by Dirk Patton
Carl turned and went to the door. Griffin followed. They stepped out into the hall.
Carl said, “What do you think?”
Griffin said, “I think that’s all he knows.”
“Not much to go on.”
“More than we had,” said Griffin. “What I’m wondering is why just the one ring? The bad guys took a whole lot of stuff from those houses. Why fence just one piece?”
Griffin shrugged. “Testing the waters? See if the stuff was too hot to move?”
“Doesn’t feel right, Wade. Both invasions were carefully planned and executed. This feels more like a mistake.”
“Maybe one of the crew suddenly needed some fast cash?”
“Maybe. And he slipped something out of the loot. Which suggests a sudden need, drugs being the most likely.”
“Might be worth talking to some of the local dealers.”
“Might at that,” said Carl.
The door opened at the far end of the hall and one of Carl's deputies, a guy named Perez, stuck his head in. “Someone to see you, Sheriff.”
“Who is it?”
Perez shook his head. “Says she's with the army.”
Carl shrugged, and he and Griffin went out to the lobby. A tall, blonde woman was at the front desk. She wore a black skirt suit, medium heels, and a slender string of pearls at her throat. Classy.
The woman said, “Sheriff Price. I'm Major Sandra Thorne. Military Police.” She flashed an ID badge. “We need to talk.”
Carl said, “Kinda busy just now, Major. Care to tell me what this is about?”
“Private would be better,” Thorne said.
“Okay, we can use my office.”
Griffin said, “I'll go check on that lead, Carl. I'll call you later.”
Thorne said, “This concerns you as well, Mr Griffin.”
Griffin raised an eyebrow. He’d never been in the military. Why should Thorne want to talk to him or even know about him?
Carl led the way to his office. He seated himself behind his desk and Thorne took the room’s only other chair. Griffin leaned on the wall. He did that a lot.
Thorne said, “We’ve reason to believe that a man named Avery Mason is in your area.”
She was looking at Griffin when she said it. So that was why she wanted me in the meeting. Griffin said, “Yeah, I know him. We aren’t friends.”
“We didn’t think so,” Thorne said. “You turn up in one of the files about Mason. You and he were both working as mercenaries in Iraq at the same time. Don’t worry, Mr Griffin. We aren’t keeping tabs on you.”
“I wasn’t worried,” said Griffin.
“Pretend I’ve never heard of the guy,” Carl said. “What’s he doing in my county?”
Thorne said, “Mason was an Army Ranger. Top of the line special ops. Simply put, he went bad. He started using his position in the army for profit. Drug smuggling, extortion, all kinds of things. He was dishonorably discharged but managed to stay out of jail. Witnesses tended to not want to testify against him.”
“Convenient,” said Griffin.
“Very. Mason became a mercenary. We’ve kept track of him as best we could. At one point he was privy to a lot of military secrets. He’s still operating in various trouble spots around the world. We also believe he’s been behind a string of high-dollar home invasions throughout the Southeast.”
“Hot damn,” said Carl.
“Thought you might see it that way, Sheriff,” said Thorne. “Mason usually employs other ex-military personnel. Runs a tight ship. Leaves no witnesses.”
Carl nodded. “That’s the pattern. Speaking of which, I don’t suppose you know anyone who looks like this?” He handed her a copy of the sketch of the suspect.
Thorne looked at the drawing. It showed a man with a narrow face, a thin nose, and close-cropped hair. She said, “He doesn’t look familiar.”
“Too bad,” Carl said. “Would have been nice to have a name. He sold a ring that was taken in one of the invasions.”
Thorne said, “Tell me about that, please. I just have vague outlines of the two home invasions in Brennert.”
Carl said, “Two houses in two different neighborhoods were hit. Both places belonged to wealthy people. As you said, the crew leaves no witnesses. The first invasion was three weeks back, a lawyer named Cameron Weston. He had a wife and two kids. All four of them were lined up and shot.”
Thorne grimaced. “Sounds like Mason.”
