by Rusty Ellis
Fall of Adam
A Chase Harper Justice Thriller (Book 1)
Rusty Ellis
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 Rusty Ellis
All rights reserved.
To my wife and
the friends who pulled me through…
Bridger - Felipe - Todd
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Thank you!
About the Author
Also by Rusty Ellis
Also by Rusty Ellis
Also by Rusty Ellis
1
Megan clutched her purse to her chest, her eyes battling to retain their composure and keep the tears at bay. She inventoried her living room, a television mounted to the wall, a sofa-sleeper, oak coffee table, end tables capped with glass tops, and the kitchen, a heavy wooden table surrounded by four matching chairs, a lazy-Susan in the middle of the table with fresh flowers in a tall vase, and her new expresso machine setting on the counter.
Was she willing to walk away from it all? To leave it to whoever cleaned out the apartment? Would the landlord keep the nicer items and put the rest of her personal goods on the street for neighbors to scavenge?
Even the purse in her hands would not stay with her for long, including her checking account, savings, and any cash she had hidden away in the inside zippered pocket. She was choosing to abandon it all, everything she had worked and saved for, scrimped and put on layaway, bought a piece at a time. When it came down to it, they were things, or so she told herself, and then reminded herself again as she opened the door to her apartment and took one last look inside. She pulled the door shut and, out of habit, pulled the keys from her purse and locked the doorknob and the bolt above it.
She turned away from the door and let out a deep breath to calm herself. She could do this. She had to do this.
2
Chase Harper stared down the large row of metal tools strewn across the tailgate of his truck. He reached down and grabbed one of the vintage, open-ended tractor wrenches and pulled a rag that was hanging from his back pocket. He held the angled metal up and inspected it for leftover grease from the Andersen’s tractor and rubbed the metal with the rag to raise any leftover shine hiding beneath the oxidized outer layer.
“I appreciate you coming by,” a raspy voice sounded behind him.
Chase recognized the voice from years of accompanying his own father to the Andersen’s farm on an occasional weekend. George Andersen was what his father referred to as “salt of the earth” people. George worked-hard and paid-fair.
“No problem, Mr. Andersen. Glad I could help.”
Chase took the wrench in his hand and slipped it into the toolbox tucked into the corner of the truck bed near the tailgate. Mr. Andersen stepped up beside him and began handing tools to Chase, doing his part. At 83 years old, Mr. Andersen refused to slow down. Probably the reason he was still so mobile and could expect several more years in his future.
“You sure remind me of your father. He was a good man.”
Chase recognized the man’s way of saying he missed Chase’s father. The two men were good friends. They could stand in the field next to a tractor for hours and talk about everything from the price of diesel to opening day of deer hunting, and every bit of life in between.
“How’s your sister doing?” Mr. Andersen asked.
Chase squirmed a little at the question. Such a simple question struck a guilty nerve. Where his father carried traits worthy of Mr. Andersen’s friendship, Chase fell short in some of the basics—namely family. He could argue that he was there for his sister when she needed him, but this argument would crumble under further scrutiny.
His only option was to go with the safe answer, “She’s doing fine, thanks.”
“Still living in Mountain Home? Married to that military guy?” Mr. Andersen prodded.
Though Chase wasn’t current on his sister’s life, he was at least aware she had divorced three years ago. Word around town had sparked fast once the right people knew she’d gotten a divorce. The rest of the community finding out didn’t take long. Fresh information was a luxury and most people clamored for their share of it. Mr. Andersen was the exception. He didn’t receive his share, mostly because of his failure to pass second-hand information on to the next person. Another trait he and Chase’s father shared.
“She’s still living there, but she got a divorce some time ago,” Chase said.
Mr. Andersen shook his head and took off his ball cap, “Sorry to hear that, Chase. This is a crazy world. Seems like nowadays most things are made to be discarded and not repaired. Disposable I guess. Not people though, and especially not family.”
The two men stood quiet until Mr. Andersen continued, “Look at me, handing out lectures like free popsicles.”
He laughed and clapped Chase on the back. Chase smiled and flipped up the tailgate on his truck, giving it a good shake to make sure the latch took.
Mr. Andersen slipped his hat back on and reached into his shirt pocket. He pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to Chase. Chase nodded in thanks. Paper checks.
