Revenge (A Travis Mays Novel)

by Mark Young

  “Or he’s dead.” Travis rose and walked around the desk. “Two big questions. Did Pete disappear voluntarily? And, is this connected to your son’s death?”

  Frank yanked the flash drive from the USB port and slipped it back into his pocket.

  “You going to call Lafata about this, Frank?”

  The police chief smiled. “Speak of the devil,” he said, gesturing toward the outer office.

  A window gave them a glimpse into the next room. Travis turned and saw Lafata and another man walking up to Baptiste, sitting at his desk. They spoke to the officer for a moment. Baptiste turned toward Travis, tight-lipped.

  Lafata turned and saw them standing in Frank’s office. The agent grinned back at Travis and with two fingers gave him a salute.

  So much for keeping secrets.

  Frank turned toward him. “Anything you want to tell me, Travis? The FBI just gave you a look that tells me you might know something?”

  Tension squeezed Travis’ chest tight as he picked up his coat. “First, let’s go find Jessie. Then we’ll talk.”

  Chapter 15

  Santa Rosa, California

  Creasy knelt at the gravesite and placed flowers next to the marble marker. I have not forgotten you, Michelle. Revenge is all I can promise. He heard footsteps on the path, but he did not bother turning around. “Did you get it?”

  “Yeah, but it creeps me out meeting here.”

  Creasy rose and faced the visitor. The man stood a few feet away clutching an envelope. “Here. Everything from his personnel file. Complaints. Personnel investigations. Everything.” He handed the package to Creasy.

  “Does it mention anything about Michelle Scarsbourgh?”

  The man looked at the tombstone at Creasy’s feet, glancing at the name etched in marble. “You mean that lady?” pointing with his chin. “Yeah, she’s mentioned in there. He got in a lot of hot water because of her.”

  “She’s got a name. Use it.”

  “Why? She’s dead and gone.”

  In a flash, Creasy kicked the man’s feet from under him, kneeling on the fallen man’s chest. “Would you like to join her?” Creasy said, shoving the man’s face into the grass.

  “Please, man. Lighten up. I didn’t mean no disrespect.” The man’s voice quavered.

  Creasy gritted his teeth and squeezed the man’s neck. He smiled as the man thrashed and squirmed, unable to break free. Leaning closer, Creasy hissed, “One more word of disrespect and I’ll end your life right here, right now.” He slowly released pressure and watched the man stagger to his feet, gasping for air. “Now, get out of my sight.”

  Creasy rose and smiled as the guy scurried away like some frightened mouse. Death will soon knock on that man’s door. He knelt once more by the grave. Sleep well, my love. Soon, those who betrayed you will pay the price for their sins.

  Steve Kirkpatrick felt like he’d been sitting for days. This two-hour commute north from San Francisco’s federal building to Sonoma County became a killer every day, a drive that should have taken half the time except for bumper-to-bumper madness. He pulled off the freeway in Santa Rosa and took the exit to Fountain Grove Parkway. As he climbed the hill, he saw the lights of the city spreading out below in his rear view mirror.

  He and his wife, Linda, settled in this posh area of town knowing that he’d be shuffling off to the city every day. Linda wanted to enjoy suburban life, not the hustle-bustle of big city strife. And Steve wanted relief from her pestering, even if it meant fighting traffic every day.

  Forty-five minutes ago Linda reached his cell phone to invite him out. She and a girlfriend wanted to dine at John Ash and Company and wanted to know whether he’d like to tag along. He declined. Exhausted, Steve knew he’d be dead to the world before she returned home. His bones ached at the thought of getting up early tomorrow morning and starting this all over again. He’d be back in the city before Linda ever woke up.

  Such was their life together.

  And now, after all this driving, he faced an empty house. Actually, a promise of a little peace and quiet felt good. Stress from his job took a lot out of him. Political fights and legal battles took its toll on him as chief of the U.S. attorney’s organized crime strike force. Trial prep on a major human trafficking case needed to be finished next week. He’d head out early in the morning to get in the city before sun-up.

