Flashbyte (Byte Series - Ellie Conway Book 4)

by Cat Connor

  He grinned. “Take a breath,” Sean said. “I’ve had a quick look around the properties. Checked the horses were still here and cars weren’t missing, that kind of thing.”

  I took a breath and exhaled slowly, re-focusing my attention on the possibilities ahead of us. “She could’ve gone anywhere with Saville,” I stated. “Assuming she is with him.”

  I never did find out if the state police gleaned travel information from him or if the Lexington Police came out to talk to him.

  “Let me make a call to the state police.”

  Sean shook his head.

  “No police.”

  “My call will be expected. I handed Saville over to the staties yesterday. So it’s follow-up.”

  I whipped out my phone and called before he could argue. Once through I asked for Greg or Chris. Greg announced himself over the phone.

  “Hey, Greg, it’s Ellie. What happened with Saville yesterday?”

  “Oh, hey, Ellie. We sent the gun to the lab.” I could hear paper moving about and tapping on a key board. “We questioned him for a few hours. Lexington PD came out and did the same. They have his contact details and told him not to leave the state. They had nothing to connect him to the assault, except a sighting of his car. He’s denying the gun. We charged him with secreting a firearm. With no outstanding warrants, or previous convictions, he was freed without bail and ordered to appear in Lexington District Court. Saville stayed at the Maury River Motel last night. He was moving on this morning. Heading back to Richmond he said.”

  “Thanks, Greg. Do you know if he is still at the motel?” I figured that was pushing the general enquiry but had to try.

  “We checked him in and he checked out this morning. Everything all right?”

  “Yep, everything’s great. Thank you. I wanted to make sure he was on his way out of the area.”

  “I checked and he’s gone, paid his bill, and left at nine forty-five.”

  “Thanks Greg. Take care now.”

  I hung up.

  “Nine forty-five. If he picked her up, then it was after that.”

  Sean frowned. “She hasn’t been gone that long.”

  “Cait called me at ten-thirty. I presume you called her right before that.”

  “Yep.”

  “She could turn up within the next hour or so …”

  “Or not,” Sean added. He slouched against the kitchen cabinets, rhythmically knocking his head against a door. “Do you want to wait?”

  No, I want to go smash that fat pervert into the nearest wall and find Kennedy. He may have weaseled out of an indecency charge but I had no doubt he was guilty as sin of something.

  I heard Sean talking to Kurt. Then Kurt replying. I didn’t care that they were talking about me. I didn’t care that Sean wanted to bring Rowan and Carla down to Mauryville. My phone rang, jolting me from the mess within my mind. The display said it was Rowan. I took a breath and answered it, remembering how I answered the phone when Mac rang. I figured if I was dating Rowan, I’d react in a similar way.

  “Hey,” I said, inserting as much bounce as the short word would allow.

  “Hey, yourself. You sound good. Everything okay?”

  “Absolutely.” How much did I tell him about my work on a daily basis? He’s not one of us. I opted for less is more. “We’re following a lead.”

  “Any idea when you’ll be home?”

  “Not yet, a few days maybe. Do you need me home?”

  Do we share a home? No. that doesn’t feel right. Frequent guest felt about right.

  “Carla is missing you.”

  I didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t even figured in my consciousness all day. A pang of guilt hit me. She’s a kid. My kid. She misses her mom. I had to react.

  “Put her on the phone. That’ll help.”

  I spoke to Carla. Each word she said I wanted so much to be something that triggered a memory. I wanted to remember what it was like to be her mom. She sounded like such an awesome person. When I said goodbye a thought cemented.

  “Guys – I can’t remember being Carla’s mom, but there’s something wrong with me. Leticia’s mother must have felt the loss of her child and conversely, Leticia would have missed her mother. Why did her mother give up?”

  I knew I had a child and I was fighting tooth and nail to remember her. It went against everything I knew to be true for a mother to give up.

