Tracer

by Dustin Stevens

  Turning the truck towards the hospital he parked and went inside. Found Sara waiting for him outside the cafeteria. Forced himself to swallow down the venom inside before speaking.

  This wasn’t her fault.

  “Is your car around back?” Drake asked. No salutation of any kind. Hints of tension in his voice.

  “It is,” Sara said. Noticed both. Wrapped her arms across himself. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m being followed,” Drake said. “I need to go out and talk to the Home Guard again real quick, but damned sure can’t go with someone watching me.”

  Sara nodded.

  “I’ll explain everything when I return,” Drake said. Pulled some of the vitriol from his voice. Tried to sound reassuring. “I just need a couple answers before I do.”

  “I understand,” Sara said. Extended her keys towards. Four brass implements held together by a simple ring. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

  “Thank you,” Drake said. Accepted the keys. “What I am looking for out there?”

  “Ford Ranger,” Sara said. “Faded red, little bit of rust. It’s a farm truck, you’ll know it when you see it.”

  Drake nodded and headed towards a side entrance.

  For the first time in months, he didn’t notice the cold as he stepped outside. In fact, he felt warmth creeping up along his back. Pushed his sleeves up, scanned the lot.

  Just as Sara said, the Ranger jumped out at him, obvious in the side lot. Most of the cars there were BMW’s and Audi’s, no doubt the preferred parking for the doctors on staff.

  If not for the torrent of emotions roiling through him, Drake might have even laughed at the truck sitting front and center.

  The proverbial ugly puppy in the pet shop window begging to be picked.

  Drake found the doors unlocked and climbed in. Started the truck and swung out the back entrance. Took three side streets before turning up through the middle of town.

  Watched his mirrors the entire time.

  No sign of the tail behind him.

  His breath slowed just a bit as he pushed on. Followed the same path he and Rink had taken just a couple days before.

  The cluster of cars at the cabin was a bit bigger than his previous trip. The same four trucks were parked in the exact spots as before.

  Beside them was an aging Firebird and a muddy Jeep.

  Drake pulled up on the far edge and stepped out. Willed himself to move slow. To make sure his hands were visible at all times.

  A fresh dusting of snow stuck to his shoes as he walked for the front door. Knocked twice. Had it swing open for him once again.

  Drake stepped inside. Stopped and waited.

  The crowd had grown to keep pace with the cars outside. A new pair of men were working the second pool table. Early thirties. Close-cropped hair. Patchy beards.

  One nearly a foot taller than the other.

  At the sight of him, the pair of brothers at the bar turned back to their drinks. The bartender went back to wiping down glasses.

  In the center of the room, Jensen Hall looked up from a paperback. One corner of his mouth played up in a smile.

  “Mr. Bell. I wondered if we might be seeing you again.”

  Drake took it as an invitation. Walked over and seated himself across from Hall.

  “I’m very sorry to barge in like this.”

  The smile spread across Hall’s entire face. He pointed to the closed circuit television behind the bar.

  “Nobody gets within a hundred feet of this place unless we say so. We didn’t recognize the truck at first, but you did the right thing approaching like you did.”

  Drake nodded. “It’s Sara Webb’s. I had to trade her a little bit ago.”

  “Everything alright?”

  “I’m being followed,” Drake said. Hoped it would have the intended effect he was going for.

  It did.

  The smile faded from Hall’s face.

  “Followed? By whom?”

  “I only got a quick glimpse of him,” Drake said. “But I’m eighty percent sure it was Hank McIlvaine.”

  At the mention of the name, the brothers turned from the bar. Drake saw them from the corner of his eye. Stone expressions on both their faces.

  “You’re sure?” Hall asked. Narrowed his eyes a bit.

  “Like I said, eighty percent. Just started today, as I was leaving the Pritchett Ranch. Followed me clear in town to the hospital.”

  “We can take care of that,” Hall said. No hesitation at all in his voice. No hint of concern.