“The other target was a doctor, Terry Roth. One bullet each for him and his wife. Luckily their only daughter was away at a sleepover. In both cases, the perps had to be in and out quick. These were gated neighborhoods with security patrols. The invaders got in, took what they wanted, and got out. Well planned operations. The term ‘military precision’ was bandied about, come to think of it.”
“Do you have any idea how the invaders chose their targets?” Thorne said.
“Not really. Both men were known to be wealthy, but so are a lot of other people. I know where you’re heading, Major. The sad truth is most high-end home invasions happen to drug dealers or other types who can’t use banks, so they have a lot of cash lying around. Background checks on Roth and Weston didn’t turn up anything shifty.”
“Random isn’t Avery Mason’s style, Sheriff. There will be a reason he chose those men.”
“I’d be awful obliged if you could provide it,” Carl said.
“I’m afraid I don’t know either, but I know how Mason operates.”
“Maybe you could let me in on that. A picture of the guy would be nice, too.”
“I'll email you a copy of the report, minus classified material, of course.”
“Of course,” said Carl.
“But even if you know what he looks like, you can't just pick him up. That's been tried. You don't have probable cause and I guarantee you won't find anything on him or wherever he's living.”
“Which raises a point,” Griffin said. “Given what Major Thorne has just told us, everything changes. If the ring guy is still alive it's only because Mason doesn't know about the ring yet. Mason would never fence anything locally. Guy must have skimmed it like we figured. He can ID Mason and we have a witness who can put him with the ring from the Weston invasion. Mason has to kill him.”
Carl said, “Meaning we got a ticking clock on finding the guy.”
“Yeah, which means maybe you'd better check the drug angle while I try some of my business contacts.”
“By that you mean mercenaries?” Thorne said.
Griffin smiled. “I'm a private investigator, Major. Got a license and everything.”
Carl said, “Yeah, I'll ask around. The pawnshop guy paid Ringo pretty good. If he was looking for quality drugs, he'd have had to deal with some of Junior Hulsey's people or one of the Blackbournes.”
“Neither of who are likely to be overly cooperative,” Griffin said. “Watch yourself, brother.”
“Yes, Mom. Get out of here and let me get to work.”
As Griffin was leaving, Thorne said, “You're going, yourself, Sheriff? Most commanding officers I know are big on delegating.”
Carl grinned. “Oh, I'm a delegating fool, Major. But not on this one. I want to find these bastards myself.”
* * *
“Thank you so much, Mr Thayer,” Sue Townsend said. “It was a beautiful service. And you did such wonderful work. He looked as if he was only sleeping.”
Henry Thayer took her withered, arthritic hands carefully into his warm paws and stared gently into Mrs Townsend’s eyes, his face kindly, his mane of salt and pepper hair just so, and said, “And so he was, Mrs Townsend. Your husband will awake in a better place.”
They were standing in the hallway of Thayer’s funeral home. They were the only people left after George Townsend’s funeral. Thayer looked down at the tiny old woman and smiled his compassionate, sincere smile, the one he practiced in the mirror. He was perhaps three times her size. His clients seemed to find his bulk comfor
ting, somehow. He supposed it gave the feeling of solidity and permanence.
Sue said, “Well, my son is waiting out front. Thank you again.”
“I’m only glad that I could offer some comfort in this time of sadness,” Thayer said. Now please hurry up and get out of here so I can be about something that actually matters, you simpering old fool.
Thayer escorted the old woman to the door and closed it gently behind her, watching as her son, William, led her away from the building toward the waiting car. Then he turned and hurried toward the rear of the building. His employees could finish cleaning up and getting the room ready for the next viewing. He went out the back door and followed the path that led to his house.
Thayer’s home was hidden behind a wall of tall pines. He had chosen the slightly out of the way location for house and business because it offered the privacy he wanted and needed. People had said he was foolish to build so far from downtown Wellman. That out of sight meant out of mind. But Thayer knew things those people didn’t. Oh, so many things.
