Jack Frost

by Diane Capri

  “Hey, Micah. This is Tomas Judd and his cousin, Dave LeRoy. They were hiking near my place, and Dave got snake bit. He needs antivenom,” Fern said as if to forestall as many questions as possible.

  Dr. Warner took one look at Walsh and moved over to the table to examine him. “Do you have the snake?”

  “No, we don’t,” Keegan replied.

  “When did this happen? I’d say hours ago, from the look of him,” Warner said, using the stethoscope to listen to Walsh’s weak heartbeat and shallow breathing. “Show me the bites.”

  Keegan pointed to Walsh’s right leg.

  He must have seen the bloody sleeve of Walsh’s shirt, but he turned his attention to the snakebites first. He pulled off Walsh’s shoe and used a pair of scissors to cut up the pant leg all the way to the knee. Then he pulled off Walsh’s sock and dropped it on the floor.

  Walsh never moved. He didn’t groan or make noise of any kind.

  Keegan saw eight oozing puncture wounds in Walsh’s calf.

  The doctor took one look and shook his head. He found a blood pressure cuff, wrapped it on Walsh’s arm, and pushed the button to let it pump up.

  Warner said, “I’ve got antivenom here. But it’s not likely to help. Too much venom from these bites and the poison has been circulating in his body too long.”

  “Is he going to be okay, Micah?” Olson asked.

  “I don’t know.” Warner shook his head. He looked directly at Keegan. “He needs immediate emergency care in a hospital. The closest place is Bolton General. We can get him airlifted. Maybe they can save his life. I’m not sure whether they can save that leg.”

  Keegan stuck his hand into his pocket to grip the pistol, just in case.

  “What about the arm?” Dr. Warner asked, moving toward the bloody sleeve with the scissors.

  Olson’s eyes widened. “Give him the antivenom, Micah. Then we can call the medivac.”

  The blood pressure cuff on Walsh’s left arm beeped, and Dr. Warner looked at the readout briefly. “I’ll see how much antivenom I have. He needs several vials. Might be better to wait until we get him to Bolton.”

  Keegan pulled the gun and aimed it at Warner. Gruffly, he ordered, “Give him the antivenom. Then we’ll leave.”

  Warner looked at the gun as if he didn’t care about it at all.

  He’d lived here in rugged country for many years. Guns were second nature to him. He probably owned a few, too. Something else to keep in mind.

  Warner replied, “You’ll want to wait until I give him the injections before you shoot me. This stuff is tricky. You can’t do it yourself.”

  “Let’s get it going. Time is of the essence, right?” Keegan said.

  “You understand it’s probably too late already, right?” Warner replied.

  “Get on with it,” Keegan growled and brandished the pistol. “We’ll wait to see how it works. He gets better, we’re all good. He doesn’t…”

  “This all okay with you, is it, Fern?” Warner said, looking into Olson’s flat gaze, like her dad might have done when her friends used to misbehave.

  “Just do what he says, Micah,” she replied wearily.

  Warner gave them both another hard look before he left the room.

  “Walsh may die here. If Micah says it’s bad, you can believe him,” Fern said from the corner where she leaned against the wall as if she was too exhausted to stand.

  Keegan said nothing, but he was revising his plans silently. He glanced at the clock. The Gulfstream would be ready for the final leg of his escape to Canada Sunday morning. He could wait for a while. If Walsh recovered, he’d kill these two and leave the bodies here.

  Otherwise, he’d need Olson.

  Dr. Walker came back with a small plastic tray filled with several vials. “There are side effects to this antivenom. Particularly with administering large quantities. He really needs to be in a hospital. The antivenom alone can kill him.”

  Keegan narrowed his eyes and his nostrils flared. He clenched his fist at his side and held the gun steady. “He dies, you die. Simple as that.”

  Walker shrugged and prepared to administer the medication. “This will take a while. You might want to find a chair.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Saturday, May 14

  Near Bolton, South Dakota

  11:45 a.m.

