by Thomas Scott
Chapter Thirty-Six
When Whittle saw the cop run from the casino, he knew Kenny had come through for him. But the fact that casino security was still watching him was unsettling. What had the cop said to the guard? Maybe it was time to go. He took out his phone and called for an Uber, then walked outside to wait.
The guard watched him go, then dialed Murton’s number. When he didn’t get an answer, he left a short message, then hung up.
Whittle’s phone buzzed when he was about halfway home. When he answered, Kenny spoke quickly and quietly. “Listen to me. Don’t speak. I’m at the station right now. They’ve got your DNA from one of the girls. Half the cops in the state are looking for you right now.” Then, click.
Whittle stared at his phone in disbelief. After a few seconds, he leaned forward, and said, “Could you drop me at a different location? It’s only a mile or so from the original destination.”
The Uber driver, a nice young lady who was eager to please, said, “Of course. What’s the address?”
“I’m afraid there isn’t one. At least not yet. I’ve got a place that’s still under construction and they haven’t assigned an actual street number yet. If you take a left at the light, I’ll guide you in from there…”
The chopper raced through the night sky, its passengers quiet. The only person who spoke the entire way down was Sarah. She sat forward in her seat with her elbows on her knees, her hands balled into fists and pressed against her forehead. She kept repeating one word, over and over. It was her daughter’s name, except it wasn’t. Not exactly.
Whittle leaned forward from the backseat and pointed over to the right. “There’s the drive, right next to that telephone pole. The cabin is quite a ways back. If you’ll turn into the drive, I’ll walk from here.”
The driver said that was fine, and turned where Whittle told her. She put the car in park, which automatically unlocked the doors. As soon as she did, Whittle reached up and snapped her neck. He unbuckled her belt, pulled her into the back, then got in the driver’s seat and headed into the woods, safe, and out of sight.
Cool took them in hot, and Virgil had the door open the second they touched down on the hospital’s landing pad. They ran inside through the emergency department entrance and found two state troopers, and about half the Orange County cops, including the sheriff all standing around. Virgil went straight toward Harper and said, “Tell me what you know. Give me everything you’ve got, right now. What the hell happened?” He knew he was pressing too hard, but he couldn’t help it.
“Take it easy, Jonesy,” Harper said.
“Fuck easy. Two of my men are down. What’s their condition? Get me someone who knows something. Where the hell is Murton?”
Murton, who’d heard the helicopter come in, came around the corner and said, “I’m right here.”
Virgil spun around, and when he saw Murton, it helped calm him, even though his brother’s shirt and face and hands were covered with blood. “Murt…”
Murton held up a wait-a-minute finger, gave Becky a quick hug, and then went straight to Sarah. He grabbed her by her arms, then looked right into her eyes, and said, “He’s still alive. They’ve got three docs working on him right now. He lost a lot of blood, but they’re pumping it in as fast as he’ll take it.”
“Please tell me he’s going to be okay,” Sarah said. “I can’t lose him. I can’t go through this again. I won’t go through this again.”
“I can’t do that, sweetheart,” Murton said. “I don’t know if he’s going to be okay or not. But I can tell you this: That man of yours is a fighter. I didn’t think he was even going to make it to the hospital, much less into surgery, but he did, and he’s in there right now, fighting for his life…fighting for you.”
“How bad was he hit?”
Murton looked away for a moment before answering. “One of the surgical nurses has been keeping me updated. One round punctured his right lung before exiting through the back of his shoulder. The other shattered his left clavicle, and a bone fragment pierced his aorta. They had to crack his chest to get to the fragment, and he’s being kept alive right now by mechanical ventilation, and a cardiopulmonary bypass machine. If they can get the bone fragment out and get his heart restarted, he’s got a chance. That’s all I know.”
Sarah seemed to gather herself together, the facts—dire as they were—helped steady her. The words she spoke next proved to everyone who was present just what kind of woman she really was, and how lucky they were to have her in their lives. “What about Rosie?”
A single tear escaped the corner of Murton’s eye, and when he spoke, the words he used seemed cruel somehow, as if good news maybe wasn’t good at all, even though it was. “He’s already in recovery. He’s going to be okay.”
Whittle dumped the driver’s body and her phone down the cistern, then moved the car behind the cabin, out of sight. If he had to run, he’d need the wheels. Right now, he needed to think. Kenny told him they’d matched his DNA to one of the victims. How was that possible? Every single victim was at the bottom of the cistern. Had he left evidence behind somehow? And did it even matter? If they had it, they had it. He took out his phone and tried to call Kenny, but got no answer.
He was going to need his help and began to wonder how much that was going to cost him.
They all went up to the surgical waiting room and tried to get comfortable. Virgil pulled Harper aside and said, “We have absolute proof that Don Whittle is our guy. I’d like you, and a couple of your men to come with me to his house. If he’s there, we’ll take him right now. If he’s not, we’ll wait him out.”
“We can do that,” Harper said. “You think he’s the one who shot your men?”
