by Maris Soule
ECHOES OF TERROR
ECHOES OF TERROR
MARIS SOULE
FIVE STAR
A part of Gale, Cengage Learning
Copyright © 2017 by Maris Soule
Five Star™ Publishing, a part of Cengage Learning, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.
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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Names: Soule, Maris, author.
Title: Echoes of terror / Maris Soule.
Description: First edition. | Waterville, Maine : Five Star Publishing, [2017]
Identifiers: LCCN 2016041609 (print) | LCCN 2016049830 (ebook) | ISBN 9781432832810 (hardcover) | ISBN 1432832816 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781432834746 (ebook) | ISBN 1432834746 (ebook) | ISBN 9781432832674 (ebook) | ISBN 1432832670 (ebook)
eISBN-13: 978-1-4328-3267-4 eISBN-10: 1-43283267-0
Subjects: LCSH: Women detectives—Fiction. | Missing persons—Investigation—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Thrillers. | FICTION / Mystery & Detective / General. | GSAFD: Mystery fiction. | Suspense fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3569.O737 E28 2017 (print) | LCC PS3569.O737 (ebook) | DDC 813/.54—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016041609
First Edition. First Printing: March 2017
This title is available as an e-book.
ISBN-13: 978-1-4328-3267-4 ISBN-10: 1-43283267-0
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Contact Five Star™ Publishing at [email protected]
Printed in the United States of America
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My thanks to Sergeant Ken Cox of the Skagway Police Department for taking time to answer my questions—both in person and through follow-up emails—about how the police department would handle a missing teenager report and for giving me a tour of the police station. Also, my thanks to National Park Service ranger Jacqueline A. Lott Ashwell for taking an hour before she went on duty to talk to me about her job and training. I do want to state that none of the characters in this novel is based on Sergeant Cox or Ranger Ashwell; however, both Cox and Ashwell helped me better understand their jobs and the area. Any mistakes in procedure are strictly mine.
A big thanks to my long-time friends David Curl and Ardyce Czuchna-Curl for taking a day off from their summer jobs at Skagway to drive my husband and me up the Klondike Highway to the summit and back, over to Dyea, and all around Skagway. They put close to 200 miles on their car that day. Months later they also took the time to read the rough draft of this novel and suggest corrections.
My critique partners—and friends—Julie McMullen and Dawn Bartley have lived—off and on—with this novel for years, finding errors, making suggestions, and giving encouragement. Thanks so very much.
And, finally, a lifetime of thanks to my husband, Bill, who willingly supports and encourages my passion to write.
CHAPTER ONE
7:25 A.M. Thursday
“That guy is a frickin’ idiot.”
“Who’s an idiot?”
Brian Bane glanced at the girl sitting next to him before again splitting his attention between the twisting road in front of his Chevy Blazer and the tailgating Ford Explorer. On their right the roadway dropped over a thousand feet. As much as he liked excitement, this Internet-born adventure was not starting out as he’d imagined.
“The guy behind us,” he said, keeping a tight hold on the steering wheel. “He came up out of nowhere. Now he’s all over my ass. Like there’s any way for me to go faster up this grade.”
Misty—or Miss T as she was known on ChatPlace—twisted in her seat to look behind them. Her wild, blonde curls brushed her shoulders, and her miniskirt showed a teasing view of her inner thigh. “Shit,” she hissed through her teeth.
“What?” Brian said.
“He sent Vince.”
“Who sent Vince?”
“My dad.”
“Your dad?” Brain didn’t like the sound of that. “So, who’s Vince?”
“He’s a guy Dad knew in the Marines. He’s supposed to do computer security for my dad’s business, but he keeps acting like he’s my bodyguard. I can’t do a frickin’ thing without him showing up.”
She flopped back against the seat, and crossed her arms over her chest. The fact that her old man had sent someone after her, and the way she was pouting, didn’t bode well. For the first time since he’d picked Misty up in Skagway, Brian wasn’t so certain she was the eighteen years she’d advertised.
“How old are you, Misty? Your real age, I mean.”
She glared at him, and then looked away. “Age is meaningless.”
Meaningless, my ass, he thought. Damn, I’m so screwed. He was about to take an underaged girl into Canada. No wonder some steroid filled ex-Marine with an over attachment to the boss’s daughter was after him. He’d be lucky if he wasn’t arrested as an international felon.
“Do you think—?”
A thump to the back corner bumper sent the Blazer into a fishtail, and Brian gasped, clinging to the steering wheel as he fought to bring the car back under control. “Jeez, Misty, your dad’s buddy just rammed us.”
“Then step on the gas,” Misty ordered, giving a quick glance behind them. “Outrun him.”
“In this thing?” The old Blazer was tired iron. The first part of the Klondike Highway, from Skagway to White Pass and the Canadian line, was a twisting, turning two-laner that rose from sea level to over three thousand feet. The steep incline was already taxing the engine. They’d be lucky to outrun a snowplow through this stretch.
