One Final Breath

by Lynn H. Blackburn

  Tuesday afternoon, Gabe parked his car in the overgrown driveway of Mr. Glen Masters.

  At least that’s who owned the place according to the property records.

  Gabe had given up on trying to figure out the maze of ownership last night after he’d gone after Anissa to give her the sunglasses. He hadn’t told her yet that he’d asked Forensics to take a look at the tires after the mechanics finished with them. She would flip her lid and tell him she didn’t need his help.

  She probably didn’t, but something about two flat tires in the darkened corner of a parking lot bothered him. A lot.

  He’d driven her home and decided that sleep might be the best thing he could do for this case. He hadn’t been wrong about that. And when he got to the office this morning, he’d discovered that while Adam was miserable at home, he was still capable of working. He’d gotten through a jumble of convoluted property listings and figured it out sometime during the night.

  Well, he’d figured it out to the point that they had a name. Then he’d handed it off to Sabrina this morning. Adam had claimed she’d volunteered. She probably had. Sabrina wasn’t the type to flaunt her brain power, but they all knew she was the smartest one of the bunch and it would take her less time than it would the rest of them to make sense of the way this property had changed hands over the years.

  Gabe looked around, trying to see what made it special enough for someone to try to hide their ownership of it.

  Even after the rain, the weeds were matted down in a few areas, but whether that was evidence that the owner had been home in the past few weeks or that some teenagers had been parking out here recently, he couldn’t say.

  The area by the shore was still heavily wooded.

  The only dwelling on the property was a cabin that rested in a rectangular space that had been cleared at one time. Now it was overgrown with weeds and grasses several feet high, except for a small path from the driveway to the front porch that had been mowed in the past few weeks.

  The cabin was in desperate need of some TLC.

  Or a bulldozer.

  Gabe grabbed the bag of subs he’d picked up, got out, and walked toward the building. The windows were opaque thanks to a thick layer of several years’ worth of pollen that even summer storms couldn’t wash away. The forensics team had cordoned off the home and he could hear voices carrying from the lake.

  Anissa’s reverberated above the rest. “Right there. Yes. Thank you very much.”

  Gabe bit back a chuckle. The forensics team had a love/hate relationship with Anissa. She was unfailingly polite. She was also unbelievably thorough. Forensics had been out here on Sunday afternoon but had returned today—now that the sun had worked hard to dry the land—to check the shoreline again, no doubt at Anissa’s request.

  He left the house and followed the voices. A rough path wound from the house through the woods, and when he broke through the trees he was thirty feet from the lake. He spotted Anissa fifty feet away studying the ground. She had her hair under a hat. Booties on her shoes. Gloves on her hands. An expression of intense determination.

  She caught him staring and straightened. He held up the bag with the subs. She tapped her fist on the top of her head—the diving signal for “okay”—then tapped her watch and held up one gloved finger.

  One minute. He could wait.

  He pretended to study the crime scene, but mostly he studied her. She was strung so tight he expected her to explode at any moment. Something about this case had messed her up. Worse than the serial killer they’d caught last year. Even worse than the human trafficking ring they’d busted before Christmas.

  This recent behavior was on par with the way she was after the shooting.

  And he hadn’t expected anything to ever rattle her like that had.

  She peeled off the gloves and hat as she walked toward him, then pointed to a folding table set up under nearby trees. “Want to eat there?”

  “Are you crazy?” Who knew what kinds of stuff Forensics had used that table for. And that clunker Anissa was driving while her tires were being replaced probably wasn’t much cleaner. “Come back to the truck. We’ll crank it and have some AC.” He didn’t wait for her to agree. Her flushed cheeks and sweat-soaked shirt told him she needed to cool off.

  They didn’t speak as they walked to the truck. He opened the door for her and then jogged to the driver’s side, climbed in, and cranked it. He turned the air-conditioning on full blast as she unwrapped the sandwiches.

  “We’re not helping the environment, idling like this,” she said.

  “It won’t be helping the environment if you pass out from heat exhaustion and wind up in the hospital either. Have you seen the mess EMTs leave behind?”