  The roaring helo set down on the road near the Navigator, so loud even the dead couldn’t possibly fail to notice. The rotors pushed a powerful wash across the air, kicking up dust and a strong breeze in all directions.

  Kim and Burke waited near the Navigator while the team emerged from the helo, carrying crime scene equipment, and wearing white suits to protect the evidence. Which seemed a bit silly out here in the fields. But proper protocol was always worth observing if they wanted to get admissible evidence.

  Two guys in street clothes came out behind them. Chief Mitchell and his second in command, the guy everyone called Woody. Briefly, Kim wondered why the Bolton PD high command was on the scene, but maybe it was just the allocation of manpower. They had to be spread thin.

  The last one to exit the helo was Smithers, and Kim was glad to see him. He was a good man to have around in a crisis. Which this wasn’t. At least, not anymore. The facts on the ground were a puzzle. But the crime was done. All that remained here was to decipher the evidence.

  Smithers smacked the helo with the flat of his hand to signal all clear, and the big bird lifted off the pavement. Its body rose high above the tree line and turned back south toward Bolton.

  The group made their way across the pavement toward Kim and Burke.

  “Guys, watch where you’re stepping. Rattlesnakes are all over this place. The helo’s vibrations may have chased them off. But nobody needs a trip to the doctor at the moment,” Burke said with a smirk, pointing his thumb over his shoulder. “Don’t ask me how I know.”

  The techs laughed and the ice was broken. Burke was good at putting others at ease, Kim noticed. So why did he set off her internal radar so often?

  Once Smithers joined the group, Kim gave them all a quick report.

  “Officer Miller’s body is on the ground ten feet from the open front door of the Land Rover,” she pointed. “There’s a pistol in the console compartment between the front seats. We didn’t disturb anything.”

  “Is that pistol the murder weapon?” one of the techs asked.

  “I guess we’ll need forensics to say for sure. I didn’t touch it. When you lift it out, you may be able to tell if it’s been fired recently,” Kim replied. “But it would be odd to shoot Miller with that pistol and then put it back in the console, wouldn’t it?”

  Burke nodded. “Yeah, but everything about this is odd.”

  Smithers raised his eyebrows. “How do you mean?”

  “We came out here because we knew Olson’s cell phone was pinging from this location. We expected to find her here. We didn’t. Instead, we discovered the phone had been tossed into the weeds away from the Land Rover. The Bolton PD cruiser was parked at the road. The Land Rover was disabled right there,” Burke said, pointing and ticking off the oddities on his fingers as he spoke.

  “What about Miller?” Chief Mitchell asked.

  “Officer Miller was already dead,” Kim responded. “But there’s blood on the front door of the Land Rover that looks old and dried, so it’s probably not Miller’s.”

  “Suggests someone else was hurt. Maybe by Miller before he died.” Burke picked up with his list of questions. “But where is he? And what happened to Olson? Why was her cell phone off in the weeds? And Miller’s sidearm is still in his hand. If the gun in the console hasn’t been fired, then where’s the murder weapon?”

  Smithers nodded, considering the questions. “So you think Olson was here. She shot Miller.”

  Burke replied, “That’s one possibility. There are others.”

  “There usually are,” Smithers said, as the team filed out toward the Land Rover, keeping a close look at the
ground along the way. Mitchell and Woody went with them to get a firsthand look at the scene.

  When they had moved out of hearing range, Smithers turned to Kim. “We got a preliminary on the Land Rover off the VIN you sent. It was reported stolen last week.”

  She nodded. “Figured. Stolen from where?”

  “That’s the interesting part. The owner lives in Minneapolis. The local field office followed up. The owner is a normal citizen. Claims he hasn’t been out of state for months. Works for a bank. Says the Land Rover was stolen from the bank’s parking lot. He reported it at the time. We confirmed the report,” Smithers said.

  “You’re checking out the whole story, though,” Kim replied. Vehicles were stolen from parking lots every day. They didn’t usually end up abandoned in a field next to a dead cop.

  “What are you thinking?” Smithers cocked his head.

