Path of Secrets

by D. F. Hart

  “Agent Thomas,” he said, extending his hand in greeting. “Thanks for coming.”

  “No problem,” Nathan countered. “Sounds like we need to work quickly to get ahead of this guy.”

  Ricard nodded solemnly. “I agree. Although I have to admit, I thought my case was an isolated incident at first. But when I went down and spoke with Stevens and Perez my tune changed pretty quickly.”

  “They line up that well, huh?”

  “I think they do. If you don’t mind, I’d like to drive you out to the scene of the shooting. I’ve also reached out to Benji Patterson, my victim. He’s agreed to meet us onsite.”

  ***

  At Kimble Hospital in Junction, Texas, the out-of-towner’s attitude was getting out of hand.

  “You can’t keep me here against my will,” he hissed at the doctor, who finally threw up his hands in disgust.

  “You’re right. I can’t. Mary, please take out his IV,” the doctor directed. And to his obstinate patient he snarled, “They’ll be in with your AMA paperwork shortly. We’ll discharge you, as you request. Just don’t plan on being treated here when you have complications.”

  Mary, a seasoned pro, gasped in surprise at the usually friendly and gentle doctor’s blunt response, and watched him leave with her jaw hanging open.

  “Well,” she mumbled to the patient once she’d regained her composure. “I’ve worked side-by-side with that man for ten years, and I’ve never seen him lose his temper like that. You’re pretty damn stubborn, you know that?”

  His brown eyes glared at her, but he didn’t respond.

  “Shame, too. He only wants what’s best for you,” she continued, and clucked her tongue at him. “We all do, whether you believe it or not.”

  Stony silence reigned as she worked to remove his intravenous drip. She paused at his door to offer up one last piece of conversation.

  “I’ve heard you screaming in your sleep, young man,” Mary said quietly. “And I know you’d rather die than talk about it – I can tell by the look on your face right now as I speak. Just know that you’re not the only one who went through stuff. And it can be very helpful to talk it out sometimes. Think about it. I’ll be back in a little bit with your papers.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Nathan and Ricard were almost to Racine’s when Nathan’s phone rang.

  “Thomas,” he answered, then said, “sure, patch them through.”

  “Hello, this is Agent Thomas,” he stated. “How can I help you?”

  Detective Ricard noticed Nathan’s sudden urgency as the FBI man hurriedly scribbled notes.

  “Where now? Hold on a moment, please.”

  He cupped his hand over the receiver and asked Ricard, “How far is it to Mason from here?”

  “About two and a half hours. Why?”

  “I’ll tell you in a minute,” Nathan assured him, then returned to his phone call. He spoke back and forth with the person on the other end of the line for another twenty minutes before ending the call with, “I can have someone down there sometime this afternoon. Will that work? Fine. See you then.”

  “We have another case that is similar to mine, don’t we?” Ricard asked, even though he already knew the answer.

  “Yeah,” Nathan sighed, running his hand across his face. “This just got out of hand really, really quickly. I need to divide and conquer.”

  He dialed and waited.

  “Lizzie,” he said when she answered. “I know your first day is supposed to be tomorrow, but there’s been a development, and I can’t be three places at once. How soon can you get on the road?”

  ***

  Lizzie hung up and looked intently at Donny for a moment before she began to pull together toiletries and a few other items to add to the ‘ready bag’ she always kept in the back of her SUV.

  “I’m headed south right after I drop you and Rick off at the airport,” she said with a grin when Donny raised an eyebrow. “Duty calls.”

  Within the hour, she’d kissed her fiancé goodbye outside Terminal D at DFW Airport and programmed her GPS to take her straight to Mason, Texas to meet up with a Deputy Nolan.

  ***

  “Right around here is where I found Benji,” Mack indicated with his hand.

  Benji grunted, keeping a stoic face even as he squeezed Beverly’s hand.

