“Soon as I could.”
“We’ve been holding off, just trying to contain it, keep it from spreading to the trees and outbuildings. We know he has some explosives in there and ammunition, of course.”
“I want to go in, see if I can get him out.”
The chief didn’t even blink. “Okay. Take Sandoval.”
Almost a foot shorter than Lund, Sandoval was one of the toughest guys he’d ever known. Former military and just back from Afghanistan, he could face down any situation without a blink. Lund nodded. “Perfect.”
“And Kevlar.”
Lund groaned inwardly at the thought of wearing body armor under his heavy turnout gear. Even if it was only a vest, he would be dripping sweat before he even got close to the fire.
But orders were orders. He peeled off his gear and put on the vest Dempsey handed him. After getting redressed, Lund hooked up his SCBA and donned his mask.
He took his first breath, stomach hitching a little bit at the split second delay, then the air started flowing and his breath settled into rhythm. He pulled the soft hood over the back of his head, attached all the straps, and put on his helmet. Dempsey checked him over, then Sandoval, fussing with covering every inch of skin as if they were little boys going out to play in the snow.
In minutes, they were ready.
Smoke billowed from the open front door, and as soon as Lund stepped through, he couldn’t see a thing.
Sandoval took the lead. Left hand skimming the wall, he crawled on hands and knees, shouting out when he reached a window, door, or any other feature Lund needed to be aware of.
Also on hands and knees, Lund kept his left hand in contact with Sandoval’s boot. While Sandoval guided along the walls, Lund’s job was to search for Kasdorf. Stretching, he skimmed his right hand in front of him and swept his right leg toward the room’s center.
Sweat ran down Lund’s back in steady streams, beaded his forehead and stung his eyes. Not for the first time, he wished the department had the funds for thermal imaging cameras. The devices made seeing through smoke and darkness a breeze, picking up both the heat of flame and body heat of victims.
Without the technology, the going was much slower. Luckily Kasdorf had little furniture, so little, in fact, that Lund had to wonder if he lived in the house at all.
After finally completing their sweep, Sandoval paused. “Upstairs or down?”
Lund thought for a second. He knew little about the man, but Val had mentioned his survivalist tendencies and hatred of police. If threatened, he’d guess someone like that would burrow underground. And with all this smoke, that was probably the only place he might still be able to breathe. “Down.”
On the move again, Sandoval led back through the kitchen to the cellar door. They rose to their feet and walked down the stairs, the smoke thinning from too thick to see your hand to disconcerting gloom. Like many old farmhouses, the cellar was made of stone, water seeping through the chinks between. With the SCBA, Lund couldn’t smell a thing, but dank mildew was a good bet.
Movement stirred in the corner.
He squinted through mask and face shield, trying to focus through the gloom, but could make out nothing but phantoms of smoke from above.
They searched the area on their feet this time. Like the first floor, the cellar was relatively uncluttered, just an old chest freezer, a new hot water heater, furnace and water softener. And a wall of shelves lined with canning jars.
It couldn’t be. The whole idea was ridiculous. And yet …
Lund braced a hand against one side of the shelves and shoved.
Solid.
Apparently he’d guessed wrong. Kasdorf wasn’t the burrowing type. The man must be on the second floor. There was no way he could have survived the smoke up there. Lund had likely failed to save his third victim in a week.
He turned to direct Sandoval up the stairs only to see the phantom materialize behind him ... but it was no phantom.
It was a man holding a big-ass handgun.
Chapter
Twenty-Five
Val couldn’t wait any longer for the big reveal. “So who was with Kelly before she died?”
Becca glanced at Olson, then back to Val, but didn’t answer.
A nervous shimmy started right below her rib cage. “Spit it out, Becca.”
“David Lund.”
Val’s throat constricted.
Pete narrowed his eyes on the rookie. “So we recovered a used tissue with David Lund’s DNA in it from the scene? He was there that morning. Couldn’t he have blown his nose?”
