Riddle Me This (Detective Kate Rosetti Mystery Book 2)

by Gina LaManna

  Russo raised an eyebrow. “And Wilkes could use this, how?”

  “I’m just telling you what I found,” Asha said. “The third guard you had me look up is fairly clean outside of work—couldn’t find much there—but he’s got complaints coming up the wazoo from inside the prison system. Use of unnecessary force is a big one, along with a few colorful accusations that don’t make the guy look good.”

  “Again, not sure how Wilkes could use that to his advantage,” Russo chimed in, “but I’m sure it’s possible.”

  “Thanks, Asha,” I said. “Can you send the reports to my email, along with their real names, phone numbers, and any people they’re close to?”

  “Already sent.” There was a ping on my phone, and the email arrived. “There’s one more thing.”

  “About Wilkes?”

  “Sort of. I’ve been looking into Sarah—Warren’s girlfriend. The missing one.”

  “Did you find something?”

  “I don’t think it’s anything, but I did manage to track the signal of her phone before it went dark. Chances are, you won’t find the phone or Sarah there, but it’s all I’ve got for now.”

  “Where?”

  “A park about half an hour away from the precinct. At least, that’s where it’s showing up on my radar. I can almost guarantee you it’s nothing more than a dump spot. Her phone has been off since about the time of Warren’s death. We lost complete contact with it shortly after.”

  “He drove away, smashed it,” I said. “Didn’t want to be tracked.”

  “It’s the smart thing to do,” Asha said. “For a maniac. I don’t want to waste your time, but—”

  “We’ll check it out,” I said. “We need to do something. Send me the coordinates?”

  “Already sent,” she said as another ping sounded on my phone. “Gotta go. I’ll be in touch soon. Good luck out there.”

  We’d need a lot more than luck for our reconnaissance mission to retrieve Sarah’s phone. Even if we found it, the hopes of us recovering any crucial information off it was next to nothing. Still, when I looked to Russo, he had his hands on the steering wheel and his GPS ready to go.

  He glanced my way. “Want to give me those coordinates?”

  Chapter 15

  The drive to the park took us half an hour, just as Asha had predicted. However, calling it a park was a dramatic overstatement. The directions we’d received had taken us out of the cities to a rural space somewhere near Afton.

  “So, this is what Minnesota calls a park?” Russo stepped out of the car, completely unimpressed.

  I didn’t blame him. There was one rusty swing set in the middle of a pasture covered with dirty snow. An old baseball field that was mostly overgrown with weeds and brush peeked out from underneath slush. In the distance, a line of evergreens served as an end zone.

  “I think that listing might be a bit outdated,” I said. “We have real parks. Great parks. I’ll take you to one sometime.”

  “That almost sounds like a date.”

  “Maybe it’s best if we don’t talk and just look for the phone. I’ll take the north half. You take the south.”

  Russo scanned the horizon. “How can you tell which way’s north out here?”

  “I’ll go right, you go left,” I said. “Work for you?”

  “I don’t think we should split up.”

  “Who’s going to sneak up on us out here?” I asked. “A cow?”

  “I just think—”

  “I’m not sitting in this dreary old field all day. We’ve got a missing woman to find. Check close to the road first. I don’t think Wilkes was trying to hide it from us—GPS signal didn’t go down until he got here, so he had to know we could track it.”

  “The phone might not be here at all.”

  “Maybe not, but I bet it is,” I said. “If this was a random killing, and an even less-planned kidnapping, there’d be nothing incriminating on Sarah’s phone. Wilkes only expends energy to hide things when there’s something worth hiding.”

  “Like Jonathan’s letters.”

  “Exactly like that. I’ll meet you back here in thirty.”

  Russo gave up arguing with me and, with a grunt of distaste, turned his shiny black shoes toward the mangled old baseball field in the distance while I took a right and veered north along the road.