  “Because she thought Leticia was dead,” Lee said. “She moved into the grief phase. I can’t think of another reason for a mother to give up.”

  Kurt nodded. Sean chewed the inside of his cheek and watched me.

  “Why?”

  “Police and FBI don’t give up on kids. Why would the mother?”

  Lee rocked back on his chair. “Someone gave her cause to believe her daughter was dead.”

  “And she didn’t want justice?” I replied.

  “That person might have convinced her she’d lose everything.”

  “Her husband.”

  From my first look at the case I’d believed that Robert Saville was responsible for the disappearance of his daughter. I’d also suspected abuse. A new thought manifested.

  “Saville abducted his own daughter. She got away.” I leaned against the wall. “The very first thing I would do if I was a kid …” I stopped.

  Because the very first thing I would’ve done was run as far away as I could, because my dad was at sea, and my mom was a lunatic. But this kid’s mom wasn’t. Her dad was nut job. “She would’ve found a way to call her mom.”

  There was a collective sigh.

  “That’s why the mother moved on. She knew where Leticia was,” Kurt said. “And no one picked this up?”

  I shook my head.

  I remembered looking into the case, but it was a cursory glance, for information and background on the father. He was the only suspect. No one had enough evidence to pin it on him. Police ended up thinking he’d killed the girl. But no evidence meant they couldn’t touch him.

  The new thoughts regarding Leticia didn’t stop the past from sucking me back in. Next thing I knew I was climbing out of a car with Sean and we were still trying to find Saville.

  Sean and I approached the manager’s office at the motel after scanning the parking lots outside the rooms. No red Corvette.

  Sean had a photo of Michaela. “Have you seen this woman?” he said to the grouchy-looking old man at the desk.

  “No.”

  “How about this man?” I showed him a picture of Saville. It was his driver’s license picture and nothing like his current state. “Imagine him looking homeless, toothless and driving a red Corvette.”

  The old man’s craggy face cracked into a gummy grin. “Self-important son of a gun he was too.”

  Sounded like him.

  “He gone?”

  “I hope so,” he replied. “He left about nine forty-five.”

  “Direction?”

  “West.”

  “Thank you.”

  “He did something, didn’t he? Looked like he’d done something.”

  Looked like he spent too much time with his hands in his own pants to me.

  “Just want to talk to him, that’s all,” I said and slipped my card onto his desk. “If you see him or that red car, gimme a call.”

  He pocketed the card.

  We headed west. A red Corvette was going to stick out on the road, especially out here, where there’s little traffic and what traffic there is tends to be large four-wheel-drives or pick-up trucks.

  Twenty minutes with no sign of anyone else.

  A telling hunch formed in my gut. I turned the car around and headed back. I knew a few places along the river. Old cabins. There were numerous old hunting lodges and fishing cabins scattered along the wooded banks of the Maury River. A few in particular held promise. I parked on the roadside in the general vicinity of a cabin I remembered seeing on my many walks.

  “Down here,” I told Sean.

  A derelict
cabin loomed as we walked in from the road. I motioned to Sean to go right. I took the left. There was no sign of a car and nothing to indicate one had been in there over the last few months.

  With the Glock in my right hand and my badge clipped to my belt, I approached the small porch and the door. One grimy window next to the door afforded me nothing but my own reflection.

  I knocked.

  “FBI. Open up.”

  No answer. I rolled my eyes. Like I expected one.

  Another knock.

  The door remained closed and there was no movement inside.

  My hand grasped the doorknob and turned. Not locked. With a creak and a grind the door opened.

  Light streamed in upon an undisturbed dust-laden scene. The past revisited. I stepped into the mustiness, trying not to send dust clouds into the air or destroy the natural balance.

  “Hello!”

  The dust lay silent.

  No one had been there. A yellow curled newspaper lay on a small table. The date was July fourth nineteen seventy-eight. I followed my own footprints out and shut the door.

  Sean was waiting.

  “Next one, “I said. “ It’s a quarter mile away.”

