He studied the cooler. “I think so. What are you thinking?”
Lila shivered. Grunting, she shook it off. Grasping the steel racks, she jerked, but they didn’t budge.
“Even if you got them loose, we wouldn’t be able to make a dent in the wall.”
She squatted and examined the base. The rack’s braces were screwed into the cement. She grabbed the leg with both hands and wiggled harder.
Lundquist joined her, squatting down. “Lila, it’s not going to move.”
“Defeatist. Use those Viking muscles and help me. Best-case scenario we keep our bodies warmed up to stave off the hypothermia.”
Shrugging, he wrapped his hands on the bar above hers, and together they worked the metal leg back and forth until there was movement in one of the screws.
“Keep going,” she hissed.
A clatter at the door jolted them to a stop. Standing, they turned as the door suddenly opened. Ma barged in, shoved a shocked Lundquist aside, and grabbed Lila by the hair, dragging her out.
Lila cried out, slapping at the woman’s hands as she tried not to trip with her body bent over at an awkward angle. She glimpsed Lundquist trying to make a break for the door as Ma pulled Lila through it, but a weapon was rammed into Lundquist’s face and the door slammed shut.
“Shut up!” Ma barked, and then flung Lila forward, releasing her hair.
Unable to stop her momentum, Lila landed on the meth lab floor and slid across the smooth surface. Shockwaves reverberated through her, piercing her scars. Curling into a ball, she swallowed the cries.
“I’ll shoot her.”
Peeling open an eyelid, Lila found the shotgun barrel pointed at her head, Ma towering over her.
“Martha, that’s not why I’m here, and you know it.”
Bile pooled in Lila’s throat. That snake oil salesman voice. She tilted her head back and sighted the man ten feet away.
Sheehan.
“I warned you, Kelley. You had your chance. It’s too late.”
“And you think threatening to kill that outsider in front of me makes a bit of difference?”
“I can make it look like you did it.”
Sheehan shook his head and chuckled. “You really have lost your grip.” His eyes narrowed. “They warned me to keep an eye on you. Told me you were going senile in your old age.”
“Lies. Malicious lies to turn us against each other.”
Sheehan looked at someone off to Ma’s left. “Tell me, Martha, have you ever worked it out how and why Daniel really died?”
The shotgun lifted from Lila’s head. “Say another word and I’ll fill you so full of lead, you’ll look like ground meat.”
“You don’t have the stomach,” Sheehan taunted.
A creak echoed through the building, and a door slapped shut.
“What is he doing here?”
“Stephen, perfect timing, baby.”
Lila scooted a little bit by little bit away from Ma so as to not draw attention to herself. The young man who emerged from the back of the meth lab brought Lila’s progress to a halt. He moved with a swagger that didn’t match his stick-thin frame. His reptilian eyes darted about the area, falling on Lila.
He paused. “Who is she?”
Ma’s head snapped to Lila. “She’s the sheriff’s new investigator.”
“Investigator,” he repeated, his voice dropping into a frosty tone.
“Stephen, are you bleeding?” Ma asked.
Lila swallowed, her arms shaking. Stephen’s clothing was covered in blood.
He lifted his jacket away from the speckled mess that was his shirt. A cruel smile tilted one corner of his mouth. “Naw. Mama, this isn’t my blood.”
“What did you do?” Ma’s voice rasped.
Karl’s laughter bounced off the walls. “Like you don’t know.”
“Shut up, you damn fool,” Ma screeched.
Karl kept laughing until she walked over and slapped his face.
Sheehan clucked his tongue and shook his head. “Stephen is the one who shot Joel Fontaine. Oh my, Martha, you just set off a fuse.”
“You idiot! If Rafe figures it out, he’s going to be all over us like a hound of hell.”
Lila jolted at the violent crack of Stephen’s fist smashing into his mother’s jaw. She scrambled back as Martha careened around and hit the floor, the shotgun clattering out of her reach.