Again the Explorer rammed into them, this time lurching them straight toward the guardrail as the road turned. Misty yelped and grabbed at the door. Brian swung the wheel. The sensation of the front right fender grating on metal vibrated through the steering column. When they came out of the turn, the Explorer was nearly touching the Blazer’s side.
“Your dad’s buddy is nuts! He’s going to kill us.”
“Just go faster!”
“I’m going as fast as I can.”
The powerful Explorer began squeezing them closer to the guardrail. Jaw clenched and muscles taut, Brian struggled to keep his SUV on the pavement. Adrenaline pumped through his body, a bitter taste rising to his throat.
And then his heart nearly stopped.
Just a few hundred feet ahead, the guardrail turned into a twisted, jagged strip of metal that hung limply to the ground. Open air replaced protection. One bump from the Explorer as they passed that broken section of guardrail, and they’d definitely be going over the edge, tumbling down the mountainside.
“That’s it, Babe.”
Brian pulled his foot from the gas and began to brake.
“What are you doing? Don’t slow down!”
“Forget it,” he said in disgust. Man, his friends had been right about this whole hooking up on-line thing. They’d tried to t
alk him out of it, but all Brian had been seeing was a summer traveling through Canada with a hot chick. Instead of lots of sex and partying, after this ex-Marine got through with him, he’d be lucky if all of his body parts were intact.
Brian brought the Blazer to a complete stop, his entire body shaking. The Explorer angled in front of him, preventing a forward escape. With a sigh, Brian shifted into park, and then turned toward Misty—the beautiful, sexy Miss T.
The beautiful, sexy, underaged, Miss T, he mentally corrected. “Wouldn’t you know I’d hook up with jailbait.”
She glared at him. “So, it didn’t work out. Stop whining. Vince isn’t going to do anything to you.”
“Oh yeah?” Brian sure hoped that was true. “So, what was this, just a little joy ride for you?”
“What it was is none of your business.” Once again she looked away, out the side window.
Brian stared at her for a second, kicking himself for being such an idiot, then he stepped out of the car. As he looked toward the Explorer, he wondered if he should act angry—after all, Misty had duped him—or guilty, because he should have known she was underage.
The other car door began to open, and Brian called out, “Listen, man, I had no idea she was—” He broke off as the man straightened and faced him. He almost laughed when he saw the bear mask . . .
Then he saw the gun.
CHAPTER TWO
3:00 P.M.
“Poppa, do you have any idea where Phil might have gone fishing?”
Katherine Ward watched her grandfather straighten his lean body, his gnarled, age-spotted fingers still gripping the hoe he was using to dig the weeds away from a rose bush.
Russell Ward shook his head. “Phil? Haven’t seen Phil in weeks.”
“He was here just yesterday, Poppa.”
Brown eyes, once keen as an eagle’s, gazed at her through clouds of early cataracts and mental confusion. “He was?”
“Yes. You were telling him about a great spot to fish for lake trout . . . somewhere off the Chilkoot trail.”
“Yesterday, you say?”
“Yesterday morning.” Normally she would let the subject drop, but today she needed information. “It’s important, Poppa. Phil hasn’t checked in. Gordon is getting worried, and so am I. If Phil went fishing, it would really help if we knew where.”
“Could be he went to Black Lake,” her grandfather said, then shook his head. “No, not Black Lake. Maybe . . . ?”
His words trailed off, so she tried another angle. “How about the other guy, Poppa? The one Phil mentioned he’s been fishing with lately. Do you remember his name or where he was staying?”
Again, the look in her grandfather’s eyes told her the answer before he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Katherine. I . . . I just don’t remember. You sure Phil was here yesterday?”
“I’m sure, but that’s all right. We’ll find him.”
Her grandfather glanced at her uniform and the Glock holstered at her side. “You leaving for work?”
“Since Phil hasn’t shown up, Gordon asked me to come in a little early. But don’t worry. Sarah will be here at four. She’ll fix your dinner.”
The bushy white brows on her grandfather’s weathered face came so close they almost formed a straight line above his eyes. “Little Sarah Wilson? She’s coming to dinner?”
Katherine smiled. “Poppa, little Sarah is now fourteen years old and as tall as I am. She’s coming to fix your dinner.”
“I can fix my own dinner.”
“I know you can, but Sarah needs the money. And she’ll be company for you while I’m at work. Just the other day you said it got lonely when I worked the late shift and you had to eat alone.”
Katherine didn’t see any sense in telling him the other reason she’d hired Sarah. The night she came home and found the burner on, Katherine knew the time had come when her grandfather needed additional care. Someone to cook his dinners when she wasn’t around. Make sure he didn’t wander off. The house they called home might not be as fancy as some of the newer homes being built around Skagway and off the road to Dyea, but it had stood on this plot of Alaskan soil for a hundred years, and her grandfather would truly be lost if anything happened to it.
“Your roses are looking good,” she said, noting the buds would soon burst into an array of red and yellow blossoms. “Going to enter them in the flower show again?”
“Depends.” He looked back at the plant in front of him. “I might not be around in August.”
