The Glue Guy: The Zoo Crew Series Book 4

by Dustin Stevens

  Handfuls of angry retorts sprang to Drake’s mind. Each packed with more venom than the one before it.

  Every last one he managed to push to the side. Reminded himself that snapping would only make things worse. Would make them work that much harder to find evidence against Tyce.

  He couldn’t allow that to happen.

  As much as he hated to admit it, he had no choice.

  “Okay,” he said. Pressed his hands into the arms of the chair he was seated on. Pushed himself to a standing position. “Thank you gentlemen for your time.”

  The move seemed to surprise them both. They exchanged a glance. Remained seated.

  “May I speak with my client now?”

  Taggert paused a long moment. Made sure Drake saw the sneer on his face.

  Nodded and extended a hand back across the hallway.

  Chapter Twenty

  Constricted.

  Roiling.

  Foreboding.

  The feelings welled within Taggert’s stomach as he pulled to a stop. Put the car in park. Climbed out and clamped his hat down upon his head.

  Resting high on a ridge outside of town, the warmth from the day before was completely gone. Replaced by gusts of cold mountain air hitting him straight in the face. Lifting and carrying away bits of soot and snow.

  Pulled at the lapels of the winter coat he’d been told to bring along.

  Fifteen feet from him was Waylon Sharp. Seated on the lowered tailgate of his truck, one leg swung free below him. The other had been hoisted up on the tailgate, Sharp hugging it with both arms.

  The late afternoon sun could be seen reflecting off his shiny pate.

  “Detective,” Sharp said. Nodded without getting up. Voice matched the grim expression on his face.

  “Investigator,” Taggert replied. Felt the trio of feelings in his stomach grow stronger. “I thought you said this shouldn’t take long? Be in and out before noon?”

  At that Sharp squinted and glanced up at the sky above. “What time is it?”

  “Getting on towards four,” Taggert said. Allowed a bit of surprise to show on his face. “You been out here in the cold all day?”

  “Guess I have,” Sharp said. Slid his foot from the tailgate. Allowed the momentum to carry him down to the ground.

  Turned and slammed the tailgate shut.

  “No partner this afternoon?”

  Taggert shook his head. “You asked to meet me. Wasn’t sure what it was about so I cut him loose early.”

  The explanation was only half the truth. The odds were Sharp already knew that, though to his credit he remained silent.

  “Everything alright?” Taggert asked. Hated voicing the words aloud. Worried even more about what Sharp’s response might be.

  The shorter man gave him a long look before turning back to the house. He remained rooted in place a moment before starting forward.

  “Come on. You better come see for yourself.”

  Taggert felt another wave of apprehension pass through him. Stood in place as the gap between them extended to better than ten feet.

  Caught himself and jogged forward to catch up, falling in beside Sharp.

  “How are things going in town?” Sharp asked.

  The question seemed to come from far afield, taking Taggert by surprise. A moment passed as he tried to shove aside the inquiries he’d been chewing on himself, collecting his thoughts.

  “Moving forward,” Taggert said. “We’ve got a suspect that looks real good on starting the fire.”

  “Yeah?” Sharp asked. Zero enthusiasm behind the question.

  “Yeah,” Taggert said. Noted the tone. “Holding him as a person of interest.”

  “Yeah?” Sharp repeated. Glanced over at him. “You like him for the fire?”

  Taggert matched the glance. Fought to repress the feelings growing inside. Tried to determine what Sharp was getting at.

  “I do. The fact that he’s already lawyered up only drives it home.”

  “Hmm,” Sharp managed. Nothing more.

  Walking in elongated steps, Sharp led him towards the rubble that had previously been the center of the house. Hooked a hard left. Followed the mass of charred remains to the far end.

  Pulled up just short of the chimney, the grey river stone stained black with soot. Long streaks ran through the middle of it, the remains of the water sprayed by the fire engines two nights prior.

