by Mark Young
“I’ve got two agents on their way from Lewiston, but it’s going to take them awhile to get to you. Work with the locals. If you get your hooks into him, hold him at the local police station until my agents get there.”
“I’ll let you know what happens.” Travis hung up.
It seemed like the cops might never arrive. Finally, two young officers burst into his office like this was their first arrest. That made him nervous. “Pullman PD’s on their way to back us up,” the youngest officer said. “They’ll be here in a few minutes.”
“You have radio contact with them?” Travis asked.
They nodded.
“Tell them to meet us at the Administrative Annex on Library Road. We’re on the way.” He listened as the officer conveyed his message. They hustled after him.
If Ares was still in his office — on the north end of the building — he would not see them approach. It took almost fifteen minutes before a couple of Pullman officers arrived. Travis and the others entered the building and took an elevator to the suspect’s office.
As the elevator door rolled open, officers edged down the hallway with guns drawn. Travis hung back, watching. He saw Ares’ door, where they’d met earlier. The door was open. Light spilled from inside the office. The first officer crept to the doorway, aiming over his gun barrel as he quickly scanned the room. He saw the officer’s shoulders relax as the man lowered his weapon. “Clear. Office empty.”
They fanned out, checking restrooms, stairwells, and adjacent offices.
Ares had vanished.
Travis entered the office and leaned on the empty desk.
The suspect had just been sitting in that chair a short time ago.
He asked one of the officers for a cell phone. He dialed Ares’ number and waited. A moment later he heard an answering ring. It came from the desk. Travis circled the room and pulled out the upper drawer of the desk. There sat Ares’ phone, ringing.
Travis hung up, redialed, and heard Malloy’s voice. “Get your hooks on him?
“He’s gone. The killer’s on the loose.”
Chapter 52
Clearwater River, Idaho
Phillip Scarsbourgh wheeled the van onto a dirt road, a serpentine artery to the upper ridges of the mountain from the highway below. He turned the engine off and stepped outside. He walked down to the highway, watching and listening.
Nothing. Only blackness tempered by faint light from a quarter moon.
He strung a chain across the roadway and fastened it to a post. From the highway, it looked like a private drive. He got back in the van and continued up the mountainside to a cabin nestled in the crook of a small ravine. Beyond the cabin was a stable. Several horses could be seen in a large corral next to the stables.
Towering groves of fir trees hid the cabin from aircraft. He’d bought this property under another name several years ago. One of several safe houses he’d set up just in case.
They’ll all be coming this time. FBI, locals, Indians. So be it.
He’d lived behind enemy lines for so long it almost felt comfortable. He knew how to exist as a human chameleon, blending into the colors and surroundings of the world around him. It was time to fade into that background once more until he was ready to strike.
Laughing, he thought how close he was to his target. The river below, on the other side of the highway, ran right past Travis’ cabin. A mortar round could almost be launched here and land on Travis’ front porch.
Phillip knew just how to draw the man back to Travis’ cabin like a spider luring his prey to an untimely death.
He knew the right bait.
Scarsbourgh packed two saddle bags with supplies. He must move to higher ground until ready to strike. They could search all they wanted, but they’d never find him.
Unless he wanted to be found.
The government taught him how to hide. And now, that same government would be hunting him.
He opened a drawer in the nightstand next to the bed. A photo of a woman lay inside. He picked it up, rubbing a finger gently over the face, the photo taken just before his first deployment to Iraq. The day Michelle earned her CPA license after graduating from Stanford’s business school.
He’d been so proud of her.
They’d celebrated at Tadish’s in San Francisco. Not that formal, but she loved the seafood and atmosphere of one of the city’s first restaurants. She sashayed up to the bar like one of the regulars, drinking a martini straight up. He remembered how flushed her cheeks were from the drink, from the excitement of her venture into the business world. Already she’d been courted by several large companies, a bevy of choice jobs. “I’m going with a small business up in Sonoma County — Santa Rosa,” she proudly announced.. “ Great opportunity. Great benefits.” They toasted her success and his survival.
Later, after several combat tours overseas, another government agency came shopping for his special talents. He remained with the cover of a Marine on duty, but he hadn’t worn the uniform in years. He worked way beyond what they called Black Ops. He’d been taught how to slip in and out of countries, to operate in the gray, never-neverland of covert operations. He’d been recruited by spies to become a spy. A spy whose specialty was killing. If the Marine Corps ever knew what he’d become, they’d have disowned him. It had all began for God and country. At least that was what he kept telling himself.
Years passed, operations completed. Then word came of her death. He was so far undercover he never made it back to the funeral in time.
After Michelle’s death, his world turned blacker. She’d been his beacon of hope, his one glimpse of what life was supposed to be. She was his joy, his love. The only person that made him feel connected. Her death left a void for years until he finally met someone who offered him that connection again. Call it love or whatever. By this time, though, he was driven to rectify the wrong to his family. Until he’d avenged her death, he could not move on. They snatched Michelle away from him. Greed and ambition sought by Kirkpatrick, Heard, Lafata and Travis robbed him of seeing her. All over a lousy investigation.
