A Merciful Fate

by Elliot, Kendra

  He nodded.

  Her jaw tightened, and she continued down the hall. In Bree’s bedroom she stopped. “Can I touch things?”

  “What do you need to do?”

  “Just get a change of clothes out of her drawers and closet.”

  “Touch only what you need to.”

  Sandy opened a drawer with one finger and removed underclothes and a pair of black yoga pants as Truman watched. At the open closet she took a shirt and sweatshirt. Truman was about to mention how warm the weather was but kept his mouth shut. Sandy had picked comfort clothing, the type of clothes to wear while watching TV from the couch all day. It’d be quite a while before Bree could wear the clothing. The task was more for Sandy; she needed to do something.

  “I’ll grab her Kindle,” Sandy murmured. “She’ll like that. I’ll run this stuff back to the hospital after I stop by my place. I had someone new set up the breakfast buffet, and I want to look it over.” Sandy nervously chatted away, and Truman knew she wasn’t looking for conversation. She was simply filling the silence of the house. She found the Kindle in a nightstand drawer and rooted deeper for the charger, still talking about the buffet food.

  Truman watched. The room had been lightly searched overnight. Everyone had agreed it appeared the attacker hadn’t entered any of the bedrooms.

  Abruptly Sandy’s monologue stopped. “Truman . . .” She had removed a few folded pieces of paper from inside the cover of the Kindle and was scowling at one. It was wrinkled, as if it’d been balled up at one time. Her hand shook as she gave it to Truman.

  You’ll do it if you want your son to live.

  His blood turned to ice; his hands were numb on the paper. “What do the others say?”

  “More of the same,” Sandy whispered. “Oh my God. What did he want her to do?”

  Truman took the three sheets of paper with gloved hands. They were slightly smudged as if they’d been rubbed in dirt. Found outdoors?

  Each one threatened Bree or her son. None specified what she was to do.

  Did she already know what to do?

  “Do you think the same person attacked her?” Sandy whispered and then turned accusing eyes on him. “Why didn’t you find these earlier?”

  Guilt swamped him. “We were looking for evidence left by the attacker.”

  “I’d say he left these at some point in time.”

  “Why didn’t she come to us with these?” Truman silently cursed at Bree. “Why didn’t she tell Lucas?”

  “Because he’s threatened in the notes too.”

  “All the more reason to tell someone.” He eyed Sandy. “Don’t hide this kind of shit.”

  “Never.” Her hand trembled as she took a page from him and read it again. “Why wouldn’t she say anything? What would she lose by taking these to the police?”

  “Maybe she didn’t take them seriously.”

  “Then she would have thrown them away.”

  Truman stared at the words if you want your son to live.

  He whipped out his cell phone and called Lucas’s number.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Standing in the warm late-morning sun, Mercy looked at the notes.

  Inside plastic sleeves was paper that had been ripped out of a spiral notebook, the left-side edges still tattered. She met Truman’s calm gaze. He’d called her to Bree Ingram’s home to discuss Tabitha Huff’s possible link to Bree’s attack. Detective Evan Bolton had arrived a few minutes after. Both he and Truman looked as if they’d been up most of the night. Their faces were long and their eyes were tired.

  Is Bree’s attack part of the Gamble-Helmet Heist case?

  Truman thought so.

  “Has Lucas been warned?” she asked.

  “Yes. He’s at the hospital. County has a deputy at the door of Bree’s room. I told the deputy to stay close.”

  “Did Lucas ask why?”

  Truman looked grim. “He did. I told him we found some threats at his mother’s house that included him. He was shocked. I had to repeat several times that he’s to stick by the deputy. He wanted to drive right out here and take a look.”

  “I understand why he believes that he doesn’t need protection.” The office manager was the size of a professional linebacker.

  The sound of tires on gravel caught her attention. Her boss had arrived. Jeff joined their group, looking as exhausted as the first two men.

  “We’re a sad-looking bunch,” Mercy commented. “Looks like none of us got much sleep last night.” She handed the threatening notes to Jeff.

  “I’m not sure I follow what these have to do with the robbery,” Jeff said, blinking wearily at the handwriting.