  “I remember telling Mack goodnight, and I stepped outside,” he recalled. “I lit a cigarette, blew out the match, then started to walk to my truck. One hell of a loud noise, and then next thing I knew I was on the floor back inside the bar with this one,” he thumbed Mack’s direction, “pressing towels to my chest and telling me to hang in there.”

  “I’m glad you’re okay,” Nathan said quietly, and meant it.

  Benji grunted again. “You need anything else from me? If not, I’d kinda like a beer.”

  Mack rolled his eyes and tapped his watch. “Benji. It’s Sunday. We have the blue laws, remember? I can’t even technically open for another hour.”

  Benji swiveled his head to stare down Ricard.

  “You gonna give him any trouble if he serves me a beer right now?”

  Ricard smiled. “I’m willing to overlook it this one time.”

  “Hot damn!” Benji cackled. “Come on, Mack, come pour me one.” And he shuffled toward the front entrance with Beverly in tow.

  “Go on in. Brenda’s here already. Tell her I said get you a cold one, and I’ll be right in,” the bar owner called out after him.

  Mack watched Benji go, an amused look on his face until the old man was out of sight. Then his expression turned solemn.

  “Between us, I was really worried about him,” he confided in Nathan and Ricard. “I’ve seen gunshot wounds like the one he had back when I was active military, and I’m telling you now, the only reason he’s still here is because he was too damn ornery to die.”

  “Not the way I heard it,” Nathan countered. “As I understand it, the actions you took increased his chances tenfold.”

  Mack shrugged. “He’s my friend. I couldn’t not help.”

  “Tell me about the glimmer you saw,” Nathan prompted.

  “Rifle, without question,” Mack said immediately. “What kind, I couldn’t say. But that rooftop is a good two-hundred yards away. Much too far for a handgun.”

  “Casing we found was a .44/40,” Ricard shared.

  “Huh,” Mack said, mulling it over. “I’m no long gun expert, mind you, but you can’t just fire that round through any old weapon, I know that much. You’d do well to research long guns that take that caliber.”

  “Noted,” Nathan murmured, and did just that on the six-by-nine spiral he’d brought with him.

  When Mack headed inside, Nathan turned to Ricard.

  “Show me the nest,” he said simply.

  ***

  Finally freed from Kimble Hospital, his next step was to figure out how to get back to Menard, where his prepaid hotel room and gear waited. Any sort of regular taxi service was scarce in the area, but he finally located an Uber driver who was willing to make the hour’s drive northwest to Menard.

  One hundred fifty dollars later, he was standing in front of his motel room door, relieved to be reunited with his belongings.

  Now, he thought with a grimace as he opened the door, to get a decent bath, clean clothes, and food, and then figure out how the hell to get back home.

  The desk clerk proved very helpful in that regard when he approached her forty minutes later.

  “There’s a Greyhound station not far from here,” she offered. “And a café right next to it that has good sandwiches. I’m happy to drive you there, but I don’t get off shift for another half-hour. Is that all right?”

  “That’s fine,” he managed, suddenly weary to his core. “Thank you.”

  ***

  Grant unpacked his suitcase and called in a pizza delivery order before traveling to his desktop unit. He pulled out the recorder, rubbing his thumb over it absentmindedly as the striking g
irl with cornflower blue eyes filled his every thought.

  He’d been so wound up after their dinner date that he hadn’t been able to concentrate on the article. Instead, he’d just played the recording so he could listen to her voice.

  This morning’s time with her had been equally mesmerizing, and he’d daydreamed the entire drive home. Only turning onto his street, as if on autopilot, shook him from his reverie.

  Grant Forrester sighed happily as he booted up the computer, pulled up his Fort Mason article, and began to add in details he’d learned onsite. He accomplished that quickly, then skimmed the article, and frowned.

  Too short, he realized, but I can tack on Presidio to this. The two are close enough geographically that I can recommend touring both in a day trip to my readers. That should work.

  Once the article was complete, including the pictures he’d selected to accompany the writing, he emailed it all to his boss before tipping the driver and carrying his pizza to his kitchen.

  After lunch, he returned to his desk and opened a new Word document.

