Stag Party (Blanco County Mysteries Book 8)

by Ben Rehder

  “Drop your weapon!” Marlin yelled again. “Right now!”

  Marlin would shoot if he had to. No question. If Endicott showed the slightest sign of noncompliance or continued aggression, Marlin would open fire. The crosshairs of Marlin’s scope were centered on Endicott’s sternum.

  The enormous man remained perfectly still.

  “Drop it, Endicott!”

  By now, Marlin could hear the sirens of at least half a dozen emergency vehicles, creating an overwhelming cacophany. They were probably clustered at the ranch entrance, waiting for someone at the main house to open the gate, while a small team began working with wire cutters to remove a section of fence as an alternate entry point.

  “You’re trespassing,” Endicott yelled. “I don’t recognize your authority.”

  “Drop your weapon!”

  Endicott had to know he was out of options. But a man with his misanthropic and narcissistic personality would not want to submit to arrest.

  Would he be stupid enough to attempt to shoot at Marlin? That choice would be fatal. The moment the barrel of the AR-15 swung even an inch in Marlin’s direction, Marlin would open fire.

  “Shoot him!” somebody yelled. Marlin recognized the voice of Red O’Brien. Idiot.

  “Shut up!” That was Phil.

  Marlin said, “Endicott, I won’t say it again. Drop your weapon right now.”

  Endicott was plainly struggling with the decision. In his mind, giving up would be a moral failure—tantamount to acquiescing to tyranny. Was he willing to die for his ideals? Marlin hoped the answer was no.

  Very slowly, Endicott held the AR-15 out in front of him with both hands, the barrel parallel to the ground. He remained like that for several seconds. Then he dropped the rifle to the ground.

  “Take three steps backward,” Marlin said.

  Endicott did as instructed.

  “Turn around and get down on your knees,” Marlin said.

  Endicott turned around. But he didn’t drop to his knees. Instead, he began to slowly walk away.

  “Endicott!”

  He kept walking.

  “Endicott, stop where you are and get down on your knees!”

  Damn it. Marlin couldn’t just let him walk away. He might still be armed. He could have a gun tucked into a pocket or holstered on his belt, hidden by his shirt.

  “Endicott!”

  And Marlin still didn’t know where the girl was. Was she tied to a tree somewhere? Unconscious somewhere on the ground? Was Endicott going to get her right now?

  Marlin had no choice. He would have to approach Endicott and stop him from leaving the scene. He had pepper spray. That might be useful. He wished he had a stun gun. Deadly force would be justified, if it came to that. Marlin put his rifle back into the safety position and rose to his feet.

  And then he noticed a sudden movement to his left. Phil Colby had emerged from behind his oak tree and was running straight toward Aaron Endicott.

  “Phil!” Marlin yelled, but he already knew there was nothing he could do.

  Colby paid no attention. If he had been armed earlier, he wasn’t armed now, and Marlin was relieved to see that. Anyone who didn’t know Colby might think he was about to subject himself to a vicious beating.

  “Phil!” Marlin yelled again, and he broke into a run himself.

  Endicott heard the commotion behind him and glanced backward, over his shoulder. He saw Colby coming, so he turned and waited—and he actually appeared amused. Nobody could blame him. He was nearly twice Colby’s size.

  “Phil, stop!”

  Not a chance. Colby continued full steam ahead, only slowing when he got within ten yards of Endicott. Marlin kept running, although he figured everything would be over in just a second or two, before he had time to reach the men.

  He was right.

  As Colby closed the gap, Endicott raised his massive arms into a loose boxer’s stance, ready to fight. Now Colby was ten feet away, and then five, and then he drew his right fist back, preparing to deliver a huge blow backed by his forward momentum.

  Endicott raised his arms higher, guarding his face, preparing to deflect the first punch, and Colby responded as he’d been planning all along—by driving his fist deep into Endicott’s solar plexus.

  Woomp.

  It was a devastating right cross, and Colby followed through with perfect form.

  Nothing debilitates a man faster than quite suddenly losing the ability to breathe.