  We climbed into the car and I drove on, pulling up short of an overgrown track.

  The first thing I noticed was a broken branch and bent grass.

  Someone had been there. Maybe someone out walking a dog. I spotted dog prints in the soft dirt to one side of the track. The branch was broken at people height.

  I pointed it out to Sean. “Looks fresh.”

  We scoured the ground for footprints. And found a partial heel print some way in from the broken branch. No dog paws that far in.

  “He could still be here,” Sean muttered.

  “Or it could be some horny teenagers,” I replied. Options. Let’s not close our minds to our options.

  Sean drew his Sig. I had my gun in my hand. We stuck to the edges of the path, avoiding branches that would crack and give us away and also avoiding the looser stones on the middle of the track.

  Quiet footsteps. Slow measured approach. Conservative breathing.

  No sign of a car.

  A bird flapped and flew across in front of me, startled by our approach. A chain reaction ensued. Birds all over the area took flight. I could only hope that any occupants of the cabin were unaware.

  This time we scouted the entire building together. One door and windows just on the door side, facing the river. Or it would be if the trees and shrubs hadn’t become overgrown. We crept along, keeping off the old porch that ran the length of the cabin. Sean made the approach, I covered him. He peered in a window and held one finger up to me.

  I took a breath, adjusted my grip, and moved up beside him.

  Sean knocked.

  “FBI!” he called then looked at me real quick and whispered, “I can’t say that.”

  “I won’t tell.”

  I reached past him and knocked myself.

  “FBI – open up.” My voice was quite loud but I wasn’t prepared to shout.

  There was an answering thud.

  Sean tried the door. Locked.

  Not a good sign.

  He took a step back and kicked, aiming for the wood next to the lock. The door splintered and his foot shot right through. I grabbed his arm as his balance failed, letting him lean on me while he extracted his foot. No one opened fire. Lucky.

  With Sean free, I slipped in front of him and opened the door.

  Daylight burst in. The place was a mess. Upended table, broken chairs. Against the far wall a bed. Tied to it was a woman. Bound and gagged. Sean ran over to the woman, holstering his weapon.

  I swept the entire room, not wanting to be taken by surprise. The chances of there being anyone else were slim; if Saville was still there he would’ve used the opportunity Sean gave him to take us out.

  I took off outside and made sure no one had come back.

  Once I was satisfied the area was clear, I went back in. Sean had untied the woman and removed the tape from her mouth. She didn’t look anything like Michaela Kennedy.

  I waited for an explanation.

  “My name is Fran Hutchings,” she said, her voice dusty.

  She looked about twenty.

  “How did you get out here?”

  “A man picked me up – I was hitching.”

  She knew she shouldn’t have been, so there was no need for me to say anything.

  “He bought me here. Said he’d be back, had something else to take care of.”

  “When was that?”

  “This morning, just after ten.”

  “You’re local?”

  She shook her head. “I was staying with a friend from college and we had a fight, and I stormed off saying I was going home.”

  “Where’s home?”

  Sean was beginning to get antsy. I shot him a look that said ‘wait.’

  “Virginia Beach.”

  “That’s a long walk. Describe the man to me.”

  She described Saville right down to his self-important air, poor hygiene, scruffy clothes, and unpleasant disposition. I couldn’t believe anyone would get in his car willingly.

  “You think I’m stupid don’t you?” Fran said, her voice cracking as tears fell.

  “No. I think you were angry and your judgment was affected by your desire to go home.”

  “I could’ve been killed—”

  “You were lucky; I doubt you’ll hitchhike again.” I patted her shoulder. “We all make mistakes. Lesson learned?”

  She nodded.

  I called local police and had a brief conversation with Kevin. He told me he would send a car to the address I gave him. The problem we now faced was what to do with the girl. Taking her would be a mistake, but leaving her would also be a mistake.

