by Mark Young
“What did they decide?”
Pete stood up and started pacing again. “Foster talked about a guy they both knew who took care of problems like this. Someone who could force Tommy and me to keep our mouths shut.”
“You mean kill you?”
“No, I think it was more like putting pressure on us.”
“And when did this all take place?”
“The day before Tommy disappeared. I stayed at Pamela’s for a few days trying to decide what my options might be. Then, when I didn’t hear anything from Tommy, I started getting worried. My girlfriend went to the market and heard Tommy was reported missing. I really freaked. I took a walk near my trailer, trying to figure out things. Finally decided to go get the thumb drive and some clothes and take off. That’s when I saw that guy, Scarsbourgh, breaking into my place. I freaked and took off for San Diego.”
Travis leaned back and glanced at Frank. He saw sadness in the older man’s eyes as the pieces started to fit. They’d sent Phillip Scarsbourgh to make sure Tommy kept quiet.
And the killer silenced Tommy forever.
Chapter 55
Grangeville, Idaho
A two-way mirror hid Travis’ face as he watched Steve Robinette squirming in his seat. John Steele and another detective arrested Robinette at the casino and drove him back to their office for interrogation.
Frank and Travis watched the interview.
Travis hoped he’d get a shot at questioning Robinette. Steele picked away at the casino manager’s story after Robinette — in his arrogance — waived his rights. Robinette’s confidence seemed to soar once they released his handcuffs,.
“Mr. Robinette, this is an investigation into the murder of Tommy White Eagle, Shane Foster, Brian Wyatt, plus the killing of agent Clay Lafata and a man in San Diego.”
“You’re crazy to think I had anything to do with all those deaths.” Robinette’s smugness angered Travis. He wondered what Frank must be thinking.
“We have evidence you and Shane Foster were involved in a criminal conspiracy in which you financially benefited. That activity led to the deaths of one or more of those victims I mentioned. That means you’re culpable for the murders. We’re talking death penalty or life without the possibility of parole.”
He saw Robinette flinch. “I had nothing to do with that.”
Steele wrote something on a pad, pulled a file from a briefcase and opened it slowly. “I have here the sworn statement of Pete Axtell in which he confesses to a criminal enterprise involving you and Foster.”
Robinette’s face reddened. “He is a liar and a thief.” The man’s hoarseness made Travis smile grimly to himself.
John, pull that rope of facts so tight Robinette chokes on it.
Another file emerged from Steele’s briefcase. “And we’ve got evidence seized from your accounts and the casino that not only supports Mr. Axtell’s statement, but shows you transferred unaccounted funds to invest in the Three Rivers Development. Two men — Shane Foster and Brian Wyatt — were your partners in that development. They’re both dead. And the project’s threatened by legal action filed by Tommy White Eagle.”
Robinette scratched his nose. Travis saw sweat emerge on the man’s forehead. “Shane’s dead?” Fear crept into the man’s voice, his cockiness gone.
Steele slid a photograph across the table. “And we can prove you and Foster sent this man to take care of Tommy White Eagle. To shut him up.”
Robinette’s eyes widened in recognition. Phillip Scarsbourgh’s photo on the desk was visible through the two-way glass. “You can’t prove this.”
Steele leaned across the table. “Want to bet your life on it?”
Travis turned from the window. “So Robinette knew Phillip Scarsbourgh and hired him — under the name of John Ares — allegedly for executive protection work.”
Frank nodded. “And he and Foster must have had Scarsbourgh kill Tommy.”
Leaning on the window, Travis looked at Frank. “I’m not sure, Frank. I mean, no question they sent this wacko to pressure Tommy. But I’m not sure they knew he’d kill Tommy and the others. He may have gone further than they wanted. You heard what Axtell said.”
“It seems pretty obvious to me they wanted Tommy dead. Even if they didn’t, their actions led to Tommy’s death.”
“Silenced, maybe. But dead? Look how Scarsbourgh left the bodies. All of them — Tommy, Wyatt, Foster — all arranged the same way. As if he was sending a message.”