  Aaron Endicott doubled over, his mouth agape, eyes bulging, panic gripping his face, and Colby immediately rotated his upper torso like a coiled spring and drove a punishing left hook into the side of Endicott’s head.

  Marlin reached them just as Endicott hit the ground, now gasping and hacking, his lungs slowly beginning to regain their function. Blood was flowing from a two-inch gash on his right cheekbone. Endicott mumbled something, but it was unintelligible. He would need to be checked for a possible concussion, in addition to stitches.

  “Daaamn,” Red O’Brien said. He and Billy Don Craddock had trotted over to the scene.

  “Remind me never to fuck with Phil Colby,” Craddock said.

  Marlin looked at Colby with a raised eyebrow.

  Phil shrugged and rubbed his left hand. He was breathing heavily—winded from the sprint. “That was a citizen’s arrest,” he said. “But I’ll admit I’m not sure if I did it right.”

  40

  Marlin carried a mug of fresh coffee into one of the small, windowless interview rooms at the sheriff’s department and closed the door behind him. It was three thirty-five—a little more than one hour since Aaron Endicott had been taken into custody.

  Phil Colby, Red O’Brien, and Billy Don Craddock had not been charged with anything, but they had been brought in for questioning.

  “Well, here we go again,” O’Brien said, grinning from his place on the other side of the small table. “Only this time I ain’t got nothin’ to hide.”

  He was alluding to the fact that Marlin had questioned him many times over the years—usually when O’Brien had run afoul of one hunting law or another, sometimes unintentionally, but usually on purpose.

  Marlin’s extensive interaction with O’Brien was the reason Garza had put this interview in his hands. Marlin, quite simply, would be able to read him. He’d know when O’Brien was lying, or even stretching the truth.

  Garza, meanwhile, was questioning Colby, and Bill Tatum was questioning Craddock. Then Garza—or possibly Garza and Tatum together—would question Aaron Endicott, after he received medical treatment, and if he would talk. Either way, Endicott wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

  “You sure you don’t want something to drink?” Marlin asked.

  “Nah, I’m good. About filled up with Dr Pepper from earlier.”

  Marlin set his mug on the table and took a seat. Several pens and a notepad were on the table in front of him.

  “Okay,” Marlin said. “I’d like to talk for a few minutes about what happened this afternoon at the Endicott ranch. If you could, just start at the beginning. Tell me why you and Craddock happened to be hanging around out there. What were you doing?”

  O’Brien shifted in his seat. “Okay, sure. No problem. But first things first. Am I under arrest for something?”

  “No, you are not.”

  “Am I a suspect?”

  “For what?”

  “Anything.”

  “Such as?”

  “You tell me.”

  “What, like trespassing?” Marlin said.

  “Or anything else,” O’Brien said.

  Then Marlin remembered a conversation he’d had with Garza a few days earlier, and he almost laughed. “I understand you were concerned you might be a suspect in the Harley Frizzell homicide,” he said. “I can promise you that isn’t the case.”

  He didn’t mention that Bill Tatum had batted that idea around, but only because an investigator had to weigh every possibility, no matter how remote or unlikely. No
ne of them had ever seriously considered it. Marlin was entertained by the idea that O’Brien thought he could pull off a homicide they hadn’t yet been able to solve. The man could hardly poach a deer without getting caught.

  “So all I’m looking at is trespassing?” O’Brien said, brightening.

  “Probably not even that,” Marlin said. “I just need to hear your account of what happened today, and then we’ll know where things stand.”

  The bottom line, based on what Marlin knew right now, was that Colby, O’Brien, and Craddock had reason to believe that a young woman’s life was in danger, so they did what most reasonable people would do, especially when they believed law enforcement would not arrive on the scene anytime soon. They trespassed, armed, onto the Endicott ranch. Marlin doubted they would be charged with anything related to the shootout. Even Colby was probably in the clear for his “citizen’s arrest.” In effect, he had disabled a suspect who was fleeing from the scene of a felony. What prosecutor would bring charges for that?

  “Okay, well, the God’s honest truth is that I’d been inferring under the assumption that y’all thought I mighta killed Harley—me being his business partner and having something to gain and all. But then me and Billy Don met with Harley’s lady friend, Sparrow. You know Sparrow?”