“Well, some things are worth repairing and investing in, like my Johnny Popper here and families. Each is worth their cost in gold, though I hope you accept dollars for fixing my tractor,” Mr. Andersen chuckled.
Chase let out a matching laugh and climbed into his truck. He waved goodbye out the window and drove through the field to the paved highway in front of Mr. Andersen’s property. He pulled onto the asphalt and listened to his wheel’s hum as the truck picked up speed. Three things he knew for sure; he missed his father, Mr. Andersen was the Salt of the Earth, and he needed to invest more time in catching up with his sister.
Chase stepped onto the wooden deck outside the bar and drew in a deep breath of the cool night air. The
main street through Glasgow had already rolled up for the evening, with only an occasional car drifting down the road and stopping at the quick-stop across the street. Chase’s phone vibrated against his chest. He retrieved it far enough out of his shirt pocket to see the screen and registered the name—Brett.
The name surprised Chase. He thought he deleted Brett’s name from his phone after he divorced his sister a couple years ago. During the divorce, Chase came to his sister’s aid and defense, but when all was said and done, he wasn’t convinced Megan was the victim. Brett had been a good guy. His sister, well, she was his sister.
Last Chase heard, Brett was still at Mountain Home Air Force Base in Idaho; the last update he’d heard from his sister about nine months ago. Chase wasn’t in the mood to learn about his sister’s new escapades, if that was even what the call was about. A jingle sounded in his pocket, Brett left a voicemail.
Chase glanced at the time on his phone as the screen turned to black—10:21 p.m. He’d lasted about 21 minutes longer than intended. The little town normally shut down around 9:30 p.m. during the week, no different from when he first started staying out at night back in high school. Same town. Same schedule. Same crowd, though aged a bit. Few left, most came back. Him? He followed the same path and left… and came back.
Chase dropped his phone back into his pocket and walked down the three wooden steps from the porch to the parking lot. He reached his truck and flipped the unlocked door open and climbed onto the tattered seat. Reaching for the keys already in the ignition, he turned the key, and the engine rumbled. The radio crackled to life, the same Hank Williams song from the bar played on.
Smiling, Chase put his truck into gear and eased out of the parking spot, “Let’s head home, Hank.”
3
The morning sun cut through the crack in the drapes, made its way across the window seal and carpet, and crawled up Chase’s bed. The rays paused on his pillow and nudged a furrow across Chase’s face. He contemplated rolling over but remembered Brett’s voicemail on his phone.
Giving up, he flipped back his comforter and slid his feet onto the wooden floor. He smacked his lips and ran his tongue across the dry roof of his mouth before rocking forward and heading for the kitchen.
Dirty dishes and pans lined the left side of the sink. He searched and rescued the empty coffeepot from the top of the pile. Trudging to the cupboard with the empty pot, he looked—unsuccessfully—to find the plastic coffee grounds container. He looked at the trash can in the corner and could see the container peeking over the lip.
He dropped the empty pot on the counter and spotted his favorite cup. He tipped the cup and looked to see it was still half-full.
Chase grabbed the cup and popped it into the microwave and set the timer for 30 seconds. The half-cup would have to do. He listened to the microwave hum as the glass tray turned and heated his cup.
Chase turned and leaned his back against the counter and spotted his cellphone on the table. Though indifferent about Brett’s call the night before, Chase was in a better mood to deal with the call this morning. The microwave dinged and Chase retrieved his cup before heading toward the table and his phone. Sitting down, he tapped the phone’s screen and navigated to the message. He pushed the small triangle on the screen to start the message playing and hit the speaker symbol.
He cradled the coffee cup in his hand and took a sip while he waited for the voicemail to play.
“Hey, Chase. It’s been a long time. This is Brett. I’m calling about Megan.”
Of course you are. What’s she done now? Chase shook his head.
“Well, not trying to worry you, but her work called me about a week ago and wondered if I’d seen her. They still had me down as her emergency contact there. Truthfully, I haven’t talked to her in over a year now. We really haven’t had a reason to talk. Anyway, I tried to call her but couldn’t reach her. I went to her apartment but there wasn’t an answer there either.”