“A message?”
“Yeah. Look at how he placed them. Arms spread, palms out, legs together. What does that remind you of?”
Frank rubbed his forehead, still watching Robinette in the other room. “Like they’d been crucified?”
“Exactly. And who does that bring to mind?”
“Christ. On the cross.”
He saw Frank struggling to understand. “What are you getting at, Travis? Tommy and the others died for someone else’s sins?”
Travis held his breath. He wanted Frank to grasp — on his own — what’d been nagging Travis for some time.
“Whose sin?” Frank asked. The older man seemed to be struggling to understand. And then he saw Frank’s eye widen as the truth finally came home.
Travis turned away, looking through the one-way window as Steele continued to hammer on Robinette. He couldn’t bring himself to look into Frank’s eyes. He put his head against the cold glass and closed his eyes. “Yeah, Frank,” he said, gritting his teeth. “They died for my sins.”
Chapter 56
Lolo Trail, Idaho
Phillip Scarsbourgh loved the irony. He was horseback riding on the historical Lolo Trail, used for hundreds of years by the Nez Perce people as they traversed the mountains between Montana and Idaho. A mountainous highway used by Lewis and Clark, compliments of Indian guides, as they surveyed their way to the Columbia River and the Pacific Northwest.
And now he used this same trail to elude capture from mostly white men.
Moonlight showered the ancient trail with silver flecks. He planned on using a night-vision scope, tucked away in one of the saddle bags, when he neared the target. But for now, splashes of cold light made the trail gleam with white clarity.
Scarsbourgh could track his prey with help from modern technology even at night. Electronic markers, planted along the trail weeks ago, guided him within inches of the target.
He could almost do this blindfolded.
A pack horse — plodding behind him — gave a deep, rumbling sneeze. Horses never traveled quietly. He’d chosen nighttime to traverse this famous trail to avoid backpackers, hikers and other travelers, those forced to move around by the light of day.
The last twenty-four hours whirled by in its own little hurricane. Travis almost caught him yesterday at the university. An electronic bug placed on Travis’ phone alerted Scarsbourgh to slip into obscurity and elude capture. The cops finally figured out his identity. He smiled as he imagined Travis traipsing into his empty office. Leaving his cell phone behind was a nice touch, a psychological slap in the face.
Before he pulled his surveillance crew, he’d learned the FBI had discovered his identity. Only a matter of time. He’d already planned several other aliases for the future and stashed them in a safe place until needed.
He pulled out his GPS tracker, scanning the screen. Several more miles before he swooped down for a surprise visit.
Stealth became a matter of survival. He knew they’d already posted an arrest warrant in the system with his name on it. He’d checked just before leaving civilization. Time seemed to spin backwards up here in the mountains, back to a time before all the complexities of modern conveniences made this world so complicated and impersonal. He rather enjoyed this simple life. Well, almost simple. He stashed the electronic monitor in a pocket.
He quickly covered ground. The first marker beeped to audibly remind him to turn off the trail and begin his descent. From now on, he must approach on foot. He slipped from the saddle and
led the horses deeper into the forest, off the main trail. He tied them to a tree, tugging the lines to make sure they were tight. The last thing he needed was for his four-footed friends to get spooked and run off. It would be a long arduous hike back to his place without them.
Scarsbourgh slung the rifle over his shoulder, and adjusted his backpack. He felt balanced with a holstered sidearm on his right hip, and a Taser on his left. The moonlight surrendered to shadows as he melted into a denser part of the forest. He slid his night vision goggles on and watched as the night — illuminated by minuscule dots of starlight and faint traces of moonbeams through the tree boughs overhead — became almost like day illuminated by alien-green light.
Slowly he worked his way down a game trail, carefully choosing each step.
Silently.
Quietly.
