With a Vengeance

by Annette Dashofy

  “We just have to find a weapon to match them to first,” Pete said.

  “Yeah. There is that.”

  Pete faced away from the men and rubbed a hand across his eyes. The exhaustion of the case and over forty-eight hours with virtually no sleep was catching up to him. As much as he wanted to push ahead, he needed rest. He turned back toward the table and pointed at Seth and Kevin. “You two. Go home and get a few hours’ sleep.”

  Seth straightened. “But—”

  Pete shushed him with a wave of his hand. “We need to work this in shifts until we nail this guy.”

  “What about you?” Kevin asked.

  “I’m going home too.” To Nate and the part-timers, Pete said, “Find Eli ‘Snake’ Sullivan. Or find out where the hell he was last night and between seven fifteen and eight thirty on Thursday night. And keep an eye out for that quad he says he sold.”

  Baronick folded his arms. “I had the impression you didn’t believe he did this.”

  Pete spun on the detective. “I don’t believe anything one way or the other. Sullivan’s lied about his whereabouts during the first shooting. We’re looking for a quad, and he has or had one. If nothing else, I want to clear him so I can eliminate one possibility.”

  The two men glared at each other for a moment before Baronick nodded. “I’ll get on my men to find those stray bullets buried in the mud at the Loomis place.”

  Pete stepped back. “Good. And one more thing. I want a police escort on every emergency call in Vance Township tonight.”

  Nate gave a low whistle. “On a Saturday night? I hope everyone stays off the streets and out of the bars. We’re gonna be busy.”

  “What about the rest of Monongahela County?” Baronick asked.

  Pete held up his hands. “That’s your problem. I have to take care of my own jurisdiction.” And if he had any say in the matter, no more first responders were going to die on his watch.

  Rose paced her kitchen, a tissue clenched in one fist. “I can’t believe this is happening. First Curtis and Barry. Now Yancy and—” Her voice cracked. “Jason Dyer.” She gestured toward the kitchen chair Zoe currently occupied. “Jason used to sit right there with Logan while they did their homework.”

  “I didn’t realize they were so close,” Zoe said.

  Rose paused at the sink and stared into it as if it held answers to the unfairness in life. “Jason and Logan went to school together, were lab partners, played football and basketball together. After Jason’s dad died, Ted stepped in and kind of filled the void a little. Ted would take both boys to the fire station with him. Logan had no interest in joining the department, but Jason was in love with the idea of fighting fires and saving lives. He was a good kid.”

  Zoe gazed through the screen door.

  The warm sunshine and low humidity outside mocked the sorrow and anxiety blanketing the inside of the Bassi house. “Are you gonna call Logan and tell him?”

  “I guess I have to.” Rose opened the dishwasher and rolled out the bottom shelf. “I really don’t know how I’m gonna break the news to him. Or Allison. She kinda had a crush on Jason for a while. I hope this doesn’t set her back.”

  The memory of a suicidal and drug-addicted girl flashed through Zoe’s mind. She brushed it aside. “Allison’s stronger now. And we’re both here for her.”

  Rose cast a strained glance over her shoulder at Zoe. “We’ve all lost so much this year.”

  “Where is she anyway?”

  Rose started picking through the dirty plates and containers in the dishwasher, rearranging them. “She’s spending some girl time with my mom.”

  “How’s your mother doing?” Zoe asked. The older woman had been having a string of minor health issues over recent months.

  “Better. The doctors finally seem to have her meds adjusted right.” Rose inspected a warped plastic storage box she’d removed from the bottom rack. “Who loaded the dishwasher?”

  “Me.” Zoe squirmed. She hadn’t had one at the farm. Nor had she used Rose’s while staying there alone. However, now that Rose was back and had been sticking dirty plates and glassware in the thing, Zoe figured she’d make herself useful and help out. “Why?”

