by Mark Young
“Sounds like an interesting case.”
“Addictively interesting,” he said, shaking his head. “I got so caught up in the case I found it hard to keep my priorities straight. We’re talking major federal task force operation with almost unlimited funds to take this case wherever we had to take it. My frequent flyer miles were off the chart. New York. Miami. Honolulu. Chicago, Seattle. I lived out of my suitcase for months.”
“And what about Michelle?”
“Yeah, Michelle.” He clenched his hands together as painful memories came back to hurt him like a dentist striking raw nerves. “Michelle and I grew very close. I knew better than to get personally involved. But I fell for her.”
“How about her?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“We were both head over heels as they say.”
“And she was still working with the crook?”
“At first she gradually pulled herself away from that business. We thought with the initial information, we could independently corroborate everything and keep her name out of it. The problem was these guys rushed things, pulled her out before we knew whether our case would stand without her. The case got so big it became an investigation by committee. We couldn’t do anything unless they ran it up the flag pole, all the way to DC. And then some muckety-muck — after treading water for months — finally decides we need to send her back in for more information. By then, she’d been pulled out for her own safety.”
“So you sent her back?”
He felt tension in his chest as he relived that moment. “Not at first. I really fought against it. The problem was I’d become emotionally involved, and I wasn’t sure whether I was letting my feelings cloud my judgment. Somebody found out about Michelle and me, and they hammered me with that in an open task force meeting after I balked at their plan. They insinuated they’d make my department bring me up on charges if I jeopardized the case.”
“Jeopardized?”
“They knew the fastest way to end this case was to send her back in. They needed me to talk her into it. I became their Judas, their Benedict Arnold after they assured me she would be well protected.”
Jessie’s eyes held no judgment. She waited for Travis to continue.
He leaned toward the fire. “What infuriated me was we could have gotten the same information by other means. Extended surveillance. Rolling over informants. Following the paper trail we did have. The problem — in their minds — all this just took too much time. Using Michelle was the fast way. The easy way. Everyone was under pressure to make this case happen.”
He paused and took a deep breath. “Deep down, I knew I was right. I knew it was impossible to protect her. These were some pretty cutthroat individuals.” He shook his head. “And now I find out Lafata was the one pressuring Kirkpatrick to push Michelle back out there.”
Jessie’s hand still clasped his arm, her touch warm and soft. It made what he had to say even harder. “So I met with Michelle and persuaded her to go back in one more time.”
Sam suddenly sat up, his ears perked. He began to growl. He rose and slowly edged toward the door.
Travis heard a vehicle coming up the gravel road. “Anyone else live up here?”
She shook her head. “We’re the only ones.”
“Stay in the shadows, away from the fire,” he said, edging toward the door. He pulled the curtain to one side and peered out. He saw headlights cutting through the trees where the road curved toward the cabin
He relaxed when he saw emergency flashers. A patrol vehicle, an SUV with Idaho County SO markings, rolled up the road and stopped in front of the cabin. He opened the door and met a deputy getting out of the vehicle.
“Are you Travis Mays?” the deputy asked, flashlight in hand. He bathed Travis in the light.
“Yeah.”
“And is Jessie White Eagle with you?”
“That’s right, deputy. What’s up?”
The man seemed to relax. “Got a call from dispatch. Detective John Steele from our agency wanted a unit to come up here and sit tight until he and a police officer from the reservation arrived.”
Jessie brushed against Travis, clutching his hand.
“They called me on my cell phone. Didn’t want to put details out over the air. They said an FBI agent has been shot in Lewiston. Some Italian sounding name. A sniper got him.”
He felt Jessie squeeze his hand hard. “The victim — Lafata?” he asked.
“Lafata? Yeah. That sounds right.”
He turned and slipped his arm around Jessie’s shoulders. She pressed a cheek against his chest. “Travis, he’s coming for you,” she whispered.
He held her tightly. “I’ll be ready. This time I’m the one in the crosshairs. Not somebody I love.”
Chapter 42
Another set of headlights weaved over the roadway toward Jessie’s cabin. Travis recognized Frank’s unmarked vehicle, followed by a second set of lights. Frank was just stepping from his car when John Steele pulled alongside.
Frank approached first. “You heard?”
Travis nodded. “Now we’re certain who the killer is targeting. There’s only one of us left.”
Jessie slipped from under Travis’ arm and walked back into the cabin. She returned a moment later to stand next to him as she slipped into a sweater. Frank seemed edgy. Travis could not tell whether the older man appeared agitated because of Lafata’s murder or seeing Travis’ arm around his daughter.
A broadcast from the deputy’s vehicle seemed to catch Steele’s attention. He must have left his portable inside the car because he walked back to the unmarked and leaned inside. Travis watched him activate the mike. Dispatch came back with a broadcast that made Steele swear. The detective threw the mike inside the car and shook his head.
“We got another one, Frank. A ranch hand found his boss just south of here, off Selway River. Shot three times and spread out like Tommy.”
Frank ran his hand over his jaw. “Who’s the victim?”
