But Not For Love, page 18
part #9 of Clint Wolf Series
“Oh, shit!” he grumbled, clearly startled. “I didn’t see you coming.”
“No, it was my fault.” I reached down and retrieved the bucket. “I’ll bring this to Susan. She was asking for water.”
The sheriff nodded and whirled around. I returned to Susan’s side. She had moved back into her chair and took the bucket with a grateful sigh. After taking a few deep breaths and blowing them out forcefully, she reached for my arm and nodded.
“I think it passed. I’m feeling better now.” She turned to Abel. “Thank you so much. I think I’m going to be okay.”
The sheriff came lumbering back into the room holding a glass of water between his thick hands.
“Here you go,” he said, handing it over.
I’d barely taken the glass from him when he spun around and hurried to the corner of the table where Walter Garner’s unguarded fingerprint card was. He froze in place as he stared down at the print. I realized immediately what the problem was—in my haste to leave the room, I’d forgotten to flip the print card back over. The sheriff turned slowly and fixed me with suspicious eyes. I simply nodded. After a long moment, he returned the print card to the evidence envelope and shoved it inside his coat.
“Is she going to be okay?” he asked, nodding in Susan’s direction. “Maybe I should call an ambulance and have her brought to our hospital, considering how bad things looked for a moment there.”
“No, I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” Susan said. “I feel better now. Thanks for offering, though.”
After hesitating for a long moment, Sheriff Chandler walked away.
I stared at the empty doorway, wondering why he was so secretive about the print card. Was he hiding something? Was he lying about the print not matching? If so, why on earth would he do that? Was Walter Garner somehow related to him—?
I sucked in my breath as I heard the exterior door open and close, indicating that the sheriff had left the building. I turned quickly to Abel and again thanked him for his time. I then turned to Susan. “We have to head back home right away.”
Sensing something was going on, Susan thanked Abel and followed me out into the cold night air. As I walked briskly across the parking lot, I texted the photos of Walter’s print card to Mallory and asked that she have a fingerprint examiner compare it to our evidence. When I looked up, I saw that the sheriff was just reaching his truck.
Good, he hasn’t left yet! I thought.
“We need to follow him,” I told Susan as we walked past the sheriff’s vehicle. “He’s definitely hiding something and I think he’ll lead us straight to Walter.”
The sheriff dragged himself up onto the driver’s seat of his truck and shut the door. I waited for the engine to crank, but it didn’t. Susan and I were just reaching the Tahoe when his door opened and he stepped out again.
What the hell?
Without looking in our direction, he grumbled, lowered his head, and headed back toward the entrance to his building. I suddenly realized he hadn’t bothered to lock his truck. When he disappeared inside the sheriff’s department, I jogged across the parking lot. Susan cocked her head to the side and watched as I opened the front passenger door.
“What are you up to, Clint Wolf?”
“The good sheriff is lying.”
“Yeah, I figured, but that doesn’t mean he’s a killer.”
“No, but he’s covering for one.” The back floorboard was littered with fast food wrappers, junk mail, empty beer cans, and other trash. I rifled through the garbage, not sure what I was looking for. When I didn’t find anything that looked interesting, I moved to the front passenger seat, stopping often to look toward the sheriff’s department building to make sure Sheriff Chandler wasn’t returning. I checked the glove compartment first. Other than a registration and insurance card in the name of Buckheed County, there wasn’t much to look through.
After glancing toward the sheriff’s department again to be sure the sheriff hadn’t reappeared, I hurried around the truck and began digging around on the driver’s side. Susan was standing in the open space between my Tahoe and the sheriff’s truck and I could see she didn’t approve of what I was doing.
“He’s got no expectation of privacy in a government vehicle,” I explained, thinking it sounded good anyway. “Besides, he left it unlocked, so he was basically inviting me to look inside.”
“What are you even looking for?”