  After a brief moment of thought I called Kevin again and told him we were moving on, that his patrol car needed to look out for us. There was a small amount of resistance but I sweet-talked him around to my way of thinking. I hung up and turned to Sean.

  “We’re moving Sean. Can you head back up to the car and get the crime scene tape from the trunk?”

  He nodded. I tossed him the keys; he snatched them from mid-air and took off at a run.

  “What about me?” Fran asked.

  “I’m taking you with us. Local police will meet us as soon as they can and then you’ll go with them.”

  “Thank you,” she said. From the floor by the rickety old bed she picked up a book.

  “Is that yours?”

  She shook her head. “He threw it at me and told me to read it.” She smiled. “Don’t know how he expected me to turn the pages with my hands tied. I think he’s a fan of the author or something.”

  Yeah, but he’s not very smart.

  “Did you try to read it?”

  “Nope, it bounced off my leg and landed there on the floor. I couldn’t reach it. Just wanted to see what it was.” She turned the book over in her hand.

  A small chill ran through me when I saw the cover. Deadman Walking by Michaela Kennedy.

  Sean came back with the tape. I took the book and thrust it at him. “He’s a fan.”

  His eyes hardened. “I’ll run tape around the shack,” he said, handing the book back to me.

  “I’ll take Fran up to the car.” As I motioned for her to leave, I whispered to Sean, “Any stalker-related behavior directed toward Michaela that you want to tell me about?”

  “I wasn’t aware of any stalkers.” His jaw squared. I don’t think his little sister was telling him everything. This made me wonder why. Walking up to the car, I considered why Michaela would withhold information about a possible stalker. It was possible she didn’t know herself, or she thought she could handle it. Or she didn’t want her big brother and big sister overreacting. Would I tell anyone if I were her and my brother was ex-CIA and my sister the director of the FBI? Um, no. It was a pride thing.

  Fran and I waited in the car for Sean. As
soon as he jumped in we took off for the next cabin. I hoped we’d meet a police car on the five-minute drive but alas we did not. Another decision needed making. Leave her in the car or take her along?

  Sean and I walked ahead of Fran. We’d asked that she stay behind us, far enough that she could turn and run if need be.

  We approached the old cabin with as much stealth as possible, sticking once again to the grassed verges and off the gravel that would crunch and give us away.

  I checked on Fran’s position every few seconds.

  Once the cabin came into view I stopped her and showed her a sturdy tree to wait beside with instructions to run if there was gunfire or yelling. The car was unlocked, which felt risky – anyone could get in, but I needed Fran to be able to run back and lock herself in, just in case.

  “I’ll be okay,” she assured me.

  I ran to catch up with Sean.

  “Let’s do this thing,” I said, pulling my Glock from its snug holster and adjusting my grip. I motioned to Sean to skirt around the cabin, giving it as wide a berth as possible. I could see a door and several grimy windows at the front. I presumed it was the front. If the woods weren’t so dense the windows would look out over the river. There seemed to be no path or break in the vegetation on that side, making access to the river difficult.

  Difficult but not impossible.

  Sean appeared at the far edge of the cabin. He signaled to tell me there were no other doors, just one small window at the back. Fortunately for us. He also signed that he’d heard a voice. He indicated it was a male voice by pointing to himself.

  Time to make our move. We both had cover, so our positions seemed optimal. Approaching the door from the side, and keeping back from the window, I knocked on the wooden exterior and called out. “FBI! Come out with your hands above your head.”

  Listening for voices and movement I heard a muffled male voice. I bashed on the side of the cabin again. Music.

  With my sleeve I wiped some of the grime from the window, clearing just a small spot and not well enough for me to see anything. Music and a soft male voice over the top.

  A radio.

  I reached out and turned the door handle. A gun shot erupted behind us. Instinctively I ducked. The door swung open. In the filtered sunlight I saw a transistor radio sitting on a bed. From the corner of my eye I saw Sean run past me heading for the road. I gave the cabin a quick look. Someone had been there, but there was no sign of Michaela.