by Archer Mayor
As plans went, of course, it was short-term at best. Dan Griffis leaped to his feet at the violent intrusion, grabbed the back of his chair and swung it over his head in the same movement, and brought it crashing down onto the back of the deputy's head.
Mumford let out a groan and stopped struggling. Checked Shirt wrestled free, scrambled to his feet, readjusted the gun in his hand, and took aim. Griffis smacked him across the mouth with the back of his hand, sending him staggering.
"Hey, genius," Dan yelled at him, "why don't you blow your own brains out instead? And ours, too, for that matter. You wanna kill a cop? Get the fuck out there and find out who's with him. For all we know, he's got the DEA with him."
He then quickly knelt by Mumford's slowly stirring body, pulled the man's handcuffs from his belt case, and secured his wrists behind his back, commenting as he did so, "Always wanted to do that. Hope they're too goddamned tight."
Checked Shirt, for his part, angrily replaced his gun in his belt and sat in a chair in the far corner of the room, growling, "Up yours. I already been out there. There ain't no raid."
The third man in the room, sitting dumbfounded at the table, a glassine envelope still in his hand, finally spoke. "Jesus, Dan. What the fuck was that all about?"
Griffis looked up at him. "What was it about? What the fuck do I know, Charlie? How many times have you had a cop fly through the door and fall on your floor?"
Charlie seemed to consider the question seriously.
"We need to get out of here," Griffis said. "Mike," he ordered the man in the corner, "get your ass out of that chair and go outside. Humor me, okay?"
Without a word, Mike rose and stepped outside, closing the door behind him.
Griffis rolled the deputy over onto his back, removed his gun from its holster, and pointed it into Mumford's face. Mumford blinked a few times, slowly regaining his wits. A large knot was already growing on his forehead where the blow from the chair had driven his face into the floor.
"What's your name, cop?" Griffis asked.
"You know me," Mumford told him.
Dan straightened and looked at him more closely, trying to put him in context. "Mumford!" he finally exclaimed. "You sorry son of a bitch. I should've let Mike kill you. What the fuck were you doing out there? You're no drug cop."
"I wasn't here for drugs. Your stupid dog was barking."
The gun was lowered, already half forgotten. Griffis rubbed the back of his neck with his other hand. "You are shitting me. You came for a dog complaint? What? From the neighbors?"
Mumford merely gave him a wilting look.
Dan stared back at him, muttered, "Up yours," and got to his feet, adding, "Fucking Mike and his fucking mutt. I told him to shut it up. But, oh, no-he's a good guard dog." He began pacing. "Goddamned guard dog just about put us in jail."
"Are we going to jail?" Charlie asked.
Dan kept going in circles. "You can if you want, but I'm never getting out. No fucking way I'm sticking around for that."
Mike reentered the cabin. "Nothing," he reported. "He was alone, just like I said."
Griffis confronted him. "He was alone, Michael, because the neighbors called in a barking-dog complaint. I thought you should know that. Asshole."
Mike laid his hand on his gun butt but otherwise remained silent.
"What should we do?" Charlie asked, at last putting the small envelope down.
Griffis addressed them both. "I don't care. Me, I gotta get out of here, and I mean, way out. We need to put Deputy Mumford here back in his cruiser and squirrel it away somewhere where they won't find it for a while, but after that, it's every man for himself. You guys want to stick around, you can do that, too. They'll probably just slap you on the wrist. But I'm gone."
"You gonna go to Canada?" Charlie asked.
Griffis looked down at Mumford and shook his head. "Yeah, Charlie. To Canada, and I'll give you the address, too, just so the deputy here will remember it and have the Mounties drop by."
He tilted his head back and glanced at the ceiling meditatively. "Why am I surprised I ended up here?"
Joe was back at his favorite office contemplation spot, perched on his windowsill, overlooking the now snow-clotted parking lot. "John Leppman?"
