by S F Bose
I hollered, “Haas” and stopped to listen. All I heard was silence. When I reached the picnic table, I looked for any light in the woods to my left. All I saw was the inky night. The woods to the north and east also didn’t reveal any lights. Could he be out in the deeper forest for some reason?
I turned right and walked toward the fire pit and chairs. The back of my neck tingled. Something was wrong. I stopped.
“Haas!” I shouted again and listened closely. Then I heard a low sound behind me. Spinning around, I snapped the flashlight off and pulled my Glock 19. I crouched down and listened. I heard it again. A low moan drifted back to me from the woods west of the cabin. I cursed the fact that I didn’t have night vision goggles. In order to hear better, I pulled my knit hat off and dropped it on the ground. Hearing nothing, I moved forward a few feet and stopped again.
“Haas?” I shouted again. Another low moan ahead and to my right. I couldn’t see a thing. Instead of using the flashlight and revealing my position, I took a deep breath and walked slowly toward the tree line. Then I crouched again and listened. I heard raspy breaths nearby.
Every nerve in my body was on edge. I needed more light to see who was out there. I tucked the tactical light between the forefinger and middle finger of my left hand. Then I used my left hand to help support the Glock in my right hand. The tactical light pointed forward and was below the gun barrel.
I advanced with my gun up. When I reached the tree line, I clicked the flashlight on with my left thumb. I swept the area ahead with the light. Then I saw a body on the ground, five feet away.
I moved forward until I reached the body. It was Jeff Haas. He was laying on his right side and his breathing was labored. Dropping to my knees next to him, I set my Glock down on the ground. When I checked his neck, I found a strong pulse. Thank God, I thought.
I shined the tactical light on Jeff. His hat was gone, his face was pale, and there was blood on the back of his head and on the snow. I quickly ran the light up and down his body, but didn’t see any more blood
“Jeff, it’s Liz. Can you hear me?” I asked loudly. He just groaned. I thought about rolling him over on his back but decided against it. I was about to call his name again when I heard a sound behind me and I froze.
“Finn?” I called out. No answer. I kept the flashlight on Jeff and reached back for the Glock I’d set on the ground. It was gone. Then I felt cold metal pressed into the back of my neck. I looked at Jeff and thought I saw his left eye open and close. His holster was underneath him. I wondered if he still had his gun.
“Get up,” a raspy voice said behind me. Male. Did I know that voice? “Raise your hands. No funny stuff.”
I stood up slowly. I still held the tactical light in my hand and the beam bounced around as I rose. When I was standing, I raised both hands.
“Who are you?” I asked feeling more than a little pissed.
Ignoring my question, the man said in a hoarse voice, “Back to the cabin.” I had christened him “Raspy” in my mind.
“We can’t leave him here.” I gestured at Jeff Haas. “We have to get him inside!” Jeff looked so cold and helpless.
“Listen to me very carefully. If you don’t cooperate, I can shoot you right here. It’s your choice. The officer is on his own. Back to the cabin!” the man repeated. He had a British accent.
Reluctantly, I turned away from Jeff Haas. I tried to catch a glimpse of the enemy, but he stayed behind me.
“I have to use the light,” I said.
“Point it at the ground. Head for the back door.”
As I walked, I swept the ground with the beam. He moved the muzzle of the gun to the middle of my back. I briefly considered doing a quick spin, snap kick to one leg, and smashing my fist into his face. However, the darkness and small tactical light added up to bad odds. So I waited.
When we got to the back door, he whispered, “Open it.”
I opened the screen door and held it open with my left arm. “I have to knock. The inside door is locked.” I clicked off the light but kept it in my hand.
“Then knock.” He moved to my right, out of sight. “Nothing funny or you’re dead.”
I pounded on the door. “It’s me, Finn. Let me in.”
Seconds later, I heard the lock snap and Finn grunting as he pulled at the door. It finally opened with a rush and Finn looked at me in surprise.
