by Terry Odell
“That’s good, Nick. So, you’re not a thief. That means you weren’t the one who took my property.” He didn’t want to give too much away, in case Metcalf wasn’t aware of Angie.
“What property?” Metcalf seemed genuinely confused. “I returned your phone, didn’t I? I gave Orrin a ride, that’s all. Said he’d had another accident. I swear, that man should never have been given a driver’s license.”
“A ride?” Gordon asked. “To where? Was he hurt? Did you take him to a hospital?”
Metcalf narrowed his eyes. “I’m not sure I want to tell you that.”
Gordon made a mental note to have all the medical facilities in the area checked once he got out of this mess. And how was he going to do that? Keep him talking. Another minute or so should be all he needed.
“So, what do you want to tell me, Nick? Why don’t you put the shotgun down? I don’t believe you’re a killer. If you wanted to kill me, why didn’t you leave me in the tree well?”
“Gotta’ be honest, Gord, my man. I did mull that one over a bit. But all I needed was a little more time, and having to explain how Nick Metcalf, outdoorsman extraordinaire, left a man to die would have been bad for business. Not nearly as effective as rescuing someone. It was hard enough to sneak up and clout you over the head with that branch to make you fall. Went totally against my gut.”
“You … you knocked me into the well?”
Metcalf shrugged. The shotgun dipped, but only for an instant before it was once again pointed at Gordon’s chest.
And then, finally it happened. The overhead light on the garage door opener reached the end of its cycle. The garage was plunged into darkness. Gordon leaped over the stair railing, grabbed his Glock, and fired in Metcalf’s direction. He crawled under the steps, gun trained on the spot he’d last seen Metcalf. Pulled his backup Beretta from its ankle holster. Tucked it into his jeans, where he could grab it if he needed it. And waited. Listening. Did he hear Metcalf breathing? Not over the blood pounding in his own ears.
He did hear the Bark Brothers, though. Would their barking drown out any sounds of Gordon making a move?
Metcalf’s a trained hunter. He can probably tell where you are, with or without barking dogs.
But Metcalf’s normal prey didn’t shoot back.
And then the dogs went silent. Either Jill had shut them up, or they’d decided they’d sounded enough of an alarm.
Had Gordon’s shot hit Metcalf? Could he let the man bleed out in his garage? He wasn’t trying to kill the guy. Now, if he moved or spoke, Metcalf would know exactly where he was. And he didn’t even need exactly. A shot in Gordon’s general vicinity could do serious damage.
He didn’t kill you in the tree well.
But they weren’t in the great outdoors now. Metcalf seemed to live by two entirely different sets of rules.
Gordon stayed where he was. The garage had no windows, so the darkness was total. He had a slight advantage. He knew the garage. However, Metcalf had been in here long enough to get the lay of the land. And he knew where Gordon had been standing. Dead even on that one, Gordon decided.
Was Metcalf even in the garage? He seemed to have stealth down damn well. But no, the light above the side garage door would have given him away if he’d left. Even if Metcalf had managed to open it silently, even if he’d had the foresight to unscrew the bulb, there would have been enough light from neighboring houses to give Metcalf’s exit away.
From behind and above, a beam of light cut through the darkness.
Chapter 55
The light dimmed and a siren sound reverberated throughout the garage. Dispatch’s ringtone. Gordon stayed where he was, waiting for some reaction from Metcalf. Would he think the cops were on their way? Or was it too obvious the sound came from his cell phone?
Or was he unconscious? Gordon waited for the ringing to stop. His own voice played out its Leave a message recording. Still nothing from Metcalf.
Now or never. On his butt, Gordon inched himself to the other side of the staircase until he backed into the wall. Using it for support, he began rising to a standing position, his Glock in one hand, the other groping upward for the main light switch. He positioned himself so he faced the direction he’d last seen Metcalf. Trained his weapon there. Then flipped on the lights.
Metcalf lay on his belly, one arm extended outward, the other under his head. The shotgun stock protruded from beneath his midsection.
Gordon approached. “Nick. Are you hurt?”
No response.