“They won’t give the name over the air. But they got positive ID at the scene. I’ve got more people rolling. I’m heading over now. Wanna tag along?”
Travis glanced at Jessie and then looked in Steele’s direction. “You mind if the three of us come? Frank and I ought to take a look. All things considered, I’d rather not leave Jessie alone.”
Frank was not smiling. “I’m not sure —”
“We need to take a look, Frank,” Travis said, feeling Jessie’s closeness. “I don’t think she ought to stay here by herself.” It was more than a gut feeling. The shooter had taken a shot at both of them. In his mind, Jessie might still be a target.
She squeezed his hand gently. “I’ll be okay, Travis. You and dad go and find out what you can.”
Frank’s face tightened.
Steele beckoned to the deputy standing nearby. “How about this, Frank? I’ll leave a unit here while we head over to the scene. He’ll stay with her until you guys can clear. Fair enough?”
Frank shrugged. “Travis, jump in with me. Better we just take one vehicle.” Steele was already climbing into his car.
Travis turned toward Jessie. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
She reached up and touched his cheek. “I want to hear the rest of the story. And … I’ve got something to tell you.”
Travis squeezed her hand gently. “See you later,” he said, turning to follow Frank. He wondered what Jessie wanted to tell him. He glanced back one more time and saw her standing on the porch, arms crossed. She held his gaze with her own.
Travis turned toward the car and saw Frank watching. Both climbed in, Frank on the driver’s side. Silence hung between them like an invisible barrier. Travis peered into the darkness, trying to figure out where he fit in this triangle. Jessie, Frank and himself. The police chief — sitting stoic and rigid — drove away in silence.
They followed Steele’s red taillights through the night.
Steele sprang out of his vehicle as soon as they arriv
ed at the ranch house. Travis realized the crime scene must be somewhere else. The detective waved them over. “Okay, the victim’s name is Brian Wyatt, a rancher whose family’s been around for years. This is all their land,” he said, making a wide sweeping motion.
“Where’s the body?” Travis said.
Steele pointed up the mountain side. “Quite a hike. About a half mile across rough terrain. Here’s some flashlights. Watch your step.” He led the way at a fast pace.
They reached the ridge twenty minutes later. Deputies stood near the body chatting. Steele yelled out, “Harry, thought I told you to rope this area off. Get back from the body, fellas.”
The deputies backed away, except for one holding evidence tape. “Didn’t think we needed to use this stuff up here, John.”
“Well, you guessed wrong, Harry. Now I got footprints all through my crime scene.”
Travis followed Steele toward the body, stopping a ways back to take in everything. He flashed his light on the victim. The killer staged this just like Tommy’s murder. Same position of the body, same positioning of the arms, hands and feet. Same number of gunshot wounds, at least what he could see from this distance.
“Saw the tracks of a horse as well as a set of boot prints, John,” he heard Frank tell Steele. “Must have carted the body up here and dumped it.”
Steele took a closer look. Travis stayed in place. Frank was a few steps behind him. He turned toward the older man. “Same killer, Frank.”
“You think?” Frank said, staring at the body. “All these bodies. Tommy and this guy. Lafata and the three murders down in California. The sniper shooting at you and Jessie. Why can’t we catch a break on this?”
It was a question Travis could not answer. The bodies were piling up and he was no closer to the truth. And he was certain the killer planned to make him the next victim.
An hour later, they regrouped to head down the hill. Before they left, Steele met the coroner’s unit and field techs assigned to process the scene. The detective walked them through the scene, telling them what he wanted them to focus on before the coroner removed the body.
Travis, Steele and Frank headed back toward the ranch house. As they approached, Steele said, “I’m going to start putting paper together for this place. That’s going to take time. Let’s do a security sweep of the house for right now.” Steele raised his hands and made the sign of quotation marks around the words “security sweep” as he spoke.
Travis knew what he meant. They were well past the legal limit for a security check of the house. The law allows law enforcement a warrantless sweep of a building to make sure that there were no other suspects lurking around or victims in need of help. The sweep must be made in a reasonable amount of time. They were hours beyond reasonable.
Steele opened the door and motioned them inside. “Don’t touch anything. But go ahead and take a quick look. On second thought, here are some extra gloves. Put them on, just in case.”
The three men gloved up and entered through the front door. Steele found a light switch near the door and flicked on several switches, bathing the entryway in harsh white light. As they walked through the house, more lights were turned on until the place was filled with light.
Once inside, they went their separate ways. Travis walked down a hallway and came across a room that looked like an office. There was a small desk to the left and a larger table to the right. On the table was a model of a proposed construction site titled Three Rivers Development. He saw a lodge and a series of cabins placed along the edge of what appeared to be a small lake. He guessed the development was on this ranch, based on the proximity to the Selway River, also identified on the scaled model.
He walked over to the desk and sat down. He glanced at the files on the desk, fanning them out, looking at each title. Nothing seemed to grab his attention. There were two sets of pullout-drawers on each side of the desk. He pulled each drawer out and glanced inside. Again, nothing of interest.
