As Pepper tried to regain his balance, a large man sprang from the closet and charged at him, knocking him backward over the small bed.
Deputy Tammaro yelled and leaped forward.
As he fell, his arms windmilling, Pepper had a brief view of the intruder. The man’s head was covered in a blue ski mask. Dark pants and shirt. He was big, Pepper’s height or so, but heavier.
Pepper formed this quick impression—like a camera snapshot—as he fell backward, before his head cracked into the nightstand. Before he saw a painful burst of stars. Then he saw the man take three steps across the room and dive out the open window.
Pepper would swear he heard the person laughing as he disappeared.
Deputy Tammaro drew her handgun and ran to the window, shouting, “Stop!” as the man’s legs disappeared over the sill. She leaned out, pointing her firearm. “Stop or I’ll shoot!” she yelled.
Pepper could see her weapon track from left to right. Following the fleeing man. But she didn’t fire. She was probably thinking “excessive force,” and he knew she was right, unfortunately. If she shot a fleeing suspect in those circumstances, she’d be the one to go to prison.
“Bastard!” she exclaimed. Grabbing her shoulder mike, she said, “Dispatch, new emergency at 56 Yale Street,” she said in a strong, steady voice. “Suspect is a large male, dark clothing, escaping north on foot. Requesting assistance.”
As Pepper sat up, his vision swimming from the blow to his head, he saw Tammaro shove past the Baileys and disappear toward the front door in pursuit of the Greenhead Snatcher.
Multiple officers combed the neighborhood in vehicles and on foot for the next hour, but the intruder had gotten away cleanly. Like a ghost. Or a predator with a detailed getaway plan.
Pepper stayed and gave a statement to a pair of detectives who arrived from the sheriff’s office. He knew Deputy Tammaro was in for a long day of interviews and paperwork herself. He wondered if she wished she’d fired her weapon, damn the consequences. He wished she had—the Snatcher deserved no better.
Pepper’s phone rang. It was his dad. He considered letting it go to message, but sighed and answered the call.
“Pepper, why did you go to the Bailey house?” his dad asked. He sounded frantic. Worried. And he didn’t wait for Pepper to answer. “When the officers on the scene release you, I want you to come straight to the station. Don’t stop to eat. Don’t stop to take a leak. Straight here.”
Shit.
“I’m glad you’re okay, son,” said his dad. He sounded like his voice was choking up. “But you took a heck of a risk again. I need to hear the whole thing from you, because what I’ve been told so far… I just can’t believe it. So get your ass back here as soon as they clear you from the scene.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The next morning, Wednesday, Gerald Ryan gave his son Pepper a ride to work because his son’s old truck refused to start. Some kind of engine problem? Pepper had probably neglected to change the oil.
Luckily, they were heading to work at the same time, which was rare. Gerald usually beat his son to work by at least an hour.
They rode mostly in silence, each deep in their own thoughts. Pepper put some country station on the radio, so the lack of conversation wasn’t too awkward.
Gerald Ryan was quiet because he’d decided during the night he was going to fire Pepper today from his cadet summer job. He’d talked to the Barnstable County sheriff (a good guy, Gerald had known him for years) to make sure he had the full story about the latest incident at the Bailey home.
Gerald believed firing Pepper was the only right decision. He would persuade—or force—his son to leave the Cape. Whatever it took. He’d convince Pepper to head off early to college. He could lift weights and skate…while getting mentally ready for his school year. And get the hell away from this Greenhead Snatcher situation.
Because Pepper was sticking his neck out way too far.
Sure, his son had essentially saved the Bailey boy. But he’d had no business being there. He was practically a vigilante, like Emma Bailey’s uncle and cousins who were arrested on Friday for breaking into Casper Yelle’s apartment.
And to be honest, it made Chief of Police Gerald Ryan look like a damned nitwit. Like he had no control over his own son.
Most important, he needed to fire Pepper for the boy’s own safety. If that perp had jumped from the closet with a knife or a gun, he could have killed Pepper. Gerald could be at the morgue right now, looking at his son’s pale, lifeless body.
