Jack Frost

by Diane Capri

  Maybe the Bolton PD officer had seen the tracks and pulled over to investigate.

  Following the tracks, Kim walked ahead of Burke, deeper into the tall grass toward the trees.

  Fifty feet into the field, behind thick bushes, they reached an abandoned Land Rover. The front of the vehicle was lower than it should have been.

  She walked around the right side. The right front wheel well was crumpled and resting on lower ground.

  “Must have been traveling too fast,” Burke said, kneeling and pointing toward the rocky surface. “Looks like he bounced over a granite shelf here and blew the tire. Bent the wheel, too. Maybe bent the frame. Probably couldn’t go anywhere after that.”

  “The vehicle isn’t drivable. That much is obvious. If this happened last night, he might have tried to call a tow,” Kim said.

  Burke nodded. “We can check local garages. See if anybody came out to pick him up.”

  “The driver’s door is open.” Kim walked around to the other side of the vehicle. She stopped suddenly and held up her hand. “We’ve got a body here. Shot in the chest and the head.”

  “Olson?” Burke said as he rounded the back of the Land Rover.

  “No.” Kim knelt near the male body.

  She’d never seen him before. He wore a Bolton PD uniform. There was a nameplate above his left breast pocket.

  “It says Miller. Isn’t that the name of the guy Smithers was expecting at the briefing this morning? The one who didn’t show up?” Kim said. “He’s holding his service weapon. Maybe he got lucky and wounded his attacker.”

  Burke scanned the immediate location. “Where is Olson’s phone?”

  “The coordinates put it fifty feet that way,” she pointed, standing up.

  “So, what? Olson shot Miller and…” Burke took a few steps in the direction of the cell signal. “It doesn’t look like anyone has walked over that way recently.”

  He came back to the officer’s body, thinking aloud. “Bolton PD drove Olson home last night after the jailbreak because her car was stolen from the prison. Maybe she left again. Maybe she was driving this Land Rover. But why did the vehicle leave the road? And why would she kill Miller?”

  “Don’t disturb anything else. Forensics will have to sort all of this out.” Kim fished her phone from her pocket to call Smithers. “I don’t think Olson’s lying dead over there, though. At least I hope she isn’t.”

  “Make the call. I’ll find the phone,” Burke said, walking carefully away from the Land Rover. “And don’t worry. I won’t destroy any evidence in the process.”

  Kim pulled a pair of latex gloves from her pocket and leaned into the Land Rover, holding the phone with one hand while she scanned the empty spaces inside. She opened the console between the seats, but it was too dark to see inside the compartment.

  She put the call on speakerphone and used the flashlight app to illuminate the storage space.

  Simultaneously, she spied the pistol, and Smithers finally picked up the call.

  “Agent Smithers,” he said preoccupied. “What’s up, Otto?”

  Before she had a chance to reply, Burke screamed like a wounded grizzly from twenty feet behind her. “You son of a bitch!” Followed by a stream of angry curses.

  Smithers’s booming voice shouted, “What the hell is happening?”

  And then three rapid gunshots.

  Kim backed out of the Land Rover and stepped carefully around Officer Miller’s body. She pulled her service weapon and scanned the field looking for Burke.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Saturday, May 14

  Near Bolton, South Dakota

  10:20 a.m.

  Burke had set off in the direction of the signal from Olson’s cell phone. He was standing close to the spot, balancing on one leg, his weapon in his right hand.

  “What are you shooting at?” she asked as she ran toward him.

  “Wait! Watch your step!” he called out, waving his left arm toward the ground. “Rattlesnakes. They’re all over the place. One’s clamped onto my boot even though I shot the bastard’s tail off.”

  Kim stopped in her tracks. She looked toward the brown weeds that covered the ground. Pit vipers were native to this area, and they were active now, looking for food after a long winter. She saw a couple of tails slithering away to her right.

  “Stand down,” she said as she raised the phone to reply to Smithers, breathing normally again but keeping a sharp lookout for snakes. “Burke stepped into a viper’s nest. He shot the snakes. That’s all.”