He started to stand up when he saw the edge of a piece of paper sticking out beneath a plastic blotter. He raised the blotter with one hand, and with the other withdrew the paper. It was a court document listing the dead man — Brian Wyatt — as a defendant.
Travis sucked in his breath when he saw attorney of record — Thomas White Eagle.
He read the document carefully. It was a claim against Wyatt et al for violating the terms of a water rights agreement.
“Frank. Come here!” Travis yelled.
A moment later Frank came through the doorway, followed by Steele.
Travis handed the document to Frank. He watched as the older man scanned the paper. Frank’s eyes widened. “Tommy sent this letter.”
Travis nodded. “I would say we may have found a connection between two of the murders.”
Frank handed the letter to Steele. “Yeah, but who’s left to talk about it?”
Travis pointed toward a filing cabinet near the desk. “Whoever pulled the trigger. If this was a contract killing, we need to follow the money trail. I would say let’s start right there. What we have are parties on both sides of this legal action killed by an unidentified person. Why? Who benefits?”
The three men stared at the document, each wrapped up in their own thoughts. Finally, Steele broke the silence. “Leave that where you found it, Travis. I’ll go get paper and we’ll tear this place apart. The answer has to be in here somewhere.”
Steele walked out of the room. Frank and Travis looked at each other. Travis stood. “Come on, Frank. Sooner or later, we’ll get some answers.”
Frank turned and left without saying a word.
Chapter 43
Palouse, Washington
Travis carried two bags of groceries into the house. Jessie followed with a third. He sat them on the kitchen counter and began turning on lights, switching the gas heater to full blast.
Jessie sat the bag down and took a look around. “This is where you come to do your professor stuff?”
“This is where I come to get away from nosey people. Hungry?”
She nodded. “What can I do?”
He pulled out two frozen dinners and brandished them. “Relax. I’ll do the cooking.”
She laughed and sat at the kitchen counter, watching as he slid one of the dinners in the microwave. “A regular Martha Stewart.”
A half-hour later, they’d eaten and cleared the kitchen. “Now, it’s time for me to get to work.”
“Can I help?” She followed into a second bedroom he used as an office.
Pulling several boxes from the closet, he heaved them onto a desk. “Maybe. Let me get things set up.”
The boxes were not marked on the outside. He flipped the top of the first box and pulled out a handful of files. “These are all the documents I kept from that case in California. We never found out who actually killed Michelle, although I know who ordered it. I kept these files just in case some day I might be able to hunt down whoever pulled the trigger.”
“What do you hope to find?” she asked, peering over his shoulder. “And where did all this come from?”
“Something I’m not remembering from Michelle’s past,” he said. “I copied all the case files before I left.”
He opened one file labeled Michelle Scarsbourgh. “Here’s the background information I collected on her before we started working together. Needed to know who my source was in the case.”
“Your source? You make it sound like she’s some kind of tool.”
He grimaced. “Yeah, that was part of the problem. I’d got so used to seeing people as a means to an end, as a way of developing a case, that’d I rarely thought of them as people.”
“Even Michelle?”
He nodded. “At first, until she and I …” He opened the file without finishing the sentence. Flicking through the pages, he came to one section listing family and acquaintances. “We never really talked much about her family, but I remember she spoke about her brother. Here it is. His name is Phillip Scarsbo
urgh. In the military, serving overseas at the time she was killed. Never made it to the funeral.”
“Why do you want to search her family?”
“Just trying to cover all the bases. If the killer is after all those who put Chuck Coville — that’s the name of the CCE guy we nailed — in prison, he’d have to kill off a couple dozen investigators.”
“CCE?”
“Continuing Criminal Enterprise. That’s what we nailed Coville on. He’s doing a minimum of one hundred and twenty years in prison. Virtually a life sentence with little hope of getting out.”
“Sounds like he’d be motivated to come after you guys.”
“With what? We took everything he had, and others in his organization took over where he left off. Even his own people don’t want him out.”
“So that leaves who?”
“Someone who had a personal stake in what happened. He killed off those who had a direct hand in setting up the situation that got Michelle killed. The only one left is me.”
“That’s why Dad was upset about me coming up here with you?”
“Can’t blame him. It only makes sense the killer might be stalking me. In fact, I wasn’t wild about you coming here either.”
“We talked this out, Travis. I don’t feel safe right now on my own. I’d rather be up here, away from things, and let Dad and the others track him down.”
“But what if he follows us here?”
“That’s why Dad deputized you and let you carry a gun. So you could protect me — you big, strong guy.” She batted her eyes and weakly flicked her wrist, mimicking a Southern belle from the movies.
Sam barked.
Travis laughed. “See. Even the dog doesn’t buy it. I saw what you can do on the river. Don’t give me the ‘I’m just a weak little girl’ routine.”
She nudged him hard with her hip, almost throwing him off balance. “Okay, maybe I’m not that weak. But I do feel better hanging around up here with you than waiting for someone to take a shot at me down along the river. So where do we begin?”
“I’m going to review the files. You — relax and keep Sam off my back. How about the two of you get comfortable in the living room while I start poring over this stuff?”