“He must be,” Virgil said. “He knew we were at that house. He somehow managed to ambush two men who are very well trained and extremely good at what they do.”
Murton stepped over and said, “It wasn’t Whittle.”
At the sound of Murton’s words, Virgil turned his head so fast he heard his neck click. “What? How can that be?”
“I don’t know, Jonesy. All I know is it wasn’t him. That’s how I found Ross and Rosencrantz. I was getting bored just sitting around my room, so I went down to the casino. Whittle was there, walking around like he didn’t have a care in the world. I asked one of the security guys to run the tape back, and it showed he’d been there most of the night. When I heard that, I knew something was off. I ran back to the rental house, and that’s when I found Ross and Rosencrantz. Since they were still alive when I got there, it couldn’t have been Whittle.”
Virgil didn’t want to hear that. “That means he’s working with someone.”
“And we have no idea who it is,” Harper said.
“Not yet,” Virgil said. “But one thing at a time. Let’s get out to Whittle’s. If we can grab him, we’ll figure out who the other guy is if I have to beat it out of him.” Then he turned to Murton. “You coming?”
Murton shook his head. “I’m staying right here until we know something about Ross and Rosencrantz.”
Virgil understood and didn’t argue. He had enough manpower with Harper’s men. “Call me if you hear anything at all.”
Murton said he would. But he was lying on more than one count, even though he didn’t know it at the time.
Becky had the good sense to call Rosencrantz’s girlfriend, Carla Martin. She explained the situation and made it perfectly clear that Rosencrantz was going to be okay. “They told us a few minutes ago that he’s already awake. Murton is in talking to him right now.”
Carla said she’d get there as quick as possible, and hung up.
When Murton walked into the recovery room, Rosencrantz looked smaller somehow. His voice was weak and shallow, but the words he used told Murton everything he needed to know.
“You’re sure?” Murton said. “You’ve got to be one hundred percent on this one, Rosie.”
“Positive…Get prints…pizza box…Kenny was shooter. One�
��hundred…percent.”
“I’ll take care of it. Rest easy. You’re going to be okay.” Murton turned to leave, but Rosencrantz wasn’t done, no matter how weak he was.
“What…about…Ross?”
Murton’s jaw quivered when he answered. “They’re still working on him.”
“One…hundred…percent. Kenny.”
Murton walked back into the surgical waiting room, touched eyes with Becky, then walked out into the hall. Thirty seconds later she was by his side.
“I need your help,” Murton said.
Becky didn’t hesitate. “Name it.”
“Two things. One, I’m going to leave. I know who the shooter is, and I’m going to go get him. If anyone asks, I went back to the resort to change clothes.”
“Got it. What else?”
Murton pulled out his phone and brought up the picture of the rental sign that featured Kenny’s face and phone number. “Call Nicky or Wu and have them get me an address for this guy.”
“I spoke with Sandy a little while ago,” Becky said. “They haven’t left yet, so they can use my setup at our house if that’s okay with you.”
“That’s fine. Get them over there right now. I need the intel as fast as they can get it.”
“You’ll have it in about fifteen minutes. I guarantee it.”
“Love you, Becks.”
“I love you too. Watch your back, baby.”
“Always,” Murton said. Then he kissed his wife and walked down the hall, and out the door.
Murton had the address twelve minutes later. He punched the address into the nav unit in his rental car, and ten minutes after that he made a slow pass of Kenny’s house. The curtains were closed, but he saw movement from the backlighting. He parked his car around the corner, then crept behind the house, his gun held low at his side. When he tried the door handle, he was surprised to find it unlocked. He cracked the door as quietly as he could and heard the sounds of a ball game on the TV in the front room.
He waited a few seconds to make sure Kenny hadn’t heard the door open, then he brought up his gun, walked straight through the kitchen and into the front room.
Kenny heard someone coming and stood from his chair, but Murton was on him like a tiger. He pistol-whipped him across his brow, then bent down and pressed the barrel of his gun into Kenny’s forehead.
Kenny’s eyes were wide with fear. When he spoke, he was surprised by the sound of his own voice, which seemed two octaves higher than normal. “What the fuck, man? What are you doing?”
Murton pressed the gun harder into Kenny’s forehead and said, “Negotiating.”
After he had Kenny restrained, Murton searched him for weapons but didn’t find any. Kenny, ever the deal-maker, was trying to figure out how the cop knew he’d done the shooting, and how to get out of it. He looked at Murton, and said, “Listen, how about we make a deal. Things got a little out of hand, I’ll give you that, okay, but maybe we can work something out.”
“Don’t worry,” Murton said. “We’ll get everything sorted out. That’s why I said we were negotiating.”
Kenny felt himself relax a fraction. Maybe they could make a deal. “What did you have in mind?”
“First, I’ve got a question,” Murton said. “Your answer decides how much we’re going to negotiate.”
“What’s your question?”
“Where is Don Whittle?”
“What if I don’t know? What happens then?”