  “I appreciate that,” Drake said. “And might take you up on that soon enough, but right now I don’t think he knows I’m on to him. I’d rather keep it that way, at least a little longer.”

  “Don’t worry,” Hall said. “He won’t know we’re on to him either.”

  Drake considered the words. Knew better than to argue.

  Nodded in appreciation.

  “I have two questions for you,” Drake said.

  Hall motioned forward with his hand for them.

  “The first is, who is Hank McIlvaine? You mentioned the other day you don’t associate with him, but I saw a news report the other night claiming he was a veteran.”

  For the first time, Drake noticed that sounds of pool had faded away. He flicked his gaze to the corner. Noticed all four men leaning on their cues.

  Listening close.

  “He is not one of us, if that’s what you’re asking,” Hall said. Bitterness obvious in his voice. “Saying Hank McIlvaine was in the military is like saying the guy who sweeps Wrigley Field is a Cub. He was in for about two months before developing some mysterious ailment and taking a medical discharge.”

  “Any idea what he does now?” Drake asked.

  “Besides suckling benefits and giving veterans everywhere a bad name? Low level guerilla for hire. Nothing more.”

  Drake nodded. “So I should be worried?”

  “No,” Hall said. “We were going to take care of McIlvaine anyway for what he did to Lukas. This just accelerates our time table a little bit.”

  The news blew Drake back a bit. Raised his eyebrows up his forehead.

  “If it’s all the same to you, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

  “Good boy,” Hall said. Bowed his head.

  Whether it was appreciation or acknowledgment, Drake wasn’t sure.

  “Alright, second question,” Drake said. “Can a flare be fired from a rifle?”

  Confusion clouded Hall’s face. He said nothing.

  Drake paused. Considered how to better ask the question.

  “Wanda Pritchett mentioned several times that once Lukas fired his first shot, there was a blinding red light in the room. Talked about it a half dozen times. Said it blocked out everything else around her.

  “Yet, when I went to the crime scene, there were two perfect bullet holes through the portrait of Holt Tierney hanging on the wall. You know of anything that can do that?”

  The same corner of Hall’s mouth turned up. He glanced to the bar. Raised his chin towards them.

  The brother on the right turned back a moment. Took something up in his hand. Walked over to the table and slapped a pair of shiny brass cartridges down.

  “Thanks Hub,” Hall said. Waited for the young man to retreat. Picked up one of the bullets and held it between his fingers for Drake to see.

  “Tracer rounds,” Hall said. “Bullets that aren’t fired to kill, but to illuminate.”

  Drake accepted the bullet. Turned it over in his hands.

  To his untrained eye, it looked no different than any other round he’d ever seen.

  “How does it work?”

  “The actual round, as you can see there, is a little smaller than your usual shell. Thinner, more elongated. The remainder of the jacket is filled with a phosphorescent powder. When the bullet is fired, the powder is released in a trail behind it.

  “They’re used to show where a target is for support. Can be
seen for miles around.”

  “Throwing off bright red light?” Drake asked. Looked up from the shell to Hall.

  “Well, any color,” Hall replied. “But yes, there are red shells for sure.”

  Pieces began to link up in Drake’s mind. He rolled Hall’s words around a moment. Coupled them with what he found at the Town Hall. What Wanda Pritchett had said.

  “Not meant to kill, but illuminate,” Drake said. Stared off for a moment. “Lukas Webb never had any intention of hurting anybody.”

  Drake snapped himself back to the present. Looked across at Hall. “He was making a point.”

  “It would appear that way, yes,” Hall said.

  “And whatever that was, it had everything to do with Holt Tierney.”

  Hall nodded in agreement. Said nothing.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Reconnaissance.

  A slow pass by the hospital. By the catholic church.

  An attempt to see if his ruse had worked.

  For all intents and purposes, it seemed it had. McIlvaine’s truck was nowhere to be seen as Drake eased past. Drove a full mile down the road. Turned around and returned just as slow in the opposite direction.