  “Be careful,” Sharp said. For the first time broke the barrier between windswept dirt and blackened rubble. “Most of the water they used the other night vaporized with the heat. The rest settled anywhere it could. Froze solid within an hour.”

  Grunting a response, Taggert picked his way forward. Did his best to step where Sharp did. Bent at the knees and used his hands for support whenever necessary.

  As he moved forward, the smell of burnt wood filled his nose. Even thirty-six hours out it hung thick in the air. Seemed to blanket the ground like a fog.

  “What’s this all about, Waylon?” Taggert asked. Finally vocalized what he’d feared since arriving.

  Did his best to keep pace as they continued to move forward.

  “Just a little further,” Sharp said. Stepped past the half-burned remains of a reading table. Gave a wide berth to an oversized chair, the upholstery on it melted into a waxy veneer.

  Standing in the middle of the rubble, Taggert got a new vantage on the enormity of the house. From the driveway it was clear to see how far the structure swept in both directions.

  Now standing in the center of if he could see the sheer depth of it as well.

  Using rough approximation, he figured the entire length of most homes could fit across the width of the Koenig place with room to spare.

  “Smell it?” Sharp asked. Pulled up abruptly. Jerked Taggert from his thoughts.

  Coming to a stop, Taggert sniffed at the air. Picked up the same heavy dose of char on the breeze.

  After a moment noticed something else, something vaguely familiar.

  Dropping into a crouch, he took in another deep breath. Held it. Allowed the scent receptors in his nose to go to work on the new smell.

  “Pork?” he asked. Twisted his face up in confusion.

  “Not quite,” Sharp said. Took a step to the side. Lifted the half-darkened remains of a bookshelf. On it rested a random smattering of volumes, like teeth on a Halloween jack-o-lantern, their glossy covers melted to the wood, holding them in place.

  On the ground at the foot of it were the rest of the books to fill the space. Most of them had burned away to nothing more than ashes.

  A few odd bits remained. Flashes of white in a massive pile of black and grey.

  None of that seemed to matter to Taggert though. Barely even registered with him.

  Instead the entirety of his focus shifted to the twist of metal curled into an indecipherable mess.

  The grizzled form of burned flesh stretched throughout it.

  A sheen of moisture glazed Taggert’s eyes as he stared down. Felt the full effect of the smell now hit him square. All breath was pulled from his chest as he opened his mouth.

  Said nothing.

  “I’m guessing you still haven’t been able to track down Wes Koenig,” Sharp said quietly.

  Taggert shook his head to either side. Remained silent.

  “Wylie Dern came by this morning,” Sharp said. “The guy who does repairs here. Said the only other employee is Sharon Stump. She’s back east on vacation.”

  Taggert nodded. Processed what he was hearing.

  “This isn’t arson. This is murder.”

  Beside him, Sharp nodded in agreement.

  Said nothing.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Wednesday.

  Hump day.

  Somehow the busiest night of the week according to Drake’s social calendar.

  The arrangement had begun two years and change before. Upon Sage’s arrival in Missoula, she was the nurse with the lowest seniority at St. Michael’s Hospital.
Placed on the less-than-optimal second shift.

  To the man, every other nurse in the place desired the other two. First shift because it allowed those with families to keep a regular schedule. Third as it afforded the lowest amount of foot traffic and boss oversight.

  Second provided neither.

  The first half of the shift was spent with complete supervisor presence. Encompassed visiting hours.

  The back end was the traditional evening hours. Made conventional interaction with the rest of the world almost impossible.

  The post was usually meant as nothing more than a rite of passage. Once a person had put in their requisite amount of time, they moved on to a more desirable shift. Sage had chosen to stay on in no small part so she was still free to run with the Crew multiple times a week.

  Not that she had ever once voiced as much.

  In an unspoken acknowledgement of the sacrifice, Drake began meeting her for dinner every Wednesday. Every so often Kade and Ajax would join them. Once or twice he had even brought his English bulldog Suzy Q.

