The Alex Troutt Thrillers: Books 4-6 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set Book 2)

by John W. Mefford

  I always suspected she could read minds. I released a sigh that lasted at least ten seconds.

  “I know, I know. I need to get to sleep. I’m just frustrated as hell that we haven’t been able to find that first domino that will finally make sense of all this shit.”

  She arched an eyebrow on her way over to the cabinet, where she retrieved the dark roast coffee and measured out six scoops for the coffeemaker. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” she said.

  “We’re not making progress. Tripuka looked guilty as hell the day we chased him down, but now it’s like he’s made of steel. Nothing sticks.”

  “Maybe it’s because you’re so damn tired you have no hope of being able to piece the evidence together. Have you thought about that?”

  “It crossed my mind, but I was too tired to give it any thought.”

  We stared blankly at each other, then broke out in laughter at the exact same moment. After a few seconds, Ezzy calmed back down, but I had moved on to the tear-laughing stage. “Oh my,” I said, grabbing a napkin and dabbing my eyes. I took in another tired breath. “I need to make better decisions with my life, don’t I?”

  “You said it, so I don’t need to repeat the obvious.”

  She padded to the other side of the kitchen. “This old lady is going to bed now. And you?”

  “I just want to review these pictures that Terri sent over, and then I’m off to bed. In fact, in the morning you might want to make sure I’m alive if I’m still asleep past eight.”

  She smiled and waved over her head, mumbling something as she shuffled away.

  I downed a full glass of water, the round of heartfelt laughter with Ezzy infusing my body with another dose of energy. My second wind.

  I clicked on the zipped file that Terri had sent containing the photos from Tripuka’s tablet. As the photos downloaded to my laptop, I almost chuckled at my ability to sugarcoat my own well-being. Second wind? Who was I kidding? I was probably on my seventh or eighth wind by now. And I knew the clock was ticking before invisible weights would pull my eyelids shut.

  I opened the first file and looked at a picture of a small Santa Claus figurine. He had those rosy red cheeks, with a bagful of toys hoisted over his shoulder. On to the next jpeg. Another figurine, this one of three carolers dressed in suits with red or green vests and top hats. Reminded me of the Charles Dickens classics from the late 1800’s. The attention to detail on the figurines was rather impressive—from their mustached faces to the texture on their vests. I knew a number of ladies in the neighborhood who took great pride in their collections, usually with a Christmas theme, but others branched out to other holidays, including Halloween, Thanksgiving, and even Easter.

  I clicked through another twenty or so pictures of varying figurines, all of which were in the Christmas bucket: a Georgia-style home outlined with lights, a one-horse sleigh with kids in the back, ice skaters, and a few of Rudolph and his fellow reindeer.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  I nearly choked on my own spit. “Hey, Erin. What are you doing up so late?”

  “I fell asleep and dreamed that I forgot to turn in my art project essay.” She opened the fridge and scoped out the options. A clip in the shape of a fat cat held her chestnut hair on top of her head. She had on an old T-shirt and plaid boxer shorts. “How can you forget to turn in homework, especially such a big project?”

  She turned and gave me one of those “you got me” smiles. “Let’s just say I don’t want it to happen again. So I got out of bed and started reviewing my paper. I made a few changes, but nothing drastic. I felt better about it when I finished, so I guess that’s a good thing, huh?”

  “Sure is. Did you print it?”

  “No, I was going to actually give Mrs. Harris my laptop. Hello…of course I printed it.”

  Teenage sarcasm. Her tone wasn’t harsh, so I let it ride. I had learned that counting to ten, or any other coping mechanism I could think of, had allowed Erin and me to coexist a little more peacefully. And that had led to a few mother-daughter moments that I cherished.

  She pulled a can of Coke from the fridge and held it up to her cute face, almost like she was a product model.

  “Uh…no.”

  “But Mom, I won’t be able to go back to sleep anyway. I can study for next week’s chemistry test.”

  I rubbed my ear, wondering if I had heard her correctly. “You’re going to study for a test that’s not until next week?”