Becca shook her head. “It wasn’t from him blowing his nose.”
“Semen?”
She nodded. “Some killers … get excited when they take a life.”
Val’s mind stuttered. What Becca was saying was impossible. She couldn’t wrap her mind around it.
“And if you remember,” Becca continued, “we had snow the day before, so a tissue couldn’t have been there long without being dissolved by the elements.”
Pete focused on Val. “Are we going to bring him in?”
Val forced a nod, although her mind was screaming. It didn’t feel right, but that was the problem, wasn’t it? When it came to Lund, she’d been going by her feelings since Kelly’s body showed up in the lake. Could she have been wrong? Could she have slept with a killer?
She felt sick and tired and numb and ready to throw in the towel on the whole thing. But she couldn’t do that, could she? She had to do the job, even though it was not technically hers to do. There was no one else.
She cleared her throat, but the dry constriction remained. “We pay the chief a visit first. Then we talk to Lund.”
Val hated the idea of letting Grace out of her sight, but she certainly wasn’t going to drag the girl to either an arrest or what could be a rather explosive fire. Besides, when push came to shove, the safest place in Lake Loyal was sitting in the dispatch center of the police station, Oneida feeding her sugar cookies and mothering her with the ferocity of a grizzly.
For now, circumstances required officers to stop responding to crashes where no one was hurt. Her entire department was focused on helping the injured and assisting the county sheriff’s department and state patrol with the interstate pileup nightmare.
That left two cars. Becca took the remaining black-and-white, and Olson and Val piled into his SUV. She left Jack’s Nova safely parked.
The chief had retired to a remodeled seventies split level in a wooded development on the north side. It wasn’t far, but Olson drove so slowly, Val thought they probably would’ve arrived sooner on foot. Each time he tapped the brakes, the vehicle slid in slow motion several yards through a stop sign or toward a ditch, before the curb or lack of momentum would bring them to a stop.
If she’d thought the trees were breathtaking this morning, tonight they were otherworldly, except in the spots where it appeared as though a tornado had blown through. Supple branches sparkled like glass and arched under heavy ice, sometimes reaching all the way to the ground. Larger and older branches snapped and hung like a scene from a disaster movie. It was a miracle anyone in the area still had power.
By the time they reached the chief’s place, her back was covered with clammy sweat, and every nerve in her body was starting to feel as useless as her hand and her right eye.
Even in the early dark of a cloudy late afternoon, no lights were on in the house. They parked in the driveway, Becca pulling in behind them.
Deciding to take the straightforward approach, they climbed from their vehicles, marched up to the front door, and rang the bell.
Nothing.
Val shielded the glass side light from the glow to the west and peered through the glass.
As in most split level houses, the front door opened to a small landing. Half a flight of stairs stretched upward to the main floor, the other half led down, a difficult floor plan to manage for people with disabilities … and for police.
At the top
of the stairs, a small table rested on its side. The clock that had once set on top lay beside it, crystal shattered, pieces scattered down the stairs.
“Olson.” She stepped away from the window and motioned for him to look.
His body stiffened, and he drew his gun. Becca did the same.
Val could only wish she had hers. Another casualty of her suspension. She reached for the door knob. It twisted under her hand. Pausing, she eyed the two of them.
They nodded.
She pushed the door open.
Olson then Becca flowed into the house. They climbed the stairs, guns ready, footfalls scuffing lightly on tile.
Val stayed on the landing, keeping an eye on the dark yawn of the lower level. The harder she tried to hear what was going on upstairs, the louder her pulse drummed. Seconds crawled, ticked off by the broken clock’s still functioning hands.
Finally Olson appeared at the top landing, lips pinched with tension, brows low. “Upper two levels are clear. Take a look.”
He descended, Becca following, and the two passed Val and continued to the lower level.
Val climbed the stairs.