  “Did he get bitten?”

  “Don’t think so. One tried to strike through his boot but didn’t succeed. He should be okay.”

  “Okay.” Smithers exhaled loudly. “Where the hell are you?”

  “We’re almost thirty miles north of the prison. We were headed to interview Fern Olson. She lives out here. We saw a Bolton PD cruiser and pulled up behind it.” She paused for breath. “And we found Officer Miller. He’s dead. Shot at least twice. Once in the chest. Can’t tell how many shots to the head.”

  Smithers was quiet for a good long time before he said, “I’ll send the helo with backup. Can you wait there until it arrives?”

  “Yeah. But we need to get out to Olson’s place, just north of here.”

  “What’s the rush?”

  Kim paused a moment and then replied, “We’ve found Olson’s cell phone. It’s close to Miller’s body. But she’s not here.”

  “So you think she shot Wilson and then ran?”

  “I don’t know what happened out here. As soon as we hang up, I’ll try to find out.”

  “And just how are you planning to do that?” he demanded.

  Kim said nothing. Smithers waited a bit so she could change her mind. She didn’t.

  “One of our teams is ten minutes out. You should see the helo approaching from the south shortly. When they get there, you can head up to Olson’s place,” Smithers said, in full command mode now. “I’ll make some calls. Get more backup. We’ll connect later. How’s that?”

  “Works for me. And there’s another abandoned vehicle. A Land Rover. Could be why Miller stopped here. I snapped a photo of the VIN and sent it to you along with a few other photos of the scene,” she replied before she disconnected and walked carefully toward Burke, scanning the ground for snakes.

  “Okay. I’ll get a trace on the Land Rover going now. Need anything else?”

  “Not right at the moment.”

  “Be there as soon as we can,” Smithers said before he disconnected the call.

  Burke was still balanced on his left leg when she approached. The four-foot-long rattlesnake’s wide mouth gripped tightly at his lower calf. Burke’s gunshot had blown the snake into two pieces, but the viper wasn’t dead.

  He was bending to pull the viper off his leg when she rushed up.

  “Stand still. And don’t touch it. Don’t touch any of them,” she warned sharply.

  “Why not?” he demanded, still bent at the waist, reaching for the head.

  She waved her palm toward two more snakes torn apart by his gunshots on the ground near his feet. “Pit vipers can live after you’ve severed the head. Sometimes for hours. And they can eject a large quantity of venom even after they’re dead. Enough to make you seriously ill or even kill you.”

  “Great. What am I supposed to do? I want this thing off me. And we both need to get out of here before more of their friends come calling. The damned snakes are everywhere.”

  She scanned the ground around his feet, looking for more snakes. “He may release on his own eventually.”

  “How long is eventually?” Burke scowled.

  Kim ignored his question. Truth was it could be hours before the fangs released. But she didn’t think he’d want to hear that. “Can you feel the teeth through your jeans?”

  Burke shook his head. “The strike was just a little bit too low. He’s grabbed the leather. Not the first time these cowboy boots have saved my life, either.�
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  She found a good-sized stick on the ground and handed it to Burke. “If you see another snake, try scaring it away first. I’d rather not be deafened by another gunshot while we’re getting this guy off your leg.”

  He took the stick in his left hand. “You think I can whack him and he’ll go away?”

  “Maybe we won’t have to test that theory.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small bottle of hand sanitizer. Keeping her gaze on the ground around Burke’s feet, she inched closer.

  “Put your foot down on the ground. We don’t need you falling over,” she said. “I’m going to try to squirt this hand sanitizer into his mouth. According to my old Girl Scout troop leader, if he’s alive, the alcohol will burn his mouth and cause him to let go.”

  Burke grinned. “And what if he’s mostly dead? Are his tastebuds still working? What did your old troop leader say about that?”

  Kim scowled. “If you’ve got a better idea, have at it.”

  “You wouldn’t have a quart of vodka in your pocket, would you?” he said, but his tone wasn’t at all cheerful.