“Where’s the cop?” he asked. Raspy lunged forward and shoved me through the door into Finn. Finn flew backwards and fell to the floor. I tried to keep my footing, but I tripped and followed Finn to the floor. The tactical light went flying out of my hand. I rolled over on my back and then slowly sat up. Finn lay on the floor next to me swearing.
Raspy tossed a backpack to the floor. Soon, he was swearing too because he couldn’t close the back door. Keeping both eyes on us, he pushed against the door with his back but it wouldn’t close. He pulled the door open again and glanced down at the lock. In frustration, he backed up and kicked the outside of the wooden door hard with his left boot. The door snapped back against the wall and drifted halfway back. I felt cold air streaming in through the screen door.
Raspy faced us with his gun. He was breathing hard and anger radiated from him.
“Up!” he shouted.
Finn struggled to his feet. I pulled myself up and stood farther away from Finn, shifting into a relaxed fighting stance.
Raspy swung his gun between Finn and me. It looked like a Glock 17 with a five inch silencer screwed on. I swore silently. Seventeen rounds in that gun.
I slowed my mind down and turned my attention to Raspy. He was six feet tall, dressed in a short, black ski jacket, black pants, heavy boots, and gloves. He wore a black fleece skullcap with a facemask that covered everything from the bridge of his nose to his throat. The facemask had a narrow slit for his eyes, but he wore tinted gray glasses under the mask, so I couldn’t see his eyes. Night vision goggles hung around his neck.
I stared at him. Was this our Mystery Man? The body build and British accent didn’t belong to Ben or Damian Fletcher. Mark Sweet was safely in custody. There were no clues to his identity. I couldn’t see if Raspy had a white or gray beard and mustache. I couldn’t even see his eyebrows.
“Inside,” Raspy said in that hoarse voice. He was smart enough to keep his distance. To disarm him, I had to get closer. Redirect the gun arm, control the weapon, attack the assailant, and take away the gun. I repeated the steps in my mind like a mantra. I had to get this guy to relax and let his guard down
***
Exhaling, I turned and went into the living room. I glanced back at Finn and gave a slight shake of my head. I still had an ankle gun and Finn had the Kahr in his pocket. However, I didn’t want him to try anything. We walked back to the couch. I heard Raspy slam the inside door shut between the sunroom and living room
“Stop,” the man barked. “Turn around.”
Turning to face him, we watched him put his backpack on one of the easy chairs.
“Put your guns on the table. Take them out with thumb and forefinger or I’ll shoot you,” he said. I focused on his voice. Raspy had a clipped British accent and sounded educated.
“You have my gun,” I said evenly.
“It’s never wise to lie to me, Liz. Ankle gun. Table. Now!” He knew my name.
Swearing silently, I leaned down and slid the Glock 42 out with my thumb and forefinger. I set it down in the middle of the coffee table.
“Your turn,” Raspy said, shifting his eyes to Finn.
“I don’t have a gun.”
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Finn.”
“Your full name,” Raspy snapped.
“Finnegan Daley.”
“Amazing! So you are Finnegan Daley. Unbelievable. You’re Irish?”
“Yes, I am.” Finn kept his voice even.
“I loathe the Irish. You made the blackmail call to Mr. Fletcher?”
“It wasn’t a blackmail call,” F
inn replied.
Raspy’s voice tightened. “Are you married, Mr. Daley?”
“No.”
“Got a girlfriend?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” Finn challenged.
“I’m trying to figure out if anyone will care, if I kill you,” Raspy replied.
That hung in the air between us. There was no emotion in his voice at all.
“Finn,” I said quietly. He stared at Raspy and nodded.
“Okay, right pocket,” said Finn. He reached his hand into his pants pocket and slowly pulled out the Kahr in its pocket holster. He put it on the table and stepped back.
“Sit down,” said Raspy. I took off my parka and threw it on the end of the couch. As we sat down, Raspy unzipped the backpack, and slid the Kahr and Glock into it. After zipping the backpack closed again, Raspy dumped it on the floor near the fireplace.
“What happened to Haas?” Finn asked me quietly.
“He’s at the edge of the woods west of the house, beyond the picnic table.”
“Dead?”
