by Rachel Ford
The question, then, became where along the way had that crusade cost Covington his life? Did it have anything to do with Reed Hill and Rick Wynder? Or did he poke a hornet’s nest somewhere else?
The timing seemed to indicate it had nothing to do with Reed Hill. It happened years later.
Then again, maybe that was by design. Maybe whoever killed him waited long enough so that no one would make the connection. And maybe Covington had never given up on Reed Hill. Maybe he thought the state’s investigation or even Sean Abbot himself had been compromised.
Maybe he kept poking around; and maybe someone couldn’t allow that.
Which meant – what? Even if the Reed Hill business tied directly to Arthur Covington’s death, did it have any bearing on or relation to Rick and Marsha Wynder’s?
He didn’t know. But he thought he might know someone who did: Sean Abbot.
There’d been something off about his interview. He’d sensed that earlier. There could be all kinds of reasons, of course. He wasn’t going to assume corruption – not about Abbot, and not about Rick, either.
Because that’s ultimately where this led, didn’t it? If Abbot did botch the investigation, or cover something up, he’d have been covering for Rick. Which meant Rick had done something that needed to be covered up.
And Halverson didn’t want to assume that. He liked a nice, neat investigation that completely cleared the judge. There was no ambiguity, no gray area, no suspicion with a resolution like that. No mess.
But life was rarely that clean, that cut and dry, was it?
And maybe in the end, that’s all there was to it: it wasn’t as black and white as Abbot made it seem. Maybe he hadn’t found any actionable evidence against Rick. But maybe political or interpersonal reasons had pushed him to exaggerate just how much of a nothing burger it had been.
He lifted the receiver to his desk phone and dialed the number he’d found earlier for Sean Abbot. After a brief hesitation, the line rang.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sean Abbot heard it ring, but he was on the line already. He didn’t bother to check who might be trying to reach him, because this call took precedence.
It was a call from a number in Missouri – a number he hoped he’d never hear from again.
But here he was anyway. Roy needed to go over his conversation with the pair of amateur investigators, in detail. He wanted to know everything they’d said.
Which didn’t make a lot of sense to Sean. Not at first, anyway. He’d already told him everything that transpired.
But Roy was Roy; and Roy called the shots. So if he wanted a play-by-play, well, he got it.
“You’re sure he said they were ‘investigating privately’ and not ‘private investigators?’”
“A hundred percent.” He’d confirmed twice already.
“And they didn’t elucidate?”
“No, they didn’t. Like I told you, I think they’re some kind of amateur. The old guy was –” He cut off. He thought he heard a noise from the hall. Which didn’t make sense, because he lived alone.
“Sean?”
“Sorry, Roy, I thought I heard something.”
“When Day was there, you mean?”
“No, now.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Abbot?”
He shook his head. He must have imagined it. “Nothing. The wind, probably. Anyway, the two guys were some kind of amateurs. The old guy, Tanney, had one foot in the grave already.”
“But he had a partner? The guy who called himself Day?”
“That’s right. He…” Again, Sean paused. Again, he could have sworn he heard – something.
“Abbot?” Roy’s voice sounded impatient. “You there?”
“Yeah. Listen, Roy, I’ll call you back.”
“What? I’m not done –”
He pressed the button, though, and crept toward his office door. Roy would be pissed, but he needed the line free in case he had to call 9-1-1. Because he was sure this time. Something – or someone – was out there, roaming around in his house.
He reached the door. The phone started to ring, loud and shrill. The Missouri number flashed across the screen. Sean swore under his breath and turned the ringer off. He listened for a long moment.
Nothing.
He peered into the hall, first in one direction and then the other. Clear.
He stepped out of the room and headed toward the front door. He passed the den – what had been his wife’s office, before the divorce. Too late, from the corner of his eye, he noticed a flash of motion.
He started to spin toward the moving form, but a ring of cold metal pressed against his forehead, and a voice said, “Don’t move, Sean, or I’ll pull the trigger.”
He didn’t. He froze, watching in stupefaction as three other men in ski masks stepped out of rooms along the hallway: two from the den, and two more from the gaming room down the hall, the one he’d installed for the grandkids.
They joined the guy with the gun. Then again, they all had guns, and masks, and similar dark clothing.
He moved his lips, but no words came out. The phone in his hand vibrated again, and the feel of it made him jump. The barrel of the gun dug into his forehead.
“I’ll take that,” the guy with the gun said.
At the sound of another human voice, he seemed to find his own. “Who-who are you?”
“Never mind that.” The guy with the gun slipped the phone out of his hand and tapped to accept the incoming call.
For a moment, he didn’t speak. Then he said, “Yeah. We’re in. Got it. Right. One moment.” The guy with the gun handed the phone back. “It’s for you.”
Sean stared, watching in a kind of numb, uncomprehending shock. This couldn’t be happening. A home invasion? Here? Why? Who the hell were these people?
“Take it,” the guy with the gun said. When Sean didn’t move, he emphasized the urgency of the order with a jab of the barrel against his skull.
It hurt. Sean winced, and took the phone. Haltingly, hesitatingly, he put it to his ear. “Hello?”