  She grunted. “Thought so. Okay, stand still. And if he starts to let go, use that stick to pry him off, downward and away from your body if you can.”

  Kim opened the hand sanitizer and gripped it upside down as she moved closer to Burke’s right leg.

  She bent at the knees, reached out, and squeezed the hand sanitizer bottle, letting the contents spurt.

  The clear liquid gel spread over the pit viper’s open mouth and oozed inside.

  Kim emptied the bottle and tossed it aside. Then she stood back.

  They waited a couple of moments and the viper’s mouth relaxed, trying to release its grip on the heavy jeans and the leather boots beneath them.

  “Now. Use the stick now,” Kim instructed.

  Burke shoved the stick between the snake’s open jaws and his pant leg, leveraging the force away from his body as much as possible, given the awkward angle.

  Kim grabbed the stick and applied more weight to force the viper to let go.

  When the severed head fell writhing onto the ground, she yelled, “Move away! Move!”

  Burke jumped back, half a moment before the viper’s head struck again.

  This time, it clamped only the space where Burke’s leg had been.

  When the mutilated body landed again, Burke pointed his weapon and fired, blowing the snake’s head away.

  “Damned vipers,” he said under his breath. “The noise should be enough to chase his buddies to the hills, too.”

  Kim cocked her head to study him, and she stood. “You know snakes can’t hear loud noises, right?”

  He turned toward her with his nostrils flared and his lips pressed into a hard line.

  He was seriously angry, all traces of humor gone with the dead snake.

  That was not good. She needed a partner who kept his anger under control.

  “Did you get the phone?” she asked, ignoring his reaction. Now was not the time to handle his issues. But the time would come.

  “How the hell do you think I got to be snake bait?” He reached into his pocket and yanked out a cell phone encased in an evidence bag. “The damned snake’s nest was right next to it. Who knew the damned snakes blended into the dirt like that?”

  Her lips twitched as she tried to control her amusement, but in the end, she just threw back her head and laughed. Which caused him to scowl fiercely in her direction.

  “You’re sure his fangs didn’t break your skin? Because if he did, we’ll need to take his head with us to be sure we get the right antivenom.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” Burke snarled.

  Right at that moment, they heard the helo overhead and looked up.

  Kim said, “Come on. It’s Smithers’s team. We’ll brief them and get going.”

  “Who killed Miller?” Burke asked as they walked along, watching the ground.

  “Dunno. I didn’t want to disturb the evidence.” She shook her head. “Maybe we’ll get some solid forensics from the crime techs.”

  “Or you could just ask Gaspar,” he said, snidely. “I’m sure he’ll have all the answers.”

  She said nothing. Even as she wondered why he wanted to curb contact with her former partner. Were his reasons personal? Or had the Boss told him to keep Gaspar out of the way?

  Kim fished her phone out of her pocket and dialed Gaspar. When he answered, she told him what she wanted.

  Gaspar replied, “Stay by the phone.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Saturday, May 14

  Newton Hills, South Dakota

  11:15 a.m.

  Keegan kept the gun aimed at Olson as she drove. They passed the farmhouse, which seemed unchanged from when they’d left it.

  The first challenge was presented by a half-assed checkpoint manned by one Bolton PD cruiser and a single officer. Keegan didn’t particularly want to kill the man, but he made Olson understand that he would if the need arose.

  She slowed the big diesel and stopped beside the temporary sign. “Morning, Harry,” she said friendly-like. “What’s going on?”

  Harry touched the tip of his hat. “Morning, Fern. We’re checking for escapees after that mess yesterday down to Bolton. You haven’t seen any on the road, have you?”

  Olson widened her eyes and shook her head rather than try to pass off a lie. Which would have made Keegan smile under different circumstances.

  “Who you got in the truck there?” Harry asked, coming closer to have a look for himself. “Got any ID?”

  Keegan replied, pulling his ID from his pocket and handing it over. “Thomas Judd, Officer. This is my cousin.”