  “Shane Gamble brought in Tabitha Huff after Ellis Mull was found. Tabitha met with both Bree and Sandy to ask about their vandalism,” Truman stated. “Tabitha was murdered, and now Bree has been attacked—nearly killed.”

  “Where’s Sandy?” Mercy asked.

  “She’s checking the buffet at her place, and then she’ll go to the hospital to stay with Bree. She found the notes.”

  “Sandy discovered these? Did she lead you right to them?” Mercy asked, the hair on the back of her neck standing up.

  “Why was she allowed at the scene?” Detective Bolton asked with a hard look at Truman.

  Truman raised his chin the tiniest bit. “I was with her at all times. She was getting clothing for Bree and found the notes in her room. I saw it happen.”

  “I thought Ms. Ingram was still unconscious,” Jeff added. “Why did Sandy take it upon herself to get clothes for a woman who couldn’t ask for them and won’t need them for a while?”

  “I get it,” Mercy replied, feeling a guilty need to back Truman. “Sandy’s a doer. She’s the type of person who can’t sit still. I can see her pacing in Bree’s hospital room, needing to do something.”

  “That’s pretty much the impression I got too,” answered Truman.

  Mercy didn’t miss the glance he flicked her way. He didn’t need her to speak for him.

  “Shane Gamble said he gave Tabitha a message to deliver,” Mercy reminded Jeff. “Could it have been for Bree or Sandy?”

  “Tabitha Huff talked to nearly every person in a ten-mile radius of town,” Jeff muttered.

  “But Bree was clearly in some sort of danger.” Mercy pointed at the notes in Jeff’s hand.

  “How would Gamble know Bree was in danger and want to warn her?” Truman asked. “Why would he know anything? He’s sitting in prison.”

  “He contacted Tabitha after my first interview. Something I said must have been relevant—that we missed or didn’t understand—that made him want to warn someone.”

  “It could have been anyone Tabitha talked to,” Detective Bolton stated as he looked at Mercy. “Heck, she talked to you.”

  Jeff gave a tired sigh. “What do we know about these two women? Could they have known Gamble or some of his gang in the past?” He swayed slightly.

  Suspicious, Mercy reached over and placed her hand on Jeff’s forehead. “Dammit, Jeff, it’s got you too! Your forehead is hot enough to fry an egg.” Why is he working while sick? “Go home. Rose has it and so does one of her preschoolers. I don’t want it.”

  Truman and Evan both took a step out of their circle.

  “You need help—” Jeff started.

  “What I need is to not get the flu,” Mercy interrupted him. “Then no one will be able to work this case.”

  “I can’t just—”

  “Yes, you can. Now leave.” She shot a get-out-of-here glare at him. “You’re welcome to call and email me all you want. Just don’t breathe the same air as me. Or touch the same stuff.” She took the notes out of his hands, glad she still wore gloves. Truman had removed his gloves, and out of the corner of her eye she saw him surreptitiously rub his hands on his pants.

  Jeff looked at her a moment longer, defeat in his eyes. “I’ll go. But tell them.”

  Truman and Evan’s interest was piqued.

  “I will,�
�� she promised. I’d already planned to share our new information with them this morning.

  Jeff quietly left the group, making Mercy realize he was sicker than he’d let on.

  “Should he be driven home?” she asked the other men.

  Both shook their heads.

  Men.

  “I’m holding the two of you responsible if he gets in an accident.”

  Neither looked concerned.

  “Okay.” Mercy looked at the notes in her hands. “There’re enough correlations here for the FBI to consider that Bree’s attack might be related to the robbery. Let’s get these notes to the lab. Have we heard anything on fingerprints from the knife he used? Who is working on whittling down red trucks in the area?”

  “I have a guy on the trucks,” said Evan. “And I expect to hear from the lab about fingerprints any minute. But first I want to know what Jeff wanted you to tell us.” Truman nodded in agreement.

  Mercy cleared her throat. “One of Tabitha Huff’s notes suggests that the driver at the Gamble-Helmet Heist was a woman.”