“I’m not sure, but I think he’s definitely hiding something, and I believe it’s got something to do with Walter Garner.” I lifted the floor mat and ran my hand across the dirty carpet, but there was nothing that even resembled evidence. “Maybe Walter’s related to him—a stepson, nephew, cousin—and Chandler might be running interference for him. Nothing else can explain why he’s so secretive when it comes to Walter’s print.”
“Do you really think he’s hiding Walter?”
“I do.” I pulled out of the truck and closed the door, stopping to consider my options for a second. I studied the road in front of the sheriff’s department and scowled. “Sue, can I see your phone?”
Without hesitation, Susan plucked her cell phone from her back pocket and handed it over. Knowing it was in a protective case, I tossed it into the back of the sheriff’s pickup truck. I then hurried to my Tahoe, leaving my stunned wife staring wide-eyed after me.
“Let’s go,” I said, rushing around to the driver’s door. “We need to get down the block before he comes outside.”
“But what about my phone?” Susan slipped into the passenger seat. “Why in God’s name would you throw it in the back of his truck? Why didn’t you throw your phone back there?”
My phone dinged and I glanced down at the screen. It was a text message from Mallory saying she’d received the print. She also said she’d attended Cassandra’s autopsy and, based upon the angles of the knife strikes, the coroner determined that Cassandra had been stabbed by someone who was about five-six.
I tossed Susan my phone. “This is why I didn’t use my phone.”
Susan’s lips moved as she read the message. She pursed her lips when she was done. “There’s no way Nikia killed her. He’s over six feet tall.”
“Yep.” I pointed to my phone. “Log into your account and pull up the tracking feature. There’s no traffic on these roads, so the sheriff will see us from miles away if we start following him. We’ll have to give him a big lead, which means we’d definitely lose him, so we’ll have to use your phone to track him.”
Susan was chewing on her bottom lip. Finally, she said, “Okay, let’s do it. He’s definitely acting strange.”
“And we’ll get your phone back, I swear to—”
“Hey, stop right there!” boomed a voice from the building. “What the hell is going on out here?”
CHAPTER 36
I dropped from my Tahoe and turned to face the sheriff, who was stomping toward us. Even in the darkness I could see that his face was red with anger and the insides of his bushy eyebrows were angled downward toward his nose.
“Why were you walking from my truck?” he demanded to know. “What’s going on out here?”
“Don’t you find your rear tire is a little low?” I pointed toward the back of his truck. “I imagine it would be dangerous to get a blowout on these mountain roads.”
Sheriff Chandler glanced toward his tire. His fists were clenched and he was breathing hard. Finally, he scowled. “I guess it does seem a little low.”
I stepped forward and stuck out my hand. “I appreciate your help with the print, even though it was a waste of everyone’s time.”
“Don’t think I don’t know what you did.” His features hardened. “It would be best if you got the hell out of my county.”
I fixed him with a hard stare of my own. There was a different look in his eyes from earlier, and I wondered what was going on within the walls of his thick noggin. Before turning away, I relaxed and said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but thanks again for the help.”
Hoping my actions hadn’t raised his suspicions to the point of making him overly cautious, I slipped into my Tahoe and found Susan working feverishly on my phone.
“I sure hope this tracking thing is accurate,” she mumbled. “I’ve never used it before.”
“I hope it is, too,” I said under my breath, not wanting to lose her phone. I fired up the engine and cold air immediately began blowing from the vents. Shivering, I turned down the blower and was about to put my vehicle in gear when the sheriff whisked out of the parking lot in front of us. By the time I’d pulled up to the edge of the highway, the lights from his vehicle were out of sight.
“He’s definitely in a hurry,” Susan said, looking up from my phone. “You might very well be on to something. I hate to admit it, but I’m glad you used my phone as a tracker. There’s no way we’d be able to follow him covertly at that speed.”
I was about to drive away when a rectangle of light appeared in my rearview mirror and I looked up to see the door to the sheriff’s department open. I twisted around in my seat and saw Abel staring wildly about the parking lot.