The table and clock were only the beginning. The rest of the living room was a wreck as well. A lamp was shattered, a chair tipped over, papers strewn around. She could only conclude it was the scene of a brawl.
She stepped around the mess and into the kitchen. Compared to the living room, things were neat in here. But the items that were out of place gave her a chill.
A knife block had been knocked to the floor, knives scattered across the counter. The chef’s knife nowhere to be found.
The dining room was all that was left on this level. She picked her way to the doorway, stepping carefully as not to disturb any evidence.
No damage here. The hardwood floor showed no scuffs, the chairs sat straight in their places, even the bills, calculator and checkbook were still spread across the table top, undisturbed.
Blowing out a breath of relief, she circled the table.
The missing knife lay on the floor, its blade dull and sticky, matching the rusty stain on the corner of the oriental rug.
The bullet went wide.
Lund went in low.
With each step, he waited for the slug to connect, braced himself for the pain.
He hit the man square in the gut, plowing into him like a linebacker, driving with his legs, just as another explosion pummeled his ears.
The man flew backward, bounced on the floor once, then slammed into the chest freezer, Lund on top of him. His weapon clattered loose and skittered across the floor.
Holding the guy’s arms against his sides, Lund took a look at his face.
Buzz cut and scruffy beard, he squinted, eyes barely open. His skin was flushed pink, as if he’d spent too long in a sauna, but Lund knew his biggest problem wasn’t excessive heat, but the carbon monoxide he’d been breathing while trying to save his precious weapons store.
“We’ve got to get this guy out,” he called to Sandoval. His ears rang, head throbbed. He could hardly hear his own voice. “Give me a hand.”
Sandoval didn’t answer. Or maybe Lund couldn’t hear.
Keeping one hand on Kasdorf’s chest, he twisted around to search for his fellow firefighter. The smoke seemed to be growing thicker, even down here, and it took a few seconds before he could make out distant shapes in the dark gloom.
Sandoval was in front of the fake shelves, face down on the cellar floor.
The house cleared and no sign of Chief Schneider, save possibly the blood in the dining room, Val allowed Olson to lead her to the outbuilding in back.
If Chief Schneider had done the things she suspected, she probably shouldn’t be so worried about him now. But no matter what he’d done, she’d cared about him, admired him, respected him, and she couldn’t shut those feelings off like a spigot.
The meager glow of the sun had faded completely, though Val wasn’t sure if it had set or the clouds were just too thick for its last rays to poke through. Walking the short distance across the yard was dangerously slick, ice skates probably more valuable now than boots.
Once a pole barn, probably designed for horses, the steel structure hadn’t seen animals of any kind for years. Now home to boxes, an old refrigerator and what looked like a vehicle hidden under a tarp, the place smelled of mouse droppings and dust, and although they were sheltered from the pattering rain, the metal walls seemed to intensify the chill.
At least she couldn’t detect the scent of blood.
Olson and Becca moved quickly, leading with their weapons. They cleared the building, then moved to the vehicle and pulled the tarp off a pickup truck.
“No one inside.” Becca called.
Val let out a breath and crossed the cluttered dirt floor.
“No, but get a load of this.” Olson pointed to the scraped up bumper and left fender. Traces of bright green marred the paint.
For a moment, Val just stared. A long ago murder she could keep distant, more of a mental puzzle than a visceral reality. The fact that Schneider had tried to kill her just last night to cover up his crime wasn’t as easy to compartmentalize.
But she still didn’t want to see him dead.
Becca’s radio broke the moment, crackling to life, Oneida’s voice booming out the call. “Shots fired. 1324 Sunrise Ridge Road. Shots fired.”
Val didn’t need to check the GPS to know the address belonged to one Dale W. Kasdorf.
Chapter
Twenty-Six
With no handcuffs, no rope, no nothing to secure Kasdorf, Lund didn’t dare leave him to check on Sandoval. At best, the guy would probably scurry back to wherever he’d been hiding and die of carbon monoxide poisoning. At worst, he’d get his hands on another weapon and make sure he finished both Sandoval and him.