  And now that I know Bree’s attack could be related to the robbery, it makes her a possible suspect.

  Their surprise was palpable.

  The two men exchanged a glance. “But even Gamble refers to the driver as ‘him’ or Jerry,” said Truman, his eyes skeptical.

  “Maybe he had a good reason to do so.”

  “He’s been protecting someone for thirty years?” Evan asked. “I can’t see it. Maybe he’d do it for a year or two, but why for so long?”

  “Who knows?” said Mercy. “If he has protected her, that means she’s someone very special. All the investigating done in the past didn’t turn up a girlfriend for Shane Gamble. Trevor Whipple had a few, but all their alibis checked out.”

  “You think Bree could be that woman?” Truman said faintly.

  Mercy saw it was hard for him to wrap his brain around the idea that the petite mother of Lucas could have been involved in one of the biggest heists of the twentieth century.

  “Now that I’ve seen this attack, I think she’s a possibility.”

  “This is ridiculous. I’ve known Bree—”

  “For barely two years,” Mercy said firmly.

  “But Lucas—”

  “Might know absolutely nothing of his mother’s past.” She sighed. “I know this is difficult, Truman. I want to get Art’s opinion on the female theory.”

  Both Evan and Truman frowned. “Wasn’t he removed from the investigation after the shooting?” Evan asked.

  “Yes, he’s in bureaucratic limbo. But I can’t let that stop me. No one knows this case better than him.”

  “What about female relatives of the thieves?” Truman asked. “Mull had four sisters, right? I assume the other men had some too. Were they even looked at back then?”

  “There was extensive investigation into the families and friends of the thieves. I spent hours looking into their last ten years overnight. Twelve women. I checked sisters, cousins, and mothers,” said Mercy. “That’s why my eyes are completely bloodshot. But I can’t find anything that suggests any relatives came into money after the robbery.”

  “Maybe she didn’t get paid,” Evan suggested. “Once the plan fell apart, maybe she decided to cut her losses and play it quiet.”

  “Help me out here,” Mercy asked. “Assume for a moment that Bree was the driver. Which person wrote these threatening notes and what do they want her to do?”

  “As I see it,” said Truman, “they’re threatening her life and Lucas’s, so it’s got to be about big money or else the note writer’s own life feels threatened.”

  “But if the note writer feels threatened,” continued Mercy, “don’t you think he’d tell her to not do something . . . instead of telling her to do something?”

  “You’re leaning toward this being about money, not his life,” added Evan. “Most likely money from the robbery.”

  “The writer wants money,” Mercy asserted. “It fits.”

  “Why did he wait thirty years?” asked Evan. “Why now?”

  Mercy shrugged. “Maybe he recently ran out of money? He’s ordering her to give him money or he’ll kill Lucas . . . or her. And it’s a good possibility he tried last night.”

  “If he wanted to kill Bree last night, he had plenty of time to do so,” said Truman. “Her attacker tortured her—he cut off two fingers. I think he wanted information and she wasn’t sharing—or she didn’t know the answer.”

  “I bet that information is the location of money. If she was the driver in the robbery, would she still have money after all these years?” asked Evan.

  “Maybe she doesn’t have any,” said Mercy, “but he doesn’t believe her. I’m going to request her financial records as far back as I can. See if there are any red flags.”

  “Was he involved in the robbery or not? It could have been someone else who heard a rumor that Bree had money.” Truman passed a hand over his forehead, and Mercy sympathized. Her brain hurt from the possibilities too. “We don’t even know who this ‘he’ is that we keep talking about.”

  “I’ll request to have the high school photos of Whipple and May aged. I keep thinking of them as young men when they’re closer to fifty.”

  “That would help,” Truman agreed.

  “We really need to hear what Bree has to say,” she said. “What’s the latest on her condition?”

  “Earlier Sandy told me she was still unconscious.”

  Mercy pressed her lips together. Sandy again. “Maybe Sandy needs to be kept out of Bree’s room.”

  Truman swung his head her way, anger in his eyes. “That’s ridiculous. She’s her closest friend.”

  “Close friends share secrets. Maybe secrets about money.”