  “Minneapolis is a four-hour drive from here. The tire tracks leading from the road to the Land Rover looks like they were driving north, away from Bolton. If the vehicle was stolen north of here last week…” Kim said, letting her voice trail off as the possibilities ran through her mind.

  Burke scowled. “Normal tourists driving from Minneapolis to Mount Rushmore don’t steal a Land Rover to make the trip and then go home.”

  Smithers nodded, following along.

  “Something caused the vehicle to leave the road,” Kim said, thinking aloud. “Once it hit those rocks in the field and damaged the tire, the wheel, and possibly the frame, they couldn’t drive the Land Rover at all. They were stuck.”

  “Makes sense.” Smithers nodded and picked up her train of thought. “So the driver was still here, in the vehicle when Miller came along. But why kill him and then leave both the body and the police cruiser here?”

  “The driver didn’t need to take Miller’s cruiser to get away,” Burke said. “Which means someone else was involved. A team or an accomplice or even a rescue vehicle. Because nobody can drive two vehicles at once.”

  “You think it was Olson?” Smithers asked, raising his eyebrows. “There’s no history to suggest she’d kill a police officer. Her ex-husband works for Bolton PD. By all accounts we’ve gathered so far, she’s a law-abiding citizen. Maybe on the wrong side sometimes, people say. They don’t like that she works for the bad guys instead of the good guys. But still, her criminal record is clean. We checked.”

  One of the crime techs came up from behind. He was carrying a pistol in a plastic evidence bag. “Agent Smithers, here’s the weapon from the console. Doesn’t seem like it’s been recently fired, but we’ll need ballistics to confirm it wasn’t the murder weapon.”

  “Thanks,” Smithers said. “We can check that off the list of open questions.”

  The tech said, “Thing is, Chief Mitchell said you’d want to know that this Glock has a history.”

  “Yeah?” Smithers asked without touching the gun.

  “It was tied to a murder in Sioux Falls last year,” the tech said. “Dead guy was a member of the Irish mob out of Boston.”

  “Who killed him?” Burke asked.

  “Case is still open. Unsolved,” the tech replied.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Saturday, May 14

  Near Bolton, South Dakota

  12:45 p.m.

  The crime tech wasn’t finished. “Somebody who knew what they were doing cleaned the Land Rover. Very little trace evidence left in it at all. What there is so far is all in the front seat area. We’ve called a flatbed to tow it out of here when we’re done. We’ll give it a thorough exam. But it doesn’t look like the rest of the processing will tell us much.”

  Kim felt her phone vibrating in her pocket. She glanced at the screen to confirm. “I need to take this.”

  Burke frowned, and Smithers nodded. Woody and Chief Mitchell walked up as she left. They could question the tech and catch up on whatever facts they’d gathered thus far. She wouldn’t be long.

  She walked away for privacy as she picked up the call. “What have you got?”

  “Let me tell you what we don’t have. Satellite images.” Gaspar replied, sounding annoyed. “I’ve checked all the possibilities. Even the classified satellites that roam around aren’t focused on that area often enough to help you out.”

  She felt the disappointment and realized how much she still depended on Gaspar. She’d expected him to have more. “Is there good news?”

  “Not much. I’ve got Olson’s cell phone logs. No calls this morning. No texts, either. The phone was pinging from that location for well over an hour before you found it. Maybe two hours.”

  “But?”

  She imagined his smile, which she heard in his voice when he said, “Before that, the phone was located at her home. A farmhouse not far from where you’re standing.”

  “Can you trace it?”

  “Great minds think alike. The phone moved from the farmhouse to where you’re standing. That’s all. Took about fifteen minutes to get there. And then it never left,” Gaspar said. “And from your questions, I’m guessing you didn’t find Olson there holding the phone.”

  “Give that man a cigar,” Kim replied sourly.

  “The other good news is about Olson’s kid, Noah. His phone is still at the farmhouse. No way to know whether he’s there with it, but the phone has been used in the past hour.”

  “Yeah? Used for what?”