  My plan was to make a big square around my half of the perimeter, ending with the evergreen trees on the opposite side of the park. I truly believed the phone would be here, and I also believed that Wilkes had nothing to hide, so it would be in plain sight. I didn’t think this task would take us all that long.

  Hopefully, the patchy white snow would help with visibility so we could spot a dark device against it. According to Asha’s notes, Sarah had been using a black Android when the signal dropped.

  The first part of my hike did nothing except get my boots muddy and turn my toes into icicles. I debated calling it quits on more than one occasion, but every time I felt like wimping out, I took a look at Russo with his federal shoes and federal clothes and federal mittens and forced myself to continue.

  He hadn’t dressed for the weather, and while I hadn’t worn my winter best, I wouldn’t lose in a test of wills against Mr. Federal Agent. It wouldn’t look good on Minnesota, and I couldn’t let my state down like that.

  I shoved my gloved fingers deeper into my pockets as I headed west. I lost sight of Russo as I straddled the space between the ditch alongside the highway and the thick line of evergreen trees. My eyes scanned back and forth, back and forth. I kicked at a black mark and quickly determined it was a rock, thanks to a painful jolt to my toe. I nudged a pile of snow that looked like it’d blown over from the highway. I was rewarded with a sock-full of cold.

  I was just about to pull out my phone when I spotted something black against the muddied snow in the distance. A hint of pink accompanied the dark splotch, and I wondered if that could be a phone case. Light glinted off a reflective surface. My adrenaline spiked, and I picked up the pace, stomping my feet in an effort to regain feeling in my extremities.

  I debated texting Russo but held off until I knew for certain. The last thing I needed was to call him across the field in a false alarm. He’d call off the search, which—if I was honest—wouldn’t be all bad. I was freezing.

  Probably, I should buy the poor guy a coffee after dragging him out on a wild goose chase. There was a cute coffee shop not too far away that would maybe redeem some of Minnesota’s charm for the out-of-towner. Plus, it would be a small olive branch after all I’d put him through.

  I was already dreaming of the seat warmers in Russo’s car when I reached my destination. And it was a phone alright, or at least, the carcass of one. The only detail left to determine was if it was a black Android that belonged to Sarah. Asha would be able to tentatively ID it from a photo.

  I pulled out my phone, bent over, snapped a few photos of the jumbled mess. Wilkes had really done a number on the device. The screen was smashed, and half the case sparkled from a few feet away. There was little chance of recovering anything from the mess.

  As I straightened and snapped on a glove, I debated for a second time whether I should give Russo a call. But it didn’t make sense to drag him all the way across the field to help me retrieve a few pieces of mangled plastic. I reached for an evidence baggie from my jacket pocket.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of bright orange. A construction cone stood ahead of me on the edge of the road. While that was strange in itself, it was the stake attached to the top that drew my attention.

  A thin metal rod protruded from the center of the cone, held in place by a thick wad of duct tape. On top of the rod was tied a triangular orange flag. It waved in the breeze, then made a loud thwacking sound as it snapped against itself. The sound and motion of the flag was probably what had drawn my attention in the first place.

  I took a step closer, feeling a thought niggle in the back of my brain. Why was there a sin
gle cone in the middle of a highway? It was neither a snow emergency nor a construction zone—it was far too early in the year to have started on construction. As my mother said, Minnesota had two seasons: winter and construction. The snow was evidence it was still winter.

  In a snap, I understood. Wilkes had put the flag there. And I knew why.

  I dove, and not a second too soon. The spit of a bullet sounded behind me, followed by a thunk as it kicked up snow and gravel. It embedded into the ground following the exact trajectory for where my head had been moments before.

  I rolled toward the ditch. I hadn’t seen the exact location the bullet had come from, but I suspected it’d come from the cover of the line of trees. Whoever was shooting at me had good aim. Great aim. I couldn’t risk another shot fired, or I had a feeling I wouldn’t be walking away unscathed.

  I slid down the side of the ditch. Whoever had shot at me had likely been the person to set up the cone on the side of the road, along with the flag. It was a known tactic used by snipers to judge wind fluctuations as they lined up a hit on their target.