  Rose turned and held up the now oddly shaped box. “Plastic goes in the top rack so the heating element doesn’t melt it.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  She slid the upper drawer out and removed a dirty pot. “And big stuff goes on the bottom. Otherwise, it doesn’t get clean.”

  Oops. “Yes, Mom.”

  Rose shot her a dark scowl. But the look quickly softened. “You look worn out.”

  Zoe rubbed her eyes. “I am.” She thought of Pete and suspected he had to be even more exhausted than she was.

  Rose continued to reconfigure the dishwasher contents. “Go take a nap.”

  “I supposed I’d better. If this gunman makes it three nights in a row…” Zoe shivered at the thought.

  Rose, a glass in her hand, spun to face Zoe. “Don’t say that. Don’t even hint at it. I can’t stand the thought of losing anyone else. I’m hoping he’s done. Or—Heaven forgive me for wishing this horror on another town—but I hope he moves on to someplace else.”

  Zoe didn’t answer. Didn’t want to destroy Rose’s fantasy. But she knew that’s what it was.

  No one in Monongahela County could rest easy until this monster was caught.

  Twelve

  If Pete could have avoided the press camped at the station’s front door, he would have. But he’d stalled them as long as possible. The group swarmed them the moment they stepped outside. Pete used a lot of standard keywords like “ongoing investigation” and “persons of interest” without giving away too many details. The reporters had done their homework and already knew about Yancy’s and Knox’s conditions as well as the coroner’s findings on the deceased. Pete and Baronick, as well as the State Police, had agreed to keep the ATV aspect quiet for now. They didn’t want their shooter to dump the only good link they had tying the cases together.

  After Pete gave his statement, the members of the media hurled questions at him. He pointed at a young woman he recognized from a local paper.

  “Is there a connection between the victims?”

  “They’re all emergency personnel,” Pete replied. From the look on her face, he knew that wasn’t what she had in mind, but before she could ask a follow-up question, he pointed to another reporter.

  “Do you think the shooter is randomly targeting ambulance and fire responders in general, or is he going after specific people?”

  “We’re still investigating.” Pete gave the same answer to the next three variations on the same question.

  One young man elbowed his way to the front of the crowd and shoved a microphone toward Pete. “Do you think the 911 Killer will strike again tonight?”

  There it was. Someone in the press had given the guy a name. “Not if I can help it,” Pete said, his words greeted by a barrage of serial-killer-on-the-loose questions. Knowing he was on the verge of saying something he’d regret—and would no doubt see on every newscast on every network for the foreseeable future—he slapped his ball cap on his head and muscled his way through the crowd toward his car.

  Behind him Baronick gave a more politically correct closing to the briefing before trailing after Pete.

  “That went well.” Sarcasm oozed from Baronick’s words.

  Pete grunted. “The 911 Killer. Just what we need.”

  “You knew it was bound to happen. Now what?”

  Pete glanced back at the reporters, some climbing back into their vehicles, some texting, a few setting up to film their on-air personalities filling in the blanks. “Now we catch the son of a bitch before he lives up to his reputation.”

  Pete phoned Deputy Fire Chief Todd Onderick and asked to meet him at the ambulance garage.
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  The EMS crew on duty was uncharacteristically subdued. Black bands adorned their sleeves. When Onderick arrived, he wore the same symbol of mourning on his arm, plus a black band across his badge.

  Pete gathered everyone in the ambulance crew lounge.

  “What’s goin’ on, Chief?” Onderick asked. “Do we all have targets on our backs?”

  “Until we catch this guy, we have to assume the worst. That’s why I wanted to speak to all of you.” Pete gazed around the room at the various expressions. Worry. Sadness. Anger. But if anyone was afraid, they were covering it well. “It’s my hope that we’ll have an available police officer to respond to each and every emergency call that comes in tonight. Even so, there are some precautions I want all of you to observe. If the call takes you to a remote location or vacant structure, make sure you request police backup if we aren’t already there. And stay in your vehicle until we’ve secured the scene.”

  One of the paramedics, a young woman with long red curls, raised her hand. Pete nodded to her.

