Her Last Breath - Debt Collector 9 (A Jack Winchester Thriller)

by Jon Mills

  “I heard they were overdoses.”

  “Come on, Aaron, you know better than that.”

  He scowled. “What are you asking?”

  “Did you do it?”

  “Why would you ask that?”

  “Because I know you. All of them worked with you before you went inside. And it wouldn’t be the first time you got rid of one. Maybe that’s why Larson is on your ass.”

  Aaron spat a wad of phlegm. “I didn’t do it.”

  He grinned. “Right.”

  Aaron grabbed a hold of his brother and slammed him up against a 1982 Chevy truck that was in the middle of getting a paint job. “You ever say anything to the cops about the past. And brother or not, I will put you in the ground. Do I make myself clear?”

  His brother stared at him then slowly raised his hands. “Crystal.”

  He released him and handed him another beer as if nothing had happened. The inside of the two-car garage was a mess. Merle wasn’t one for keeping a place tidy, no doubt that played a role in why he didn’t get much business. Unlike the other garages in town that were professional, clean and fully licensed, Merle was breaking all manner of town codes and ordinances. Like disposing of old oil in the river behind his home, or burning tires out back in the fire pit. Or the new addition he’d placed on his home without informing the town.

  “Aaron, you staying for supper?” Queenie, Merle’s wife, a fiery redhead, stuck her head inside the garage.

  “Not tonight, darling, I have a few things to do.”

  “Merle. Supper is on the table.”

  “Be there in five.”

  “It will be cold in five.”

  “Stop hassling me, woman,” he snapped.

  She flipped him the bird and disappeared.

  “See what I have to put up with?”

  Aaron walked past him without saying anything. The alcohol and his need for retribution dulled his mind. As long as he remained in this town his reputation would follow him. People would talk. The girls that worked for him knew his secrets. How many others had spoken? Told of what he’d done? He wasn’t proud of it but neither did he regret his decisions. Those that crossed him made their choice.

  Aaron grabbed up his truck keys off the counter and strolled towards the 4 x 4.

  “You heading out?”

  “Got some business to take care of,” he said. “Going to pick up Billy and Dale.”

  “You want me to go with you?”

  “And ruin your little dinner date with Queenie?”

  “Ah screw that. It’s probably burnt anyway, just let me get cleaned up first and I’ll be right there.”

  His brother dashed inside and he could hear Queenie yelling a few minutes after. No doubt pissed at him for tossing his food in the garbage. He was right. She couldn’t cook to save her life. While he waited for his brother to return, he hopped into the truck and leaned across to the glove compartment. Once it was open he removed the revolver from beneath a crapload of paperwork and then tucked it into his waistband, feeling confident and excited about what he had in mind. It was time to turn the tables and deal with this issue.

  Chapter 8

  Jack remained composed. It wasn’t the first time he’d been busted and unlike dealing with big city cops who usually had something to prove; he knew it wouldn’t be long before he walked out those doors. It was a broken window, nothing was stolen, and he had the voice messages left by Jenna Whitmore on his phone.

  After being shoved into the back of a cruiser and detained by an older, pepper-haired cop with a stomach that bulged at the seams, he’d sat in the back waiting for the younger one.

  “So what are you, a rapist? A druggie, looking to score your next fix by selling some stolen goods or just an idiot?” the officer said as he scribbled away on some report in the front of the cruiser. Jack stayed silent. He knew how it worked. Give them an inch, and they would spin it and draw it out for a mile. He didn’t bother to ask what would happen next, he knew the drill. They’d go through the process of booking him, taking his prints and then grilling him.

  “You do know that thirty minutes from now I am going to walk.”

  The cop glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “Confident. I like that. Stupid though. You aren’t going anywhere tonight.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  “Yeah, we will.”

  The younger cop emerged and walked over to the cruiser. He leaned down and glanced at Jack before speaking with the other deputy. There was a brief exchange about who was going to do the paperwork, and how they were going to proceed and then he said he would meet him down at the station.

  Upon arrival, he was photographed and then led away to give his ten digits. Of course, throughout the entire time, he told them that they were wasting their time. He hadn’t done anything except break a window out of concern for his client. In reality, the evening could have turned out a hell of a lot worse. He could have easily overpowered the officer, or any one of the neighbors and walked away but that wasn’t his game plan. He was here to complete a job, to find out what had happened to his client and get paid. This was just a small delay. Instead of making their job hard he let them finish up before he was given a seat inside an interview room. He sighed as the younger officer appeared with a cup of coffee.

  “I’ll handle it from here,” he said to the other one who shrugged and exited the room. There wasn’t much to the room itself; a table, two chairs, a clock that ticked louder than it should and a tiny camera. No one-way mirror. Perhaps they couldn’t afford it? By all measures, the department looked as if it needed to be renovated. It could at least use a lick of paint.

  The officer in front of him scribbled down on paper before leaning back in his seat and tapping the pencil in his hand on the desk.

  “My name is Deputy Sam Larson.” He took a breath. “Quite a predicament we have here. You say you know the owner. What’s her name?”