“Why? You thinking of going somewhere?”
He frowned at her. “You know what I mean. This old body’s ready to go.”
They’d been through this before, and Katherine hated it when her grandfather talked about dying. He was the last of her family. When he went, she would be alone . . . truly alone.
“You’d better plan on sticking around for a long time,” she said and gave her grandfather a quick hug. “If you happen to remember where Phil might be fishing, call the station. Okay?”
“You’ll be here in the morning?”
“I’ll be here,” she promised. Lately her grandfather had become more concerned about having someone around when he woke. Her assurance seemed to satisfy him.
“Take care of yourself,” he said and went back to his weeding.
“Always do,” she responded softly.
Katherine left him there, working in his rose garden, and got into the Tahoe she’d been issued when she joined the Skagway police force. As she pulled out of the drive, she noticed a red Explorer parked across the street and two houses down. A dented front bumper and broken headlight marred its finish. She considered leaving a note on the windshield, warning the owner to get the light fixed, then decided she didn’t have time. It wasn’t until she was at the corner, and happened to glance into her rearview mirror, that she noticed someone—or something—in the Explorer’s driver’s seat.
She stepped on the brake. Crazy as it seemed, it looked like a bear sitting behind the steering wheel.
Shifting into reverse, she started to back up for a closer look. She was barely a car length away from the Explorer when the ring of her cell phone made her stop. Katherine knew who was calling.
“You on your way in?” Sergeant Gordon Landros asked as soon as she answered.
“Be there soon,” Katherine said, glancing back at the Explorer. Whatever she’d seen was gone.
“Well, make it fast. We have a missing teenager.”
CHAPTER THREE
The six-block drive to First and State shouldn’t have taken more than a couple of minutes, but tourists crossing the streets impeded Katherine’s progress. A sea of bodies bobbed in and out of souvenir and jewelry shops, clear evidence that a cruise ship had recently docked.
Gordon had ended the call before Katherine had a chance to ask if the teenager disappeared while onboard a cruise ship or if it was a local. She didn’t even know if the teenager was male or female.
All she knew was Gordon wanted her at the station . . . and fast.
The moment Katherine entered the side door, the motherly voice of Alice Bowers, their middle-aged clerk/dispatcher, vibrated down the short hallway between the front office and the booking area. “Ma’am, Sergeant Landros is the officer in charge.”
Although she couldn’t be seen, Katherine nodded in agreement. Just Monday the chief had been rushed to the Bartlett Memorial Hospital in Juneau with a ruptured appendix. While he was recuperating, Gordon Landros was the senior officer of their small force and therefore in charge of the station.
“In that case, do something!” a woman demanded, her voice unfamiliar. “I’m telling you, she’s been kidnapped.”
Katherine frowned.
“Kidnapped” was a totally different situation from “missing.” Simply hearing the word put her on edge.
And, now she knew it was a female who was missing.
That also put her on edge.
Quickly, Katherine headed for the reception area.
/> “Now, now, Mrs. . . . Mrs. . . . ?” Gordon said as Katherine reached a spot where she could see the sergeant, Alice, and the woman.
“Morgan,” a striking blonde snapped. “Crystal Morgan.”
Gordon and the woman stood on the visitors’ side of the counter that divided the entry area from the clerk and office section. His back to Katherine, Gordon asked, “And why would someone want to kidnap your daughter, Mrs. Morgan?”
“She’s my stepdaughter,” Crystal Morgan said firmly. “And they would want to kidnap her because her father has money. Lots of money.”
Heavy makeup made it difficult for Katherine to tell Crystal Morgan’s age, but she guessed the woman to be in her late twenties or early thirties. The woman looked familiar, but Katherine wasn’t sure why. She definitely wasn’t a local. In a borough as small as Skagway, the police got to know the year-round residents.
The blonde lifted her left hand, and a monstrous diamond flashed. At the sight of the ring, Alice Bowers raised her eyebrows and mouthed a silent “ooh.” Gordon, on the other hand, didn’t seem to notice the wedding ring or the fact that the woman was half his age. His gaze had slipped to the woman’s chest.
A form-fitting pink sweater accentuated a bustline that would make even a Barbie doll envious, and Katherine wondered if that was also the result of a healthy bank account. Money did have its advantages. “How old is your daughter?” she asked.
The blonde turned toward her, gave her a quick up and down glance, and smiled, evidently assured by Katherine’s dark-blue uniform, gold badge, and the Glock in its sidearm holster that she had the right to ask. Or, maybe Crystal Morgan didn’t care who she told. “Misty is my stepdaughter,” she repeated. “She’s sixteen. Stubborn, spoiled, and impulsive.”
“Katherine. You’re here. Good.” Turning toward her, Gordon nodded. “This is Mrs. Crystal Morgan. As you heard, Mrs. Morgan believes her daughter is missing.”
“Not daughter. Stepdaughter.” Mrs. Morgan ground out the words. “And, I don’t think she’s missing. I think she’s been kidnapped.”