Chase sat up taller in his seat and set the cup back on the table. His first thought was to call his niece Haley, Megan’s daughter.
Brett continued, “I tried to call Haley, but she didn’t answer either. I tried to check on her at the college to see if she has been attending classes but they wouldn’t give me any information about her. Listen, there may be a good explanation about them going off-grid, I just don’t have a good answer for that. Anyway, thought you should know. Later.”
Chase leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms across his chest. Megan could be a little flaky but she wouldn’t just disappear from work. She’d been known to avoid her phone but never more than a day or two. A week was definitely longer than her norm. But Haley, that just made little sense. Where Megan was a little more flighty, Haley could flow better with life’s twists and turns.
Picking up his phone, Chase typed Megan’s name and hit send. The phone rang several times before a robotic voicemail picked up, “The customer you are trying to reach has a voicemail box that’s full. Please try again later.” The phone went dead.
Chase tried again. Same result.
He tried Haley’s phone and got her voicemail, “This is Haley. I’m not available. You know what to do.” The phone beeped to leave a message.
“Haley, this is Uncle Chase. I’m trying to reach you or your mom. Call me when you get this. Okay, uh, bye.”
Chase’s mind began to whirl. He couldn’t come up with a scenario where Megan and Haley would both just disappear.
If they were moving somewhere else, Megan would have called. At the bare minimum, she always kept Chase in the loop where she and Haley were living. No matter what ideas came to Chase’s mind, they fell apart when matched against the phone calls and Megan not showing up for work.
Out of options and explanations, Chase called Brett.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Brett. It’s Chase, I’m calling about Megan and Haley.”
4
Chase listened as Brett explained the events leading up to his decision to call. Brett had gone through the obvious steps of contacting Megan’s work and even tried to reach out to any of Megan’s or Haley’s friends. His last ditch effort was contacting the local police department.
“They had me come down and pickup the paperwork to file a missing person report. Not sure how much good that will do.”
Chase processed the information and considered the 800 mile distance from Glasgow to Mountain Home, a full 12-hour drive.
“You still there?” Brett finally asked.
“Yeah.”
“What do you want me to do?”
Break into her apartment and see what you can find, Chase thought.
“You did what you could, Brett. I appreciate it. Looks like I’ll be coming out there to poke around and see what I can find. I’m sure there’s a good explanation for everything.”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” Brett sounded relieved. “Chase?”
“Yeah.”
“Even though your sister and I aren’t together anymore, I still care about what happens to her and Haley. Just so you know.”
“Yeah, I know, Brett,” Chase said. “I'll gather up a few things and head that way. Should take me the better part of 12 hours to roll into town. I’ll hit you up when I get there to see if you’ve heard anything else.”
“Sounds good. I’ll wait for your call unless I hear or find something important.”
“Thanks again, Brett. See you tonight.”
Chase left his cup on the table and headed back to his room. He tossed his phone on the bed and got dressed. He paused while sitting on the edge of his bed and tying his boots.
What’ve you gotten yourself into, Sis.
He grabbed a black duffle bag from the closet and stuffed two-day's worth of clothes in it. He paused at the mirror on his dresser to look at himself. The scruff on his face was turning from scruffy leftover to a full-on beard and his head needed a fresh shave.
He pulled the top dresser drawer open and grabbed
his Glock 32 from the back corner. He grabbed the paddle holster setting next to it with his other hand and slipped the Glock into the holster until her heard the familiar clicking sound, locking it in place. He looped his thumb under the bottom of his shirt and lifted it up to slide the holster just behind his right hip inside his pants. He gave the holster a tug to make sure it was secure.
Grabbing the duffel bag off the bed, he flipped the bedroom light off and headed down the hallway past the closed door to his parent’s room. He wound around the sofa in the living room and stopped at the closet to grab a light jacket. A picture hanging between the closet and the front door caught his eye. It was of his parents and sister, the day she graduated from high school. He remembered taking the picture, not so much the occasion, but of his father having to bark at him to take it.
His parents were younger in the picture, the way he remembered them in his mind—young, healthy, active. Dad on the police department. Mom a middle school teacher. He and his sister a handful for their parents. The latter thought forced a grin on Chase’s face, Megan had paved the way.