  “Jenna Whitmore.”

  He smiled. “Of course, you could have seen that on her mail. And where are you from?”

  “All over.”

  “All over? You want to be more specific?”

  “New York but I travel a lot.”

  “Yeah, I kind of caught the accent. That’s a long way from home. So what brings you up here?”

  “Like I said, I’m here because of my client. I showed up at her address, she wasn’t responding so I broke in out of concern.”

  “Concern? I’ve heard a lot of excuses for breaking and entering but I have to say that is a first.”

  “It’s true,” Jack said looking unfocused. He still couldn’t get over what a shabby setup they had. How many worked here?

  The officer leaned forward. “You’re in a lot of trouble, my friend, so it’s best you come clean.”

  “Is this where you exit and your friend takes over? Let me guess, you’re the bad cop, he’s the good?”

  “A sense of humor. I like that.” He paused, tapping his pencil in the palm of his hand. “Okay, let’s go back to the beginning. So she’s your client. For what? What do you do?”

  He cleared his throat. “A bit of this, a bit of that.”

  “You know this isn’t getting you anywhere. You want to get out of here?”

  Jack returned to looking at him. “I help people.”

  Larson cocked his head. “You do? Go on.”

  “I received several phone calls from her over the past week seeking my help. She said she was looking into the disappearance and death of five local women.”

  The deputy’s eyes widened, and he leaned back in his chair. “The Green Bank Five. Right. And?”

  Jack inhaled deeply. “She was worried, I guess is the best word. She thought she was over her head and that possibly whoever was responsible was targeting her.”

  “Because?”

  “She’d received phone calls in the night, and a threatening letter telling her to back off.”

  He went back to scribbling down notes, mostly the
short form of what he’d told him.

  “And so what were you going to do?”

  “Offer my assistance.”

  “Are you a private investigator?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “An ex-police officer?”

  “You’re getting colder.”

  He narrowed his gaze. “How about you cut the crap and stop jerking me off?”

  Quite frankly, Jack was enjoying the banter. It had been a while since he’d been pulled in and he liked to sit back and observe, study the different methods they tried to extract information. In many ways, he kind of felt sorry for cops. Civilians’ rights and all manner of red tape tied their hands. The old days of turning off a video recorder and slamming a suspect into the wall were over. There was too much at stake. The reputations of departments all over the USA hung in the balance. They were on shaky ground from one too many problems.

  “Listen, I have a unique skill set, you might say. It comes in handy when people go missing. I came up to meet her, hear her out and decide from there whether I would help.”

  “So when did you last speak to her?”

  “About twenty-four hours ago. Though I did receive a strange call in the night that I believe was from her.”

  “Strange… in what way?”

  “I was woken out of a deep sleep by a female’s voice. Her speech was slurred as if she was drunk or high. It was mostly incoherent.”

  “So what makes you think it was her?”

  Jack smiled. “Officer, call it a gut instinct but when a woman phones you to say she is scared and close to finding out who was responsible for the death of five women, and then she goes missing, it doesn’t exactly take a rocket scientist to put two and two together.”

  “But it could have been anyone.”

  “She’s missing.”

  “How can you be sure? She might have stepped out for the evening, gone to stay with a friend, or perhaps she’s traveling.”

  “Maybe, or she’s missing and the male voice I heard on the phone was the same person responsible for the other five.”

  “Male voice?” Larson asked. “You heard someone else?”

  “Barely but yes.”

  “What did he say?”

  “It was hard to tell, it was early in the morning and I was still trying to make sense of what she was saying.”

  “And did you?”

  “What?”

  “Make sense of anything she said?”

  Jack thought about the name Meghan Palmer. He was close to blurting out her name but instead, he restrained himself. There was no telling who was involved. He’d come across enough crooked cops in his time, what was there to say that he wasn’t sitting in front of one now?

  “No.” Jack exhaled and shifted the topic. “You think I could get a smoke?”

  “That can be arranged.” He got up and headed over to the door and hollered for someone to bring him a pack. Jack glanced down at his boots.

  “Fresh out of the academy?” Jack asked.

  Larson tossed a curious look over his shoulder.

  “Your boots. Overly polished. Your uniform, far too crisp for a small-town cop.”

  Larson gazed down at his boots and returned to the table.

  “It’s been a year.”

  “How do you like it?” Jack asked.

  There was hesitation before he replied. “While your story seems credible, Mr. Winchester, it’s not exactly helping your case. Without—”

  “Check my phone,” Jack said cutting him off before he finished. “You’ll find several messages from Jenna, I think that should at least clear up what doubts you have about me being hired.”

  “Hang tight, I’ll be right back.”

  Larson left the room.

  They had already taken his belongings. He didn’t have much on him; a cell phone, the Glock, four hundred and sixty dollars in cash, and a pack of mints. Larson returned a few minutes later with the cell phone and a pack of smokes. He tapped out one; Jack took it and let the officer light it.

  “See, that’s what I love about these old towns. You don’t abide by all those no smoking rules.”

  Larson didn’t respond to that, instead, he slid the cell phone across to him. “Unlock it and bring up the voice mail.”