  “You know kids. Text messages. He’s chatting with his friends. Last text was five minutes ago.” Gaspar paused. “A couple of his buddies want him to play hoops this afternoon. Noah says he can’t because he has to stay home with his grandpa until his mom gets back. Says she should be back shortly.”

  Kim grinned. “You’re a genius, Chico, you know that?”

  “So I’ve been told,” he deadpanned before he hung up.

  Kim dropped the phone back into her pocket and rejoined Burke and Smithers. “We need to get going.”

  “Where?” Smithers asked.

  “Olson’s place is a few miles from here. We were on our way there when we found all of this,” Kim said. “We’ve got our own work to accomplish.”

  “Uh, huh.” Smithers cocked his head. “How is Reacher involved in all of this? You’re still conducting his background check, I assume? What knowledge does Olson have on the subject?”

  Burke replied, “We won’t know until we ask her. But it has something to do with one of her clients. An inmate at Bolton prison. And before you ask, we don’t know which one.”

  “It’s possible that either she shot Miller or whoever did is there with her. Could be the same guy you’re interested in.” Smithers narrowed his gaze as if he didn’t like the logic but couldn’t come up with a better answer. “I’ll call for another team to come out in the helo. You’ll need backup.”

  Just as he said it, Bolton Police Chief Mitchell came back. “Where are you going that you need backup? Miller was my officer. If you have a lead on his murder, I’m coming along. I’ve got guys driving in from Bolton. They should be here in another twenty minutes.”

  “Can you get your team to the Olson farmhouse?” Smithers asked. “My guys won’t have ground transportation. Take too long to wait for that.”

  Mitchell nodded. “Let me tell Woody what’s happening. Be right back.”

  Kim walked toward the Navigator and Smithers joined her. Burke followed behind. When they reached the vehicle, Smithers said, “Was that Gaspar on the phone?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. He says there’s no satellite imagery that can help us with Miller’s murder.”

  Smithers said, “I won’t ask how he knows that.”

  Kim didn’t respond. Gaspar’s access to intel she couldn’t get any other way was more valuable to her than Smithers’s approval. She had no guilt about asking Gaspar. He was a big boy. He knew his own limits. The Boss could have helped her out, but he never did. So what choice did she have?

  “What else did Gaspar say?” Burke asked, frowning as he opened the driver’s door.r />
  “He said Olson hasn’t used her phone today, but he thinks Olson’s kid is still at the farmhouse because he’s been on his phone with his friends,” she said, climbing into the passenger seat.

  Smithers settled into the backseat. His booming voice filled the cabin. “Who else is at the farmhouse with young Noah? Reacher? And where’s Noah’s mother? Gaspar have any intel on that?”

  “He’s working on it,” Kim replied as Mitchell stepped into the backseat and Burke started the engine.

  Before Burke pulled away, he scanned a text on his phone. He read it quickly and shut the screen off.

  “What’s up?” Kim asked.

  “Just one of my old SEAL buddies. He’s in DC for the night. Wanted to meet up for a drink,” Burke said and rolled onto the pavement.

  Something raised the hair on the back of Kim’s neck and knotted her stomach. She hadn’t read the text. Still, a big part of her job was spotting liars. She was damned good at it. And she didn’t believe him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Saturday, May 14

  Olson Farmhouse, South Dakota

  1:10 p.m.

  Burke drove north along the deserted road about two miles to a big bend in the road. As the Navigator came around the bend, Kim saw a lone farmhouse ahead at the end of a long gravel driveway.

  The silence inside the SUV deepened. The only sound was deep breathing while five law enforcement professionals evaluated the scene.

  The farmhouse was an old-fashioned, two-story wood building. At one time, it might have been painted white. The clapboards had weathered over the years to a lifeless gray. A few scattered trees obscured the view on either side of the driveway. The expanse of weeds covering the ground from the road to the house had been mowed, but no one would have called it a lawn.

  “Looks abandoned, doesn’t it?” Smithers said from the backseat in his deep, rumbling voice. “I suppose we know that people actually live here, right, Mitchell?”