  There were a handful of cars in the church parking lot, all on hand for the mid-week Bible study advertised on the front sign.

  None of them were trucks.

  Drake pulled the Ranger into the lot. Parked between his truck and Rink’s. Locked the doors and headed inside.

  He found Rink and Sara both sitting in the hall outside Lukas’s room. They were leaned in close to one another as he approached, whispering low.

  They weren’t touching, but something about their body language seemed to indicate they had.

  Or would be soon.

  Drake made it a point to drag his feet across the floor as he approached to announce his presence. Make sure it didn’t appear that he was interrupting anything.

  At the sight of him, Rink stood up.

  “Everything go alright?”

  No sense of embarrassment. A definite tone of concern.

  “It did,” Drake said. “Switching vehicles threw him off my trail. He was gone when I came back.”

  “Sara said you went back out to see the Home Guard?”

  Drake nodded. Leaned against the window on the opposite side of the hall. Folded his arms across his chest while facing them.

  “I did. Found out a couple of pieces of good information.”

  Rink remained standing. Cast a glance down to Sara.

  She was perched on the edge of her seat, sleeves of her sweatshirt pulled down over her hands.

  “Go ahead,” Rink prompted.

  “First, those guys do not like Hank McIlvaine. At all.”

  “Hank McIlvaine,” Sara whispered. Made a face. Tried to place the name.

  “The man who shot your brother,” Drake said. Lowered his voice.

  Sara’s eyes slid shut. She nodded. “Of course.”

  “Why not?” Rink asked.

  “Besides what he did to Lukas?” Drake said. “And apparently he was a disgrace to the uniform. To this day draws medical benefits from the Army.”

  Rink winced. “I’m guessing that goes over about as well as wiping his ass with the flag in that crowd.”

  Drake nodded. “Well put. I told them he was tailing us. Hall offered to take care of it.”

  A snort rolled out of Rink. “I bet he did. What did you tell him?”

  “Asked him to hold off for the time being. Promised him once this was over, I’d disavow any knowledge the conversation ever took place.

  “A promise, by the way, that now extends to you two as well.”

  Sara nodded in agreement.

  Rink didn’t acknowledge it. He didn’t have to.

  “Anything else?” Rink asked.

  “You ever heard of a bullet called a tracer round?” Drake asked.

  Sara shook her head. Looked up at Rink.

  “Heard of it,” Rink said. “Never used one.”

  “Well, that’s one better than me,” Drake said. “I spoke to Wanda Pritchett earlier today and she said the biggest thing she remembered from that night was light. Lots and lot of blinding red light.”

  “From the tracer rounds,” Rink said. Began to pace in the hallway.

  “Exactly,” Drake said.

  Sara leaned back in her chair. Folded her arms across her stomach.

  “Okay, so what’s the significance of that?”

  “Hall told me that a tracer round isn’t one meant to kill, but to illuminate. Lukas didn’t go there that night to hurt anybody. He just wanted to be heard.

  “When Tierney cut him off and wouldn’t let him speak, he figured out another way to make a point.”

  Rink and Sara both accepted the information. Rink continued pacing. Sara remained motionless.

  “So what was he trying to illuminate?” Rink asked. Made air quotes with his fingers as he spoke.

  “Tierney,” Drake said. “Kade and I went to the Town Hall yesterday. Lukas shot out the eyes of his picture on the wall. After that we went and talked to him. Guy couldn’t give us an honest answer about anything.”

  “And his goon is following you,” Sara added.

  Drake pointed a finger at her and nodded. “And now McIlvaine is following us.”

  Silence fell between them as a nurse shuffled by. Older and heavy-set, she moved stiff and slow.

  Eyed them as she passed.

  “How is he?” Drake asked. Motioned with his chin towards the room.

  Noticed the eye roll from the nurse as she departed.

  Sara shifted in her seat. Faced the room behind her. Sighed.

  “The same. The doctors say he should be ready to wake on Saturday. His vitals are stronger. His system will be able to withstand it.”