  “Your time to shine, Kelly,” he said aloud, and smiled, then turned on the recorder and began to take notes.

  ***

  By the time a killer was gingerly climbing steps and settling into his seat on a bus, Nathan was in San Angelo, shaking hands with Detectives Perez and Stevens.

  They gathered in the conference room, and Stevens took point on walking Nathan through the specifics of the Ed Baker homicide.

  “So,” Nathan said, with fingers steepled, “I just came from looking at the scene up in Abilene with Detective Ricard. Some similarities here that just can’t be coincidence. Two different snipers using .44/40 rounds and firing from elevated positions? I don’t believe that for a minute. I think it’s the same guy.”

  “We thought so too, once Ricard came down so we could compare cases.”

  “Mind showing me around the fort?”

  “Not at all.”

  On the drive there, Nathan asked, “And just to confirm, no connection was found between Edward Baker and Benji Patterson?”

  “Not that we’ve uncovered yet,” Perez confirmed. “Not related, no friends or activities in common that we know of. Not to mention different towns, occupations and ages. None of it lines up.”

  They arrived at Fort Concho and prepared to walk the grounds. Doug, the caretaker that had escorted the detectives and crime scene staff immediately following the murder, was waiting for them at the visitor’s center.

  ***

  Donny and Rick’s plane landed at three p.m. Colorado time, and within two hours they were walking into Donny’s little house on the mountainside.

  “Man,” Rick exclaimed, “the view here is amazing! You’re holding on to this place, right?”

  “Absolutely. And you and Faith are welcome to borrow it anytime,” Donny replied with a grin.

  “We just might take you up on that,” Rick fired back as he looked around. “This would be a perfect honeymoon getaway. If we ever get married, that is.”

  “Is she hesitating?”

  Rick nodded. “She’s afraid that following through will mess up what we have.”

  “Huh,” Donny pondered it for a moment. “I can kinda see how she might feel that way. What do you think?”

  “What do I think?” Rick echoed. “I’m already hers and she’s already mine. I don’t think taking that last leap will change anything at all. Whether we make it official or not is entirely up to her.”

  “So,” Rick continued as he stood in the middle of the living room, “where do you want to start?”

  ***

  Hey, Nathan, Lizzie texted. Just letting you know I made it down here all right. I’m about to talk with Nolan.

  Keep me posted, he replied moments later.

  Will do.

  She stepped out of her SUV with her briefcase, squared her shoulders, and walked into the Sheriff’s Office administration building.

  “Hello. I’m here to see Deputy Nolan, please,” Lizzie told the front desk officer politely.

  “Name?”

  “Elizabeth Zimmerman, FBI, Dallas branch.”

  The officer scrutinized her credentials, then handed them back to her with a nod.

  “Let me get him for you. Have a seat,” the man said, almost apologetically, and indicated a row of chairs along the opposite wall.

  Lizzie sat, confused by the sudden ‘you poor thing’ look she’d received. A few minutes later it was all Lizzie could do not to roll her eyes as she realized the reason for the change in the front desk officer’s tone.

  Deputy Nolan, the man approaching her, oozed the same smug, self-important, ‘you-know-you-want-me’ swagger that DEA Agent Hank Myers had come at her with once upon a time.

  She kept her demeanor professional and her handshake firm – and also made sure she extended her left hand in greeting, so that this one might be shut down before he even got started.

  “Agent Zimmerman, nice to meet you,” he drawled. “Nice rock.”

  She could tell he was having difficulty keeping his eyes from roaming her body, so she helped him along by taking control of the conversation.

  “Thanks. I appreciate your meeting with me. I’m a little pressed for time, however. Perhaps if we got straight to the details of the case?”

  His expression turned dour for a split second as he processed her ‘all business’ approach.

  “Sure,” he sneered, and spun quickly on his heel.

  “I’ve made you a complete copy of the file, and when you’re ready we can head out to the Rutherford property,” he barked over his shoulder at her.

  She glanced over at the front desk and grinned when she saw the officer smile and give her the thumbs-up signal.

