his partner, but couldn’t make it.”

  Pete’s jaw ached. “Where are you, you son of a bitch?” Other questions remained unvoiced. “Where’s the crime scene unit?”

  “On their way,” one of the techs said. “ETA five minutes.”

  Not that it mattered. The bulk of the work would have to wait for daylight.

  “Do you think he’s still out there?” Kevin asked in a hushed voice.

  No sightings on the infrared. No movement. No gunshots. For Zoe’s sake and the sakes of all the law enforcement officers lying low, waiting and watching, Pete hoped he was long gone. “Oh, he’s out there. Somewhere. And we will get him.”

  Two

  “Thanks for the lift.” Zoe had hitched rides in ambulances, police cars, and once on a firetruck. This was the first time she’d been dropped at her door by the coroner’s wagon.

  “No problem,” Franklin said. “Look, if you don’t want to attend this autopsy, I’ll let you off the hook.”

  She hated autopsies and avoided them whenever possible. She’d made a deal with Franklin last summer to assist at six, though, and still owed him two.

  His offer of a reprieve was tempting. “No,” she said after some consideration. “I think I need to be there for this one.”

  “Suit yourself.” Franklin gazed past her out the passenger window. “Did you leave lights on?”

  “Yeah, I—” She did a double take at the house where she’d b
een living for the last two months. Yes, she’d left the porch and kitchen lights on, but now every window blazed. “What the hell?”

  “Should I call the police?”

  “They’re all at the crime scene. Besides, burglars don’t generally put all the lights on. Do they?”

  Franklin shrugged. “How should I know?”

  “But teenagers do.” Zoe opened the passenger door and stepped out. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Eight o’clock. Sharp.”

  Eight o’clock? “Oh, crap.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “My truck’s at the garage in Phillipsburg. Pete was supposed to take me to pick it up first thing tomorrow.”

  Franklin shook his head. “Pete’s going to be a little busy for the foreseeable future.”

  She glanced at the house with its lights blazing and had a feeling she might have another ride available. “Yeah. Never mind. I’ll be there at eight.”

  “Sharp.”

  She headed toward the house, aware of the van still idling behind her. Ever the gentleman, Franklin would make sure she made it inside safely before pulling away. Meanwhile, the neighbors were probably peering through their curtains, curious and nervous about the presence of a coroner’s wagon on their quiet street.

  The door flew open before she got the key to the lock. Rose Bassi, Zoe’s absentee best friend, pulled her inside and into her arms. “Thank God.” Rose’s voice wavered. “When I kept hearing sirens, I turned on the news and heard one of our ambulance crews had been attacked. I was afraid you might have been…”

  Zoe returned the crushing embrace. “I’m fine.”

  Rose and Zoe had grown up together, more sisters than friends. The four months they’d just spent apart seemed like four years. So much had happened. Life. Death. Loss of trust. Homelessness.

  Gasping for air, Zoe extricated herself from Rose’s hug. “Wait.” She turned and waved out the door at Franklin. The van pulled away. Wheeling back to Rose, she asked, “What are you doing here? Wasn’t I supposed to pick you up at the airport tomorrow night?”

  “We finagled an earlier flight. Sylvia picked us up.”

  A teenage girl appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, cradling one of Zoe’s orange tabbies. “Aunt Zoe! I’m so glad you’re okay. We were worried.”

  Jade, the other cat, trotted past the girl to a half-empty bowl of food.

  Awed, Zoe studied the teen. “Allison? What happened to you?”

  Rose slipped an arm around Zoe’s waist and beamed. “She grew up.”

  Allison Bassi had been through hell and back last winter. She’d gone from strawberry blond ponytailed innocence to black-haired Goth drug addict before crashing and starting the long road back. The fifteen-year-old woman-child standing in front of Zoe now bore little resemblance to the broken china doll Zoe remembered. A short reddish bob replaced the long hair. Instead of t-shirts bearing the logos of rock bands, she wore a western-style shirt in shades of turquoise and coral. Only the skin-tight jeans remained…except these ones were a deeper blue and had no holes or rips.

  Most importantly, when the girl smiled, clarity shone in her blue eyes. “What do you think?”

  “I think—you look incredible.” Zoe crossed to the girl, stepping over Jade, and threw her arms around her. Merlin, the tabby Allison had been holding, wriggled free with an unhappy meow.

  Zoe took Allison by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length. “New Mexico agreed with you.” After a glance at Rose, she added, “Both of you.”

  “I loved it there,” Allison said. “Not at first, maybe. But the space, the quiet.” She opened her arms wide. “I felt free.”

  Rose leaned a hip against the kitchen counter. “For the first time in her life, she wasn’t plugged into her phone or her music twenty-four-seven.”

  “I was pretty mad when you took my phone and computer away.” The teen laughed, a bright bubbly sound. “But I don’t miss them now.”

  Zoe looked over Allison’s shoulder toward the hallway. “Speaking of missing, where’s Logan?”

  “He stayed behind,” Rose said.

  Stunned, Zoe met her friend’s gaze. The smile had faded.

  “He has a girlfriend,” Allison said.

