Revenge (A Travis Mays Novel)

by Mark Young

  “McPeters. Anyone else know about this meeting?”

  The man shot a glance up the mountainside before quickly turning his attention back toward Travis. “Are you crazy? Who’d I tell?”

  “The person who’s planted a big red dot on your chest.”

  “They—” was the last word McPeters blurted out. His head jolted back and he fell to ground. The shooter hit McPeters with one head shot.

  Travis heard the rifle shot echoing a second later. He dove for cover, crawling like a crab for the nearest tree. Once there, he slowly stood up, placing the tree trunk between himself and the shooter. He remembered Steele might be listening.

  “Someone took McPeters out. Move in fast.”

  Before he got the words out, Travis heard men rushing through the brush and sirens howling further down the highway.

  Steele closing the trap.

  Several men darted across the highway and scrambled down the embankment, Steele leading the charge.

  “Travis, you alright?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” he yelled out, coming out from behind the tree. The shooter must be long gone by now with all this activity. “McPeters coded out. A sniper blew the back of his head off. That wasn’t friendly fire, right?”

  “My men know better than to take him out unless I give the green light.”

  “That just leaves one person.”

  “Yeah, but we’re stuck here for awhile. I’ll call the boss for a shooting team to respond. Did he give you anything that would give us exigent circumstances?”

  “On whose place?”

  “Robinette’s.”

  Travis shook his head. “No. He never had a chance to give me any names.”

  Steele drew closer. “Then we’re stuck. We’ll serve paper on the casino manager as soon as we can get free. That was who McPeters called from the casino? Robinette’s home phone?”

  “That’s what the subscriber records show. We never had a chance to follow up on Robinette after Jessie was taken. We cut him loose in all the confusion so we could find Scarsbourgh. We need to see if there is a paper trail connecting Robinette and McPeters.”

  “I wonder what McPeters and Robinette were cooking up.”

  Travis looked at the crumpled man at his feet. “McPeters can’t tell us anymore. Someone made sure of it.”

  Chapter 71

  The shooting team kept Travis sequestered for nearly twelve hours before his interrogation. He had curled up on a cot at the sheriff’s office and caught up on his sleep while waiting. Earlier, they let him call Jessie so she did not hear it on the news first. He brought her up to date.

  Frank was slowly recuperating. “He’s as feisty as ever,” Jessie said, laughing.

  Frank insisted on getting on the line. Travis repeated the news. “So you think Steve Robinette is good for the McPeters shooting?”

  “Maybe,” Travis said. “What about you?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve known Steve since he was a kid. He might be a lot of things, but I don’t see him as a killer.”

  “Maybe not. But all the evidence seems to match up. Maybe I’ll know more later when we hit the house.”

  “Don’t be so sure. Just keep your eyes and ears wide open.”

  “I will, Frank. You take care.”

  “What else can I do? With Jessie here, I can’t even go to the head by myself.”

  Once the interview was over, they cleared him to return to the case.

  The investigation pushed back the intended search warrant on Robinette’s residence until Steele and everyone involved in the shooting case could return to full duty.

  A search team, armed with warrants, converged on the briefing room for patrol officers. It was mid-afternoon before they regrouped to execute the arrest and search. John Steele briefed everyone and led the caravan to Steve Robinette’s residence. Travis followed them, leaving his truck parked at the bottom of the road below the suspect’s house. Travis climbed into Steele’s car. He hoped to head up to Spokane after they hit the Robinette house if everything went as planned.

  Steele and a couple of his men marched up to the front door, while others fanned out to cover the exterior. Travis trailed behind Steele.

  Robinette yanked the door open before Steele finished his knock and notice. “What now?”

  Officers crouched, leveling their weapons at the suspect. Steele stepped forward. “Mr. Robinette. I’ve got a warrant for your arrest and a search warrant for these premises. Stand back, turn around and place your hands on your head.”

  “Do you know —”

  “I said, stand back and place your hands on your head.”