“No, but he needs help. He was knocked out and his head was bleeding.” I kept my eyes on Raspy, watching his movement and mannerisms.
“The officer was in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Raspy said.
“He’s going to die out there.” I couldn’t hide the anger in my voice. Raspy waved his left hand dismissively.
“I don’t care. I have no interest in him.”
He paced slowly back and forth behind the easy chairs, looking down at the floor. I watched him closely and the only thing I noticed was a hitch in his gait. He unzipped his jacket halfway revealing a black, turtleneck sweater. Raspy was dressed for cold weather.
As he walked, Raspy swung the Glock with its long silencer. He pulled the night vision goggles over his head and tossed them on the floor. Then he stood and looked at us.
“Who are you? What’s your name?” I asked, knowing he wouldn’t tell the truth. However, I wanted to hear his voice again.
“My name is not important. All you need to know is that I am a seeker of truth. I am also the hand of vengeance. Someone has retained me in both capacities.”
I felt a wave of dread. He sounded unhinged. Logic doesn’t work with the unhinged. “Who retained you?” I asked and he just shook his head. Then he sat in one of the easy chairs and crossed his legs. The gun rested on his leg.
“Don’t do this,” Finn said quietly.
“You shut up!” Raspy shouted, shifting the Glock and pointing it at Finn. “I know all about you. You’re sleeping with another man’s wife! In due time, you are going to pay for that transgression.” He took a deep breath and lowered the Glock.
I glanced at Finn. His face was as red as his hair and his hands had balled up into fists.
I looked back at Raspy. He was the same height as Damian Fletcher but his upper body and shoulders seemed bigger. The voice, accent, and speech patterns were also completely different. However, he knew about Finn and Sherrie. There was only one answer.
“Damian Fletcher hired you,” I said flatly.
Raspy looked at me and didn’t react. I stared at the gray lenses of his glasses.
“Why do you think Finn is sleeping with another man’s wife?” I finally asked.
Raspy tapped the Glock on his leg. “Since we don’t have a lot of time, I’ll be candid. Mr. Fletcher did hire me. He found his wife’s secret phone with the text messages and voicemails from him.” Raspy nodded in Finn’s direction.
“Is Sherrie all right?” asked Finn.
“Right as rain.” Raspy’s voice was hard.
“If you or Fletcher have hurt her in any way —" Finn growled.
“You’ll what? What will you do, little man?” Raspy shouted and jumped up. He stepped forward until he was at the coffee table and pointed the Glock at Finn. Finn glared back. My heart jumped. Raspy’s anger was electric.
“So what do you want from us?” I asked quietly. Raspy slowly turned his head toward me.
“What do I want? Okay, first things first. I want the Civil War letter.” Raspy lowered the Glock.
I smiled. “I can get it for you.”
“Please, Liz, don’t waste my time. I saw the two of you leave the Emporium earlier. I know the letter was in the bag and you brought it here. Mr. Fletcher wants the letter almost more than he wants Mr. Daley to die. Where is it?”
I sighed. “I guarantee you’ll never find the letter on your own. Before I give it to you, I want to know the whole story. You’ve obviously outsmarted us. You have the gun so what can it hurt to tell us? How did you even find us?” I asked.
Raspy tilted his head as he looked at me. “You swear you have the letter here?”
“I swear that I have the letter.”
Raspy exhaled and fell back into one of the easy chairs. “You seriously can’t figure out how I found you?” The British accent was almost mesmerizing.
I shook my head, thinking of how anyone could have followed us here. Then it hit me. “Wait, you bugged my car?”
“Bingo. GPS tracker on the frame under the car where you wouldn’t see it.”
“Did you bug anyone else’s vehicle?”
Raspy shrugged. “Nolan’s Jeep and Sweet’s Chrysler. Mr. Fletcher took care of Mrs. Fletcher’s vehicle. If I had known his identity sooner, I would have tracked him too.” Raspy glared at Finn.
“I get the others, but why Sweet’s car?” Raspy started to say something and stopped.
Then he said, “I had my reasons.”