“What’s he doing?” I asked.
Susan turned to see what I was looking at. “He looks frantic.”
I quickly backed toward the building and Susan and I jumped out when I brought my vehicle to a lurching stop.
“Which way did he go?” As he spoke, Abel’s breath drifted like a cloud in front of his face. “The sheriff—which way did he go?”
“He went that way.” I pointed down the road that ran beside the jail—the same road we had come in on. “Is something wrong?”
“He must be heading home.” Abel quickly locked the door to the sheriff’s department and turned back toward me. “Can you drive? I need to use my phone on the way.”
“What’s going on?” I was a little suspicious. Could they be setting us up? Did they know we were on to them? The sheriff was definitely acting shady and we were strangers on his turf. “Why are you in such a hurry?”
“I’ll explain on the way. It’s a matter of life and death.”
I hesitated for a brief second, but relented when I stared into Abel’s eyes. He was genuinely worried about something. I gave Susan a nod and we all piled into my Tahoe, with Susan allowing Abel to sit in the front so she could watch him from the back seat. At Abel’s instruction, I headed down the road in the direction we’d last seen the sheriff. Susan had tucked my phone away so Abel wouldn’t realize what was going on. For the moment, we were content to rely on him for directions to the sheriff’s location.
“So, what’s going on?” I sped down the country road. “What’s a matter of life or death?”
“I think the sheriff’s gonna commit suicide.”
I was instantly alert, and I saw Susan lean forward.
“What makes you think that?” Susan asked. “He seemed fine a few minutes ago.”
Abel reached in his pocket and pulled out a badge and commission card wallet. He slammed them on the center console. “Sheriff Chandler walked into the dispatcher’s office and placed these on the table. He told our dispatcher he was tired. He said it was all over, and then he just walked out the door. The dispatcher came and got me and told me what happened. I tried calling him, but his phone goes straight to voicemail.”
“What did he mean when he said it was all over?” I asked.
“I don’t know for sure.” Abel let out a long sigh. “But I think I have a good idea.”
I came to an intersection in the road—it was a faded blacktop road with huge cracks and a narrow shoulder—and stopped, looking to the left and right. We had driven up into the mountains and were surrounded by dense forestland, so there were no landmarks in sight. Additionally, there were no street signs and all of the roads looked identical.
“Which way?” I asked Abel.
He pointed to the left. “Head that way for about ten miles, and then take a right on the first forest road you reach.”
I jerked the steering wheel to the left and gunned the engine. We began a steady ascent up the mountain. The trees to our immediate left disappeared and gave way to an utter blackness below. The windows were all up, but I could hear a distant roar and knew it was a river. My headlights did little to illuminate the road ahead of us and I had to pay special attention not to go off the edge. I wouldn’t relish a tumble down those rocks on a good day when I was alone, but to have my pregnant wife with me? That thought was just terrifying.
CHAPTER 37
“So, what do you think your sheriff is up to?” My voice cut through the silence like a shotgun blast. “Why do you think he’s going to kill himself?”
He sighed. “It’s a long story.”
“We’ve got time,” I said simply.
“Years ago, about a week after Walter Garner killed Ian Eastman, the sheriff’s daughter was the victim of domestic violence. It was her husband and he beat her pretty good.” As Abel talked, he tried to reach the sheriff by phone again. He scowled and put the phone away when the sheriff didn’t answer. “The way it happened was like this here…the sheriff, two of our SWAT guys, and I were on the hunt for Garner when the sheriff pulls up at this old bar. He goes inside and comes out about five minutes later saying he got a tip from an informant who claimed to know where Garner was hiding.