  Reluctantly, Robinette raised his hands and turned.

  “Interlock your fingers,” Steele ordered, bowing the man out after grasping his hands and bringing him slightly off balance. The detective pat-searched Robinette before cuffing him.

  Jean Robinette emerged from the living room. “Steve?”

  “Get my attorney on the phone,” Robinette said, glaring at Steele until he saw Travis. “You behind this? Can’t make a real case, so you go on a fishing expedition?”

  Jean disappeared, one of the deputies trailing her. Other officers began a security sweep to make sure no one else was in the building. They returned a few minutes later empty-handed.

  Steele marched Robinette into the living room, and sat his prisoner down on the sofa, after searching it thoroughly.

  Jean came down the hallway, the same deputy shadowing. “I got hold of the attorney. He said to say nothing until he has a chance to talk with you.”

  Steele motioned for the woman to sit down in one of the stuffed chairs opposite the sofa. Steve Robinette looked at them with contempt. “So what did I supposedly do?”

  Jean leaned forward. “Steve, the attorneys said —”

  “Shut up. I know what I’m doing.” He glared at her before turning his attention toward Travis. “So what do you think you have on me?”

  Steele interjected. “Mr. Robinette, I need to advise you of your rights. You have —”

  “I know my rights. I don’t need you to read them to me.”

  “Are you waiving those rights?”

  “Are you a moron? I’m talking , aren’t I? I’ve got nothing to hide.”

  Steele nodded to Travis.

  Travis walked around to face Robinette. “Mr. Robinette, Detective Steele is recording our conversation. I want to advise you once again of —”

  “Don’t bore me. Let’s get down to business.”

  “I take it that you’ve waived your right.”

  “Take it however you want. Just answer my questions. What do you think I did?”

  “I think you hired Phillip Scarsbourgh —”

  “Who?”

  “You knew him as John Ares. You hired him to fix some financial problems you thought Tommy White Eagle created to halt the Three Rivers development.”

  Robinette looked at Travis for a moment, understanding creeping in his eyes. “You think I ordered Tommy killed? You’re crazy.”

  “And you had the killer try to take me out. When he failed, you shot Frank White Eagle and later killed Kent McPeters to shut him up.”

  “Who? McPeters? You mean that drunk from the casino?” Robinette laughed. “That guy doesn’t have the brains to even play a good hand of cards. Why’d I want him out of the picture?”

  “Just before Tommy disappeared, McPeters called you here at your home.”

  “That’s a lie, I never …” Robinette stopped, glancing from Travis to his wife. His eyes widened for a moment, then narrowed in anger. “I’ve got nothing else to say. I want to talk to my attorney.”

  Travis looked at Steve Robinette and then at Jean, sensing these two finally reached an understanding that did not exist a moment ago. Travis strived to understand what sparked this understanding but their eyes gave nothing away. Steve’s eyes seemed to tighten with anger. Jean’s eyes remained expressionless. They told him nothing.

  Twilight
cast a gloominess across the valley below as Steele and his men finished their search. A setting sun silhouetted the mountains in dark purple while painting the sky a pink glaze. Travis waited outside, watching the last rays of sun slipping behind the western mountain range. Footsteps on the porch drew his attention back to the house. Steele strode toward him.

  “Anything interesting?”

  Steele shook his head. “Hard to tell. We took every scrap of paper we could find, all the computer files and hard drives, and seized every phone. I’ve got them tagging and bagging every weapon in the house. A small arsenal in there. Maybe we’ll get lucky and match one to the shootings.”

  A deputy marched Steve Robinette out of the house with hands cuffed behind. The deputy protected Robinette’s head with a black-gloved hand as the casino manager backed into the rear seat of the patrol car. Steve settled in, glowering at Travis as the deputy slammed the door shut.

  Travis heard a garage door open and turned to see a black Mercedes sedan backing out.

  Steele followed his gaze. “We let Mrs. Robinette go. Said she had to get out of the house. This hit her pretty hard.”