“Sean?” Roy’s voice.
He started to breathe a sigh of relief. These are Roy’s guys. Then, the relief turned to panic. These are Roy’s guys?
What the hell were Roy’s guys doing here – with masks and guns no less?
“Can you hear me, Sean?”
“What the hell’s going on, Roy?”
“I need you to listen very carefully. A home security system: do you have one?”
“What?”
Roy repeated the question. Not that Sean needed to hear it a second time. Comprehension, not hearing, was his issue at the moment.
“Of course I do. But what the hell–?”
“Is it on?”
It wasn’t. Not while he was home. He’d kept it off the other night too – the night he’d paid Marsha a visit. Not that he expected anyone to connect him to the crime. But if they did, there was no sense them finding a video of him leaving. Not when he’d claimed to be home all evening.
He said none of that though. Instead, he demanded to know what was going on.
Roy repeated the question. “Your security system: is it running right now?”
“What the hell are you doing, Roy? This is completely unacceptable. This –”
“You need to start taking this seriously, Sean.” Roy’s tone was sharp. Angry. Ugly. “Answer the question.”
He swallowed and made a split-second decision – to lie. “Yes.”
“Okay. You just made the acquaintance of four gentlemen – associates of mine. You’re going to give them the logins and passwords they’re going to need to access any video and any backups.”
“Like hell.”
“I’m not asking.”
“And I’m not telling, Roy. You think I’m an idiot? You think I don’t know why your goons are here? They’re going to ‘handle’ me, right? The same way you’re going to ‘handle’ Halverson?”
“You’r
e not understanding, Sean. You don’t have a choice here.”
“Like hell I don’t. I’m not going to make it easy for you to kill me.”
“We’re not going to kill you.”
“Bullshit.”
“You’re going to kill yourself.”
He laughed at that. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”
“You’re going to have a long think about all the things you’ve done – all the gross, illegal things. All those kids.”
“They weren’t kids,” he said hotly.
“Not according to the law. Which you, of all people, should know.”
“Go to hell.”
“Not before you, Sean.”
“I’ll never do it.”
“You will. You will for two reasons. The first, my friends – the ones you’ve met – are very persuasive. The remorseful goodbye, the atonement for your sins – see, that’s the easy way, Sean. That’s the in recognition of our prior working relationship route.”
Sean licked his lips but said nothing.
“Now, should you turn down my generous offer, then we have to look at offers you won’t like so much. The kind of offers that involve toolboxes and power tools – and a lot of pain.”
“You-you wouldn’t.” He didn’t know why he said that. Guys like Roy didn’t get to be – well, guys like Roy without being ruthless bastards.
“I prefer not to, for old time’s sakes. And because I’m a big believer in redemption. In atoning for our sins.”
“Atoning for my sins? By killing myself?” The words came out with unvarnished incredulity.
“I think it would be for the best. My men will give you the details. And you’ll give them the logons and passwords. Won’t you, Sean?”
Sean hesitated.
“Won’t you.”
“Yes,” he lied. “Alright. I will.”
Roy paused for a beat. “Good. Now, I should warn you, my guys: they’re very perceptive. Paranoid, even. If they even think you’re lying to them. Well, it’ll be toolboxes and power tools, if you get my drift.”
Sean said nothing.
“And should you actually make the mistake of doing anything to double cross me – well, you’ve got grandkids, right?”
He said nothing.
“And the world…it’s a terrible place, with a cruel sense of humor. It would be an awful kind of poetic twist, for instance, if the grandkids of an unrepentant pedophile ended in the hands of another active pedophile, wouldn’t it?”
“It’s not pedophilia,” he said, feeling numb to his marrow. “It’s ephebophilia.”
“You know who needs to make that distinction, Sean? Pedophiles.”
“I’m not –”
“Now, do we have an understanding?”
He nodded vaguely. “Why? Why are you doing this, Roy? I kept my end of the bargain.”
“If it helps at all, it’s nothing personal. You screwed up. You put the business in danger and made yourself more of a liability than not.”
“It’s fixable,” he protested.
“I know it is.”
“You don’t need to do this.”
“It’s not a debate or a democracy. Now, I’m going to go. You can talk to my friends. Tell them what they need to know. And Sean?”
“What?”
“If I were you, I’d get right with God awfully quick.” Then the line went dead.
* * *
Twenty-three minutes later, the guys with the guns and the masks were heading back down the winding back road, out to the county highway.
Sean Abbot had been lying about his security system. He admitted it when he handed over his passwords and logins. He had cameras set up over the front and rear door, and along the driveway. But they hadn’t been switched on in days.
As for the rest, well that had been easy enough. Abbot was a man of the world, and a scumbag. He knew how it worked. He knew Roy hadn’t been bluffing. He knew what would happen to him – and the people he loved.
So he’d written a note, word for word as dictated by the driver. He was sorry for his crimes. He was sorry for what he’d done to those girls. He was sorry for what this revelation would do to his family, but he couldn’t live with the guilt.