They were all four there, including Willy, since the Dan Griffis situation had blown up and Dan was on the lam. Deputy Mumford's colleagues had taken about five hours to locate him, cuffed and stuffed into his own backseat, hidden inside an abandoned barn-time enough for Griffis to return home, clean out his effects, and vanish.
"Guess you never thought to check out the good guys," Willy gratuitously volunteered.
Joe took it in stride. "Never crossed my mind. He's worked with all sorts of agencies for years, got thumbs-up all around, is even part-time certified."
Sammie was less charitable, glaring at her companion. "Like you blew the whistle on him."
"He wasn't my assignment."
"Les," Joe asked, cutting in. "What do we know about him now?"
Lester, having worked the closest with Leppman, was understandably the most embarrassed. He kept his eyes on his paperwork as he reported. "Right now it's just background stuff, but it's bad enough. The whole family moved up here from Virginia about five years ago. Very successful-she, the doc; he, the big-name psychologist. They set down roots fast and wide, made lots of contacts. He started working with the police on computer crimes. Nobody gave it a second thought. But the reason they'd moved was that they used to have two daughters. I should've known that-I even saw family photos in his office showing two girls. Wendy is the older one. Her sister was named Gwen, Gwennie to them, and she was abducted, raped, and murdered by an Internet predator a little over a year before they pulled up roots. The killer was caught almost immediately, tried, convicted, and thrown in the hole, but the family couldn't stand living there, so it was off to Vermont to start over."
"Why wasn't any of that ever picked up?" Joe asked.
Spinney looked up for the first time. "It's not that rare, anymore, boss. And it was a fast case. I found local headlines, but not much else. These people were just victims. If you don't ask, and they don't tell…" He left the sentence unfinished.
"Okay," Joe conceded. "That goes under sad but true. What else?"
Lester's tone became more rueful still. "Turns out the choice of a Taser wasn't so random. When Gwennie was abducted and raped, a Taser, or at least a stun gun, was used by the rapist."
"Jesus," Sammie said softly.
"The connection to a stun gun doesn't stop there," Lester continued. "This may be a stretch, but soon after Leppman started helping out the Burlington PD, he was on a ride-along with a patrol unit when they responded to a burglary. It was a sporting goods store, but heavy into personal protection. Among the things missing was a Taser-the store owner's private property, taken from his office. Later, when they caught who did it, the Taser never reappeared."
"Did everything else?" Joe asked.
Les held up a hand. "Like I said, this is a stretch. No, a bunch of it was gone forever, sold for drugs."
"But our boy was at the scene," Willy commented.
"And according to the case narrative I read," Lester said, "the Taser was the only thing missing from the office. Everything else had been out front."
"Was Leppman ever suspected?" Sam asked.
"No," Lester told her. "They had no reason to."
"What's the Burlington PD doing about him now?" Joe wanted to know.
That brought Les up short. He hesitated before answering. "I don't think anything. They just sent me the list of people who were in the building when the Taser went missing. They didn't even comment on Leppman. He's in the building so much, he doesn't stand out."
"If he already had the Taser," Willy asked, "why did he need a cartridge?"
To Joe, the question didn't have much weight. Every cop has to take at least one practice shot with a stun gun before it's officially issued. He was therefore surprised that S
pinney had an answer.
"When it was stolen, the Taser didn't have a cartridge. That's one of the reasons it caught my eye. And since, as we know, every cartridge of that brand has a traceable serial number, he didn't want to just go out and buy one-not considering the use he had in mind."
"All right," Joe said, getting up from the windowsill and walking over to the coffeemaker. "So much for the Taser. What about the chemicals that Hillstrom's tox screen dug up-the fentanyl and the DS… DM…"
"DMSO-dimethyl sulfoxide," Spinney finished for him. "Both it and fentanyl are used by vets, especially large-animal vets. The Leppmans have horses, and Leppman himself is the one who rides the most. I made a discreet call to their stable, pretending I was shopping around, and got chatty with some woman up there. I couldn't get a lot of details, but I dropped Leppman's name, and she told me he was like a groupie, hanging around, asking questions and learning how everything's done. I specifically asked about vet visits, and she said the same thing applied-he loved grilling the vet and learning the ropes. So he had access and probably had or got knowledge."