  “Yeah.” She paused. “Well, I’ll be online, listening to some tunes, maybe Skyping with Trish at the same time. But we study good together. We actually challenge each other.”

  “Nice try.”

  “Does that mean yes?”

  I chuckled. “You’re pretty relentless.”

  “Okay.” She put the can back in the fridge and walked over to me.

  “Speaking of sleep…I thought you’d be dead asleep by now.”

  “Just finishing up some work, and then I’m headed in that direction.”

  She perched her chin on my shoulder. I leaned my head against hers and then gently tapped her cheek.

  “Thinking about starting one of those Christmas collections?”

  We were looking at a picture of three kids in a snowball fight. “Eh, maybe. But these pictures are related to a case I’m working.”

  “Right, the same one that has kept you working for over two days straight with no sleep.”

  I opened my mouth, ready to justify my actions. But what was the point?

  “I guess so.”

  I clicked again and found the picture of one of those American Girl dolls. Erin giggled. She had always shied away from anything that was viewed as overly feminine, or too girly-girl, as she would say.

  “You don’t like that dress?”

  “I don’t like any dresses. But a pink dress with lace and white tights…you couldn’t pay me enough to wear that.” She crossed her arms and stuck out her hip.

  “Someday,” I said with a smile.

  “Okay. Maybe someday far, far in the future.”

  “Like Star Wars. You do kind of remind me of that tomboy in that latest Star Wars movie. What’s her name?”

  She brought a hand to her face and snorted out a giggle. “First of all, Mom, Star Wars isn’t set in the future. It’s in the past. And her name is Rey.”

  I nodded. “You like her?”

  “She’s pretty cool, yeah.”

  Shifting my eyes back to the laptop, I pondered why Tripuka would have a picture of a doll, albeit one that probably cost north of two hundred bucks. I strummed my fingers on the granite counters. The figurines could have been for any female friend, but the doll made me think about girls…young girls. My thoughts took me back to his conviction of statutory rape. I recalled his recollection of his relationship with Susan Miller, and then the exact opposite perspective from her father. Both were convincing in their own right. While I couldn’t necessarily accept Tripuka’s take on his relationship with Susan, I’d yet to completely dismiss it. One thing I had learned was not to be too quick to shut a door all the way. I couldn’t be like that one figurine I’d just seen a picture of. It was a horse wearing blinders, which are designed to keep the animal focused straight ahead, ignoring any distractions. I needed to be just the opposite—open to all possibilities around me, so that I could find that sometimes-elusive connection between perpetrator and victim.

  As a yawn escaped my lips, I clicked to the next image. I saw a picture of what looked like a gold medal from the Olympics—1984 in Los Angeles. It was probably a fake, but it looked authentic.

  “Where did you get these pictures?” Erin asked while picking at her nails.

  I stretched my arms and glanced out the kitchen window into the backyard. A quick flicker of light. Or was that a reflection from the corner street light?

  “Uh…” I turned back to the laptop screen, wondering if Tripuka’s criminal footprint also included theft, possibly related to selling imitations of real items in
some type of online black market. The Dark Web. “Just the case I’m working on, sweetie.”

  Erin’s nail-picking continued. I looked at her. “Is there something wrong?”

  “No, no, everything’s cool.”

  I went back to the screen.

  A rumbling thud from outside.

  I quickly turned toward the backyard, then jumped out of my seat to get a better view by prying open the blinds.

  “What was that, Mom?”

  I scanned the yard as well as our neighbor’s, the Dunkleburgers, whose garage and driveway were on the left, bordered by a row of hedges. “I don’t know.”

  “A dog maybe?” she suggested.

  I glanced over my shoulder and saw her still picking at her nails. “That’s a bad habit, Erin. I should know. What’s got you all worked up?”

  She didn’t respond, but I could see her veins popping out around her temples. Did her eyes just glance at the computer screen?

  I looked at the screen, then was drawn to take another glance into the backyard. A shadow flashed behind a tree.