“Wrong choice of words, Mama.” Stephen stepped over his mother’s trembling body and picked up the shotgun. “Now”—he swung the barrel in Sheehan’s direction—“what were you going to tell my mother about my dearly departed brother’s death?”
Sheehan slowly lifted his hands. “Nothing she hasn’t already figured out on her own.”
“And what is it exactly that you’ve figured out, Mama?”
Martha scrabbled away from her son. “Nothing,” she croaked.
Sniffing, Stephen jabbed the shotgun into Sheehan’s stomach. “Poor Daniel. Got too smart for his own good.”
“Always knew to keep an eye on you,” Sheehan sneered.
Keeping an eye on the shotgun-wielding teen, Lila crawled over to Martha’s side and touched the woman’s bruised cheek. The Kauffmann matriarch peered up at the brush of Lila’s fingertips. Abstract fear filled the woman’s eyes, setting Lila back on her knees.
“I have never liked you, Kelley.” Stephen moved toward Lila. “Your agreement with Mama ends today.” Like his mother, Stephen reached out and snagged Lila’s hair and wrenched her to her feet.
Biting her tongue to quell the cries of pain, she stumbled over Martha’s prone body. Claws bared, she scratched the back of his hand. He gave her a violent jerk, her neck muscles tearing as her face lifted to meet his.
“The older girl tried to fight back, fancied herself some kind of martial artist. Her neck snapped like a twig.”
His taunt broke through the thin wall of fear she’d let build. This was the type of person she had trained herself to fight back against. His kind had been the one to attack when her guard was down, ripped her career out from under her, and left her to die.
Psychos like Stephen Kauffmann would never harm her again.
She stared into his cold, lifeless eyes, and it all clicked into place. He had killed his brother—why, only he knew—killed the trio of thieves, threw Neva McKinnley down her basement steps, and shot Brent.
“It’s been you all along.”
“It appears the sheriff was wise in choosing you as her investigator. Her wisdom will be your undoing.”
Lila’s mind raced with how to free herself and disarm him before he could shoot her or break her neck. The only logical one demanded she go straight for his throat.
“Stephen, baby, this isn’t you,” Ma pleaded.
His derisive laugh reverberated through Lila’s head. So reminiscent of her attacker’s it made her want to vomit. How could two different people be so alike?
“Oh, I’ve always been this way. You were too stupid and blind to see it. But that was what made it all together perfect.” Stephen waved the barrel of the shotgun. “Get up and join your partner, Mama.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Lila watched Martha gingerly rise from the floor and shuffle over next to Sheehan. Gone was the sadistic woman who threatened to have her son rape another woman. Cowed and bruised by one of her own, Martha Kauffmann looked every bit her age and more.
“By now the sheriff has pieced it all together,” Sheehan broke in. “If I were you, Stephen, I’d be hightailing it out of here. She’s going to be coming with a full force behind her.”
“Karl,” Stephen barked. “Get the other prisoner.”
“Karl. Stay where you are.”
Lila smiled at that voice of an angel. She glimpsed Sheriff Benoit behind Stephen, her weapon leveled on his torso.
“Release my deputy, Stephen.”
“You brought them here,” Stephen spit at Sheehan.
He remained silent, only lifting his hands higher in
surrender.
“Put the shotgun down and release my deputy,” Benoit ordered.
Stephen jerked Lila closer, jamming the barrel into her stomach.
“Give me a reason to put you down.” Fontaine’s deep growl came from somewhere behind Lila.
“This will not end how you think it should, Sheriff.” Stephen rotated, dragging Lila around. “You are tangling with forces that will see you torn to pieces and scattered to the far corners of this county.”
“I assure you, son, I’m fully aware of that, and I don’t plan on allowing them, or you, any part of me and my own.”
Lila felt the vibrations in Stephen’s body. He was making a decision, and it wasn’t a good one. Her time to act was now, and it was going to hurt like a mother. With his focus on the sheriff, Lila twisted away, the hunks of her hair wrapped in his fingers ripping free.