As he neared his destination, Scarsbourgh slipped off the goggles, allowing his eyes to regain night vision, before pulling a thermal infrared imagery camera from the pack. He flicked it on and scanned the trail ahead. Two heat sources flared up about three hundred feet away. One figure, a woman, appeared to be moving inside the cabin. The other, a man armed with a shotgun and handgun, stood outside, maybe on the front porch of the shack. The fool probably thought his enemy stupid enough to just drive up and present a target for him to shoot.
Satisfied that he saw all the warm bodies ahead, he slid the camera back into his pack and activated his night vision scope again. Quietly removing his sidearm from the holster, he edged forward while bringing the weapon to eye level, a round, already chambered.
Locked and loaded. No one saw him coming.
Frustration drove Jessie to pace across the rough, wooden floor. Travis and her father should have been here several hours ago with news on the case. Steele and the others scooped Robinette up and drove him to Grangeville for questioning. Travis mentioned he thought the casino manager might break and testify as to who murdered Tommy and the motivation behind the killings.
They all believed Scarsbourgh to be the shooter.
Jessie flinched every time she heard a strange noise. A twig snap here. A branch pop there. All the sounds of night one might normally sleep through.
The deputy stationed outside did little to ease her stress. She knew this killer used shadows to approach his victims like a cougar stalking its prey. She knew he was good at killing. She heard the deputy — his name tag showed Paul Clemmons — stir on the front porch. His boots thudded on wooden timbers as he marched back and forth, pausing to frequently listen. He rarely sat down and seemed as nervous as she felt.
Glancing around the cabin, she wished she’d brought her own weapon. Guns had always been in their family. She became a better shot than Tommy, a fact that made for sibling rivalry — good natured, but still there. Her father taught the children marksmanship early in their lives. They used to hunt together as a family before everyone became caught up in their own separate worlds.
Grasping another log, she carried it to the fireplace. She heard a pop just as she threw the log on the burning embers.
“Paul,” she yelled. No one responded. “Deputy Clemmons?”
She crept toward the door and peered out. The deputy was gone.
Jessie opened the door wider and stepped out onto the front porch. She reached behind her and felt the rough-hewed logs of the cabin wall as she slowly edged to the right. Moonlight gave her some visibility, although just leaving the lighted cabin made her momentarily blind.
It took a few moments to adjust.
Slowly, she was able to make out images in the darkness. Jessie crept to the edge of porch. Nothing. The deputy simply vanished. She started to turn until something made her glanced down. She gasped. Deputy Clemmons lay sprawled on the ground face up just beyond the porch.
Motionless.
She leaped down and crouched next to him. “Paul?” She reached out to touch him. No response. She cradled his head in her hands and felt something warm run between her fingers. Light from the open cabin door cast a weak beam across the deputy’s face. His eyes stared back, sightless. One bullet hole visible in his right temple.
A twig snapped. She whirled.
A man in dark clothing sprang from the shadows. Something hit her in the chest and she felt a jolt of electricity. Muscles convulsed. She seemed frozen in place. Helpless, she dropped to the ground and jerked convulsively.
The man leaned over and grabbed her arm. Jessie felt a sharp prick.
A moment later, woozy darkness swept her into another world. Like traveling down an unseen water slide into uneasy twilight. She felt numbness before unconsciousness engulfed her.
Chapter 57
Grangeville, Idaho
A deputy rushed past Travis and banged on the interview room door. John Steele turned with an annoyed look. The deputy pushed the door open. ”John, you need to come out here. Something’s happened.”
Travis felt his chest tighten. His first thought — Jessie.
Frank walked toward the door. Travis followed. Steele stepped outside and closed the door behind him. “This better be good, Steve. I’m right in the middle —”
“— dispatch can’t raise Clemmons on his radio. Units are responding Code-Three, but it’ll be a while until the first one gets to the scene.”
Steele glanced at Frank. “That’s the deputy I left with Jessie.” He grabbed the deputy’s arm. “Look, put this guy in lock-up. Tell dispatch I’ll be responding.”