The same with the ransom drop fiasco. Pepper should have been nowhere near it. Gerald blamed himself for that one.
No, he had to take his son completely out of the Snatcher situation. The only thing keeping Gerald from pulling the trigger on firing Pepper was that he wanted to talk it over with Don Eisenhower. He respected his lieutenant’s opinion more than anyone he’d ever met. Don would give him his honest, no B.S. opinion.
Then, at lunchtime, Gerald would ask Pepper to join him for lunch. He would order in some sandwiches, lay out all the facts for his son and give him a chance to defend himself.
Then Gerald would fire his son. Damn straight.
But it turned into a hell of a morning for Gerald. The Greenhead Snatcher case had pushed everything else to his back burner, and some of it was now catching fire. Ongoing cases to discuss with the investigators and Don Eisenhower. Phone messages which were long overdue for him to call back. Personnel and equipment decisions to make for next year’s budget. One thing on top of the next.
When he stopped by Pepper’s little office to invite him for a sandwich, he wasn’t at his desk.
Gerald didn’t have time to play hide and seek right now. In a half hour he needed to head with Detective Sweeney to a Snatcher task force meeting at the command center over in Eastham.
Kevin Sweeney could have represented New Albion just fine, normally, but after what had happened last night with Pepper at the Bailey house? No, Gerald was going to be there and didn’t care that a chief of police belonged back at his own station, sitting on his ass.
But Sweeney would be ready to give their update. The best New Albion suspect was still Casper Yelle, who’d slipped his ankle bracelet and hadn’t been located yet. Sweeney was still gathering info on Scooter McCord and other locals who were persons of interest. People without alibis who had means, motive and opportunity, in varying degrees.
Gerald hoped someone among the other jurisdictions—five town police forces, the Barnstable sheriff’s office, the state police and the FBI—had made a breakthrough. Possibly after the incident at the Bailey house?
Gerald couldn’t wait all day for Pepper. He took a yellow sticky note and wrote:
Gone to Command Center. Back by 5 to give you a ride home. We need to talk. Dad.
He stuck the note on the computer screen, pressing the sticky part extra hard to make sure it would stick. Then as an afterthought, he secured the note to the screen with a piece of scotch tape.
It wouldn’t fall and Pepper couldn’t pretend he hadn’t seen it.
Pepper returned from a midday workout at Globe Gym and stopped outside before entering the police station.
He sat on the front steps, not enjoying the sunny July afternoon at all. He was completely frustrated and his workout hadn’t given him the stress release he’d hoped for.
No, he needed to fix things with Delaney Lynn. And then he needed to fix his life, overall.
Pepper had tried to call Delaney this morning and talk to her about the Harvard thing, but she didn’t answer her phone. An hour later, he’d called again and left a long-winded, apologetic message.
An hour after that, he’d texted her. No response.
Sitting on the police station steps, he dialed her number again. It dumped to message. He hung up, totally bummed out, and headed in to his brain-dead database work.
Pepper had almost reached his office cell when he got a call from Ron’s Garage, who had towed his truck from his
house that morning.
“H2O,” said Gabriel Moreno, the mechanic. Gabriel had played youth hockey with Pepper until he’d dropped the sport after their first peewee season when he’d fallen in love with pulling apart old cars and putting them back together. “Your problem’s just regular old water.”
“What?” asked Pepper, thinking he’d misheard. Two officers were having a loud conversation right behind him. Pepper walked into his office, closing the door to block them out.
“You got water in your gas tank and it got into the cylinder. The piston can’t rotate, so no fuel combustion, no compression, no nothing.”
Perfect! Goddamn water in his gas tank? What else would go wrong this week? He didn’t have money for this crap—he was close to broke already.
Gabriel went on talking. “I’ll drain the fuel tank and put in new filters…hopefully I won’t have to take the tank off. I should have it back on the road tomorrow morning.”
Pepper swore, then asked, “Did the water get in through some kind of leak in the tank?” He was picturing a huge repair bill. “Will this keep happening?”