  Sometimes he brought dinner. Others they had whatever the cafeteria was serving.

  Much like the Crew itself, the particulars were far from being the point.

  After a long day in Butte, Drake didn’t bother returning home. Went straight to St. Michael’s. Posted up in the cafeteria. Sat alone for almost twenty minutes before Sage entered.

  “That good, huh?” she said as a greeting. Pulled his attention away from staring into space.

  Rising to his feet, Drake circled around the table he was seated at. Extended one arm around her neck and pulled her in close.

  “Have you spent much time in Butte, America?”

  Sage wrapped both arms around his waist. Squeezed once and released.

  “No more than I’ve had to,” she said. “I can’t tell you how many times I’d be low on gas headed back to Bozeman for school and just decide to push through.”

  “Exactly,” Drake said. Raised his palms to his face. Pressed them into his eye sockets until lights erupted behind his lids.

  In a sequence practiced a hundred times in the preceding years, Drake followed Sage into the serving line. Peeled away from her as she headed for the salad bar. Went to the hot food station and got a large plate of spaghetti and meat sauce. Grabbed a bottle of sweet tea.

  Met her at the checkout stand and paid cash for both of them.

  Posting up at their traditional spot in the corner, Drake waited as Sage took a sip from her spring water. Began to toss veggies of various shapes and colors into a pile.

  “So, let’s hear it,” she began. Didn’t bother to look up as she swirled cottage cheese into everything. Forked an oversized bite into her mouth.

  Drake cocked an eyebrow and watched her eat for a moment. Pulled away a glob of meat and marinara sauce. Held it a few inches above his plate.

  “It’s crap,” he said simply.

  Halfway through her chewing Sage said, “You haven’t even tried it yet.”

  The words sounded garbled through crunching roughage.

  The cocked eyebrow changed into a half smile. “Not the food. Anybody can make spaghetti. I mean the case.”

  This time Sage waited until she was done chewing. Swallowed. Took another pull of water.

  “How so?”

  Sinking his fork into the noodles, Drake idly twirled it. Watched as a growing ball of pasta mummified the utensil.

  “All they’ve got is some circumstantial evidence.”

  “Yeah?” Sage asked.

  “Big time,” Drake confirmed. “So much so that I’m almost wondering if everything is on the up and up.”

  Across from him Sage raised her eyebrows. Pulled her chin back an inch in surprise. “Seriously?”

  Raising the forkful away from the plate, Drake looked across at her. “No. Not really, anyway. But it’s so thin an argument could definitely be made.”

  At that Drake took down the entire bite. Used a paper napkin to wipe marinara off his chin.

  “How so?”

  Chewing and swallowing, Drake dropped his fork. Leaned back. Pursed his lips and tilted his head to the side.

  “You ever heard of horse race politics?”

  “No, but I know what a horse race is,” Sage replied.

  Drake jabbed a finger towards her. “Right. Same basic premise. It’s a theory that says in a political race, whoever gets out in front tends to stay out in front.”

  “Because...?”

  “Because once they’re there, they get the lion’s share of the media coverage, campaign donations, etc. Doesn’t matter what their own merits are, just how they compare to everybody else.”

  Sage went in for more of her salad. Contemplated the information as she chewed.

  “Okay. So how does that apply here?”

  Leaning forward, Drake cast a look around. Made sure nobody was nearby.

  Lowered his voice anyway.

  “I get the impression Tyce Riggins is their frontrunner. They saw a picture of his truck on a traffic camera and started looking for reasons why he was their guy.”

  A slow nod of understanding rocked Sage’s head up and down. “Instead of just going through the paces and doing it right.”

  “Exactly,” Drake said. “I have a strong inkling there hasn’t even been an investigation yet. They just want this thing figured out, had a quick solution offered to them...”

  “And bang,” Sage said, “they found a way to make it work.”

  “Exactly,” Drake said again. Rubbed his hands along the front of his pants. Took back up his fork.