He pulled a rifle from under the bed. He was going to rain down terror on the last remaining target. The man responsible for leading Michelle to her death.
Travis Mays.
Scarsbourgh picked up the photo again, and saw an envelope lying underneath. The last letter she’d mailed before her death. He had memorized that letter, word for word. Michelle wrote she’d found her true love, a man she trusted. The letter seemed to have been written by a schoolgirl, so excited, so in love … so naïve.
In love with the man who ultimately betrayed her. Travis must now pay the price.
Scarsbourgh clenched his fist and drove it into the wall. The blow caused his knuckles to bleed. He relaxed his hand and watched the blood drip between his fingers. He might never learn who actually pulled the trigger. Which person actually ended her life. The guy who ordered her death — Chuck Colville — was already locked away in prison doing life. Money had been paid. The man would not be a burden to the state for much longer.
Phillip put the letter and photo back into the drawer and slowly closed it. He had one more job, one more operation to complete. Then he could put it behind him.
Forever.
Chapter 53
Kooskia, Idaho
Frank knocked on the door. Pamela Redfeather’s car sat parked in front of the duplex when he and Travis drove up. Chances were good she’d be home.
No one answered.
Travis left the porch and circled around back. A sliding glass door stood open a crack, the edge of a brown-stained curtain wedged between the glass door and the metal frame. He slowly and quietly rolled the door open.
Pushing the curtain aside, he saw Pamela perched on the edge of a chair near the kitchen table as if she was about to sprout wings and fly. She was still facing the front door, immobile.
He took one step inside before she whirled around. “You can’t come in here,” she yelled, sta
rting to rise. Travis heard Frank knocking on the front door once again. Pamela glanced at the front door, sank back down, glancing toward a closed bedroom door.
“We just need to talk to you for a few minutes.”
She leaned over and lit another cigarette, fingers shaking.
He took that as unspoken acquiescence. “Frank, come on in. Door’s open.” The older man entered, quickly scanned the room, first spotting Travis still standing by the sliding-glass door and then Pamela glowering in the kitchen. He shut the door behind him.
Travis moved to one side so that he could keep an eye on the door leading to the bedroom.
Frank walked toward the table. “Things have changed since the last time we were here, Pamela.”
She took a deep drag, glaring up at Travis before turning toward Frank.
“Travis and I traveled all the way to San Diego to talk to Pete. Know what we found when we got there?” Frank moved closer.
She shrugged, glancing away, reaching for another cigarette, not realizing the first one was only half smoked.
“We found the police sifting through his apartment. Someone torched the place and left a body behind with bullet holes. We thought the body might be Pete.”
Pamela lit the cigarette without blinking, her face masking anything she may have felt inside. He saw a slight tremor in her hands. She looked at Frank. “And what’s that got to do with me?”
Frank continued. “We assumed that the killer got to Pete. Killed him and torched the apartment to hide any evidence. Sounds reasonable, right?”
A wisp of smoked sneaked from her nostrils and floated upwards, creating a hazy halo above her head. Travis wondered how she did that.
The police chief pressed on. “You can imagine how surprised we were when San Diego called and said the dead body was Pete’s cousin. That Pete was still alive.”
For just an instant her eyes glanced toward the bedroom door again.
Travis faced the door. “Pete. You wanna come out here or do we have to go there and pull you out?”
Pamela shot to her feet. “Hey, you can’t come in here and start searching my place. You got no right —”
“— Lighten up, babe. They already know.” Pete Axtell stood in the doorway, hair tousled like he’d just climbed out of bed.
“Speaking of the dead,” Frank said, shaking his head.
The younger man winced. “Came close to it, Chief. Out looking for work when it happened. Came back to see all the cops and fire trucks. I just started running.”
“Pete, it’s time you stopped running and tell us everything,” Frank said.
“Maybe. I’ve got nowhere to run.” He turned to Pamela. “Mind going to the store for some beer? I’m going to need a few brews before we’re through here. And I’d rather you didn’t hear all this. I don’t want you involved.”
She picked up her purse and grabbed a set of keys on the table. “See you in a few, sweetie.” She gave him a peck on the cheek and left.
Pete sat and placed his hands, palm down, on the kitchen table. “First, Frank, I wanna tell you how sorry I am about Tommy. I should never have got him in this mess.”
Frank sat next to him. “You think this is why Tommy is dead?”
Travis sat down across from them. He’d let Frank take the lead on this.
Pete shook his head. “I didn’t know at first. But after what happened in San Diego, I realized they’re killers.”
“How did you get mixed up in all this?”
Pete studied his hands, slowly clenching each hand into a tight fist. “Because I’m stupid and greedy. Saw a chance to make a lot of money and went for it.”
“Who approached you?”
“A guy by the name of Shane Foster. Steve Robinette introduced him as a friend, a friend with a business proposition. He left us at a restaurant to talk alone.”
“So Robinette knew you two worked together.”