Then they’d put the photos in front of him and put his own gun in his hand. A snub nose .38 revolver that he kept tucked in his nightstand drawer.
And Sean Abbot had pulled the trigger.
His brains had plastered his desk and the walls. They’d stained the carpet and even splattered onto the ceiling. It was a mess.
The driver felt bad for whoever ended up finding that. The housekeeper, probably, two or three days from now. He’d be well into the process of decomposition by then.
A real mess.
But the job was done, and he didn’t feel bad about his work. It wasn’t the first time he’d killed, and it wouldn’t be the last. And Abbot – well, he was one of the more deserving of his victims.
Not that he got too bothered about who deserved to die and who didn’t. A paycheck was a paycheck. Still, he’d seen the pictures. And even a guy who killed people for a living couldn’t stomach people doing things like that to kids.
So he figured it had been a good day so far. They’d neutralized the target, retrieved the laptop, and were barely forty-five minutes over schedule.
They’d be in Yellow River Falls in about two, maybe two and a half hours. From there, they’d locate the sheriff, and the old man and the guy called Day. Locate, and neutralize.
And then they’d be gone again, before anyone even noticed them.
A damned good day, then.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Ted Walters dug himself out around three in the afternoon, partly due to sleeping late, and partly due to a lack of motivation. He struggled with his front door and eventually swept away a wide enough arc in the snow to let Moses out.
It had taken a few beers and a microwave meal to motivate him to do more than that. But with food and drink in his system, he’d put on his snow pants and boots, and trudged through the knee-high snow to his garage.
Then he’d fought with the pullcord on the snow thrower. After a few false starts that petered out in puffs of smoke, the engine turned over and roared to life, filling the garage with black fumes.
The engine in the old girl wasn’t quite right, and hadn’t been for a few years now. But it usually started. And it did the job, most of the time.
Today was one of those times. Even though the snow was deep and wet and heavy, the aging machine chugged and blurped and rumbled through it. It took quite a few passes, but eventually he carved a walk to the house, and made the driveway passable at least.
Then, exhausted, Ted pushed the snow thrower into the garage. He checked the gas and nodded to himself. She’d be good for another round tomorrow, just in case they got anymore tonight. They sure don’t make ‘em like the used to.
Then he headed back to the house and found his keys. He’d given himself the mission of tracking Owen Day until he could prove his part in Marsha and Rick’s deaths. So far, today had been a bust.
But Ted figured that the same storm that had kept him housebound had probably trapped Day as well. And he knew exactly where to look for him: the motel in town.
So he called for Moses. The dog came bounding up, though his excitement seemed to wane a little as he realized Ted meant to go outside. The tail wagging slowed, and the dog’s pace slackened.
Then Ted grabbed the truck keys, and the tail whipped back and forth. Moses started to dance in place. “Come on,” Ted said. “Let’s go find that son of a bitch.”
But Owen Day wasn’t at the hotel. His SUV had gone, and for a fleeting second Ted feared that he might have escaped justice after all. That damned fool Halverson.
Then, he decided to check the diner. It was directly across the road, after all, and he’d spotted Day and the old guy there more than once.
So he crossed the road and plunked through the potholes. Slush s
plashed against the underside of the old truck, and he grimaced. There’d be plenty of salt in that slush. And salt was no good for the underbody. He’d need to get it to the carwash, as soon as that opened again – hopefully before the rust got any worse.
Day’s SUV wasn’t there either. “Son of a bitch,” he said aloud.
Moses glanced up at him from the passenger seat and wagged his tail.
Ted considered his options. He could cruise through town looking for the other man. There weren’t that many places someone could hide. Not in Yellow River Falls.
But what if he’d already checked out? What if Owen Day was in the wind somewhere, moving on to his next murder, or running back home, free and clear?
No. He needed to make sure Day was still in the area before he wasted time scouring the town. And he could do that by checking with the hotel.
So he crossed the street for the second time, this time in the opposite direction. He found a parking spot by the door and jumped out. Moses tried to follow, but he shook his head. “I’ll be right back. You wait there.”
Then he headed into the lobby. A middle-aged woman sat behind the counter: a nasty old battle-axe called Wendy Shepherd. She lived out by Forest Lake, and she’d called the police on him.
More than once, actually. The first time had been for sticking around after ten, when the public access closed. He’d been with a group, and they’d been drinking and playing music. They’d lost track of the time.
But not old Battle-Axe Shepherd. She’d called the sheriff just before eleven, whining about the noise. Then, a month later, she’d called the sheriff again, this time for peeing in the lake.
Technically, that had been an indecent exposure call, since he’d been on the shore when he relieved himself. But the beach had been empty. Ted didn’t know there was a battle-axe watching him from her window. He’d laughed it off at the time, telling Halverson it had probably been the highlight of Shepherd’s day.
Halverson hadn’t laughed. He’d pointed out that indecent exposure was a crime – and it could even wind up with putting his name on the sex offender registry. He’d got away with a warning, but he hadn’t been back to Forest Lake. It hadn’t seemed worth the risk. And he certainly hadn’t forgiven Shepherd for her role in his self-imposed banishment.