Thayer entered his house and went directly to his study in the far west corner. He loosened his tie as he opened the door at the back of the room and then descended a short flight of steps to a second door, this one sealed and guarded by a security panel. Nimble fingers punched in the numbers that opened the door. There was a whoosh of air and then a slight smell of corruption wafted from within. It didn't bother Thayer. The smell of death was as familiar to him as a lifelong friend.
The chamber beyond the security door was vast, far larger than the house above. It was another reason he’d chosen this secluded location. He'd had the natural cave expanded by contractors who were paid very handsomely for their discretion before they died in an unfortunate construction accident not long after the work was finished.
Thayer went to one of the many metal tables that filled the room. The body of the late George Townsend lay upon the cold surface. It had been so easy to have the body removed from the casket before the coffin was taken to the burial ground. Thayer's servants in the hidden room in the mortuary had performed that function many times.
They had also taken the time to remove the suit from Townsend’s corpse. There had been a time when the rituals had taken hours on end for him to finish, but these days the movements were virtually as common for him as walking. Two fingers moved into the thick, black lotion he’d prepared during the last full moon, and he made the seven marks required by his master on the cadaver laid out before him.
Thayer mumbled a few words and waved his hand over the corpse's face. Townsend's eyes snapped open, but they didn't focus as those of a living man would. His pupils did not dilate, nor did his eyes wander about the room, much as Thayer expected they might want to. The corners of Townsend's mouth twitched.
“You'd like to scream, wouldn't you, George?” Townsend said. “I can imagine finding your soul back in your moldering body would be quite the horrifying experience. Don't worry though. You won't be trapped there forever. My lord Nsnigoth has use for you.”
Thayer turned and walked across the twilight of the room to the farthest wall of the cavern, his steps echoing hollowly in the vast chamber. That wall was lined with rectangular niches. A corpse lay in each niche of Thayer's personal catacomb. He needed one in particular. He did not bother looking at the corpses. He knew exactly where each rested.
“Awake, Joshua Collett,” Thayer said.
The body of a man in his early twenties jerked twice, spasmed and shivered and then slid from one of the apertures as a serpent might. The dead don't move like men. Collett rose to a standing position in front of Thayer.
Thayer said, “Your father has become a problem, Joshua. He suspects there might be something wrong about your burial. I'm not sure what set him off, but this morning he threatened to call the police and have you disinterred. I can't have that. I want you to go to him tonight.”
He stared at Collett’s face. The changes to the jaw line, the slight bulge where lips hid teeth, were all Thayer needed to see to know his pet was ready to handle the work he demanded of it.
The corpse gave a slow nod, the eyes shifted to looked at him and then quickly looked away as if the very sight of him was enough to inspire terror in the dead man. Henry Thayer smiled.
“Joshua, when you are done, I want you to bring me his heart. Do you understand me?”
There was no hesitation in Joshua’s nod, no sign of any hint of remorse at the command. “You’ll need to move quietly. Prepare yourself. And if any living thing should see you, make certain that thing dies. Do you understand me?” Collett nodded again, and then squatted, knees popping noisily. While the corpse of Joshua Collett waited for the sun to set, it moved through a series of slow, meticulous motions that made tendons stretch and joints pop until the body no longer made a sound. When Thayer was younger those sounds had made him cringe. Now they were music, a song that promised his words were law, and would be obeyed.
A quick look at his watch told him the Berringer funeral was coming up soon. It was time to get back to the funeral home and prepare. Linda Berringer was killed when a tractor-trailer jackknifed on the interstate, and her car ran under the thing. Her body had been torn and shredded until it was barely intact. The service would be closed casket out of necessity.
Pity. She had been a lovely young lady.
Oh, the fun they could have had together if she’d been less of a mess.
* * *
The sun was shining through the windshield and played across the Major’s hair. She was a good-looking woman, in a severe, military sort of way. At least she managed a smile when Carl cracked a few of his jokes. At first, she just sort of blinked, like maybe he’d lost his mind but eventually she relaxed.