  Rose gave an exaggerated sigh. “He’s eighteen now.”

  Allison snickered. “Which he reminds us of every chance he gets.”

  “I made him promise to come back for Thanksgiving or I’ll go out there and drag him home, eighteen and legal or not.”

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Allison said to Zoe. “I moved your stuff across the hall to his room.”

  “Oh.” Zoe glanced from the girl to Rose. “I was planning on having my things packed and out of here before you got home tomorrow.”

  Rose raised an eyebrow. “And where were you planning to move to? Pete’s house?”

  Zoe’s cheeks warmed. “No. He’s asked a time or two, but I think that’s rushing things a bit.” And so far, rushing things hadn’t proved healthy for their budding relationship.

  “Where then?”

  “Earl and his wife offered me their guest room.” Zoe didn’t mention she’d turned them down.

  “Please stay here.” Allison gave Merlin a hug, burying her nose into his fur.

  Zoe wondered if the teen was asking her or the cats to stick around.

  “Of course she’ll stay,” Rose said. Case closed. “How are Mr. and Mrs. Kroll?”

  Zoe’s former landlords. “On the mend.” She still wasn’t able to talk about—or think about—the day two months ago when she’d lost almost everything she owned.

  Rose knew her well enough to understand the abbreviated answer. She hiked a thumb toward the kitchen door. “So tell me about the shooting tonight. They said there was a fatality.”

  Fatigue weakened Zoe’s knees. She dropped into one of the kitchen chairs and stumbled through the story, fighting to get the words out.

  “Barry’s gone?” Rose covered her mouth with one trembling hand.

  Allison deposited Merlin next to the cat food and joined the two women at the kitchen table. “He was friends with Dad, wasn’t he?”

  “Barry was friends with everyone.” Rose stood and paced to the stove before turning toward Zoe. “Why on earth would someone do such a thing?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  “Isn’t Curtis Knox supposed to get married soon?”

  “Yeah.” Zoe hadn’t thought about that. “He and Lucy have been planning a big wedding. Everyone at the garage has been really excited about it.”

  “How bad is he?”

  “I haven’t heard.”

  Rose crossed the room and lovingly fingered a framed photograph on the wall—a photo of her late husband in his firefighter’s uniform. “Dear God. I hope they can keep planning their wedding and not have to plan a funeral instead.”

  Sleep came reluctantly after Zoe stayed up until past one a.m. gabbing with her friend. Even so, she was wide awake by six. She managed to dress in silence and tiptoed into the hall, peeking into Rose and Allison’s rooms on her way to the kitchen. Neither showed signs of stirring. Still on New Mexico time, Zoe reminded herself.

  She made coffee. The aroma failed to rouse them. Although Rose had said she’d be happy to drive Zoe to Bud Kramer’s Garage early this morning, she didn’t have the heart to wake her.

  At seven, Zoe slipped outside into a perfect early autumn morning. The humidity of summer had evaporated, leaving the air mild and comfortable. She’d often joked that southwestern Pennsylvania managed three perfect weather days per year. This might be one of them.

  Too bad the death of one friend and wounding of another left a gloomy pall.

  She walked two houses down and knocked on the door. A robust grandmotherly woman answered within seconds.r />
  “Zoe?” Sylvia Bassi stepped back to allow her into the kitchen. “What are you doing here?”

  “I figured you’d be awake.”

  “Of course I’m awake. I’m always awake.”

  “I need a ride to Kramer’s to pick up my truck.”

  Rose’s mother-in-law studied her for a moment. “Pete can’t take you because he’s still tied up with the shooting.”

  “I wasn’t sure if you’d heard.”

  Sylvia sniffed. “It’s all over the news. Terrible thing. Just terrible.”

  “Did the news mention anything about Curtis?”

  “The last report on TV said he was in guarded condition.” Sylvia eyed Zoe over the top of her glasses. “Are you assisting on the Dickson boy’s autopsy?”

  “If I can get there. My truck—”

  Sylvia snatched a set of keys from a hook near the door. “Your truck is at Kramer’s. Let’s go.”

  The early morning sun bathed the unreclaimed strip mine’s slag piles in the golden light of autumn, turning them into something almost pretty. Almost. The rolling dirt and gravel mounds bore slices and ruts, carved by local kids’ dirt bikes and ATVs. Some days these desolate valleys echoed with the buzz of off-road vehicles, sounding like swarms of gigantic hornets. Today, however, cicadas trilled in the patches of tall grass, interrupted only by the squawk of radio transmissions.

  Pete sipped his umpteenth cup of horrible coffee and gazed at the scene where two good men had been gunned down less than twelve hours earlier. The fire department had packed up their generators and halogen lights and pulled out. The ambulance and the overturned quad, which had baited the paramedics, had been towed away. Helicopters no longer marred the crystal blue sky above. However, the mobile command center and crime scene unit trucks remained. Teams of officers and techs searched the surrounding rocks and weeds with the painstaking precision of an archeological dig in the hopes of finding a spent round from the shooter’s weapon.

  “We got nothing,” Wayne Baronick muttered as he approached. He’d arrived late last night, after Franklin Marshall and Zoe had removed the body.