Gordon crept closer. If Metcalf was bluffing, the man could never get the shotgun out from under himself in time. But Gordon kept his Glock trained on the man. A pool of blood had gathered below Metcalf’s head. Gordon approached, pulled the shotgun out from under. Shoved it across the garage floor. Felt for a pulse at Nick’s neck. Strong. Steady.
“You’re alive, Nick. Talk to me.”
“You shot me. You actually shot me.” Nick’s words were muffled but understandable. “Why the fuck did you shoot me? You could have killed me.”
Carefully, Gordon checked for the source of the blood. A furrow ran along Metcalf’s head. “Grazed your scalp is all. You know how those suckers bleed. I think you’ll be fine.”
“You shot me,” Nick repeated.
“Nick, take it easy. You were pointing a shotgun at me. You were in my garage. I’m not going to list all the things I could charge you with. Consider yourself lucky.” Gordon kept an eye on Metcalf and stepped backward to the cabinet where he kept a box of flex cuffs. Metcalf still wasn’t moving. Gordon returned to his prisoner and manipulated his hands behind his back, securing them with the cuffs.
“I’m also not stupid,” Gordon said. “This is for everyone’s safety.” He helped Metcalf roll over, hoisted him to a seated position, then fastened a second pair of cuffs around Metcalf’s ankles. “I’m going to call an ambulance for you.”
“You could have killed me.” Those seemed to be the only words Metcalf was capable of forming. Gordon attributed it to pain and confusion.
“I didn’t kill you, Nick. I barely grazed you. You’re hardly bleeding anymore.” Of course, the fact that he could have killed him when he’d shot at a target he couldn’t see wasn’t lost on Gordon. But no way did he feel a need to apologize. He called Connie, told her to roll the medics and a patrol car. “Tell them to use the side garage door.”
“Will do. A car’s on its way. Two of your neighbors reported hearing gunfire, and they thought it came from your house. I would have dispatched more, but everyone’s out looking for Orrin Wardell.”
“Good job,” Gordon said. “I’m fine, and the other guy’s injuries are minor. You might want to relay that to the troops—in case anyone cares. And no sirens. Lights only.”
That would let the neighborhood know the cops were here, but no need to alarm anyone who wasn’t aware they’d been called.
He let Connie get back to her job and sat on the steps, facing Metcalf. “Now, while we wait for the ambulance, why don’t you tell me why you’re here, and what you know about Orrin Wardell.”
Metcalf hiked his knees upward and lowered his head. “I met Orrin, oh, six, eight years ago. Business was slow one summer, and I was doing some construction work for a theater group. Building sets, some electrical. Orrin was in the cast, we hit it off, sort of. You know, go out for a beer now and then, take in a game. He seemed interested in what I did. Said it could help him get inside his character’s head. Kept going on about how he had this bank of emotions. What did it feel like to wait in a blind for hours, what if a bear charged, things like that. Half of what I told him was pure B.S., but he didn’t seem to notice. Or care if he did. Sometimes I think Orrin is never Orrin. You know, he’s always pretending to be someone else.”
Did Metcalf know that Wardell had spent time in a mental facility? Was this the right time to bring it up? Gordon decided to take the long way around in his questioning for the time being.
“Where was this?” G
ordon asked.
“Idaho,” Metcalf said. “We were all over the state for six weeks. Then business picked up, and I left the theater group.”
“But you and Orrin stayed in touch?”
“Yeah, off and on. He even came on one of my hunting trips—first hand emotion research, he said. The guy was a disaster when it came to the reality of life in the wilderness, though. No skills, and no instincts. An accident magnet. But he tried. If he was in a play near where I was, I’d go see it, we’d catch up.”
“How did you both end up at the Yardumians’? Was that pre-arranged, or did you just happen to run into each other?”
“A little of both.” Metcalf winced. “Damn, my head hurts. You have any aspirin?”
“The medics will be here soon. They’ll need to evaluate you before you can have any medication.” Metcalf seemed to be skirting Gordon’s questions again. “Back up. You and Orrin. At the Yardumians’.”