Frank started toward the exit. “We’ll follow you, John.” They rushed from the building and climbed into Frank’s unmarked. Emergency lights flashed in the darkness as sirens wailed with a sound that made Travis’s breath quicken. The sound always signaled disaster, trouble, someone in need. He’d never gotten used to it.
They saw Steele’s car shoot out from the parking lot. Frank pulled behind him and began to follow, a silent emergency run with flashing lights only. Steele paved the way through the night. At normal driving speeds, Travis knew the distance took over an hour to get to Jessie’s cabin. He glanced at the speedometer. At these speeds they’d be there in half the time.
If they survived.
He tightened his seatbelt and braced against the door. Frank drove with one hand, flicking over to the Idaho SO band with the other. They listened to radio traffic squelching over the car speakers. Deputies responded from all over, their sirens wailing in the background as they answered up over the air. Most were smart enough to kill their lights and siren before getting too close. Approach quietly until they knew what dangers lie ahead.
So far no one was on scene.
Twenty minutes into the drive, Travis heard the first unit go 10-97. Everything shut down over the airways. Everyone listened for an update.
A few minutes later the deputy came over the air. “Dispatch, officer down. No one else on scene. Suspect GOA.” The deputy broke the transmission. A moment later, the deputy came back on the air, his voice shaken. “Dispatch. Be advised. 10-55.”
Frank hit the dashboard with his fist and increased his speed, keeping pace with Steele. They both knew what the codes meant — a deputy had been killed. “Oh God, no.”
Travis glanced at Frank, not sure if those words were a prayer or a curse.
Frank glanced his way. “You know what that means?”
Travis nodded. “Scarsbourgh has Jessie.”
“You think he’ll …”
“No, I don’t, Frank. He snatched Jessie because she means something to me. He wants me — not her.”
“How do you think he’ll communicate?”
Travis leaned back in the seat. “Dunno. But you can bet he has a plan.”
He saw Steele’s emergency lights far ahead in the night. The lights shone for a minute and then disappeared. A second later, he saw the lights flashing through the trees as the vehicle climbed the hill toward Jessie’s cabin.
Chapter 58
Lochsa River, Idaho
Emergency lights from a train of police cars lighted th
e dirt road leading to the cabin. Frank pulled off the rutted road into a patch of ferns and grass. The two men rolled out of the car and scrambled toward a small army of deputies. As they drew close, Travis saw Steele emerge from the cabin. He knew by the detective’s expression things were bad.
“Frank, Travis, hold up.” Steele stepped down off the porch, making a wide berth where the slain deputy lay. In his gloved right hand, Steele held a torn piece of paper. “This was tacked to the wall. It’s to you, Travis.”
Travis caught Frank’s look. Steele handed him a pair of gloves. “Put these on before you read it.”
He nodded, slipping on the gloves before taking the note. Steele pulled out a flashlight, flicking it on for Travis.
Travis,
Go to your cabin and stay until you hear further. Jessie’s life depends on you following orders.
Time to pay for your sins.
God’s avenging angel,
Creasy
“Creasy? Mean anything to anybody?” he asked, looking at the other two men. Steele shook his head. Frank didn’t respond at first. “Creasy? Sounds familiar. I just can’t seem to —”
“I’ll have dispatch run it through the computer,” Steele said, pulling out his portable radio. He passed it on and lowered the radio. “Why don’t you guys head back to Travis’ cabin, and I’ll let you know if anything turns up.”
They nodded and started to head down the mountain.
“Travis,” Steele said. “As soon as this nut job contacts you, let us know immediately. I’ll be by your place as soon as I coordinate things here.”
Travis nodded and followed Frank down the road. They’d just reached the car when someone came running up behind them. Steele again.
“Hey, dispatch just called. They Googled ‘Creasy.’ Guess what they found? Remember that movie Man on Fire with Denzel Washington? In the flick, his character’s name is John Creasy. Not sure what Scarsbourgh is trying to tell us, but I wanted you to know. Maybe it’ll help figure out what this whack job is thinking.”