  “What if the delay results in a critical patient not being treated?” she asked.

  “So far there haven’t been any patients involved in one of these ambushes. Keep in mind the shooter set up a staged accident scene with the overturned ATV. But there was no patient.”

  “In other words, as long as we can see a victim, we can go in?” another paramedic asked.

  Myriad scenarios danced through Pete’s brain. If the shooter got wise to their precautions, would he be so brazen as to fake illness or injury to lure a crew into his trap? “Be alert to anything that seems not quite right. If there’s any doubt, wait for the police. Keep your eyes open. And for crying out loud, if you don’t see a patient, stay in your vehicles.”

  “I just don’t want to put a patient in jeopardy because of this idiot,” the redhead said.

  Pete covered a smile. He could imagine Zoe saying the same thing. “And I don’t want to put any more EMS or fire personnel in jeopardy because of him either. Be smart. You won’t be able to help anyone if you’re—if you become the next patient.” He caught himself before saying if you’re dead.

  He turned to face Onderick. “Same with the fire department. If responding to a fire in a questionable area and no one is in clear and present danger, wait for backup.”

  “This is crazy,” the deputy fire chief said. “Because of one psycho, we’re putting lives and property at risk.” He shook his head. “I understand if it’s a situation like these last two. A barn on an abandoned farm. A desolate location like the cuts. But I’m not taking unnecessary precautions just because we’re paranoid.”

  Pete stepped toward Onderick and fixed him with a hard glare. “We don’t know how this guy is going to change things up. One night it’s an overturned quad. The next it’s a barn fire. We can’t expect him to be predictable or obvious. You may not want to take what you feel are unnecessary precautions with your own life, but what about your men?”

  The deputy fire chief lowered his gaze.

  Pete did a slow turn, pausing to meet every one of the seven sets of eyes watching him. “We can’t afford to lose any more brave men and women. As I said before, I hope to have at least one officer respond with each call so the scene can be cleared as quickly as possible. But odds are good there will be cases in which you arrive first. Use your heads. We know this guy is still out there. He’s hit two nights in a row. I see no reason to expect him to skip one at this point.”

  The brutal truth sent the room into silence.

  After a moment, the paramedic Pete recognized as the crew chief for the shift stood and approached him with his hand extended. “You’ve got our full support. Just do me one favor.”

  Pete clasped the offered hand. “What’s that?”

  “Catch this nutcase. Tonight.”

  Zoe’s attempt at an afternoon nap resulted in a mishmash of nightmares, most of which she was grateful she couldn’t remember. Feeling more drained rather than less, she decided to head to the farm to do some barn work. Except her truck sat at Bud Kramer’s Garage. Not only was she homeless, she was now stranded as well, dependent on Rose for room, board, and wheels.

  “Take me with you,” Allison said when Zoe asked to borrow Rose’s car.

  Zoe hesitated, shooting a questioning look in Rose’s direction.

  “If it’s okay with Zoe, it’s okay with me,” Rose said, digging through her purse and coming up with a set of keys.

  The teen fist-pumped. “I’ll be right back. I need to get my boots.”

  Rose gave an exasperated sigh. “I should warn you. What she really wants is to drive.”

  Drive? Little Allison? “She’s not old enough,” Zoe said. “Is she?”

  Rose shrugged. “She’ll be sixteen in November. She’ll ask to drive on the road. The answer is no. I made the mistake of letting her get behind the wheel out in New Mexico on some of the back roads. But traffic is way different here.”

  Allison clomped back into the kitchen, hopping on one foot while tugging a boot onto the other. “Okay, I’m ready. Can I drive?”

  Rose raised an eyebrow at Zoe—a wordless I-told-you-so.

  “Your mother says no.”

  “How about once we get there? On the farm lane?”

  Zoe detected a minute nod from Rose. “Sure. Why not.”