  “Very funny.” She held her sandwich but made no move to start eating.

  “Want to bless it?” he asked. Anissa always blessed the food.

  She shook her head. “You do it.”

  Gabe bowed his head and kept most of his prayer to himself. Lord, I don’t know what’s going on with her, but help me know how to help her, because I just got her to be nice to me and I don’t want to blow it. Then he spoke. “Dios, por favor, bless this food. Bless our work. Comfort the families and help us bring justice for Jeremy.”

  “Amen.” She took three bites and a long swig of the lemonade he’d ordered for her before she leaned back against the seat. “Thank you for lunch.”

  “Welcome.”

  She stared out the window and didn’t look back in his direction. “You okay?”

  “Eh. As good as can be expected under the circumstances.” Gabe popped a Dorito into his mouth.

  “Yeah.” Anissa didn’t sound convinced. She took another bite.

  “You?”

  “Same.”

  “Liar.” His comment pulled her attention away from the window.

  Her face was pointed in his direction, but her eyes were unfocused. “Not really. I would say I’m doing as well as could be expected under the circumstances. No better. No worse. It’s just that my circumstances aren’t exactly the same as yours.”

  A movement in the rearview mirror prevented Gabe from responding. “We have company.”

  Anissa didn’t look. She didn’t flinch. She set her sandwich down and reached for her weapon as if nothing was wrong.

  A dark sedan pulled past them and rolled to a stop. The driver got out and kept his hands visible. He had the look of a man who knew something was up but didn’t know what it was and hadn’t yet decided how he was going to play it.

  “Cover me,” Gabe said as he opened the door of the truck. He kept the front end of the truck between him and the visitor—or more likely the owner—and paused as the man turned in his direction. “Investigator Chavez, Carrington County Sheriff’s Office.”

  The man glared at him. “Name’s Ronald Talbot and I live here. You got some sort of warrant?”

  “I do.” As Gabe stepped out from behind the semiprotection of the truck, the faint click of the passenger-side door opening reached his ears. Anissa was getting out to keep herself in a better position to cover him. If he asked her to get back in the truck, she wouldn’t listen. Maybe she’d stay behind the door and give herself a little bit of protection in case this guy went loco.

  Gabe kept one hand up and moved his other hand in a deliberate arc to his back pocket to retrieve the warrant. “Mr. Talbot, are you renting this place from Glen Masters?”

  “I’m looking after it for him.”

  “Does he know that?”

  “He does.”

  Ronald Talbot’s hair was thinning. His skin, weathered. Teeth . . . he had a few left. This was a man who had lived a hard life. He probably had some substance abuse in his past, but at least for the moment his eyes were clear. He was wary but didn’t seem rattled by Gabe’s questions. It was entirely possible that the owner of the property knew this guy was staying here and wasn’t charging him rent. So, why?

  Gabe showed the warrant to Mr. Talbot. “T
his gives me permission to search the property and anything else I come across that might give us any indication of who was here Saturday night and early Sunday morning.”

  “Saturday night? Wasn’t nobody here.” Mr. Talbot spit tobacco juice in a long arc. “I went to Wilmington for a couple of days. Just got back. What happened? Those kids cause some trouble again?”

  “What kids?”

  He shrugged. “I ain’t caught ’em yet. But I know they out here at night partying and hooking up.” He ran a tattooed hand through his thinning hair. “I don’t sleep good. Doc gave me some of them sleeping pills. They knock me out. But I seen footprints on the dock. Found stuff.”

  “What kind of stuff?”

  Talbot barked a harsh laugh. “Pipes. Needles. Liquor bottles. Beer cans. Other . . . stuff.”

  “What did you do with it?”

  Talbot threw an arm out toward three blackened fifty-five-gallon barrels near the edge of the once-cleared portion of the property. “Burned it.”

  Great.

  “Mr. Talbot, where were you Saturday night around midnight?”

  “Told you. Wilmington.”

  “Where in Wilmington?”

  “In my car.”