  What a life.

  One case seemed to flow into the next. Year after year, bad guy after bad guy, they all seemed to be jammed together as he flushed them down the sewer they called justice. Each case running into the next until he could no longer distinguish one from the other. Defendants and victims seemed to converge into one ongoing cycle of memories, each blending into the next.

  One case still stood out vividly in his mind.

  For a moment, his mind settled on that case. A case that almost came crashing down around his head.

  Travis Mays.

  Michelle Scarsbourgh.

  Those names burned into his memory, never to be forgotten. One of the biggest cases he’d ever handled with everything on the line, everything to lose. Staggering collateral damage. He lost both Travis and Michelle in just a few days. Travis — one of the best investigators he’d ever known. Michelle — tragically slaughtered before she could testify. Travis turned in his badge the moment they found her body. Steve barely escaped with his job. Head hunters in Justice wanted to yank his job away, maybe even bring sanctions before the Bar.

  Headlights illuminated scrub oaks and tall, dry grass as he pulled off Fountain Grove, and turned onto a smaller street leading to his house. He reached the crest of the highest hill and followed the street below, finally pulling into his circular driveway. He flicked the garage-door opener and drove inside as the door yawned open. Almost without thinking, he flicked the control and waited until the garage door closed before peeling himself out of the driver’s seat. An interior door stood between the garage and the kitchen. Once inside, he deactivated the exterior alarm. Linda would know to reset it when she got home.

  He grabbed a cold beer from the refrigerator and strode toward the back deck, his favorite part of the house. His elevated sanctuary — a Trex deck he’d built last summer — offered a sweeping view of Santa Rosa’s skyline glittering below. To the west, lights began to disappear as the valley rose toward coastal mountains. In the other direction he saw more twinkling lights on Montecito Heights — more homes sprouting up on hilltops — and darkened mountains near Annadel State Park silhouetted by a rising moon. He collapsed on a lounge chair stretching out his legs. A tall pine tree at the edge of his property rose up from his sloping backyard, partially blocking his view of the downtown area. He meant to have an arborist trim it.

  He took his last sip of the beer. A moment later — blackness.

  Creasy slung the M40A3 sniper rifle over his shoulder and clambered down the pine tree. Pop. One shot to the head. Neighbors might not even call it in. People seemed reluctant to involve themselves. One single bang. They’d justify it in their minds as just another vehicle backfiring. No reason to call.

  No matter. Let the cops come.

  He’d be history before the first patrol car swung through the neighborhood. Mrs. Kirkpatrick might have a heck of surprise when she got home. Parts of hubby all over the new deck.

  Let the cops try to figure this one out.

  Creasy slipped to the ground, crouching for a moment as he scanned the nearest homes. No one emerged. He quietly pulled the bolt back and caught the spent cartridge as it ejected. He slipped the brass into a pocket. One less piece of evidence for investigators. He slid the rifle into a camouflaged drag bag, took one last look around, then zigzagged his way to a car parked a mile below in a shopping center.

  He glanced around the parking lot and saw his car still parked where he’d left it. A uniformed security guard eyed him from the door of the market across the lot as Creasy reached the vehicle. He quickly opened the trunk and threw his camouflaged bag inside. Sla
mming it closed, he pressed the button to unlock the car. A patrol car entered the parking lot just as he heard the locks click open. He glanced toward the security guard and saw the guy still watching.

  Only a couple minutes before the black and white reached the security officer. All he needed was for some nosey rent-a-cop pointing him out to the police as they drove by. Better to take the offensive.

  He pulled a fire-engine-red sweater from inside the car and slipped it on. The bright color would draw away any suspicion from his all-black clothing underneath. He swiftly dusted off his pants around the knees where he’d knelt on the ground moments after shooting Kirkpatrick. He marched toward the market like a man on a mission.

  The security guard warily eyed him.

  Creasy grinned as he drew near. “Chilly tonight. Got to buy something to warm me up.” He rubbed his hands together as if to make his point.