  Jack inhaled deeply then did as requested. He put it on speakerphone so he could hear it. After they’d listened to several calls, the officer made a few more notes.

  “You know there are still going to be charges laid against you. The landlord will want to press charges.”

  “I’ll pay for the window.”

  “Ah, it goes beyond that. You’ll need to show up in court. Damage to property is still a criminal offense.”

  Jack nodded. It wasn’t like he could talk his way out of that one. Though he had hoped his connection to Jenna would at least take him out of the crosshairs.

  This time it was Larson who shifted gears. “What did you do in New York?”

  “I’m sure your database will bring up my file.”

  “Already looked. There’s nothing. Not even a parking ticket. And yet I get a sense that there should be something on you. You care to shed some light?”

  “Like I said, I travel a lot. My past is my past.”

  “You serve time?”

  Jack mulled over the question for a few seconds.

  “I could make a quick phone call and get that answer or you could save me the hassle.”

  “I did. But that’s in my past. I’ve paid for my mistakes, officer.”

  Larson took a drink from his own cup of coffee.

  “So you served some time. You now help people. You get a call from Jenna Whitmore asking for help. You show up and break into her apartment and now she’s missing. You have to admit, this doesn’t exactly sit well for you, does it?”

  “Not sure what you expect from me, deputy. That’s exactly what happened. I didn’t take anything from her apartment, officer. And I don’t know where she is but if given the opportunity, there’s a possibility that I could find her, or at least whoever is responsible.”

  “And yet we still don’t know if she’s missing. Do we?”

  Jack rubbed the bridge of his nose. This was going to be a long night. After another round of questions, all of which brought them back full circle, the other deputy poked his head inside.

  “Larson, a minute of your time.”

  Larson stared at Jack as if searching for a hole in his story, something that didn’t add up, something that would give him less paperwork, less of a headache and a reason to get a pat on the back from his boss. Without saying another word he got up and exited.

  “Corey Whitmore is here. The brother.”

  “Good, maybe we can get some straight answers.”

  Rigby led him down the corridor to the waiting room.

  “So what’s his story?” Rigby asked.

  Larson was still chewing over Jack’s replies. As much as he wanted to get this wrapped up, there was something to his story that seemed legit even if his background was a little sketchy.

  “Says he’s innocent.”

  He laughed. “Aren’t they are all?”

  Corey Whitmore was roughly six foot one, buzzed hair, sharp features, and he was dressed in a windbreaker and large boots. The jacket was still covered in droplets of water from the rain. Sam extended his hand to greet him.

  “Mr. Whitmore, I’m Deputy Larson, we spoke on the phone. Thanks for coming.”

  “I know who you are.”

  “You do?”

  “Saw your photo a couple of months back in the paper — the announcement of the department taking on two new officers. About time they got some fresh meat in here.” He looked Rigby up and down as if he was disgusted with him. “How do you like it so far?”

  He smiled, studying him. “It has its moments. Come with me.”

  Larson led him through a doorway, and down the corridor to a separate room. He was keen to find out what he knew about Jack Winchester or the w
hereabouts of his sister Jenna.

  “So what was this man’s name?”

  “Jack Winchester. Sound familiar?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “Did your sister ever mention hiring anyone?”

  “Not that I recall.”

  “When did you last speak with her?”

  Corey’s face screwed up, and he stopped walking. “Deputy, where is my sister?”

  “That’s the strange part. She’s not answering her cell, it’s going to voice mail, and she’s not at her apartment. I thought you might know?”

  “Well she could have visited our mother in Durbin but… have you tried there?”

  “Already done that. She hasn’t seen her. So when was the last time you spoke to her?”

  He cleared his throat. “Um. On the phone the other night.”

  “Last night?”

  “Yeah. It was just a short call to check in with her as she’s been busy. I’ve been busy.”

  Larson frowned. “Um, what is it you do for a living?”

  “I’m a carpenter by trade but I work part-time in a church up in Green Bank, alongside Pastor Tim Mathers. Perhaps you’ve heard of it. A New Hope.”

  “Doesn’t he run a program for wayward women?”

  His eyebrows arched. “So you are familiar?”

  “Seen signs posted up in the town. Also, a few families of the missing mentioned that he had worked with them in the past.”

  Corey shifted his weight and nodded. “Yeah, he’s a good man.”

  “And how long have you been there? Working, I mean?”

  His eyes widened, and he looked up as if trying to recall. “It’s got to be coming on three years now in August. It’s a pretty small congregation. Not exactly a lot of money in it, so Tim can’t afford to have me there full-time but I don’t mind. I enjoy building things. I mainly assist with the church to help folks out. Actually, come to think of it, I do recall her mentioning the other night that she was going to have a friend come down and help her in the work she was doing with the missing women.”

  Larson nodded. “Well, then that confirms the messages your sister left with Mr. Winchester.” He paused. “Just out of curiosity. Did you ever meet the five?”

  “I did.” He blew out his cheeks. “Yeah. Good women. Troubled but not outside the grace of God. It’s a shame that it ended the way it did.”