  Gabe could believe that, but he had to ask. “Not in a hotel?”

  “Do I look like I got cash for a hotel?” Talbot shot another stream of tobacco juice.

  “Then why’d you drive all the way to Wilmington? That’s a lot of gas money.”

  “Been in the middle of the country a long time. Hadn’t seen the ocean in a lot of years. Looks the same as I remembered, so I came back.”

  Gabe would have to check out the story. It was a bit too convenient for his tastes. “Do you have somewhere else you can stay for a few days until we’re done processing everything?”

  “I guess my car will do for another night or two. You gonna tell me what happened?”

  “A boy was killed.”

  Talbot grunted. “That’s too bad.”

  Wow. Give this guy a medal for sensitivity. Gabe whistled to get the attention of one of the officers at the perimeter of the crime scene and waved him over. “Yates, get this guy’s statement and check his hands for gunpowder residue.”

  Gabe walked back to the truck. “What do you think?”

  Anissa’s lip curled in distaste. “He’s lying.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I just know.”

  “Your sixth sense doesn’t make him a murderer.”

  “Doesn’t make him likely to drive to Wilmington to see the ocean either. It’s too convenient.”

  Anissa’s sunglasses kept him from seeing her eyes, but he could imagine the glare she was giving him as she spoke. “I agree.”

  She lowered her sunglasses, and the glare he’d suspected hit him full force. “Then why did you ask?”

  “Just wanted to see if you had a different take on it than I did.”

  Her lips twitched. She settled her sunglasses back on her nose and turned away, but not before he caught the flicker of a smile before she pinched her lips back into a tight line. “You know who you need to talk to?” She climbed back into the truck and closed the door.

  He climbed in on the other side. “Who?”

  “Mr. Cook.”

  “Why?” Mr. Cook had lived in Carrington, and on Lake Porter, since before there was a Lake Porter. After the area was flooded to form the lake, his family’s property was one-fourth the size it had been previously. But the property that was left was still extensive and now worth no small fortune. Mr. Cook didn’t plan to sell any of it. Ever. Much to the chagrin of developers in the area.

  “He’ll know what’s going on over here.”

  He probably would. And Gabe should have thought of it. Would have thought of it eventually. But Mr. Cook was—

  “I know you don’t like him.” Anissa took another bite of her sandwich. What was she? A mind reader?

  “I like him fine.”

  “Liar.”

  Gabe took two more bites. Anissa didn’t comment further. She pulled a few chips from the bag and went back to staring out the window.

  Anissa wasn’t one to nag. She didn’t need to. Her “wait it out” strategy was far more effective.

  After two more bites, he caved. “You’re going to laugh. Or say I’m crazy.”

  Anissa cut her eyes at him.

  “It isn’t that I don’t like him, but he makes me uncomfortable for some reason.”

  He expected her to roll her eyes. Or mock him.

  “He has that effect on people.”

  He hadn’t expected her to understand.

  “Mr. Cook is very wise but also very forthright. He calls it like he sees it, and what’s scary about it for most of us is that he sees things none of the rest of us see. I think it’s because his walk with the Lord is so close that he has insights we miss. And it’s disconcerting when he answers a question we didn’t ask or asks a question we’d rather not answer.”

  “But you like him,” Gabe said.

  Anissa had always seemed comfortable with Mr. Cook, and the tender expression on her face now confirmed it. “I’ve known him forever.”

  “How is that possible? You moved to Carrington, what, ten years ago?”

  “Yes, but Mr. and Mrs. Cook supported our family on the mission field. He still does. He and my dad are pretty close. He’s like an eccentric but lovable uncle. I suspect he keeps tabs on me and reports back to my parents. He and Mrs. Cook sort of adopted me when I decided to stay in the States. They were thrilled that I came to Carrington. They’re a big part of the reason I did. Mrs. Cook was an angel. She was even more intuitive than he is. She could see right through me. It was both annoying and wonderful.”

  Annoying and wonderful. That was a perfect description of his own relationship with Anissa.