  “We do,” Marlin said.

  “Okay, well, she told me Harley met with the Endicotts about his deer scent. Now, I’m no professional investigator, but I sorta figured anybody who knew about that scent—have you seen how good it works?”

  “I have, yes.”

  “Ain’t never seen nothing like it,” Red said. “So I figured anybody who knew about that scent was a prime suspect. I asked Sparrow who else Harley met with, but it was just the Endicotts. They was the only ones.”

  O’Brien gave Marlin a knowing look.

  “So...” Marlin said, prompting him to continue.

  “So I started conducting surveillance on ’em. If I could prove one of them killed Harley, that would put me in the clear, you see? On top of that, there was a reward for anonymous tips. That’s how we come to be sitting outside their ranch today.”

  “Were you watching Aaron Endicott specifically?”

  O’Brien laughed. “Hell, I didn’t even know he existed until a couple of hours ago. We was just watching whoever come out of that gate.”

  “Where exactly were you watching from?”

  O’Brien’s smile faded. “Uh...” he said.

  Marlin waited.

  “Well, if I answer that,” O’Brien said, “then I might could end up with a different trespassing charge. See, there ain’t a whole lot of places a guy can hide and still see that ranch gate. So I guess I’ll plead the Fourth on that one.”

  “Let’s not worry about any trespassing charges right now,” Marlin said. “We’ll just say you were watching the gate—and then what happened?”

  “Not much,” O’Brien said, “until just before noon, when this old beater Sentra come outta the gate with a woman in it. We followed her to the highway, but her car broke down. We drove on past, so we wouldn’t blow our cover. Normally we woulda stopped and helped, but she got help a little while later.”

  “Can you describe the woman?” Marlin asked.

  “Which one?”

  “The woman in the Sentra,” Marlin said. “Was there more than one?”

  “There was two.”

  “In the Sentra?”

  “No, one in the Sentra and one in the Mercedes.”

  “What Mercedes?” Marlin asked, resolved to remain as patient as possible. He had noticed that O’Brien’s eyes were somewhat red and glassy, but Marlin didn’t smell any alcohol on his breath.

  “The one that showed up to help,” O’Brien said. “A woman in a Mercedes SUV. She picked the first woman up and took her into Blanco. To the Super S. Then she went inside and came out with a couple of bags’ worth of groceries.”

  “Which woman did?”

  “The one from the Sentra,” O’Brien said.

  “Okay, let’s stop for a second,” Marlin said. “Can you describe the woman who was driving the Sentra?”

  “Oh, maybe fifty years old. Skinny, but I don’t mean skinny-skinny. Just not heavy. Thin. Or slender, I guess. And her hair was kinda short and brown. Good-looking lady. She had a red apron on at first, and then she took it off.”

  Caroline, Marlin thought.

  “So the second woman—the one driving the Mercedes SUV—can you describe her?”

  “I can do better. I can tell you who she was.”

  Marlin waited. O’Brien was looking pleased with himself.

  “Please do,” Marlin said.

  “Donna Endicott,” O’Brien said.

  “Driving the Mercedes SUV?” Marlin asked.

  “Yep. Saw her through binoculars. Recognized her from the show. I used to watch, until I realized it wasn’t any more interesting than talking to some of my brain-dead cousins.”

  “Donna Endicott didn’t go inside the store?” Marlin asked.

  “Nope. She stayed in the SUV. Then maybe twenty minutes later, the pretty woman came out of the store, and they drove back to the ranch.”

  Marlin was getting antsy. He figured at this rate, the interview would take longer than the actual events O’Brien was describing. And so far, Marlin had learned nothing useful.

  “And what happened next?” Marlin asked.

  “I got no idea, because they went through the gate, and I couldn’t follow ’em.”

  “No, I mean what did you do next?”

  Marlin was catching an occasional whiff of a familiar odor or scent. Just a trace. Was O’Brien stoned? Marlin had never known O’Brien to be a pot smoker, but that would explain why they seemed to be speaking different languages on occasion.