“Yeah. He told me he was going to be in Telluride. Visiting family. Wondered if I’d be anywhere in the vicinity. I told him I wanted to hit Curecanti, if the dates worked, maybe we could meet up, he should call. Nothing set in stone.”
A knock on the side door interrupted Metcalf’s narrative. Gordon rose to see who it was. With his Glock handy. Because the cops and medics were on their way didn’t mean whoever was knocking was a cop or a medic. Visions of a crazed Orrin Wardell flashed through Gordon’s head. But would he knock?
“Chief, it’s Solomon. You all right?”
Gordon opened the door for Ed. “I’m fine. Shouldn’t you be out looking for Wardell?”
“I am,” Solomon said. “Thought I’d drop by and see if he was here. You know, get partial credit for finding him.”
“He’s not. But I’d like you to meet Nick Metcalf.”
“Mountain man?” Solomon whispered.
“The same.” Gordon turned to Metcalf. “Nick, this is one of my best officers, except he’s not as patient as I am when it comes to getting his questions answered. Would you like me to leave you with him for a while?”
Metcalf’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t play good cop, bad cop with me. I know all I have to do is ask for a lawyer and you can’t ask me any more questions. I’ve been cooperative. Even if you could have killed me.”
“Enough of that could have killed me nonsense. When the medics get here, you can tell them how close you came to death, and then they’ll tell you how you’re going to be fine.” He switched his attention to Solomon. “Get out on the street.” Gordon glanced at Metcalf, “Look at it this way. I’m stuck here with Metcalf, so you can get full credit if you find Wardell. If I get any leads, I’ll let Dispatch know.”
Solomon gazed over his shoulder, giving Metcalf a look that said he’d gotten off easy, then left. Seconds later, Gilman called out.
“Hey, Chief? You in there?” The medic strode into the room.
“It’s about time,” Metcalf shouted. “This guy could have killed me. Then he wanted to sic his bad cop partner on me.”
Gilman threw a questioning look at Gordon, then approached his new patient. Tom Reynolds was right behind him, carrying their kit.
“Don’t worry,” Gilman said to Metcalf. “If the chief wanted to kill you, you’d be dead.”
Gordon tamped back his impatience as Gilman and Reynolds performed their routine exams. “Looks like a nice goose egg,” Gilman said, more to Gordon than to Metcalf. “We’re going to have to transport him, make sure there’s no concussion.”
“Must have hit his head on the floor when he fell,” Gordon said. He glowered at Metcalf. “Turnabout is fair play, I believe, is the expression.”
Gilman and Reynolds exchanged a look that said We’ll get the story later and kept working. When Reynolds left to get the gurney, Gilman asked if they could cut Metcalf’s cuffs.
Gordon retrieved Metcalf’s shotgun. “Go ahead.”
“Hey, give that to me,” Metcalf said. “It’s mine.”
“I don’t take things that don’t belong to me, either,” Gordon said. “I’ll make sure it’s kept in a safe place until the docs look you over. And you answer all my questions. Unless I have to arrest you, of course.”
“Hey, I’ll answer. Orrin Wardell’s not worth screwing up my life for. He went to Castle Rock. Home to Mommy. My money says she’ll have him locked up again.”
Chapter 56
Gordon had to be content with that much, at least until after they transported Metcalf and the doctors examined him. Gilman and Reynolds had a job to do, and hanging around while Gordon questioned a suspect wasn’t part of it. He didn’t need some complication exacerbated by not getting Metcalf medical attention in time.
“We’re taking him to the clinic,” Reynolds said. “The doc says it doesn’t sound serious enough to warrant a trip all the way to the county hospital.”
“I’ll follow you guys,” Gordon said to the medics. “We can finish our discussion at the clinic,” he said to Metcalf. He had a potential location for Wardell, so he could follow up on that.
Reynolds and Gillman loaded Metcalf into the ambulance and rolled. Gordon checked his cell for a call from Angie. Nothing. He called her again. Voicemail. He let her know he’d be making a stop at the clinic, then going to his office, that everything was fine on his end. Then he called Connie and brought her up to speed—not that Solomon wouldn’t have already done so.
“What happened at Angie Mead’s apartment?” he asked. “Who did you send?”