She made sure not to smile when he was talking to Denny Willis and Billy Harper, both of whom were standing next to Carl’s truck and trying not to look too put out by the zip-tie cuffs he’d used on them. They were big fellas, in the case of Billy a lot of that size came in the form of fat, but Denny was all steroidal body builder muscle and fresh tattoos.
Neither of them was smiling. Hell, they looked positively put out by the Ziploc bag full of plastic wrap twists he’d confiscated. Street value was probably around seven grand. They wouldn’t be getting that back, which meant their boss, Junior Hulsey, was going to be extremely annoyed with them.
Currently they were all standing in the parking lot of the Dawg Shop. The boys had planned a lunch break, which was a mighty fine idea, but they’d made the mistake of trying to sell a few hits while waiting on their order.
Carl took offense at that. So did Derek, who wanted his place to be family friendly and called on Carl the second they showed their wares.
Billy was being a good boy and behaving himself, but Denny was doing a lot of flexing and trying to break his restraints. All he'd done so far was make his wrists all kinds of red and angry with him.
“Denny, if you don’t stop working those bonds I’m gonna go ahead and strap your ankles together. Then we’re gonna have to call for back up and a wagon to get you where you’re going.”
“Why don’t you go fuck yourself?”
“Denny, son, I have a lady present. She doesn’t want to hear that kind of language and I don’t either. So you’re going to behave yourself before things get much worse.”
“How they gonna get worse?”
Billy answered for him, because Billy was wise in the ways of the Brennert County Sheriff’s Department and the methods the Sheriff would employ if he were made unhappy. “Delousing at the jail. Full cavity search. Might could lose your clothes and give you something from the lost and found when you manage to make bail. If you manage to make bail.” Billy closed his eyes and shivered. As Carl was the one who’d chosen his clothes from the lost and found the last time, he could respect and appreciate that reaction.
“We also reserve the right to confiscate any property used in the commission of a felony crime here in Brennert County. Now I don’t do that t
oo often, I kind of think it’s a shitty way to act.” Carl smiled. “Say, Denny, what are the chances that if I check your house I’m gonna find even a single twist of crack cocaine?”
Carl knew for a fact that Denny had just bought himself a nice little ranch over on Gibson Street. He made it a point to know who was doing what in the Hulsey extended family of douche bags and dealers.
Denny puffed up his chest and looked like he wanted to argue. Billy looked at him, frowned heavily and shook his head so fast his features nearly blurred.
Denny was a fairly fresh import to Brennert County. His ignorance could be overlooked once or twice. Billy, on the other hand, was a native son.
Denny deflated.
“Now, boys, I have a few questions to ask you.”
Denny glared.
Billy nodded and offered a weak smile. “Nothing too personal, Sheriff Carl?”
“Just a few questions about someone who might be looking for the high-end stuff.”
Denny was doing his best to look crafty It wasn't an impressive expression. “How high-end are we talking?”
“Sort of stuff a low-rent type like you could never afford. Probably someone new to town.”
“New?” Denny was giving him the squint eye.
“Last three weeks or so probably.” Carl smiled. “Now do you have anything for me, or should I look some more, and maybe start taking your truck apart.”
Denny had a wonderful singing voice. He gave up three names, and where they were most likely to be found.
“Boys, I’m confiscating your supplies. Oh, and the brass knuckles, the two hunting knives and all three firearms.”
Denny started to protest, and Carl smiled. “But I’m gonna leave you your truck this one time.”
Denny smiled with relief.
“There’s a catch. I ever see you over here again, anywhere near this place, and I’ll bust your asses so hard you can’t sit for a week.”
“What?” Billy sounded desperate. “Man, I fucking love the slaw dogs here.”
Carl smiled. “That’s okay, Billy. Don’t you fret. I found out just today that Derek delivers in a three-mile radius. Any further and he charges extra.”