  “Erin, take my phone.” I reached into my purse and held it out for her.

  “I already have mine.” She reached around to the small of her back and produced her phone. Some folks hide guns; my daughter has a hidden place for her weapon of choice, a cell phone.

  “That’s even better.” I removed my Glock out of a side pocket, then reached over and pulled the blinds shut.

  “Mother, what’s going on?”

  “I’m going to queue up a text.” I typed: call 911

  “If I tap the send button, you then need to call nine-one-one. Okay?”

  “What the fuck, Mom?”

  I ignored her language and took hold of her arm. “Erin, it will be okay. I’m going outside to make sure we don’t have an unwanted visitor.”

  “But you could get hurt,” she said as I marched across the kitchen to the back door, my pulse doing double-time. I reloaded my ammo and put a hand on the doorknob. “I’ll be fine. Stay back from the windows and watch your phone. If you don’t hear from me in ten minutes, get Ezzy and call nine-one-one.”

  “You’re scaring me, Mom.”

  “You just haven’t seen this side of me very often. Honey, I’m trained for this kind of situation. If anyone is out there, they probably aren’t trained. I like my odds. Be alert, but don’t panic. You good?”

  She blew out a breath and held up her phone. “I’m good.”

  As I swung the door open, I paused at the threshold and scanned the area, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. No one in sight, which wasn’t surprising.

  The Glock was at my waist, my fingers comforted by the familiar steel grip. A lazy breeze fluttered limbs on the higher part of the trees. Spindly shadows danced across the yard and the rooftop of the detached garage about forty feet in front of me. That garage was an easy hiding spot, and a dangerous one—too many nooks and crannies in which to hide. I’d get to it in due time. For now, I had to ensure the yard and surrounding area were clear.

  I stepped out and shifted to my left, the changing angle slowly offering a different perspective of the yard, especially behind the large tree trunks. I quickly glanced at the Dunkleburger’s property, my eyes focusing on the thick row of hedges standing about three feet high. Swinging my sights back to our yard, I crouched down until my hand reached the soft grass, a moist dew already settling on top. Now on my knees, I lowered my head to about six inches off the ground and then scanned the thinned-out lower area of the shrubs. I looked up and down the hedge. No sign of feet or legs. All clear.

  As I pushed off the ground to lift to a standing position, my knuckle popped. I stopped breathing. I quickly scoured the yard, searching for any movement. Nothing except the shifting branches and now the soft tingle of an outdoor chime. A gust of air made my eyes water, and I realized I hadn’t allowed myself to blink.

  Releasing a quiet breath, I continued my search, taking each step as if I might step on a land mine. I walked the outer rim of the yard, making my way toward the back. Another breeze dropped a strand of hair in my face. For an early fall night in New England, the weather could be considered ideal for a late-night stroll or even just standing in a backyard to take in the crisp air. I was almost halfway around the perimeter and not even a squirrel had shown its face. Everyone was asleep…except those of us who had issues setting boundaries for work, apparently. I was beginning to wonder if my sleep deprivation might have created a hallucination when I’d looked through the blinds into the backyard.

  I advanced three more steps and then stopped, my pulse thumping like a rabbit’s foot. I was staring at the area on the other side of the garage where Luke had once again set up his make-believe world of an NFL football game. He would use anything he could find out of the garage as players, including the large plastic garbage containers. One was lying on its side right on top of the narrow sidewalk, with two trash bags sprawled just outside the rim. The plastic top was about fifteen away, next to a root of a tree.

  I replayed the sound that had gotten my attention earlier when I was in the kitchen. It connected to the image before me—someone had knocked over one of the garbage bins.

  Who was it? And were they still on the property? Another quick survey of the grounds and I came up empty. That left the garage.

  With my Glock near eye level, I pulled my phone out of my front pocket and tapped until the flashlight cast a cone of light on the area around me. Moving around the garage toward the side door, I could see the soft yellow light seeping through the blinds in the kitchen. I’d given Erin a ten-minute window, and then she was to call the cops. I guessed that I’d used up a good six or seven minutes.