“No, I think we’ve got someone running around town with a sick sense of humor. It’s rare to get so much water in a gas tank. Must have been a few gallons. The weird thing is, it’s the second time this week I’ve seen it. Totally crazy.” The mechanic paused, then added, “By the way, the other car with water in its gas tank was a Volkswagen Bug that belonged to the teen who got kidnapped—Emma Addison? You think the nut who snatched her could have messed with both your rides? If not, it’s a hell of a coincidence…”
Pepper sat at his desk, stewing.
He knew there was no damn way it was a coincidence. The Greenhead Snatcher must have screwed with his truck—as payback for stopping him at the Bailey house? Or to slow him down? Both?
Little did the kidnapper know, Pepper was trying to back away from the damned case anyway. Everything he’d did on the Greenhead Snatcher case got him into trouble, and none of it got them any closer to finding the poor kidnapped girls. It was time for Pepper to leave the investigation to the so-called pros.
He noticed his dad’s note taped to his monitor. He decided he’d take his dad up on the offer of a ride home. Then he’d ask to borrow his dad’s SUV and drive to Delaney’s apartment. He owed her a full explanation about Harvard. He hadn’t lied to her, but he was ashamed that he hadn’t told her about his plans. Although the way he was feeling lately, maybe he wouldn’t stick to the college and hockey plan.
He sat thinking about that idea some more and felt a growing excitement in his chest. He already had a great Plan B—Nashville with Delaney. Even without the industry connections of poor Dennis Cole (wherever the hell Cole was, dead or at least brutally wounded?), going to Nashville was still a legitimate option. He and Delaney could work hard and make their own break.
Only two things had made Pepper completely happy that summer: being around Delaney and performing on stage. So maybe being a professional musician was the right future for him, after all.
Pepper took out his phone and texted Delaney: Need 2 talk. I have big news for u. And us.
Sending the text felt great. His new Plan B absolutely seemed right.
Then embarrassment flared up—what would he do about Harvard? He could picture breaking the news to them: Sorry, someone else will have to be last in the class and slowest on the hockey team.
Maybe Harvard wouldn’t care a bit. They must have endless candidates for his spot. They might be relieved if their weakest link did the right thing and walked away.
The harder part for Pepper would be breaking the news to his dad: Sorry, I quit. And I’m skipping the college thing. And I’m definitely never going to be a cop. Pepper knew it would probably hurt his dad more than anything he’d ever said to him. Letting down a three-generation Ryan tradition…
But Jake would be a cop—he’d keep the miserable tradition alive. He’d be the good son for both of them. Pepper would try to find a gentle way to break the news to his dad.
Pepper sat, full of mixed emotions, getting absolutely no work done. He was just thinking and planning. And the more he thought, the more his trepidation turned to excitement.
Then he got a text back from Delaney around four: U saying Scooter is wrong about harvard?
It shocked Pepper. Scooter McCord? How the hell did he even know who Pepper was, let alone that he was heading off to Harvard this fall? Sure, Scooter had lurked around his table in Delaney’s section. Had he gotten jealous? Pepper pictured Delaney talking him up in front of Scooter to get the assistant manager to leave her alone. Then Scooter digging around about him and spilling the college news to upset Delaney.
Pepper needed to talk to her face to face. Then he’d love the chance to do the same with Scooter McCord…
He texted Delaney again: Can I see u 2 explain?
A few minutes later, the response:
Ok come over. Better b good!
Pepper quickly responded, promising he’d be over right after work.
He absolutely couldn’t wait to make things okay again with Delaney.
Pepper spent the afternoon feeding the database. A slow torture. In the back of his head, he was thinking about Delaney Lynn and what he’d tell her.
Five o’clock passed. Then 5:15. His dad was goddamn late…again! Making the score: the badge 99–the son 0. Pepper texted his dad, got no answer. Pepper completely understood how important the Snatcher case was. No debate there. But his dad couldn’t take ten seconds to text back?
Pepper sent another text to his dad and again got no answer. 5:25. Shit. His dad had probably gone for coffee with one of his law enforcement buddies. Or dinner.