  “Oh, we started to go back to our surveillance spot,” O’Brien said, “except we saw a car parked—oh, crap. Now I’m telling you where we were hiding.”

  “Don’t worry about that right now,” Marlin said. “Let’s operate under the assumption there won’t be any trespassing charges, as long as you cooperate.”

  O’Brien nodded. “Okay, that works for me. We was hiding on the place directly across from the Endicott ranch. The entrance is sixty or eighty yards down the road. No gate. Just a chain between a couple of posts. You probably know the place. Anyway, when we was driving back onto that place, we saw the same Hyundai parked well off the road, like they was hiding, too. That car showed up sometime while we was following the pretty lady to the grocery store.”

  “The same Hyundai?” Marlin said.

  “Yep.”

  “The same as what?”

  “The same as the one we saw yesterday morning. That’s what those two kids were driving—that Hyundai. Except when we saw ’em the first time, they said they was looking for a creek or something. Like they was tourists. Making stuff up, but really they were scoping the area out. Don’t you think? ’Cause they set that fire, right? Nobody’s told me nothin’ so far.”

  Finally. Something helpful. The two arsonists—Liam and Jessi—had been driving a Hyundai. In the moments after Marlin had cuffed Aaron Endicott, and before reinforcements had arrived, Marlin had had about two minutes to speak with Colby. The kids’ names, Colby had said, were Liam and Jessi—assuming they hadn’t lied. Colby had given a good description of the boy, including an injury to his forehead. But Colby hadn’t gotten a good look at the girl, and he hadn’t known what they were driving.

  Bobby Garza had pointed out how important it was to locate Liam and Jessi, because they could provide testimony and press charges against Aaron Endicott. They had, for obvious reasons, fled from the scene, because they had apparently committed a crime of their own. If they couldn’t be found, it was likely Aaron Endicott wouldn’t be charged for anything he had done to them.

  Likewise, the case against Endicott for continuing to shoot at the three men, even after they were pinned behind the oaks, wasn’t a slam dunk, either. A good defense attorney
could probably help Endicott weasel out of those charges. The lawyer would likely say, “The man was on his own property, and he had no obligation to retreat. And the trespassers had fired their weapons at him just moments earlier. He was lucky he wasn’t killed!”

  Marlin had to admit: If he didn’t personally know all the players in this scenario, he would be inclined to side with a landowner who suddenly found himself facing armed men on his own ranch—especially if one of those men had already had some sort of run-in with Aaron Endicott. A juror might wonder if Colby was trying to get revenge on Endicott for the alleged road-rage incident. It was, without question, a complicated, interwoven mess, with several major cases and crimes intersecting.

  Murder. Attempted murder. Arson. Assault. Kidnapping.

  It would take quite a bit of time to sort it all out, and it would be helpful to have a statement from every involved party.

  “What color was the Hyundai?” Marlin asked O’Brien.

  “Gray,” he said. “Here, hold on.” He began to dig into his pocket, and he came out with a cell phone.

  “You got a picture?” Marlin asked, starting to perk up.

  “I figured it might come in handy,” O’Brien said, his finger on the phone screen, looking for the photo. “Here you go.”

  He held the phone out, and there was the Hyundai, shot from the rear, complete with the Nebraska license plate. Marlin was astounded that O’Brien had had the presence of mind to snap a photo.

  “Outstanding,” he said.

  “Oh, I got this, too,” O’Brien said, swiping the car photo to the left with his finger. “When we was on the Endicott ranch, before Colby told the kid to go back to his car, I snuck a quick shot.”

  O’Brien also had a photo of Liam. It was a profile shot, but it was crisp and clear and would certainly be useful for making an ID.

  “Excellent,” Marlin said. “That was quick thinking.”

  O’Brien was beaming.

  Marlin wanted to hear the rest of O’Brien’s story, including his account of the shootout, but he needed to get those photos to cops all over the state as quickly as possible. Marlin wrote his email address on a notepad and said, “Go ahead and send me those photos right now. Then we’ll take a break for twenty or thirty minutes. You want something to drink? Something to eat? We have some snacks in the coffee room.”