  Travis watched Jean angle the Mercedes, turning the wheel to give her a straight shot on the circular driveway. Her backup lights seemed brighter as twilight gave way to the blackness of night. Watching the car pull away, Travis fished in his pocket for his truck keys. “Unless you need me for something, I’m going to head up to Spokane and check in on Frank and Jessie.”

  Steele nodded. “No. I think this is a wrap. We’ll have plenty of time to go through this evidence. And Steve Robinette’s arrest report will practically write itself. I’ll let you know if we come across any surprises. Want a ride down the hill?”

  Travis nodded and climbed into Steele’s car. “Let’s get out of here.”

  As they neared his truck. Travis turned toward Steele. “Jessie talked about a cabin Phillip Scarsbourgh held her in before he moved her to my place. You guys ever find it?”

  “Man, we’ve been up to our eyeballs in paperwork and follow-up. It’s on my list of things to do. Ever since Frank shot him, we’ve put it on the back burner. Why?”

  Travis shrugged. “Just loose ends. One of those things that’s nagging me.” He stepped from the car and leaned in through the window. “Jessie said she thought it was close to my place. Just the other side of the river and up the mountainside a ways. There was a path leading past it down the mountainside to the highway.”

  “Yeah. Well, we’ll get to it one of these days.”

  “Mind if I poke around?”

  “Not at all. Just one more thing my office won’t have to follow up on.”

  “Great. Mind if I borrow a flashlight? I think I’ll check that out before heading up to the hospital.”

  Steele reached across the seat, flashlight in hand. “Here, take mine.”

  Travis grabbed the light. “Thanks. I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

  Steele waved as he drove away. Travis climbed in and started up his truck. In a few minutes, he was on Highway 12 heading east. He wondered where Jean Robinette was headed. Probably anywhere she could get away from her husband.

  He punched the accelerator. Sooner he checked this out, the quicker he’d be in Spokane with Jessie. The thought made him drive faster.

  Chapter 72

  As Travis reached his cabin, his cell phone vibrated. Steele’s number flashed on the phone’s LCD screen. He quickly accepted the call.

  Steele sounded angry. “Robinette clammed up and demanded a lawyer. We got nothing out of him.”

  “Thanks for the update,” Travis said. “You won’t be able to reach me for awhile. I’ll be looking for that place where Scarsbourgh held Jessie. Check with you later.”

  Travis hung up and grabbed several flashlight batteries from his cabin, sticking them in his backpack. He stuck a .40 cal auto in his waistband, and slung his hunting rifle over one shoulder. He knew it made more sense to wait until light, but the mystery surrounding Phillip Scarsbourgh continued to haunt him. And the sooner he could find out about this man, the more he might understand why all this happened.

  And zero in on the second sniper.

  Scarsbourgh drugged Jessie before moving her from his cabin which accounted for her distorted memory. The hideaway needed to be accessible from the Lolo Trail after the kidnapping. Crossing any main highways or roads with Jessie in tow would have been a risk. He wouldn’t want to bring her across the highway to Travis’ place unless absolutely necessary. Search teams crisscrossed the main roads looking for Jessie and her abductor during that time.

  Travis crossed to the highway-side of the river and began searching along the roadway. A full moon crested to the east, and cold light began to rain down upon the canyon floor. The tall trees basked in the glow of moonlight, their dark branches coated with silver, the outline of trees dark against a blue-black sky.

  He knew Scarsbourgh used horses to move Jessie, so he began flashing a light along the brush on the north side of the road working his way east. He trudged for a half mile before seeing impressions in loose soil. Horseshoes pressed into fresh dirt, ending at the edge of the highway. This is where Scarsbourgh must have crossed over.

  He began to follow the telltale signs of horses up the mountainside, knowing the Lolo Trail ran among the ridges above. A few hundred yards into the woods, he saw the print merge with a shoulder-width fire trail snaking its way up the hillside. He began following the trail and the still-fresh markings left by horses. Fresh tire tracks told him this trail had been used as a driveway by someone.