  Yanking off a glove, I dialed Russo. “I’ve been shot at.”

  “You’re shot!?”

  “At!” I hissed. “There’s a sniper in the trees. Get to the car.”

  “I’m coming for you.”

  “Russo—”

  He hung up before I could argue with him. Probably a good thing, seeing as I needed to focus on one task: Not getting shot. I opened up my camera app and switched the screen to selfie mode. Then I slid the phone up to the edge of the ditch. I took a deep breath and hoisted it an inch higher so the camera popped over the lip.

  I felt the bullet before I saw it. My phone flew out of my hand. I jerked my arm downward; my breath stalled in my throat. I glanced at my hand, which was thankfully untouched. The remnants of my phone had flown through the air, landing a few feet away.

  I sucked in a breath, pulled out my gun. There was no chance I was getting out of this ditch alive unless Russo somehow called for backup and spooked the ghost in the trees.

  Wind whistled. The sky darkened. A fat cloud floated over the sun, bringing the afternoon to a grayish hue. I listened. There was no sound, no footsteps—why would there be? All the sniper had to do was wait until I pulled out of the ditch. As evidenced by my smoking phone, the shooter had good enough aim to hit even the smallest target. He or she would have no problem landing one on my head. It was a waiting game—and snipers were trained to wait.

  “C’mon, Russo,” I mumbled. “Follow my suggestion for once.”

  A sudden panic rose in my chest as I pictured Russo hoofing it across the open field. The baseball diamond would be behind him, the swing set wouldn’t provide a lick of protection against a sniper’s gun. There was no place for him to hide. And if he marched toward me, he’d be a sitting duck.

  Who is out there? I wondered. Unless Wilkes had suddenly undergone sniper training in prison—which probably would have been frowned upon—he wasn’t the shooter. I’d studied every inch of his past, and there’d been no evidence he had any experience with guns. He preferred knives. His own hands. Guns were far too impersonal for The Dentist.

  Was it something to do with the Gem case? Had his stalker taken things a step too far? And if so, why was a professionally trained sniper—or at least a very talented shooter—upset with Gem? I wasn’t even dating the man. Unless he or she had learned I was looking into the case... but even so, I knew nothing. I wasn’t a threat—not yet.

  Harry Brine? My conversation with Brandy popped into my head. The timing of that conversation and the ensuing shooting was a bit coincidental. Could I picture the orange-haired party planner hiding out in a line of trees? That was a long shot. And even if I played out the scenario, how would anyone have known the location of Sarah’s phone? It couldn’t be a coincidence everything was so closely linked.

  I adjusted the grip on my gun. It could be a hired gun out there. A scary thought. It meant someone wanted me dead enough to pay big bucks to get this setup just right. But that made no sense. Wilkes would want to kill me himself—and theoretically, he’d be the only person to know the location of Sarah’s phone.

  What is going on out here?

  A shot interrupted my frustrated train of thought. It was louder than the others, and this time, I didn’t feel the whiz of a bullet.

  Another shot. This one was the slightly muffled sound of the sniper rifle, but again, the shot wasn’t pointed in my direction. I shuffled a few feet further down the ditch, then gradually poked my head over the side as if playing a deadly game of whack-a-mole.

  When my head stayed hole-free, I breathed a sigh of relief and scanned the trees for any sign of movement. For a moment, all was still. Then, an engine roared and another shot echoed against the quiet. Russo burst along the other side of the tree line in his black SUV. The passenger’s side window was rolled down. He was drawing fire on himself to distract the sniper from me.

  I raised my gun, caught a glimpse of movement in the tree line. Squinting, I took aim, waited. A second later, I got my chance. Dressed in all black, a figure moved among the shadows. A slim bag hung over one shoulder.

  It was impossible to tell gender from this distance. The build was wiry but could have belonged to either a male or female. The face was covered entirely by a mask, hands gloved, feet outfitted in sturdy boots.

