by Dale Mayer
“Unless the two guys in the pickup weren’t trying to kill them, or they were hoping the men would die anyway, and there wouldn’t be an investigation because it would have been labeled an accident.”
She nodded at that. “Except for the bullet holes in your transport and in the driver of the other military truck,” she reminded him. “Hard to ignore that. Maybe the shooters were just out causing trouble.”
“What kind of a world do we live in,” Jackson said in a hard tone, “that ambushing a military rig with two innocent men is considered fun?”
“Worse happens,” she warned. “And you know it.”
He nodded. “I know it, but I haven’t seen it recently. Not here at home.”
“There was that case of the preppers a few years back. They decided to start World War III by shooting a couple civilian law enforcement officers. Remember that case?”
He frowned, then shook his head with a shrug. “No, I can’t say I do.”
“It was down in the South. They took out a couple black officers. Then they took out a couple white officers, hoping it would start some racial kerfuffle. I think ultimately what they really wanted was to test their prepper storage emergency plans.”
“I remember something about them converting old bomb shelters into war bunkers,” Jackson said thoughtfully. “One of the cops lived, right?”
“Yes, one of them did. But three died. Three preppers were basically bored to death, waiting for something to happen so they could start fighting back. So they decided to incite something themselves.”
“And you think this might be something like that?”
“Who the hell can tell?” she said. “It could be one of our own, a handful of veterans mad at our armed forces, like Timothy McVeigh, but focusing on military personnel.” She took several steps back to look at the vehicle. “There’s nothing quite like firing on a military rig to get some national attention.”
“But, in this case, they didn’t get any attention, did they?”
“And maybe they thought they would and are surprised right now. They could be making plans to create more chaos.”
Jackson frowned and thought about it. “I’m not sure I like the way your mind thinks.”
“Doesn’t matter if you like it or not,” she said. “Shit happens. And more often than we like to think.”
*
Jackson had to agree with Deli, but he didn’t like the idea of somebody ambushing military personnel in the States. These men and women went to battle for their country every day. To think the actual enemy came from their own part of the world was devastating. So many military personnel survived untold horrors, terrible rigors and psychological trauma from missions in Iraq and Afghanistan. Then they came home and, during basic training missions, were shot at for no decent reason that Jackson could see. And that made it so much worse. He watched as she walked around the vehicle again. “What’s bothering you?”
She shot him a look but ignored him.
He crossed his arms and waited. He’d heard Mason say she was a hell of a mechanic, and she was certainly looking at his rig from a different perspective than he was. When she squatted and studied the underside of the carriage, he walked to the area and squatted beside her, trying to see what she saw. “It would help if you would explain.”
“I can’t really explain. I have to get it up on a hoist, but I think the front axle is off.”
“Off?”
She nodded. “After you have a really bad accident, the alignment goes out, and the axle can get damaged. Some of them have to be replaced. This one doesn’t feel like it’s that bad, but I’m wondering if it was tampered with.”
“Likely done on base then? Wow, that makes our bad guys closer than I like. When we theorized ‘one of our own,’ I really didn’t think it would be someone we may know.”
They shared a worried look.
“And,” Jackson continued, “seeing as how that initial sabotage didn’t work, they came by and put a bullet in the vehicle?”
She turned to look at him. “How was it you ended up driving this rig?”
“Good question,” he said, casting his mind back to this morning, when they’d all been assigned their duties for packing up from their training exercise. “They needed a relief driver,” he said thoughtfully. “And I was looking for some downtime and thoughts-to-myself time. So I volunteered.”
“So it would have been random?”
He shot her a hard look. “Random as to who took the driver’s place. Maybe not random about the assigned driver backing out. A line had been drawn through his name on the duty roster.”
“Then we need to find out who that driver was and see if this attack was really directed at him. You could have been an innocent bystander in all of this.”
“Or he could have been part of the setup. Neither is a nice way to look at it. I wonder who that original driver was.”
“You can’t remember?”
“His name was something unique. Something you don’t see often.” He paused, then suddenly said, “Chester. It was Chester, but I don’t know his last name.”
She straightened slowly. “Chester Parks,” she said, her voice low, deep. “I know the name. There was some trouble with him a year or so back. He got into a couple arguments, and a man died.”
“A year later is a long time to exact revenge,” Jackson said, interpreting her comment. “If that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I don’t know what I’m thinking,” she burst out.
But Jackson already had his phone out, sending a text to Mason, asking if Chester Parks had been the man assigned to drive the rig. Then he added a line about asking someone to find out why Chester couldn’t drive the truck.
“But,” Deli continued, “about that same time, we had some thefts in the garage. One of our mechanics was found on the security tapes at odd hours in the garage when not scheduled for duty. The tapes didn’t confirm he stole anything, but I turned them over to the MPs to investigate. Never heard anything afterward and the thefts supposedly stopped, plus the mechanic still works here, so I guess the matter was resolved.”
Jackson’s phone rang, interrupting their discussion. It was Mason, but it was likely too early for answers.