  “Your cousin got ID?” Harry asked.

  “Yeah. He’s not feeling well, though. Hang on, and I’ll get it out of his pocket,” Keegan said, while Olson chatted with Harry about his family and the local high school football team.

  As he pulled the ID from Walsh’s pocket, he took a quick look because he had no idea what name was on the driver’s license. He opened the wallets to display the IDs and handed them over to Olson, who passed them through the Harry’s window.

  “This looks fine. Hope Mr. LeRoy gets to feeling better,” he said, barely glancing at the fake IDs before returning the wallets and waving them through. “See you later, Fern.”

  Slowly, she rolled the truck past the cruiser and sped up once more on the open road.

  “Very smart, Fern. Keep up the good work, and you’ll be home with your boy before nightfall,” Keegan said, resting the gun in his hand on his lap.

  Olson said nothing.

  She drove through the village of Newton Hills. The main street was not even two blocks long. It had a gas station and an independent grocer. The rest of the shops handled outdoor gear of one kind or another.

  Keegan noticed that the crisp air was clean and pure and smelled like nothing he’d ever experienced in Boston. But the land was rugged here, and the people were rugged, too. They enjoyed outdoor activities, some as a hobby and others by necessity. Hunting, fishing, hiking, and the like, Keegan figured, based on the shops he saw.

  Olson drove within the speed limit to Dr. Warner’s office on the northeast side of Newton Hills, which turned out to be attached to his home. She turned onto the driveway and parked around back, where the old truck couldn’t be seen from the road.

  “Who lives here with the doc?” Keegan asked, looking around for problems of any kind.

  “He’s single since his wife died last year. If he had other patients inside, their cars would be parked here. Since there’re no cars, we’ve got a better than ninety percent chance that if he’s home, he’s alone.” Olson shifted the truck into park and shut off the engine. The roar of the diesel stopped, leaving a strange empty quiet.

  Keegan held his palm out and she gave him the keys. He stuffed them into his pocket. “I don’t need to remind you to cooperate if you want your kid and the old man to live, do I?”

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p; She shook her head. “Let’s get Walsh inside. See if Doc can fix him up so you can be on your way. I need to get back to my dad.”

  After a lot of struggle, they managed to get Walsh out of the truck to the back door. Olson had Walsh’s left arm draped around her shoulders. Walsh’s right arm was draped around Keegan, leaving his gun hand free.

  The deep gash on his left arm had reopened during all this rough handling. Fresh blood soaked through his sleeve. Olson noticed it, but she made no comment. The extent of Walsh’s injuries wasn’t the only thing Keegan had lied to her about. She must have figured that out by now.

  Olson used her free left hand to open the storm and then the interior door. When the second door opened, Keegan heard a doorbell chime somewhere in the house.

  They heaved Walsh across the threshold. Olson pushed the door closed behind them with her butt.

  The first thing Keegan noticed was how hot it was inside the small frame building. Doc Warner must have been sending all of his profits to the gas company to pay for heat. The scent of baked bread wafted from the kitchen.

  There was a small desk and two straight-backed chairs in the tiny reception room, which was probably a foyer or a mudroom of some sort before the medical office occupied it. No one sat at the desk and no one came to greet the new patient.

  “Doc will show up in a minute if he’s here. Let’s get Walsh into the exam room.” Olson tilted her head toward a doorway to the right of the entrance.

  They continued to drag him into the small room and plopped him onto the exam table on his back. It was the first time Keegan got a good look at Walsh’s face since yesterday. His complexion was gray and cold, but Keegan could still feel a weak carotid pulse.

  “Behave yourself,” he said sternly to Olson, showing her the gun as if she might have forgotten it. “No reason for anyone to get hurt here.”

  When he heard slow, heavy footsteps heading toward them, Keegan slipped the gun into his front pocket where he could retrieve it quickly.

  The footsteps reached the doorway. A stooped old man wearing a white coat over a plaid flannel shirt and a pair of brown corduroys filled the frame. “Hello, Fern.”