  He heard an occasional vehicle whoosh past down below on the highway. He listened to the sounds of night as he walked; crickets calling to each other, an occasional squawk from birds nesting above, and the ever-rushing Clearwater River below.

  Winded, he came to the first ridge top. The path began to descend beyond its crest, a trail still marked by fresh U-shaped horse tracks.

  An inner rush, fueled by a mixture of curiosity and adrenaline, drove him forward. This familiar feeling always came to him when he felt a case might be coming together. At one point in his life this chase—this is what he liked to call it — took over and seemed to consume him. Blinding him to everything else. All that changed after Michelle’s death when he realized the brutal consequences of charging ahead without considering the cost to those around him. Tonight, his compulsion to find the truth was tempered with what this case already cost others.

  Tommy, Frank and Jessie.

  He hoped to find more answers. But he knew what was really important. He was doing this to end the threat against the lives of those he cared about, and not to quench an inner need to find out the truth regardless of the cost.

  Travis’ only hope of getting into Scarsbourgh’s mind and identifying the second killer — after the murders of McPeters, Wyatt, and Foster — seemed to be looking for what the killers left behind. A diary of Scarsbourgh’s insanity would be nice. Anything that might help Travis understand this man’s twisted mind and identify his partner. Everyone seemed to think Robinette was good for second chair in these serial killings, but something he saw in Robinette’s eyes made him think the killer might be someone else.

  Travis’ flashlight started to dim. He slipped off his backpack and felt for fresh batteries inside. His fingers located them. He flicked off the light, and quickly replaced the worn with the new. Another flick and light illuminated the ground at his feet.

  He just started down the trail when he heard a horse whinny ahead.

  Flicking off the flashlight, he stood in the darkness, listening.

  Silence.

  The sounds of night he heard earlier seemed to have died. Only stillness descended.

  How long could he play this waiting game? Standing here all night would not get him to Spokane. And he knew he needed his flashlight to follow the trail. He felt foolish standing here in the dark. Most of the suspects in the case were either dead or in jail. There was no reason
to go tip-toeing through the forest.

  Unless Robinette was not the second shooter. Unless someone else shot Frank and killed McPeters.

  That killer might still be on the loose.

  A good reason to proceed with caution. But still, he couldn’t stand here all night. And he needed light to continue.

  He flicked on the flashlight and started down the trail. The horse he heard probably belonged to someone living up here. An innocent party not involved in this case. Besides, sounds carry in the dark. That horse might be a long way off.

  At the bottom of the next ravine, the path rose once more. A few hundred yards further up the slope, it leveled off into a small meadow. Moonlight filtered down between the trees and illuminated grassland.

  What he saw ahead made him flick off his light.

  Two dwellings loomed before him, a cabin on the right near the edge of the meadow and off to the left, a small stable. He heard a horse calling from a paddock. Windows revealed the inside of the cabin to be blacker than the night sky. He slipped out of the rifle sling, lowed the weapon to chamber a round, and brought it up to the ready as he entered the meadow. Jessie’s mind had been foggy, but she described her place of captivity as similar to this layout. And this was the direction Scarsbourgh came when he brought Jessie down from the mountain.

  He skirted the edge of the forest until he neared the stable. A dirt road entered the meadow from below. Somehow, he’d missed where this road connected to the highway below. Something else he’d missed.

  Travis glanced over at the darkened cabin, then inside the stable. He worked his way around the meadow until he came to the stable. He quickly peered inside. No one. A horse sharply raised its head as Travis entered. He slowly walked toward the animal, calling to it as he looked for any tack left behind. If this was Scarsbourgh’s place, maybe he left one of his horses behind.

  The animal had access to a corral through an opening on the far side of stall. He saw fresh hay pitched on the ground. Someone visited this place since Frank shot Scarsbourgh. Fear wrapped its fingers around his throat. He felt like a target with a huge bulls-eye pinned to his back. He forced himself to calm down.