  The guard seemed to relax. “Yeah, that’s why I’m staying near the front doors. They got heaters blowing out warm air.”

  “Stay warm.” He pushed through the doorway, watching the guard shift from one foot to the other. Once inside, he glanced back just as the patrol car drove up. The guard waved at the cop. The cop nodded, then glanced into the store and eyed Creasy. He waved at the officer, wondering if they’d already been alerted to a shooting. The officer’s gaze seemed to linger, then he continued driving through the parking lot without stopping.

  Creasy breathed easier as he saw the black and white disappear into the night. It was time to move on.

  Chapter 16

  Lapwai, Idaho

  As Travis and Frank left the police station, a woman at the front counter waved frantically at the older man. “Chief. Got a message for you.”

  “Can it wait?” Frank sounded irritated.

  Travis looked back to see if Lafata and Baptiste might be coming their way. He imagined the FBI agent would take Baptiste in for further questioning. He did not want to be standing here when they came out.

  She shook her head, looking around like she was some kind of spy. “You’ll want this,” she said, lowering her voice.

  Travis heard Frank mutter something, but couldn’t make it out. They angled toward the counter, Frank taking the lead.

  “What is it, Francis?”

  Again, the sideways look like she was talking to 007. “I knew you wanted information on Pete Axtell. His aunt and I are good friends. So I told her that we were really concerned about Pete. How he disappeared and all. And that we wanted to know the minute she heard anything.”

  Frank nodded, apparently knowing there was no way to get this woman to get to the point. She was the kind of person who took forever. Travis hoped that once they finally arrived at the point, whatever she came up with would be worth the wait. He wanted to get out of here before the FBI and Baptiste came through. And he needed to get to Jessie before word got out that Baptiste was under investigation. He hoped Jessie understood that he tried to keep his word.

  “So I told her, ‘Ethel, you call me — day or night. We wanna know the minute he calls. You hear?’ I was trying to tell her how important it was ‘cause I really wanted to help you out, Chief. In case it might have something to do with what happened to poor Tommy.”

  Frank nodded, the muscles around his eyes twitching. “Thanks, Francis. And what’d she tell you?”

  “Well, like I was saying, I had that conversation with Ethel the moment we knew Pete turned up missing. That very moment. I called her from here and stressed how important this information was to us.” She paused, eyes searching Frank for praise.

  “That’s good thinking, Francis. You really showed initiative. And what did Ethel tell you?”

  Travis marveled at Frank’s patience. This woman might ramble for days.

  “She finally called awhile ago.” Francis stopped and her eyes widened as she looked across the lobby. Travis turned and saw Lafata and the other agent ushering Baptiste through the building. The two agents looked straight ahead, but Baptiste gave Travis a look of hate.

  Lafata must have snitched Travis off to Baptiste. Frank had to have seen the look Baptiste hurled Travis’ direction, but the older man remained silent, turning his focus back on Francis.

  “And what did Ethel tell you?”

  Francis seemed to take a moment to remember where she was in the conversation. “Oh, she said Pete called from a place in San Diego. He’s trying to get a job and settle down there. He told her he just suddenly needed a change of scenery. Wanted time to think things out. He didn’t want anyone to worry, but he asked that she not tell anyone where he was staying.”

  “Did she get his phone number?”

  Francis beamed. “Better than that, Chief. She got the address where he’s staying. A relative of the family.” She pushed a folded paper toward him. “I’ve included the phone number. Hope this helps.”

  “It will. Thanks.”

  Her smile widened. “Any time, Chief.”

  Travis wondered whether Francis might be hinting at more than the job.

  Frank led Travis outside. “Come on. You and I need to talk. Right now!”

  “About what?”

  Frank waited until they’d walked outside, in an enclosed parking lot for police vehicles. He whirled around. “You think I don’t know what’s going on in my daughter’s life? How stupid do you think I am?”

  Travis started to feign ignorance, but Frank’s angry eyes stopped him. The chief must have found out about Baptiste.