  Drake nodded, lowered his chin to his chest.

  “Just so you know Sara, Pratt is still going to arrest him the moment he wakes up.”

  She turned back to face him. Her jaw dropped open.

  “Did you see the Sheriff? Did he tell you anything?”

  “Not since last weekend,” Drake said. “But he and Goslin have both already stated their intentions publicly. They have to act now to save face.”

  “What if we get this figured out before then?”

  “Won’t matter,” Drake said. “They’ll arrest him anyway, just reduce the charges after the fact.”

  Sara lowered her gaze to the ground. Drew in deep breaths. Her lip began to quiver.

  “Where will they take him?” Rink asked. Walked over to Sara. Placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “Nowhere,” Drake said. “Even if he’s awake, he won’t be fit to relocate. They’ll just put him into custody. Return the guards here 24/7 until he’s ready to move.”

  “So even if he gets arrested, he won’t have to go to jail,” Sara asked.

  “Assuming we can get this figured out in time?” Drake asked. “No, he won’t have to go to jail.”

  Another moment of silence passed.

  Sara kept her head aimed down towards the ground. Took another deep breath. Looked at Drake with bloodshot eyes.

  “Okay, so how do we get this figured out?”

  Drake glanced to Rink. Saw the same determined look in his eyes.

  “Do you have any idea, any at all, as to what Lukas was trying to say about Holt Tierney?”

  Sara stared off at the far wall. Her lips moved a tiny bit as she repeated the question in silence. Tried to formulate an answer in her mind.

  “No,” she said. “I’m sorry, I don’t. My role has always been in the house. Papa kept me pretty removed from the ranch business itself.”

  “Would he have shared it with Lukas?” Drake asked.

  “I don’t know,” Sara said. Shook her head. “Maybe. Probably. Why?”

  Rink noticed the look on Drake’s face. Stood to full height.

  Leveled his gaze on his friend.

  “What are you thinking?” />
  “I’m thinking tomorrow I stay in Missoula and find out everything I can about brucellosis,” Drake said. “That’s what they were discussing in the meeting when things went sideways.”

  “And after that?” Rink asked.

  Drake unfolded his arms. Shoved his hands deep in his pockets.

  “Then I come back here on Saturday, and we ask Lukas what was going on with Holt Tierney.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Courthouse.

  Not to be confused with the Town Hall, where Commission meetings were held.

  The enormous brick edifice downtown that housed the official chambers used for all legal proceedings.

  The Sheriff’s Department.

  The Ravalli County Attorney.

  Everything needed for a legal case housed under one roof. From investigation to arrest to trial within yards of each other.

  The last meeting of the day on Paula Goslin’s calendar was just down the hall. It was one she had been waiting on for two days now.

  The heels on her patent leather boots clicked beneath her as she marched down the tiled hallway. She entered the Sheriff’s office without knocking to find a young girl not far removed from high school sitting behind the desk.

  The girl looked terrified as Goslin entered, pushing herself back away from the desk.

  “Can I help you?” she asked. Revealed a mouth full of braces. Gums much too large for her teeth.

  “Yes,” Goslin said. Arched an eyebrow. “Please tell Sheriff Pratt I am here to see him.”

  The girl swallowed hard. Nodded up and down.

  “And you are?”

  “He knows who I am,” Goslin said. Put more ice than necessary in her voice for effect.

  The girl retreated from the desk and disappeared down the hall. Goslin stood for a moment and glanced around, taking in her surroundings.

  Despite sharing space in the same building, their offices could not have been any different.

  Goslin’s favored bright colors and modern furniture. Straight lines. Clean angles.

  This one looked more like a man cave.

  Stuffed squirrels and pheasants. Tweed furniture. A lot of brown and green.

  A smirk lifted one corner of her mouth as the girl emerged from the hallway.

  “Sheriff Pratt said to please come on back. You know where it is?”

  “I do,” Goslin said. Left the young girl cowering behind her desk.