“Oh, yeah. He got a cut through Foster while I took all the chances.”
“What did they have you do?”
“Pick out casino customers that might make potential targets. Those carrying a lot of credit potential. Tried to pick people traveling through. You know, out of state suckers stopping in for a little fun.”
“What did you do with this information?”
Pete took a deep breath. “I’d compile a database of names with all their personal information — date of birth, social security numbers, credit cards — gleaned through various financial data bases. Once all this information was collected, I’d hand it over to Foster.”
“And what did he do?”
Pete scratched his belly. “He’d milk them for everything they owned.”
“You mean, credit card scams, that sort of thing?”
“I mean everything. First, they’d run up their credit charges on big-ticket items that could be easily moved on the black market. Then they’d use what was left of the credit to open up other credit accounts, maxing out those accounts. They used the customer’s personal information to create fake identifications. Once they were through with a customer, that person’s credit history became toast.”
“And what did you get out of this?”
“I got a one-time payment of fifteen thousand. Supposed to be the end of it.” Pete laughed bitterly. Sweat beaded on his brow and oozed a ring of darkness along the neckline of his stained T-shirt.
“What happened?”
Pete looked over at Travis, then back at Frank. “They wanted more. I knew it was only a matter of time before the cops put these victims’ names together and traced them back to the casino — and to me.”
“What did Robinette get out of this?”
“I believe he and Foster split everything fifty-fifty. I took all the risks and those two guys were making six-digit scores.” He shook his head. “I got chump change, and they wanted me to keep tapping the till. I tried to pull out.”
Frank leaned forward. “Pete, we found the thumb drive you hid in the trailer, and we saw the video of you and Foster talking.”
Pete nodded. “My life insurance. The customer list and the tape of Foster threatening me. I told Foster I wanted out and if he came after me — well, I told him the cops would learn about everything.”
“How come you didn’t take the thumb drive with you?”
“I wanted to, but then that other guy showed up. I was walking along the river, trying to clear my head, when I saw him drive up to the trailer. I hid in the trees to watch. That sucker didn’t knock or anything. He must have been in there for an hour. Finally, he came out and looked around. I waited until he drove away and then started running. Didn’t think it would be safe to go back to the trailer.”
Frank reached into his pocket and withdrew a folded paper. “You think you’d recognize this guy?”
“Probably. He was a distance away, but … yeah, I think I could.”
Slowly, Frank opened the paper and pushed it toward Pete. “This the guy?”
Pete leaned over and peered at the photo. “Yep, that’s him. Who is it?”
Frank glanced toward Travis. “Phillip Scarsbourgh.”
Chapter 54
Pete stood and paced. “So how’d you find this guy?” he asked, pointing to Scarsbourgh’s photo. “Is he the one who killed my cousin?”
“We think so,” Frank said. “And he killed others.”
“Tommy?”
Frank shrugged.
Travis gestured toward Pete. “Mind if I ask a few questions, Frank?” The older man shrugged. Travis looked at Pete. “Hey, you make me nervous walking around like that. Mind sitting down?”
“Sure, man,” he said, plopping down in a chair across the table from Travis. “This whole thing’s got me wired.”
Travis nodded, folding his hands. “How was Tommy involved?”
“Man, I feel rotten about that. I knew he and Robinette were tight. I mean, that’s how I got the gig at the casino. Tommy put in a good word for me.”
“You
told him what was going on with Foster and Robinette?”
“Later, when I thought things were going south. He told me I should report it to the authorities. Turn myself in.”
“I take it you didn’t like that suggestion?” Travis watched as Pete shifted and scratched his forehead.
“No, man. Now, I wish I’d done what he said. Maybe Tommy and my cousin would still be breathing,” he said, rubbing his jaw. “I told Tommy ‘no way.’ I wanted him to negotiate with Robinette and get me out from under them. Get’em to back off.”
“And?” Frank said, eyes narrowing.
Pete glanced at the police chief, then dropped his gaze. “He took a dollar from me. I think he wanted the money to show he represented me in case things got messy later.”
Frank continued the questioning. “So what did he do?”
“He arranged to meet Robinette at his office. I waited in the back of Tommy’s office behind a closed door. I heard Robinette come in and Tommy called him by name.”
“What happened?”
Pete’s eyes twitched as he rubbed a finger over his lips. “Heard a lot of yelling. Finally, Robinette just up and jammed, screaming over his shoulder and cussing a blue streak. Tommy never raised his voice. I high-tailed it through a back door and made it to the casino. Thought I could beat Robinette back to Whitewater and grab a few things before I took off. Planned to lay low for a few days and see what happened.”
“He see you?”
“Almost. He came barreling into finance. Everyone had left for the day, and I was crouching in my cubicle trying to stay out of sight when he and Foster came in.”
“He met with Foster after the blowout with Tommy?”
“Yeah. They talked low, but I could hear everything they said. Robinette told him Tommy knew everything and warned them to stop. Foster got upset and the two of them started jabbering about what they ought to do.”