Spinning on the balls of her feet, she brought her left fist around and punched him hard in the kidney. The pain would be instantaneous, creating a paralyzing effect on his body. His mouth gaping, his legs buckled; he was going down. Before Lila could react, Sheehan shot forward, grabbing the shotgun from Stephen’s slackening hand and tugging away the gun. Stephen hit the floor on his knees, gasping and moaning.
Sheehan leveled the shotgun on Ma. “I wouldn’t if I were you.” He gave Lila a nod to proceed.
Lila stepped behind Stephen’s quaking form and bent down near his ear. “Hey, tough guy, Regan might have fancied herself a martial artist, but I’m actually trained to kick your ass.” She held out her hand. “Cuffs.”
The warm steel clanked in her hand. As she brought Stephen’s arm around, he collapsed face forward. Lila cuffed him and left him writhing on the floor.
Assured that all were covered, Lila ran for the cooler. As she passed Karl, he reached back and grabbed her arm. He was swinging her around, most likely to use as a hostage, but Lila was having none of it.
Using the energy of him trying to right his body and drag her in front of him, she kicked her leg out and swept his braced leg out from under him. Like all great trees, he went down hard, dragging her with him. Aiming her elbow, she rammed it into his breastbone as she landed on him. His head cracked against the cement, and his grip loosened. Lila rolled off him and stood.
“Keep this trash away from me,” she said to Fitzgerald and stalked over to the cooler.
Jerking the door open, she let it fly back. Lundquist, shivering, sat on the floor by the door. She held out her hand to him. With a shaking hand, he took hers, and she helped him out of the cooler.
“Took you long enough,” he stuttered.
“Tell them.” She nodded at their fellow deputies and the sheriff.
“We’re here now,” Sheriff Benoit said. “Let’s wrap this mess up.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Elizabeth left Dr. Thorpe and made her way to the fifth floor.
Joel would live. He had come to right after arriving at the hospital and managed to explain what had happened. He’d surprised Stephen, who had been waiting to ambush Elizabeth. Joel, not knowing what Stephen was capable of, grappled with the young man for the gun. Despite Joel’s training, somehow Stephen managed to turn the gun on Joel and shot him. The bullet went through the upper part of his chest, the angle of the gun sending it through his clavicle, shattering it, and the piece of lead had just enough energy to exit out of his neck. It had clipped an artery, but Joel was able to slow the loss of blood before passing out right when Fitzgerald arrived at the house.
With the Kauffmanns in custody, Elizabeth was moving onto her next problem. While she’d been escorting Martha to the jail, Martha let it slip what had happened to Deputy Meyer. The matriarch was so shaken by her son’s betrayal and the events leading up to her arrest, she was more than willing to throw any and all under the bus.
The ICU lights were dimmed for the evening hours. Brent’s condition had improved to the point Dr. Thorpe felt he didn’t need to operate again, but the young deputy wasn’t out of the woods yet. She bypassed the empty rooms and came a stop in the open doorway of the Meyers.
Pratt was absorbed with his tablet, glancing at the wall-mounted TV and the talking head droning on about the stock market. Sophie was perched on the sofa, sitting in the exact position she had been in when Elizabeth left her earlier.
Rapping her knuckles against the door startled the couple. Pratt remained seated, setting his tablet aside, but Sophie jumped to her feet.
“Sheriff,” Pratt said casually. “Has there been a change since we last spoke?”
“Yes, there has.” She stepped into the room, mindful of the grime and blood that still spotted her uniform. “We have taken several people into custody. A confession from one has revealed Brent’s shooter.”
Sophie crossed her arms, gripping her elbows. “Who was it?”
“It was Stephen Kauffmann.”
“What?”
Pratt bolted upright. “I knew it was one of those bastards.”
“Pratt, sit down,” Elizabeth snapped.
Shocked, he obeyed. Elizabeth kept her attention zeroed on Sophie.
“Stephen and Karl are also under arrest for multiple homicides, including the death of Neva McKinnley.”
“Why would they kill Mrs. McKinnley?” Pratt asked.