  “I’ll go with you if you want.” Anissa took another bite of her sub.

  She was offering to spend more time with him than necessary?

  “We’ve been so busy this summer, I haven’t seen him in a while. You’d be doing me a favor.”

  He didn’t believe that for a second. Not that she was lying. But he knew she was trying to give him a way to accept her offer without owning up to the fact that he didn’t want to go alone. He would take it. “When would you want to go?”

  “I’m almost done here. Forensics will be thrilled for me to leave so they can work without me looking over their shoulders.” She glanced at her watch. “I’d say no more than an hour.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  “Great. I’ll give him a call.”

  This was going to be very interesting.

  An hour later, Gabe parked his truck in the circular driveway of Mr. Cook’s modest home. Anissa pulled in behind Gabe, letting her gaze rest on the man who sat in the wooden rocker on his porch. He acknowledged them with a slow nod and a smile. Her heart twisted. Goodness, she loved that old man.

  Anissa waved to him, and when she did, her phone slid from her lap onto the floorboard. She bent to retrieve it, and when she sat up, Gabe was outside her door. He opened it and reached for her hand.

  What was this?

  Part of her recoiled from the chivalry. They were on the job. She didn’t need help opening her own door.

  She understood this part of her. The part that didn’t want to be perceived as weak or needy.

  But there was another part of her she didn’t understand. At all.

  That part reached for Gabe’s hand—and liked the way it felt when his fingers closed over hers.

  That part was acting like a tween with a crush.

  But she wasn’t a tween mooning over the cutest guy in the class. She was a thirty-three-year-old with a crushing secret, and this guy was not going to be the one who could handle it.

  She muttered a thank-you to Gabe as he closed the door behind her. Did she imagine it, or did his hand linger longer than necessary before he stepped back to allow her to go first? And was that his
hand that brushed her lower back as they walked toward the house?

  She took the porch steps two at a time and bent down to hug Mr. Cook. Under his wrinkles, she could still see the younger version of the man who’d flown to Yap to help build a church building and fallen in love with the people there, just like she had.

  He shook Gabe’s hand. “Investigator Chavez. Always a pleasure to see you, young man.”

  “Thank you, sir. Please call me Gabe. You’re looking well.”

  “Ah.” Mr. Cook slapped his knee. “I’m one foot in the grave and we all know it. Be fine with me when it happens. I miss Mrs. Cook more today than I did the day she slipped past me on the race to glory. She always was the competitive sort.” He pointed to the porch swing. “Sit. Sit.”

  “Mrs. Cook was an angel.” Anissa couldn’t help but defend the woman who’d mothered her for years while Anissa’s own mom ministered to others half a world away. She sat on the porch swing and Gabe joined her. He pushed them forward and they found a rhythm, swaying slow and steady.

  Mr. Cook leaned back in his rocker. “I never said she wasn’t. I said she was competitive, as you well know. How many times did she beat you at pinochle and gloat about it? Hmm?”

  Anissa laughed at the memory. “More than I can count.”

  Mr. Cook leaned toward Gabe as if inviting him to a confidential word. “That one”—he pointed at Anissa—“is disturbingly good at pinochle. I always say a woman who can handle both a gun and a bad hand when it’s dealt to her is someone you should hang on to. Aren’t many of them around.”

  Gabe gave the barest glance in her direction. “You are right, sir. Even fewer have equal combinations of beauty and brains.”

  Mr. Cook nodded in agreement. “True. That is a rare gem.”

  What. Was. Happening? Mr. Cook was the most perceptive man she had ever known. And Gabe? All chummy and conspiratorial? She had come with him to be nice. To help him chat with Mr. Cook. Not to be . . . to be . . . she didn’t even know what this was.

  Mr. Cook gave her a warm smile. A wink. Oh no.

  “As fascinating as this is”—she tried to keep her tone bored and flat—“we didn’t come out here to discuss my skill with guns or games. We have a dead boy in the morgue. A man living—possibly squatting—on the property where we believe the shots were fired from. And absolutely no idea what happened to get us into this mess.”