  “Sandy would have said something,” Truman argued.

  “I don’t know either of these women,” said Evan. “But what Mercy has suggested is logical. If Sandy knows Bree has a large sum of money, she has motive for Bree’s attack. I’ll call the deputy at the hospital.”

  “What about the notes? Sandy’s the one who found them,” Truman pointed out. “Someone threatened Bree and Lucas.”

  “Maybe Sandy planted the notes,” suggested Evan. “It takes the focus off of her.”

  Truman crossed his arms, clearly wanting to argue. “I know both these women.” He looked at Mercy, disbelief in his eyes. “You do too. This is insane.”

  “We’re just speculating, Truman. We have to consider all the possibilities, and I’ll look at Sandy’s background too. That might clear some things up.”

  “Her previous name was Jada Kerns,” he offered. “I don’t know what it was before she married.”

  “I’ll figure it out.”

  “She’s a good person, Mercy.”

  “I agree. But good people commit crimes too,” Mercy stated.

  He said nothing, but his disappointment settled over her like a heavy blanket.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Glass from a second-story window at Sandy’s bed-and-breakfast shattered as a woman screamed. Truman ducked behind his truck, shoving his hat tighter on his head. He had just returned to Eagle’s Nest from the investigation at Bree’s home and immediately he, Samuel, and Ben Cooley had been called to an incident at the B&B.

  A guest had reported that a man with a rifle had burst into the old home and waved his weapon around, threatening to shoot unless Sandy came out of the kitchen. When she did, he forced her up the stairs and locked himself and her in a guest room while the rest of the guests evacuated the property.

  The officers had barely stepped out of their vehicles when the glass shattered.

  “I knew this was going to happen!” Samuel shouted at him, frustration burning in his eyes.

  Truman glared at the officer crouching beside him, their backs against his vehicle. Samuel’s face had gone white with anger, and his hand hovered over the gun at his side. He shook with outrage. Exactly what Truman—and Sandy—didn’t need right now. />
  “No one could have predicted this,” Truman snapped. “Now shut the fuck up and pay attention.” Truman stole a glance at the broken second-story window in Sandy’s bed-and-breakfast, glad he’d parked across the street. Ben was twenty feet to Truman’s left, taking cover behind his own vehicle.

  “Has Lucas called county?” Samuel asked in a calmer voice.

  “Yes. They’re sending their SWAT team and hostage negotiator. Did you see what he broke the window with?” Truman asked.

  “The butt of his rifle. Not the smartest move. Maybe the gun is damaged now.”

  “I think we figured out he wasn’t the brightest character a few days ago with all the vandalism.”

  Is this the same guy who nearly killed Bree?

  Angry shouts came from the window, male and female. Truman recognized Sandy’s voice but couldn’t make out the words. All he knew was that she was pissed and letting her attacker know it.

  I’d rather hear that than terrified screams.

  Is it her ex-husband?

  “Are we just going to sit here?” Samuel couldn’t hold still. He continuously ran his hands over his utility belt, taking a subconscious inventory, his energy distracting Truman.

  “Tell county to set a perimeter around this block. We don’t need pedestrians strolling into the area.”

  Samuel grabbed the radio mic at his shoulder and relayed Truman’s message.

  Truman’s mind was spinning. If this attack was from Sandy’s ex-husband, did that mean he’d tortured Bree too?

  Is Sandy’s ex involved with the Gamble-Helmet Heist?

  Ben calmly watched Truman, waiting for orders.

  “Is it okay if I go in and get my phone? I’ll just be a minute,” came a female voice.

  Truman and Samuel both spun to their right to see who had spoken. A woman stood near the rear of Truman’s SUV—her back to the B&B—looking curiously at them.

  “Ma’am! Get out of the street!” Truman sputtered as Samuel darted to the back of the SUV, grabbed her arm, and pulled her to crouch next to Truman.

  She was about fifty and wore faded denim along with white laceless Keds tennis shoes like the ones Truman’s sister had worn in elementary school. She yanked her arm out of Samuel’s grip and shot him a death glare. “You don’t have to be rude!” She tried to stand, and Samuel pulled her back down.