“Hey,” Mason said. “Chester was injured today. Remember hearing about the guy who shot off his foot?”
At that, Deli leaned in to hear both sides of this conversation.
“No, I didn’t hear about that,” Jackson said. He started to smile and then realized it was likely this guy. “Are you saying Chester shot his own foot?”
“Yeah, he was taken to the closest hospital to get medical treatment. That’s why they needed a driver.”
“Wow,” Jackson said. “We were just wondering if Chester was part of the ambush. If so, he seems to be pretty dedicated by blowing off his foot.” When Mason didn’t say anything, Jackson continued, “Of course we considered that he himself had been targeted, and I just happened to be the unlucky substitute, but the shooters didn’t know there had been a change of driver.”
“It’s possible. In that case, maybe they were looking to waylay you and take you prisoner.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Jackson said. “That’s quite a leap. Why would you even go in that direction?”
“Because none of the bullets hit you,” Deli said. “Hi, Mason. Deli here.”
Mason’s voice lightened as he said, “Hey, Deli. Glad you weren’t hurt in the spray of bullets. Sorry I forgot to say that earlier.”
“Thanks. I’m pretty damn happy about that myself,” she muttered. “The thing is, I was there. A couple bullets were fired, but they were aimed at the windshield. So warning shots.”
“Could they have seen Jackson?” Mason asked Deli. “And, if they didn’t see him clearly, they may have thought Chester was there instead. Maybe they have an old beef with him and just wanted to rattle his bones a little bit.”
“Then why shoot the two military guys who went after them?”
Jackson questioned.
“It’s possible they were too close, and the shooters were in danger of getting caught,” Mason said. “So they turned around and attacked instead. That would also explain why they didn’t kill them. It wasn’t their intent from the start.”
“But they did shoot them—one at least,” Jackson said. “That driver had a bullet hole in his shoulder and a graze alongside his head.”
Deli nodded. “But I bet no bullets were found there, were there?”
“I did a cursory look but didn’t see any,” Jackson said. “Of course the head shot grazed him, and that bullet could be somewhere along that road or down the hills off one of those tight turns. But the driver’s shoulder shot was through-and-through. The bullet didn’t enter his seat. So it’s got to be somewhere.”
“Maybe we should go on a drive,” she said suddenly. “Take a look …”
“Whoa,” Jackson said. “You did hear me say that thing about getting removed from the investigation since I’m a witness?”
“I did. But you and Tanner already picked up that cigarette butt and took photos of tire tracks,” she reminded him.
He glared at her. She glared back at him.
Mason started to laugh. “You can’t go tonight,” he said. “It’s pitch black out there, and you won’t be able to see anything. However, if you’re both up to it, I suggest—if you feel that strongly—that you go at the crack of dawn, before that storm is supposed to hit. Take a look, see what you can find. But I would also park a long way away and walk in. You don’t know if anybody else will be watching. Or if the shooters are returning to the same crime scene.”
“Why would they?” Jackson asked curiously.
“Hard to say,” Mason said. “But, for all you know, they’re seeding forensic evidence to lay the blame for this elsewhere.”
“Meaning, they could have found a way to blame Chester?”
“I don’t know how or why that would be,” Mason said. “But, considering Chester is the one person who couldn’t have been involved because of the accident he had earlier …”
“But do the shooters know about that?” Deli asked. “Still, it’s a bit of a stretch.”
“All this is a bit of a stretch,” Mason said in exasperation. “If you have to go, don’t take anything or remove anything from a crime scene,” he warned. “There will be a formal investigation into this. But, as you know, sometimes the brass’s wheels move slowly.”
Chapter 3
When she got home later that night, Deli walked straight to her shower. She had a small one-bedroom apartment to herself on base. She preferred living on base, but, at the same time, a part of her wanted to find a place out of town. She’d only been in Coronado a year, but somehow that year had come and gone, and she hadn’t done anything about moving. But, even more so now, as she was living and breathing the military life, it was important to get some sense of balance. And living away from base would help in many ways.
She quickly scrubbed down, taking extra time on her hair. She had auburn hair that stopped just below her shoulders. She kept it in a braid, but, for washing, she took it out of the braid and gave her head a good scrub, almost moaning as the hot water poured over her body. When she came out, wrapped in a bathrobe and her hair in a towel, she made a cup of tea and sat down in front of her laptop.
She downloaded all the images she’d taken with her cell phone. While she waited for them to load, several emails came in, and they were all from Jackson. He had sent her the photos from the crime scene: the photos he’d taken of the tire tracks and of the overturned military truck. She appreciated his thoroughness. She searched through them and found some amazingly close-up pictures of the accident.
Obviously one of the two men had been pulled from the vehicle and was lying to the side of it as they awaited medical assistance. Jackson took the pictures as he had tried to help the two injured men. Photos of the side of the vehicle, the top, the undercarriage—basically he’d done a three-sixty inside and out as much as he could. She slowly went through them one at a time, looking to see what damage had been done. Because it had flipped end over end, an awful lot of the vehicle’s metal damage came just from its collision with the ground.