“Then we negotiate,” Murton said. “Here’s how it works.” He pulled the hammer back on his Sig and stuck the barrel into Kenny’s mouth. “I’ll either kill you quick by blowing your brisket against the wall, or…” He pulled the gun out of Kenny’s mouth, de-cocked it, and put it in its holster.
“Or what?” Kenny said.
Murton reached down, pulled a wicked-looking blade from his boot, and said, “Or I’ll kill you as slowly as possible with this. Tell me where Whittle is, and I might let you live.”
Kenny visibly swallowed, and said, “He’s got a cabin in the woods not far from here. No one knows about it. I think it’s listed under his father’s name. I can take you there, but if I do, you’ve got to let me go. I’m sorry for what I did, but he threatened to kill me if I didn’t help him out.”
“Uh-huh,” Murton said. “Where’s your phone?”
“Right over there on the table.”
Murton stepped backward and grabbed the phone. “Passcode?”
Kenny’s face reddened slightly. “One two three four.”
“Clever.” Murton punched in the code and it showed two missed calls from a contact listed as ‘Whit.’ “It looks like good old Don has been trying to reach you, Kenny. Time to call him back. Let’s put him on speaker.” Murton dialed, and right before he pressed the Send button, he pulled his gun, cocked it, and pressed it into Kenny’s groin. “I’ve had the trigger on this thing reworked. It’s got the lightest pull imaginable. It’ll hurt like hell, but it won’t kill you. Say one wrong word, and I’ll finish with the knife.”
Then he pressed the button.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Virgil, Harper, and two deputies went to Whittle’s house and tore the place apart. Whittle wasn’t there, and they found nothing that would indicate where he might be. Harper instructed the deputies to remain behind, stay alert, and keep an eye on the place. Then he and Virgil walked down to the rental house to check in with the Orange County crime scene crew.
As they made the walk, Virgil looked at Harper, and said, “How good is your crew?”
“They get the job done. Prints, DNA, scenario analysis…that sort of thing. They don’t get much practice though, I can tell you that.”
“I’ve got a couple of people we could bring in if you think we’ll need them.”
The sheriff bobbed his head in a way that might have meant yes, or no. Virgil wasn’t sure. Finally, Harper said, “Let’s see what they’ve got, then I’ll let you know.”
When Whittle’s phone rang, he pulled it from his pocket, checked the screen, then said, “Where the hell are you? I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“I’m at home,” Kenny said. “I just got here. My phone died while I was out pretending to look for you. I hope you’ve got a plan because they’ve got you cold, man. They said they’ve got DNA.”
“I’m not sure I believe that,” Whittle said. “You’ve seen my work. I’ve been very careful.”
“Well, they got it somehow,” Kenny said. “Right now, I don’t think it matters how or where. You’ve got to split, whether you want to or not.”
“No shit. I’ve already put that together. I need your help.”
“After what I did, it’s going to cost you.”
“Don’t worry,” Whittle said. “I’ll take care of you. But we’ve got to do this tonight.”
“What do you need?”
“I’ve got a car, but I need good plates.”
“What kind of car?”
“It’s a Chevy Malibu. There are only about a billion of the damned things out there, so get out to the resort, swap out a few, and bring me two clean plates to the cabin. Got it?”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” Kenny said. “It’s gonna be a minute, though.”
“Quick as you can, man. I’m running tonight.”
Kenny looked at Murton, and said, “How was that?”
Murton pulled the gun away from Kenny’s groin, and said, “Good enough for now. Where’s your car?”
“In the garage. Why?”
“Because we’ve got work to do.”
Virgil and Harper walked up to the front door of the rental but didn’t go inside. They didn’t want to contaminate the crime scene any more than it already had been. One of the techs came over, nodded at Virgil, then looked at Harper and said, “Sheriff.”
“What have you got for us?” Harper said.
The tech looked at Virgil and said, “I understand these were your men.”
“That’s right,” Vir
gil said. “Anything you can give us right now? Anything at all?”
The tech nodded. “We thought the pizza box was odd. If your guys were running surveillance out of here, why order pizza delivery? Plus, it looks like there’s plenty of food in the fridge. Anyway, we’re running prints from the box against the state database to try and get a quick hit.”
“How long will that take?” Virgil said.
“With two state cops shot? About another thirty minutes. The request went right to the top of the list.”
Harper looked at Virgil. “Might as well wait here.”
Virgil nodded. “I’m going to call the hospital. See if there’s any news.”
Murton took Kenny out to his garage, then released one of his handcuffs, wrapped it around the leg of the workbench, then reattached it to his wrist. With Kenny now safe and secure, Murton got to work. He turned on the overhead lights, looked around for a few minutes, then walked over to Kenny and said, “I need a sledgehammer.”
“What for?”
“Don’t ask questions, Kenny. Questions aren’t your friend right now. Where is your sledgehammer?”
“I don’t have one.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Murton said in an almost whimsical fashion. “Let me ask you this: What’s your golf handicap?”
“I’m between a ten and a twelve, depending.”
Murton pushed out his lower lip. “Impressive, though you’re probably lying. Where do you keep your clubs?”