“Without telling us exactly where we were going, he sped out of town, heading east. We hadn’t gone two miles yet when he gets a call from his ex-wife saying their daughter had been brought to the hospital in critical condition. It seems a neighbor had found her in the front yard of her house. From what we knew, she had been beaten up pretty bad by her husband—and she was pregnant.” Abel shook his head. “I swear, I thought we were goners that day. Without saying a word, the sheriff whipped around, nearly putting us on two wheels, and drove back to town like the devil was on our asses.”
Although it was cool in my Tahoe, Abel wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. “When we pulled up at the hospital, the sheriff jumped out while the unit was still moving.” He grunted. “I had to jump across the seat and hit the brake pedal with my hand.”
“Who was the husband?” I asked.
“Some punk kid named Gill Pratt. He was a local street rat. We all knew he’d never amount to anything, and we were right. I sure never figured he’d end up with the sheriff’s daughter.”
“What happened with the search for Garner while this was going on?” I wanted to know. “Did the sheriff’s tip ever pan out?”
“Well, we didn’t know the details of the tip and the sheriff was a bit preoccupied that day and the next, so we never got to talk with him about it. We went back to the bar and tried to find out who had offered up the information, but no one would talk. We did what we could, but it wasn’t much. We went back to searching the general area.
“While we were out and about, we heard over the radio that the sheriff was sending a team to Pratt’s house to arrest him for attempted murder. Later that night, we found out the sheriff roughed Pratt up at the county jail, and that served to benefit Pratt. When he appeared before the judge the next morning, the judge took one look at his mangled face and released him on his own recognizance.”
Abel stopped talking and pointed through the darkness to an opening in the trees to the right. It was barely visible in my headlights. “That’s the mountain road I was telling you about.”
I turned right as directed and asked Abel what had become of the search for Garner. I didn’t really care about the Gill Pratt case, because I didn’t think it had anything to do with Walter Garner or our reason for being there.
“Well, it was about another week after Pratt’s arrest and we were still looking for Garner,” Abel said. “We came close to catching him one night, but he somehow broke through our net and got away clean, which was frustrating. As for the sheriff’s daughter, she had made it out of the hospital and her baby was going to be fine, but Pratt was still walking the streets as a free man.” Abel paused to lick his lips and then continued. “So, we’re driving up and down the county searching for Garner when we get a report that someone locates a body in the forest east of town near the river. We all thought our search had finally come to a close. But when we got to the scene, we discovered that the dead guy was actually Gill Pratt. It freaked us all out, especially when we realized that Pratt had been stabbed to death just like Ian and Tammy.”
“No kidding?” I asked.
“No kidding.” Abel shifted in his seat and tried to call Sheriff Chandler again, but met with the same results. I could tell he was getting nervous, because his voice was strained when he continued talking. “The sheriff didn’t like Pratt—and I didn’t blame him—so he only pulled one detective away from the search for Garner to work Pratt’s murder. It raised a few eyebrows, but I was too busy to read much into it at the time. Hell, I don’t think I got ten hours of sleep during the entire search.”
I glanced in my rearview mirror when I caught movement from Susan.
“Are you telling me right now that none of y’all suspected the sheriff of killing Pratt?” she asked.
“I’m not gonna lie, most of us thought it had to be the sheriff—considering he had attacked Pratt while he was in custody—but none of us cared much at the time. We were all focused on capturing Garner before he killed any more people.”
“Well, we know how the search for Garner turned out,” Susan said, “but did y’all catch the person who killed Pratt?”
“We found some surveillance footage in Pratt’s neighborhood that showed a man approaching Pratt’s house the night before we found his body.” Abel twisted in his seat so Susan could hear, too. “The man was seen slipping into Pratt’s back yard and he was wearing a mask. About thirty minutes later, a light goes on in the kitchen window. Another thirty minutes go by and the garage door opens. The man reappears still wearing the mask and walks back up the street, where he apparently got into a truck and drove back to the garage. The garage door closed and everything was quiet for about fifteen minutes, at which time it opened again and the truck left. There was no activity at the house again until our deputy drove up to secure the scene after we found Pratt’s body.”