So he did the only thing he could do. He pulled back his fist and nailed the nutbag in the jaw.
A pair of night vision goggles that had flown off when he’d tackled Kasdorf proved to be broken, and Lund tossed them aside. Taking the rifle, he crossed the basement to Sandoval and knelt by his side. “Jorge?”
The firefighter was breathing, the hiss of his respirator mixing with Lund’s. A groan shuddered through his body.
“Can you move, man? I’ve got to get you out of here.”
Another groan.
Lund decided to take that as a yes.
Grasping a shoulder, he slowly rolled Sandoval to his side. Through his mask, he could see the man’s eyes were open, though flinching in pain. He scanned his coat. There was a rip in the side of his chest, but no blood. Not that he was sure he’d be able to see an injury through the thick turnout gear and darkness. “Can you stand up?”
Sandoval mumbled something, then struggled to comply.
Lund took one arm and pulled him to his feet. He shuffled him up against the shelving. “Hold on, okay? I’ll be right back.”
Sandoval nodded, his face a grimace.
On his way back to collect Kasdorf, Lund pulled out his radio, but try as he might, all he got was static. Damn paranoid bastard was probably jamming the signal. He slung the man across his shoulders in a fireman’s carry and returned to Sandoval.
They were on their own.
“Lean on me.”
“I can make it. Go on, get him out.”
He could barely hear the words, ears still ringing, but it wasn’t tough to figure out the message. “Do you always have to be a pain in the ass? Lean on me, anyway.”
Sandoval chuckled a touch, then doubled over in pain.
The going was slow, each step an ordeal. They crossed the basement easily enough, but the stairs proved to be immeasurably difficult. More than once Lund thought about leaving Sandoval, taking Kasdorf out, then coming back. But then what? If the place collapsed, he would have sacrificed a good man for the nut who shot him, and he just couldn’t live with that.
Sweat stung his eyes, making it tough to see. The temperature had to be seven or eight hun
dred degrees easy. His shirt and jeans were soaked under the heavily insulated turnout gear, but without it, he’d be cooked like Christmas turkey.
Smoke choked the main floor, and he made for the door as fast as he could. At least he and Sandoval still had their SCBA intact. Kasdorf was taking it all in, provided he was still breathing at all.
When they emerged, the first face he latched onto was Val’s. She stood next to Chief Fruehauf, the rookie cop and Sergeant Olson with her.
And absolutely no sign of Dixon Hess.
Luck was smiling on both of them tonight.
Dempsey met them as soon as he stepped off the porch. “Sandoval, you hurt?”
“He was shot by Mr. Second Amendment here,” Lund said.
Dempsey looped Sandoval’s arm over his shoulder and half carried him away from the burning house.
The EMTs met them at the perimeter with a stretcher. Lund let them take Kasdorf, and they immediately slapped an oxygen mask on him and made for the ambulance.
Dempsey helped Sandoval take off his SCBA and coat. He studied the hole in the coat and corresponding tear in the side of the vest. “It doesn’t look like it went through. Guess it was a good idea to wear these vests after all, eh Lund?”
Lund gave him a nod, although he still couldn’t hear him very well over the clanging in his ears.
Dempsey helped the injured firefighter peel off his vest. “No blood.”
The round had glanced off, ripping his coat, tearing the fabric of the vest, and probably breaking a few ribs in the process, but Sandoval was going to be okay.
“You weren’t even shot, you whiner.” Lund gave him a smile.
Sandoval grinned back. “Yeah, I’m a real pussy. And you fell for it, helping me out of that house.”
Finally able to breathe, Lund took off his own coat, despite the icy rain, and let cool wash over him. Dempsey guided Sandoval to the ambulance, and it pulled out, taking the injured firefighter and Kasdorf to the hospital. Sergeant Olson followed in the police SUV.
Pushed Too Far Page 17