  During the short trip from Dillard to the Kroll farm, Allison talked nonstop about starting back to school on Monday as a junior. In some ways the girl was a typical teen, but Zoe knew what she’d gone through almost a year ago. Therapy and the escape to New Mexico had taken her a long way from those dark days. Hopefully Allison had developed the strength and coping mechanisms to handle high school life where everyone knew—or thought they knew—what had happened to her.

  No sooner had Zoe turned into the farm lane, than Allison started fidgeting in the passenger seat. “Can I drive now?”

  Zoe braked on the bend where the lane swung toward the back of the house, or what had been the house. Currently, three white pickups sat hillside above the lot. Someone on a Bobcat was digging what appeared to be a footer and several other workmen nailed boards together into forms along the portion already dug out.

  Shifting into park, Zoe opened the door. “Trade me seats.”

  Allison leaped out and passed Zoe in front of the car. Sliding into the passenger seat, she clicked her seatbelt.

  Allison rolled her eyes. “We’re only going a few hundred feet.”

  Zoe wagged a finger at her. “Doesn’t matter. Buckle up, kiddo.”

  With an exaggerated sigh, Allison did as ordered. She shifted into drive and gave the old Taurus a little too much gas, kicking up gravel. “Oops.”

  The short jaunt up the hill and over, rolling down the other side to the barn, took less than a minute, but Allison seemed pleased by her effort. No dents were added to Rose’s car or any of the half dozen or so boarders’ vehicles parked in front, so Zoe was equally happy.

  Laughter rang out from inside. A group of riders—all female—stripped saddles from their sweaty horses. Patsy spotted the new arrivals and waved. “You’re too late. We just got back.”

  “It was an awesome ride,” one preteen girl in a pink baseball cap gushed.

  “A perfect autumn day for being in the saddle,” added the girl’s mother.

  Zoe’s annoyance wasn’t entirely an act. “Rub it in a little more, why don’t you?”

  After a moment’s pause, Allison skirted the crowd and crossed toward the far end of the barn, where the doors opened to the pasture. Zoe headed for the tack room, wondering if the girl was simply eager to check out the rest of the horses, or if she was avoiding the trail riders.

  Patsy patted her Arabian’s glossy neck and stepped away from the group, catching Zoe at the tack room door. “How’d the autopsy go?”

  “We were late getting
there, so Franklin gave me a reprieve.”

  “You should have come riding.”

  “I know.”

  “How about tomorrow?”

  Tomorrow. What would tomorrow bring? Another autopsy? She shook her head.

  Patsy planted her fist against her hip. “Why not?”

  “Oh. I wasn’t saying no. I was…” What? Shaking off a recurring nightmare? “I’d like to, but it depends on…” She couldn’t say the words. It depends on if someone else gets shot tonight.

  “I’ll come pick you up.”

  “Can I call you in the morning and let you know for sure?”

  Patsy made a sour face. “Tell you what. I’ll pick you up at ten. Call if you can’t make it.”

  She spun on her heel and walked away before Zoe could object.

  She watched the riders brush out their sweaty mounts, taking turns leading their horses to the faucet at the far end of the indoor arena. In the middle of summer, there would have been water battles with no one caring about getting soaked. The cool fall air had the kids working a little harder to keep themselves dry.

  “Windstar’s gotten fat.” The voice behind her made her flinch. Allison stood there gazing at the ground, her mouth tense.

  “He needs exercise,” Zoe said. “I didn’t see you come back.”

  “I walked around the outside rather than cut through the mud where they’re bathing the horses.”

  A legitimate excuse. But there was something in the girl’s expression that convinced Zoe it wasn’t the real reason. And then it hit her. “Oh my God, Allison. Have you not been out here since—?”

  The teen shook her head, then tipped it toward the spot on the ground where her gaze was fixed. “I almost died there.”

  Zoe didn’t know whether to pull the girl into her arms or smack herself in the head. How stupid could she be? Of course Allison hadn’t been back to the barn since that awful night last January. “Why didn’t you say something?”