  I took a breath, aimed, and exhaled. My finger pulled the trigger. The shot rang against my ears leaving me partially deaf for the time being. As I watched, the figure tripped forward, righted themselves, and then disappeared into the darkness.

  Russo had screeched to a stop at the sound of the shot. Then he accelerated toward the tree line, broke through a scratchy section of brush, and burst out somewhere near me. He skidded to a stop, his window rolled down.

  “Get in!”

  I scrambled out of the ditch and threw myself into the passenger’s side. Russo had opened the door for me, and I slammed it shut.

  “You should have gone after the shooter,” I gasped. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Drive!”

  Russo took off in parallel to the line of evergreens. We both kept our eyes peeled as we searched the shadows, but it was impossible to see anything. We’d need to get out on foot to hunt for the shooter, and it was too late for that.

  “Stop,” I said, and Russo skidded to a halt.

  I rolled down the window. In the distance, a car engine started up.

  Russo leapt to attention, but his foot was a bit trigger happy. We spun out in a 360-degree spiral, coming to a crunch of a stop halfway in the ditch. There was no way we were getting out without assistance.

  I threw myself out of the car and onto the road as Russo spun the tires in a futile effort to right his vehicle. I made it to the side-street perpendicular to the freeway just in time to see a black car with rental plates take a left and skid into the horizon.

  “I don’t suppose your vehicle has four-wheel drive, does it?” I spun around.

  “Front wheel,” he said apologetically.

  “Everyone knows you don’t brake on a patch of ice,” I said. “You ride it out.”

  “What the hell is ABS for?”

  “Not this.”

  “Again,” Russo said, “you’re welcome for saving your life.”

  I sighed. “What are the chances your rental car comes with AAA?”

  “I was supposed to buy the insurance?”

  I closed my eyes, pinched my fingers against my forehead. “Men.”

  “What do you recommend we do now?”

  “We need to call a tow. In the meantime, get some gloves. We’ve got two dead phones and some bullet shells to find.”

  Chapter 16

  We were back at the precinct by the time it was dark. Russo had turned grumpy. Probably over my lack of grateful attitude for his attempts to save my life. I didn’t entirely blame him.

  While it might not have killed me to s
how a little more gratitude toward him, I was still annoyed he hadn’t gone after the shooter. If he had, we might’ve wrapped this whole case. We could have had Sarah in our grasp.

  “I can feel you thinking this is my fault,” Russo said as we walked up to the precinct doors. “Which is utterly ridiculous.”

  “I’m just saying—if you’d gone after the shooter when you had the chance...”

  “You were my first priority. I’d make the same choice over and over again.”

  I shut up. There was a certain sweetness to the sentiment.

  “Don’t get all distant now,” Russo said. “I only meant that I would’ve done the same for any of my partners.”

  “Right.” I cleared my throat. “I knew that’s what you meant.”

  A smile peeked onto his face. “Sure you did.”

  “Well, I should get to the lab.” I changed the subject for obvious reasons. “I need to get these phones and shells in for testing.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  “Seems to be a trend. I’m not sure it’s working out for you.”

  “No, I don’t think it’s working out for me,” Russo agreed. “But it’s working out for you. Again, you’re welcome for saving your life.”

  “I had everything under control.”

  “Says the phone the sniper shot out of your hand.”

  I made some grumbling sounds that seemed to amuse Russo.

  “I know you’ve got some theories in that brain of yours,” Russo said. “Care to share?”

  “Not really.”

  “Because you don’t have any?”

  I shrugged, considered, then spilled my guts. It was too much confusion to keep inside of one head. “It makes no sense. I’ve got three cases I’m working at the moment.”

  “Three?”

  “Two,” I corrected. “The Harry Brine case—I’m just helping on it, but still. I’ve poked around enough to cause trouble.”

  “I believe it.”

  “Then, there’s the obvious case,” I said. “Wilkes.”

  “What’s the third one?”