She sat back and sipped her tea as she slowly poured over the pictures. When her phone rang, she knew it would be Jackson. Although how he’d have tracked her down, she didn’t know. But, if he was part of Mason’s unit, he’d have no problem doing so. It was a little disconcerting though. They all seemed to know so much and to know how to do so much. Made her feel like she didn’t know near enough. “Yes, Jackson, I’m home, and I’m fine.”
“Good, but no hello?” he asked. “How did you know it was me calling?”
She chuckled and said, “I half expected you to.”
“I just wanted to see if you got the photos.”
“I did. Thanks. I gave them a cursory look but haven’t had too much time to go over them. You were very thorough.”
“Good. Anyone discuss the shooting with you? Get too curious? Anyone acting odd?” he asked smoothly.
“No, it was quiet,” she said. Just then she heard the weather outside—predicted to begin farther east, past the ambush site, then hit the base—which would change their plans for the morning. “Can you hear the storm outside? So much for our crack-of-dawn start.”
“That’s one of the reasons I’m calling. No point in going with the heavy rain pounding outside. And this particular weather front covers all the way to the accident site and beyond. I checked the weather forecast overnight, and this isn’t letting up.”
She winced, glancing at the clock. “So I get to sleep in tomorrow after all. Well, a little, as it’s still a workday,” she said, trying to inject a note of positivity to her voice. “If we could have seen something, it’s already too late.”
“True, so forget about it. Have a good night.” And he hung up abruptly.
She stared at the phone and asked the empty room, “Like I’d forget about it? How could I?” She got up, made herself a simple ham-and-egg omelet for dinner and would have liked to eat it on her small balcony, barely wide enough for her small barbeque at the end, and a chair, but not in this weather. So she positioned a chair in front of her French doors and, balancing the plate on her lap, she slowly ate her dinner as she watched the storm. She’d planned to go to bed early too but hadn’t realized how late the day had gotten.
Her phone rang again. She looked down but didn’t recognize the number, so turned it off rather than answering it. She’d had any number of odd phone calls lately—shortly after her boyfriend moved away—and she had no intention of engaging with that repulsive person. The fact that Jackson had tracked her down just showed it was way too easy for somebody to get her number, and, in fact, someone had. Maybe she was putting out the wrong vibes. The only vibe she wanted to project was Get lost. Not to everyone, not all the time. But she wasn’t really in the market. She wasn’t not looking, but she wasn’t actively trying to find a partner either.
She and her boyfriend had broken off about four and a half months ago. It had been good while it had lasted, but they both realized they were ready for other things. He’d moved back East, and she’d stayed in California.
No way was she trading sunshine and vineyards for snow six months out of the year. He’d just laughed and told her that the snow was great, and, if she’d learned to snowboard like he did, she’d learn to appreciate what winter had to offer. But he hadn’t been able to convince her. They realized that, if they weren’t interested in staying in the same area of the country, they really had nothing strong enough to carry on with. It had been a sad parting, but, when it was over, she hadn’t missed anything about him, even though he’d been the person she’d done everything with before their breakup.
Their weekends had been filled with hikes and traveling around the state, exploring different corners. They used to go for long drives because they enjoyed it. And, with him gone, she’d tried to do the same
things alone, but they didn’t have the same appeal. Now, four months later, she had stopped going on those drives altogether. She’d been looking forward to going out with Jackson tomorrow morning for their evidence-gathering expedition.
He was different, jovial, lighthearted, big, but he apparently didn’t know a whole lot about mechanics. Then not everybody could know everything about everything, she had to keep reminding herself. She worked in a man’s world, and often they knew or thought they knew a lot. But she knew a whole lot more about mechanics than most.
In that way Jackson was refreshing. He didn’t pretend to possess knowledge he didn’t have. He probably knew the basics of a vehicle and likely more than that, but she was the one who would tear apart the engine and put it back together again.
She frowned as she got ready for bed, wondering what the morning would bring. As she was about to fall asleep, her phone rang again. Without thinking, she answered it. “Hello.”
“There you are,” the sleazy voice said. “I caught you again, didn’t I?”
“Leave me alone,” she snapped. “I don’t want anything to do with you, so stop calling me.” She hung up on the caller.
When it rang again, she refused to answer. When it didn’t stop ringing, she shut it off and set the phone on the charger. She stared at it for a long time and wondered what the hell she could do about that caller. He was a pain in the ass and really affecting her moods, not to mention had her more than a bit worried that he might escalate his interactions with her. She rolled over and, with great difficulty, finally fell asleep.
*
Jackson walked into the hospital. He understood the two unconscious men were held under guard in case anybody came back after them; plus they needed to still be questioned. He wondered about the security here. Surely it would be enough to keep them safe in the hospital until they woke up. But, since there was suspicion of an ambush, the authorities wanted to make sure these two men were questioned before another attempt happened.