  ***

  Grant saved his work, poured himself a cup of coffee, and then read the whole piece on Fort McKavett from start to finish.

  “That’s pretty darn good,” he acknowledged, and grinned. “Now I just need the right pictures to go with it.”

  He glanced at the clock as he reached for his camera bag.

  It’s after five. She should be done for the day, he realized, and typed out a text to her.

  Hey there! Long time no see LOL. How was the Cub Scout troop?

  Within a few minutes he heard the ping of a new text message.

  I’m worn out LOL. But they were a lot of fun. Asked a LOT of questions, but I kept up pretty well. How was your drive back?

  Not bad, he replied. And the article’s coming together really nicely. Now I just need to choose which pictures to use.

  How about that one of us by the sign at the gate? That one turned out well.

  He quickly navigated to that one on his camera.

  You’re right, that’s a great one. You don’t mind your picture being in the magazine?

  It’s good publicity for the fort, Kelly responded. And there’s a handsome guy in the picture with me, so, win-win.

  He sat alone in his home office, grinning like an idiot, texting the girl of his dreams for another hour.

  ***

  A little over ninety minutes after her arrival in Mason, Texas, Lizzie was heading north again, grumbling under her breath.

  When her phone rang, she punched the ‘talk’ button on her steering wheel a little harder than necessary and growled, “Yes?”

  “Um... Lizzie? You okay?”

  “I’m fine, Nathan,” she said between gritted teeth, “but any more contact we have to have with Nolan it’s probably best if you handle it.”

  “Uh oh, that doesn’t sound good at all. What happened?”

  “Well, I could tell he was one of those right off the bat,” she said honestly, “so I led the exchange by being as professional as possible, hoping he’d get the hint.”

  “One of those,” Nathan’s confusion echoed through her car as he repeated her words. “Meaning what, exactly?”

  “You know the kind. Big swagger, hit on anything that moves.”

  �
�Ah,” Nathan said in understanding. “Tell me he didn’t.”

  “He behaved – at first,” she growled. “Until we got ready to leave the crime scene – which was in the middle of freakin nowhere, I might add – and he leaned over and smelled my hair. Who even does that? And then, he said something I’d just as soon not repeat.”

  “What did you do?”

  “What did I do? I knocked him on his ass, that’s what. He deserved it. Luckily for me, the other deputy that happened to be on scene with us saw and heard the whole thing. I caught a ride back into town with the other guy, and I filed harassment charges on Nolan with his boss before I left.”

  Nathan bit back a laugh. “Full report on my desk in the morning. And track your mileage so we can reimburse the use of your personal vehicle.”

  “I’m not in trouble?”

  “Why would you be in trouble? Definitely sounds to me like the guy had it coming. Matter of fact, I bet if I dig, I’ll find other complaints against him. See you in the office in the morning. Seven a.m. We’ve got work to do.”

  ***

  It was almost nine in the evening when the Greyhound bus traveled past the Arlington, Texas city limits sign, and he almost wept with relief. After the first hour of sitting on a lumpy seat during a lurching, bumpy ride, he’d begun to regret his harsh words to the doctor at Kimble Hospital. The next six hours after that were pure torture, with every single shimmy and bounce traveling straight up his spine. His broken ribs and sternum felt like they were coming apart, and his head felt like it had been crushed in a vise, throbbing so violently it blurred his vision and made him seasick.

  “Should’ve stayed,” he whispered, almost in penance, as he silently prayed for the bus to please, please stop moving. “Should’ve stayed.”

  At long last his wish was granted, and he raised himself off the seat with a great deal of difficulty, then shuffled painfully down the aisle. The driver helped him retrieve his belongings from the underbelly of the gnarly steel beast, then pointed him toward a taxi stand.

  Another twenty minutes of agony in the form of a car ride, and he was finally home.

  He stumbled up his stairs and into his house, dropping his bags just inside the door. One drink of water and three of his prescribed Tylenol-with-codeine pills later, he was stretched out fully clothed on his bed.