“Because she had become too aware of their activities. It seems that along with murder, the Kauffmanns were into the illegal manufacturing and sale of methamphetamine. They had quite the sophisticated meth lab out behind the old Barrett place.”
“My word,” Sophie breathed.
“Yes, it was shocking, because word from the Iowa DEA estimates the cost of that whole lab close to half a million dollars in equipment, the structure, ingredients to make the meth, and distribution. They believe the lab as a whole was generating over a million in revenue.”
“Here in Eckardt County?” Pratt asked incredulously.
“That’s what DEA tells me.”
“But why are you telling us this?” Pratt asked. “What does that have to do with Stephen shooting Brent?”
Sophie’s eyes narrowed, but she remained solid, her gaze locked with Elizabeth’s.
“My informant stated Martha and her partner had a falling out because of an attempted robbery on the facility and the not so subtle threat left on a piece of the partner’s property.”
“Elizabeth? What are you implying?” Pratt insisted, coming to his feet, and moving to stand near Sophie.
“Do you want me to tell him? Or would you rather divulge that pearl of wisdom?”
Pratt’s attention swung to his wife. “Sophie, what is she insinuating?”
“You are speculating. Conjuring up rumors and myth.”
“No, actually, I have evidence and a signed confession.”
“From a woman who will say anything to keep her sentence light.”
Pratt stepped back from his wife. “My God, Sophie, what is going on?”
“The signed confession isn’t from Martha.” Elizabeth rolled her neck, lifting her head higher. “I had to make a deal with the devil to get what I needed.”
“Speak to my lawyer, Sheriff. This discussion is over.”
“That’s your right. But you still have to come to jail.”
Pratt sank into his vacated chair, gaping at his wife. “What have you done?”
Sophie looked at her husband, contempt rolling off of her in waves. “I did what you never had the balls to do. Instead, you let some petty feud keep you from what was rightly ours.” She smiled. “And to think, all this time, your son thought you were the criminal in the family.”
“But . . . why?”
“Because, Pratt, she was never satisfied with being a trophy wife. She was about to start proceedings to divorce you.”
Elizabeth hooked her hands on her duty belt.
Pratt shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
Sophie’s huff carried a tone of scoffing.
“I’ll admit, in my naiveté about th
is job, I didn’t see it myself.” Elizabeth inched closer to Sophie. “Neither did your son. I truly applaud your skills, Sophie—it takes a true genius to hide behind the façade of a domestic goddess to pull off a criminal enterprise the likes this county has never seen before. And all because you were tired of your husband controlling every aspect of your life and your finances. Genius.”
“You have no idea who you’re dealing with, Sheriff.”
“Everyone keeps telling me that. Why don’t you enlighten me?”
“I’d rather rot in jail.”
Elizabeth turned at the scuff of boots against the polished floor. Lila entered the room, cuffs clenched in her fist.
“Sophie Meyer, you are under arrest . . .”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Lila loitered outside the hospital room, cracking her knuckles and shifting back and forth on her feet. She lifted her fist, then dropped it back at her side.
“Just knock,” the Viking grumbled.
She glanced at him. “I hate hospitals.”
“Imagine how he feels. He’s the one stuck in the bed.”
“I know exactly how he feels,” she muttered.
Lundquist frowned. And with that, Lila knocked and entered the room before she was given permission.
Brent rolled his head her direction. “Hey, Dayne,” he croaked.
She smiled. “Hey. Sheriff said you were asking about me.”
“Yeah.” He tried to push himself upright.
Lila rushed to the bed. “I wouldn’t recommend that.” She located the button to raise the bed and propped him up at a comfortable angle. “If you strain your abdomen, you’ll rip the sutures.”
“Apparently, she speaks from experience,” Lundquist said from his position by the door.
Brent peered around her. “Kyle.”
The Viking gave a curt wave.
“I do speak from experience. Just take it easy and listen to the doctor.” Lila found a safe spot and sat on the edge of his bed. “What did you want to see me about?”
Brent took her hand, he stared at it. “Ellie told me what happened with the Kauffmanns. And about my father and my mother.”
The Killer in Me Page 26