By 5:35, Pepper’s nervousness about Delaney had burned off and been replaced by anger. His dad hadn’t returned to the station yet and still hadn’t responded to any of Pepper’s texts. And Pepper’s chance to make things right with Delaney was slipping away…
That’s when he decided he was getting the hell out of there immediately.
Back in April when Pepper had begun his cadet job, his dad had specifically ordered him to never take home a work vehicle. It would look like shit, he had explained, like Pepper was taking advantage of the Ryan name. Abusing the public trust. All that stuff.
But Pepper was too pissed at his dad to worry about consequences.
He checked the motor pool pegboard behind the duty desk and saw the keys for two police cars. One of them was the brand-new SUV—the Ford Explorer Police Interceptor model—only one week old. Probably didn’t even smell like vomit yet. So he grabbed the keys.
He didn’t really give a shit how mad his dad would get. He had to get to Delaney’s and was tired of wasting the little money he had on taxis when this situation was his dad’s fault. Once again, Pepper was the afterthought.
What would his dad do when he found out he’d borrowed a patrol car? Fire him?
Oh, please… Pepper could only be so lucky.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Emma Bailey whispered her new plan to New Emma during their bathroom time.
Their kidnapper was fairly far away, giving them space. The man was wearing the dumb Shrek mask again, which hid his screwed-up lip. Emma hoped it hurt like hell.
She was amazed the man hadn’t mentioned what she’d done to him. He was acting as if she hadn’t bitten his lip off. Why?
If Shrek could hear her and New Emma whispering while Emma peed, he didn’t say anything. He seemed frazzled. And jumpy. Like this whole thing was wearing on him.
Good.
The girls shuffled back from the toilet chair and New Emma picked up food, but Emma didn’t. She just took a sip of the drugged water. She still wasn’t giving in on the food thing. She still wanted to stay on the offensive. So she started carrying out the plan she’d whispered to New Emma.
“I’m sorry I bit your lip,” Emma said. She made sure to really sound sorry. “You surprised me—it was like a reflex.”
The
man didn’t respond, but at least he was looking at her.
“I hope you can forgive me,” she continued. “And if you don’t want even more blood around here, can you please get us some stuff?”
This time Shrek responded. “What?”
“My period’s about to start. I get it super bad. Did you stock up any feminine hygiene supplies?”
“Ah, no.” The man seemed embarrassed.
“Oh yeah, it’s gonna get bad soon. It starts slow, then it’ll get even worse than your lip. A few more days and then it peters out. Emma’s gonna need them too, I bet. Pretty soon. We need you to buy small, medium and large maxi pads. The same for tampons—small, medium and large. And five bottles of Summer’s Eve.”
“Summer’s Eve?”
Emma laughed. “You don’t even want to know. Let’s just say, I’m guessing you don’t, like, want us all infected down there below the belt. Right?”
Emma’s hope was that a guy with a ripped-up face who bought such a weird combination of feminine care products might attract some attention from the checkout clerk. Half of the Cape was looking for them, she had to believe that. Would the clerk think Shrek’s purchases were weird? Maybe say something to the cops?
“We’d really appreciate it,” said New Emma, playing along like Emma had coached her. The girl even smiled a little, for the first time Emma had seen.
“Oh,” Emma added. “And get, like, half a dozen things of ladies deodorant.” Ramping things up… “Sorry, I’m getting ripe already.”
The man in the van was frustrated as he drove through the Cape Cod afternoon. He was between a rock and a damn hard place, and he needed to do something about it.
He needed to get going with part two of the plan, but he freaking couldn’t. He had failed to grab the third girl, Jessica Little, despite multiple attempts. First the nosy neighbors and now the Littles’ house was completely dark. Like they’d gone away somewhere. And they hadn’t collected their mail. Had they gone on a freaking vacation? Or were they overreacting to the news stories and had taken their daughter out of town for safety? It was ridiculous, but possible. What were those called—helicopter parents? Tough to say.
Kill Tide Page 20