“McDermott,” Connie replied. “Apartment was dark, no response at the door. McDermott proceeded to Daily Bread. Ozzie reported that Angie had a catering engagement and had left to spend the night in Denver.”
Gordon knew of the catering gig, but he couldn’t recall whether Angie had told him she’d be out of town. Seems he’d remember that.
Could Wardell have shown up? Taken her with him? Coerced her into telling Ozzie she was leaving? Gordon’s insides jumped, his skin crawled, as he tried to put everything into a semblance of order.
Slow down. Keep calm. Make a list. Prioritize.
Metcalf. The man wasn’t going anywhere—at least not until the doctors had looked at him. Gordon had told Gilman and Reynolds he’d be following. They’d drop Metcalf off and leave. Okay, either he or an officer had to make sure if Metcalf was released, that he’d be taken into custody for questioning. Or, Gordon could zip over there, see if he could get Metcalf to talk some more while he was waiting to be treated. He called Connie back, asked her to send an officer to the clinic, covering all the bases, then went over his mental checklist.
Find Wardell. How? Alert Castle Rock. Send someone to Wardell’s address—which, according to Metcalf, was likely to be that of his parents. Castle Rock was Douglas County, which added yet another jurisdiction to this puzzle that seemed to be growing like a virus.
Confirm Angie’s whereabouts. Megan should know. That could be a quick phone call while Gordon drove to the clinic. Likewise, the Castle Rock connection. Nothing Gordon could do beyond that.
Feeling better now that he’d compressed the swirling where to start into an actual to-do list, he called Connie again, told her to get with the Castle Rock PD and the Douglas County Sheriff’s Office. “Solomon should have Wardell’s address. And alert them that Wardell’s half a bubble off center—in your professional terminology, of course.”
“Roger that. Anything else?”
“Keep patrols rolling with eyes out for Wardell. My source on his whereabouts isn’t a hundred per cent reliable. Wardell could be in Mapleton. And add Angie Mead to the eyes-on list. Even though Ozzie said she was going to Denver, I don’t have confirmation yet.”
“Roger.”
“Oh, and tell Gilman that I’m going to the clinic, that he should make sure the doctors don’t release Metcalf before I get there.”
“Roger again, Chief. Titch is rolling to the clinic. Should be there in five.”
“Good job.”
“You know, Chief, Laurie isn
’t the only one who likes chocolate,” Connie said.
“I can take a hint.” Gordon disconnected and took a moment to lock Metcalf’s shotgun in his gun safe. Should things end up going sideways, chain of custody would be intact. He headed out of the garage for his vehicle. As usual, the Bark Brothers heralded his departure.
Shit. He ran back, rearmed his alarm system, and made sure he locked the side garage door behind him.
Take it easy. You know what you’re doing.
Which he did, but knowing there was a potential killer out there, and not knowing where Angie was threw roadblocks into his mental processes.
You’ve been behind a desk too long.
No. He was a good cop. He sucked in a deep breath, put the SUV in gear, and headed toward the clinic.
Damn. He didn’t have Megan’s number in his work phone. Was it on the contact list above the desk in the diner’s office? He checked the time. Daily Bread would be closed. He radioed the station. Got the duty officer to look up Megan’s number. Punched it into his cell. Forced himself to remain calm. Didn’t want to alarm Megan.
“Hey, Gordon. Understand there was some excitement up in Mapleton.”
Even though Megan lived in Centennial, not in Mapleton, between Angie and her former guardians, Rose and Sam Kretzer, she was always in the loop.
“Quick question. I couldn’t reach Angie, and Ozzie said she was going to Denver—had an early event tomorrow? Is that right?”
“Denver? No, he must have meant my place. She’s spending the night here.”
Centennial was close enough to Denver that people often considered it a suburb of the larger city. Or had Angie said Denver to Ozzie to leave a clue that she wasn’t leaving under her own volition?
“Do you know where she is now?” Gordon asked, forcing himself to remain calm. Just because Ozzie had said Denver, not Megan’s, didn’t mean Angie had been abducted.
“I assume she’s on her way,” Megan said. “You want me to have her call you when she gets here?”