"Why hit both guys in Brattleboro?" Sam threw out.
"And why move one of the bodies and dump him out of town?" Willy added.
A silence filled the room momentarily.
"Because Brattleboro's not near Burlington and Shelburne?" Joe suggested without much conviction.
After another pause, Willy shrugged. "I can live with that," he conceded. "Why the river?"
"If the logic works for one, why not both?" Joe countered. "For all we know, the original plan wasn't to have either one of them found in a motel room. Could be Brattleboro was chosen because of its distance, and the river so that not even Bratt would be pinned down-it would also make it look like an accidental drowning."
"Meaning something went wrong?"
"Could be. We certainly know both crime scenes were almost antiseptically cleaned up," Joe said. "What was Leppman's office like?" he asked Lester.
Spinney leaned back in his chair, by now feeling much less self-conscious as someone who'd dropped the ball. "I almost hate to say this, since I really do like the guy, but it was spotless."
"I've got a question," Willy asked generally. "Whatever happened to Oliver Mueller? I been out of the loop for some of this, but weren't we all hot and bothered about him at some point?"
Sam answered that one. "I put him on the back burner. He was looking good for a while-same kind of profile as Leppman, maybe better, with a history of violence-but he had alibis for both killings, and witnesses, too. I haven't written the report yet, but I'll spell it out there."
Joe took a long swallow of his coffee before finally announcing, "All right. We need to see about a search warrant for Leppman's computer before we put him in a room for a talk. And before all that, let's track his past movements-where he was when Nashman and Metz were killed being the big ones. Bring in extra help if you need it. Put everything about him under the scope. When that conversation takes place, I want all questions already answered and that warrant ready to be used. He needs to know that the only reason he's there is to confirm what we already know. Everybody good with that?"
Predictably, Sammie answered for them all. "Good, boss."
Chapter 24
Joe raised his glass and addressed everyone more or less gathered around the table, which really meant Leo, who was propped up in a rented rolling hospital bed nearby.
"To old returnees and newcomers alike," he toasted, nodding toward Lyn and her daughter, Coryn. "May you forever be welcome at our table, and may you forever stay out of all ditches. But if you've got to do what you've got to do, then speedy recovery and consult my brother and mother on matters of technique."
To the general laughter following, he added, "I cannot tell you how happy I am with this outcome. You two scared the bejesus out of me."
They were all back home at last, Leo having been released earlier in the day, with home nursing and physical therapy visits scheduled for the next few weeks. By pure coincidence, Lyn had said that Coryn was visiting from Boston, so Joe had brought them north for the day's major event, much to Coryn's satisfaction-she had wanted to check him out in any case, and now had been handed serendipitous access to the entire diminutive clan.
Joe couldn't be sure, of course, since he'd only just met the girl, but she seemed to be liking what she saw. Certainly, that was true for him. He found her genuine and honest and funny-a natural offshoot of her mother, all the way down to the same almost lissome frame.
Unfortunately, they weren't going to have her for long, since she had to be back at work the next morning and was driving south in an hour, leaving Lyn behind to spend the night. This was, therefore, a celebratory dinner for more reasons than just Leo's return to the fold.
The meal was easy, relaxing, and filled with laughter. Joe kept glancing at his mother and seeing in her expression the pure joy of a return to normalcy. The proximity of her own mortality, which, he knew, had loomed large in her mind with Leo's disability, seemed to have slipped back once more. She looked more relaxed and self-confident than he'd seen her in weeks.
By the end, when all except Leo were gathered by the door to send Coryn off with hugs and best wishes, Joe was back to feeling that his out-of-kilter world might be resettling on a more even keel. Lyn and he seemed on the right track, with her daughter's blessing; the double homicide investigation in Brattleboro was gaining credible steam; the source of Leo's accident had been addressed with Dan Griffis's flight from the area-even if for unrelated reasons; and Leo was on the mend.