  Lafata. The agent squealed.

  “Sorry, Frank. Jessie just didn’t want you to know about this. I tried to give the information to Lafata and keep you out of the loop. I apologize.”

  “So the problem Tommy referred to in his computer had to do with Baptiste?”

  Did Frank know about this or not? His question to Travis was confusing.“Yeah. He and Jessie dated awhile until he started getting rough.”

  “And Tommy dealt with Baptiste?”

  “Yeah. According to Jessie.”

  “How long ago?”

  “About a year. She doesn’t know why he entered it into the computer just before his disappearance.”

  Frank gazed across the parking lot at the mountains beyond. “Lafata will get nowhere with Baptiste. That boy might have a temper, but he knows better than to harm Tommy.”

  “Why’s that? Tommy too tough for him?”

  The older man continued to look up into the mountains as if he saw something Travis missed. “No, although Tommy could take care of himself.” He stopped for a moment, apparently realizing that there had been at least one person Tommy could not handle. The person who killed him.

  Frank reached in his pocket and withdrew a ring of keys. “No. Baptiste is a coward. I never wanted him on the police force, but politics and family connections got him hired.”

  “So why couldn’t he have harmed Tommy?”

  “Because he knew he’d have to deal with me.”

  Travis saw a look in Frank’s eyes that told pages about the man. It was a look that Baptiste must have seen at least once. The look of a father who’d do anything to protect his child.

  “You already knew what he did to Jessie?”

  Frank nodded with downcast eyes. “Jessie never knew, but I learned what Baptiste was up to and confronted him — apparently before Tommy got to him. I warned him to stay away from Jessie or I’d have his badge and make sure he did some serious jail time. He knew I wasn’t bluffing.”

  “You never let on to Jessie?”

  A look of sadness deepened the lines across Frank’s face. “I wanted her to come to me with her problems. To trust me. She never did. Instead, she hid it from me and went to her brother for help.”

  “For what it’s worth, I think she never told you because she loves you and wants you to think the best of her.”

  “I know. But I wanted her to find out she could trust me. With anything. She never took that first step.”

  “I can’t believe you already knew this.�
�� Travis shook his head.

  The older man’s eyes hardened. “I gave you a chance to tell me the truth. Instead, you —”

  “— I’m sorry, Frank. But I promised Jessie.”

  Frank bit his lip, gesturing toward his car. “Let’s get moving. We’ll leave your truck at your place after you pack a travel bag.” He strode through the parking lot.

  “But Jessie’s at Three Rivers. Why do I need to pack a bag?” Travis said, following.

  “We’re going to San Diego.”

  “But I needed to talk to Jessie.”

  “You can talk to her when we get back. Now, let’s move. We’ve got business to take care of in San Diego.”

  Creasy felt his cell phone vibrate as he drove toward San Francisco’s international airport. He glanced at the number. An incoming call from Idaho. He punched the send button to connect. “Speak to me.”

  The male caller hesitated. “This a good time?”

  “Depends. You got something?”

  “Yeah. That guy you wanted to talk to. He’s hiding down in San Diego. We got the address.”

  “Hold on a second. Let me get something to write on.” Creasy pulled to the side of the road and grabbed a notepad from his briefcase. He quickly wrote down the address and phone number as the caller fed it over the phone line.

  “Anyone else know about this?”

  “Frank White Eagle and that white guy he’s running around with.”

  Creasy grimaced. Another complication. He severed the connection. Must beat them to San Diego. Axtell had something he wanted.

  Information.

  Chapter 17

  San Diego, California

  A thermometer hanging on the wall of San Diego’s International Airport terminal seemed pointless. Travis knew this border city near Mexico beat Idaho out by almost 20 degrees. Travis and Frank each carried a small grip bag for a quick overnighter.

  Travis, sweat already dampening his armpits, flagged a taxi out front. They climbed inside, and Frank gave a turbaned driver directions. The man nodded and began circling back toward the city.