  “So then shouldn’t that be easy to prove?” Sage said.

  “Eventually,” Drake said. Made a face. “But that all takes time.”

  He paused a moment. Stared down at his plate until the sauce and noodles blurred into one indistinguishable splash of color.

  Time was the one thing the Riggins family couldn’t afford to be wasted. Twice the night before Kara had mentioned that Tyce was the only provider in the family. That they were okay for the time being, but it wouldn’t take long for things to turn sideways.

  “Right now they’re still holding him as a person of interest,” Drake added. More thinking aloud than addressing Sage. “The official clock isn’t even ticking yet.”

  Shifting her head to the side, Sage mulled the data. Tapped a fingernail on the table. Nibbled on her bottom lip.

  Stared off into space a moment.

  “If they’re so certain he’s the guy, then what’s the hold up? Why not move forward?”

  “Great question,” Drake muttered. “Cause they damned sure aren’t investigating anything.”

  “Wow,” Sage said quietly. Fixed her attention down at her plate.

  Just as fast had it pulled back up by the auto-tuned version of Call Me Maybe blaring from her cell phone. The sound sent her scrambling through her bag as Drake stifled a laugh. Returned the hand to his face. Used it cover the pallor of blood he felt congregating there.

  Looked over to see even more coloring Sage’s cheeks red.

  “Kade.”

  “Yeah, cause that’s the part I was thinking of commenting on right now,” Drake countered.

  Giving him a look that warned not to say another word, Sage raised the phone to her ear.

  “Hey.” She paused before adding, “Yeah, right here. Hold on.”

  Extending the phone at shoulder level, she handed it to Drake.

  “Says he needs to talk to you. Sounds urgent.”

  Drake could feel a bit of surprise show on his face as he dropped his fork. Again pulled his napkin up from his waist. Wiped his face.

  Accepted the phone from Sage.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Why weren’t you answering?” Kade snapped. No preamble, no salutation of any kind.

  In the background Drake could hear the babble of the television.

  “Phone’s in the truck,” Drake countered. “What’s going on?”

  “You a
nywhere near a TV right now?” Kade asked.

  Pulling his brow in tight, Drake glanced across to Sage. “No, we’re in the cafeteria. Again, what’s going on?”

  A long moment passed. Drake could hear Kade take several deep breaths. Sensed him false start a few times, trying to find the right words.

  “Let’s just put it this way, you need to find yourself a television and turn on the evening news. Fast.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Spicy.

  So much so that it permeated the air. Brought tears to the eyes. Threatened to unleash a tendril of snot from the nose.

  The mere scent of it in the house brought a smile to Dale Garvey’s face. He stepped forward and swirled the concoction around in the pot. Pulled back just as fast. Watched steam rise from it, releasing capsaicin into the air.

  Giving one final stir, Garvey turned off the heat. Ladled his famous five-alarm chili into a mismatched set of plastic bowls.

  Dropped a few slivers of jalapeno on top for some extra kick.

  Into the bowl on the left he dropped a small dollop of sour cream. A sprinkling of cheese. The bowl on the right, his bowl, he left plain.

  Using anything to dilute the heat was for sissies. Defeated the point.

  “I hope you’re hungry,” Garvey announced. Put an extra amount of triumph into his voice. Stepped from the kitchen into the dining room.

  Expecting to see the table set for dinner, he pulled up short. Noticed it was still covered with their shoulder bags from work. The evening newspaper. A few stray pieces of mail.

  “Megs?” Garvey asked. Fought to hide the annoyance in his tone.

  Placed one bowl down. Shoved everything to the side. Put the other down beside it.

  “Megs,” he snapped. Turned away from the table.

  Walked into the living room to find Megan perched on the arm of the couch. One leg folded over the other. The remote resting atop her thigh.

  “What are you doing?” Garvey asked. Allowed his irritation to show. “I thought you were going to clear the table.”

  He stared at her a long moment. Felt the agitation melt away.