Life had been worse, and not that long ago.
Later, in his old bedroom at the front of the house, with the walls glowing in candlelight and the two of them buried deep under old family quilts, he and Lyn made love quietly, with an ease and a familiarity that each found at once surprising and confirming.
But this peacefulness proved short-lived. In the middle of the night, Joe heard the phone ringing in the living room-an unheard-of occurrence in most rural settings, and a nearly guaranteed harbinger of ill tidings.
He slipped out of bed fast and focused, getting to the phone by its third ring.
"Gunther?" said a familiar male voice.
"Yes."
"It's E. T. Griffis. My son Dan is headed your way right now. I told him you got Nugent and that you know why Andy went to jail. Do what you have to do. I'm done with him."
The phone went dead.
"What's happening, Joey?"
He turned and saw his mother in the hallway door. Lyn had also appeared across the room.
"Trouble," he said, dialing the phone to no avail. "That was E. T. Dan Griffis is coming here to take a bite of me, or maybe all of us. Shit."
Joe gave up on the phone just as the warning system he'd set up-which Willy had triggered earlier-started pinging near the front door, where he'd put the receiver.
He looked at both women. "He's cut the phone line and is coming up the driveway now. Chances are, he doesn't know we're up, so no lights. Lyn, call 911 on a cell, use my name, and say that a home invasion's about to start. Mom, go back to your room, close the door, grab Dad's shotgun, park yourself in a corner, and blast whoever comes through without announcing themselves. Can you do that?"
"What about Leo?" she typically asked.
"I'll take care of him. Will you do what I asked? I want to know where you'll be."
"I will," she said, and swung around in her chair and rolled out of sight.
Lyn was already dialing her phone.
He motioned to the staircase lining the living room wall. "You go upstairs. Can you shoot a gun?"
"Yes."
He ran back to their bedroom, quickly grabbed his pistol, and thrust it at her, pushing her toward the stairs. "Go, go, go."
"What'll you use?"
"I'm set," he told her. "Dad had more than one gun."
She ran for the stairs, now speaking quietly into the phone. Joe crossed to his father's old office, now m
ostly used for storage, climbed onto the cluttered desk, and pulled a World War Two-era M1 carbine off the wall. On top of the bookshelf beside it, he found a fifteen-round magazine, fully loaded, which, he knew, Leo kept there for varmints or just for plinking when he was in the mood. He slapped the magazine into place, chambered a round, and returned to the dark living room.
Time was running short. It had been awhile since the warning sensor went off.
Joe, moving fast and by instinct, knowing to avoid furniture he couldn't even see, ran in his bare feet to the guest bedroom they'd set up for Leo, off the kitchen.
He'd barely entered the room when he heard his brother whisper, "What's happening?"
"Home invasion," Joe said quietly, laying the rifle on the bed and rolling the whole unit toward the bathroom. "Dan Griffis is coming to get me. E. T. called to warn us. Stay put and stay quiet, Leo. You want the gun?"
"What'll you have?"
"I don't know. I gave mine to Lyn. Mom has the twelve-gauge. Maybe I'll grab a knife."
"Don't be a jerk. Keep the M1," Leo said, "I probably couldn't lift the goddamn thing anyhow."
Joe didn't argue. He finished rolling the bed through the-luckily-unusually wide bathroom door, stepped outside, almost completely closed the door, and then reached inside to pull the bed against it, making entry as awkward as possible.
"Go get 'em, Joey," he heard his brother say.
He knew he was out of time. He left the guest bedroom quietly, slipped into the hall, bypassed the kitchen, and froze, listening intently and thinking of all the things he should have done but hadn't had time for, including putting on anything besides his blue jeans.
The first sound came from the building's south wall-a single sharp snap, as from a twig breaking. Joe jogged through the house, flattened against the south wall from the inside, and glanced through one of the windows in time to see the bulkhead door to the basement swing open, dumping its load of snow. A dark shadow disappeared into the cellar's void.