  A high-pitched squeal just to my right caused me to swing my arms in that direction, my finger on the trigger. Two squirrels raced down a tree trunk, and I released a lungful of air. It appeared one of the critters was running for its life, away from the other one. They scampered across the grass and up another tree. More squeals, then they made three rotations around the tree as they ascended high into the branches.

  Given the state of the trash container, I’d say our unwanted visitor wasn’t nearly as agile as the squirrels.

  I made my way to the southwest edge of the garage, the door just around the corner. I knew my phone’s flashlight would give my presence away, but I had to risk it. I had no idea what was in there. I took in a breath, again wondering who this could be. Someone I knew, or just a nomadic stranger passing through town? Or maybe it was a kid from Erin’s high school. I hoped not—for that kid’s sake. I turned the corner and found a closed door, just the way I’d left it when I got home earlier. I put the phone in my mouth and slowly twisted the knob. As expected, the door squeaked when it reached a foot ajar. I pushed it all the way open, the light picking up the front corner of my FBI-issued Impala. Dust danced in the beam of my flashlight. I didn’t say a word, but scanned the space. Crap was everywhere. The garage had become our family dumping ground for anything and everything we didn’t want in the house. Piles of old toys, metal cabinets, tools, lawn equipment. Elevated about ten feet off the floor was a ledge that ran along two walls. Most of that space was covered by bins and crates of Mark’s old stuff. I couldn’t stand having it in the house, but I also couldn’t bring myself to give it away. So it remained at the edge of our existence—the garage. Luke could probably find about twenty places to hide in here.

  I reached up and flipped on the overhead light.

  Nothing happened.

  Crap. Another lightbulb had blown. We probably had five dead lightbulbs in the house right now, including two in my bathroom. I walked down one side of the garage, constantly looking in between crevices of boxes and tall metal shelves for something human. I made my way around to the back end of the car—no sign of life, human or rodent. I wondered if this was a big waste of time. Who hid out in a garage after knocking over a trash bin? Wouldn’t it make more sense for the perp to simply run away?

  Gear
s cranked, and I literally jumped in the air, my heart stuck in my throat.

  Behind me, the automatic garage door slowly began to rise, the noise cutting through the still air. I backpedaled to the opposite side of the car, waiting to see if the perp would slide out from underneath and try to escape through the garage door opening, which fed into the side street.

  The door moved as slowly as a snail. Before it reached its apex, I cupped a hand against the car’s window. No one was inside. I backed up near the wall, as close as possible given the mound of stuff in my way, trying to get a better angle to look under the car. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a golf ball bounce out from the rear and roll down the driveway.

  “What the—”

  Movement to my right. I jerked the light and my gun in that direction, just as someone raced out the side door.

  “Stop!” I bolted out of my spot, but tripped over a hula hoop. I quickly regained my balance, but then my next step landed squarely on a skateboard.

  “Shit!” I somehow stayed upright until the skateboard rolled to a stop against a giant blue bin. I jumped off and ran for the door. Just as I got there, I realized his likely path was to run around the garage, through the gate, and onto the side street. I could cut him off if I was quick enough. I pushed off my back foot and scooted around the car, glancing down to ensure I didn’t step on any more toy traps. A few more toe steps and I was on the driveway. I jogged into the road where I could see the gate to our backyard. It was shut. And no one was running down the street.

  The only other way out of the property was through my other neighbor’s yard or…

  The house!

  Avoiding the death-pit garage, I raced to the side. Through the gate in a split-second, I hit full speed in ten strides and took the corner with my arms pumping.

  A person straight ahead at forty feet. I jumped to a stop just as I brought up my gun. “Stop or I’ll shoot.”

  The person stumbled into the one upright trash bin and fell to the ground. It was not a man. “Ezzy?”

  She rolled over on the grass as I dropped to my knees. “What are you doing out here? Are you okay?”