Dangerous territory. Move on. “Well, that was pretty smart. You could track all of us on a computer then. So, when Damian got the call from Finn…”
Raspy grunted. “After the call ended, he contacted me and we discussed it. He checked the tracking software and saw that you and Nolan were at the police station and Mr. Sweet was at his home. It set off alarms and we concluded the blackmail threat was likely a trap.”
“What did Sweet have to do with it?” I asked.
“Mr. Fletcher was convinced that Mr. Sweet was trying to somehow incriminate him in the Justin Church murder.”
That surprised me. “Why would he think that?”
“I think there was bad blood between them. At any rate, he would not let go of that concern,” Raspy replied.
“Okay, go on,” I prompted.
“Mr. Fletcher thought that perhaps Mr. Sweet had the letter and was planning to blackmail him with it. I disagreed and suggested it was more likely the parents had found the letter. Frankly, I was concerned they had already turned it over to the police. However, Mr. Fletcher said the caller, who I now know was Mr. Finnegan Daley here, said he was picking up the letter later in the day. That would be an absurd thing to say if you already had the original letter. I took that at face value and raced over to stake out the police department.”
“Okay then what?” I asked.
“When I saw the two of you leave the building, I decided to follow you.” Raspy glanced at Finn and back at me. “If the two of you drove to Mr. Sweet’s house or office, then I’d know he probably had the letter and was the blackmailer. But you didn’t go to see Mr. Sweet, did you?”
I forced a smile. “Okay, so you followed us to the Emporium, saw we left with a bag, assumed it contained the letter, and followed us back here?”
“There was no doubt in my mind that you had the letter. I didn’t have to follow you. I just checked the tracker application to make sure you weren’t going back to the police department. When you didn’t, I went to get my backpack and raced my motorcycle back to the meadow and waited for you.”
The thought that Raspy had been hiding out in the meadow behind the coach house angered me. But I forced myself to stay calm. I had to keep him talking. Hopefully, Deputy Haas would revive and call in for reinforcements. “Motorcycle,” I repeated. “That’s how you were able to follow us so easily.”
“It helped.”
“You tried to burn the Emporium down?”
Raspy grunted. “Indeed, that was me. However, it was the result of Mr. Fletcher’s fears. When you and Sam Nolan paid a visit to Mr. Fletcher, it greatly increased his anxiety. It was clear from the note you showed him, that someone was trying to set him up for Justin Church’s murder. Then you mentioned the Bible that Justin carried around with him. Mr. Fletcher thought the letter might be hidden inside it. I also thought that was possible. But then something happened to set him off.”
“What?” I replied.
“You told him the parents were still searching for the Bible. He was very upset about that and didn’t want Justin Church’s parents or anyone else to see the letter. If they found the Bible, he was increasingly convinced they’d find the letter. He said there were a million places to hide a book in the Emporium. He doubted I could find it, if I broke in. But he was afraid the parents would have better luck. So he told me to torch the Emporium and burn it to the ground. If the Bible and letter were inside, they’d be incinerated. I planned it out and hid enough accelerant in some bushes the night before. The next night I had just started on the backside of the building when a man interrupted me. I made my escape on the motorcycle.”
“Why try to burn the house down when Peter and Martha were inside?” I asked.
Raspy shrugged. “They rarely leave the Emporium. They both live there and work there. I had no choice.”
I bit back my anger. “Then what?”
“After failing to burn down the Emporium, I convinced Mr. Fletcher it would be better to let the parents find the Bible. If they did, there was a chance they wouldn’t find the letter, if it was hidden in the Bible. If I called periodically about bibles, maybe they’d sell it to me if they did find it. Eventually, Mr. Fletcher agreed.”
“Why did you think they’d sell their son’s Bible?”
He shrugged. “They also might not want it because of their son’s death. It was worth a try.”
That didn’t make aby sense, but I shifted gears. “Did you follow me on the road out to the B&B that night?”
He shook his head. “That was Mr. Fletcher. He told me about it and was amused that he had scared you.” I stifled a denial that I had been scared in any way.
