LET ME BREATHE, page 18
Getting away with killing Colleen could have bolstered Jarvis’s confidence, spurring him to embark on a murder spree.
Wyatt edged open the unlocked screened door and knocked on the white-painted wooden door standing behind.
“Mr. Jarvis, TBI,” he called out.
Ashley stepped closer to one of the front windows, listening for movement inside. Silence blanketed the house. Had Jarvis left, driving the blue sedan? Or was he hiding?
Wyatt pounded on the door a second time.
“Mr. Jarvis, open the door!”
Despite the sense of foreboding that gnawed at her, Ashley felt compelled to check out the rear of the farmhouse.
“He could have already slipped out the back,” she told Wyatt.
“Yeah.”
Drawing her Glock, Ashley padded down the porch steps and veered around the left side of the home. As she skulked around the rear corner of the building, she noticed that the driveway curved through the trees, all the way around the back of the house, ending at the double doors of a barn that sat a hundred feet away.
Was the Chevy parked inside the barn?
Turning her attention back toward the farmhouse, she eased up onto the rear porch. She peered through the glass panes of the back door. The small room on the other side held a washer and dryer. She stood still and listened. All was quiet.
She made her way down off of the porch, rounded a maple tree, and slinked along the rear wall of the house. A banging noise erupted behind her.
Her heart leapt to her throat as Ashley whirled around, her Glock poised for action.
Stirred by a gust of wind, a branch of the maple slammed into the building’s wooden siding. No Jarvis. No monsters. Just Mother Nature. Her pulse returning to normal, she continued along the rear of the farmhouse. Wyatt met her at the corner.
“Let’s check the barn,” he said.
She nodded, guessing that he wanted to look for the Chevy.
Ashley followed him up the dirt drive that snaked between the hardwoods. She glanced back at the house, wondering whether Jarvis stood at one of the upstairs windows, watching them. When they reached the barn, Wyatt paused in front of the hinged double doors, listening.
Ashley couldn’t hear anything on the other side.
Motioning for her to move out of the line of fire, he pulled the left door open.
A shaft of brilliant sunlight cut through the gloom. From where she stood, Ashley had a limited view, but it appeared as though the car wasn’t inside.
Raising his Glock, Wyatt spun around into the doorway.
“It looks clear,” he said.
Still on guard, Ashley trailed behind him into the barn. She’d been right. The sedan wasn’t there. Instead, old furniture and cardboard boxes littered the space.
As Wyatt headed left, she wandered toward a workbench that stood against the right wall. Her gaze flew across the familiar tools lining the top of the wooden bench—handsaws, screwdrivers, chisels, an electric drill, and a level.
Ashley stopped short when she caught sight of something unusual.
A Bunsen burner. An empty glass beaker rested beside the burner, and she noticed a small propane tank tucked beneath the bench.
“Wyatt, come over here and take a look at this.”
When he appeared at her side, she asked, “Why would Jarvis need a Bunsen burner?”
“Cooking meth, maybe?”
Making methamphetamine was the first thought that had occurred to her as well, but there were no drug priors on Jarvis’s police record. And if he’d been cooking meth, wouldn’t he need acetone and ammonia? She didn’t see the chemicals in the barn. And there were no pseudoephedrine pills on the workbench.
A realization hit Ashley.
“What if it wasn’t meth?” she said. “Maybe Jarvis used the Bunsen burner to make quazodine.”
Jarvis had worked for a chemical manufacturer. It didn’t seem like a stretch to think he could have gained the knowledge to make the paralytic drug that had been used to subdue Hannah, Trina, and Daphne.
The sound of an automobile engine caught Ashley’s attention. Her gaze jerked toward the open barn door.
“Come on,” Wyatt said, obviously hearing the approaching vehicle.
Hurrying outside, Ashley looked down the slope toward the road.
A dark blue sedan inched up the farmhouse’s rutted dirt driveway.
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
Ashley’s pulse quickened as she scurried out of the barn. Alarmed, she watched the dark blue Chevy sedan traverse the dirt driveway leading up to Edward Jarvis’s farmhouse. Had the man spotted her and Wyatt at the top of the slope? Or had the hardwood trees dotting the property provided them cover?
Wyatt shoved the barn door closed.
Although they had probable cause—the suspicion that a car used in a series of homicides had been stashed inside the barn—Ashley hoped they hadn’t been caught searching the building without a warrant. Especially if it turned out that Jarvis had used the Bunsen burner to make quazodine.
Wyatt glanced at her. Ashley could tell by the look in his eyes that he’d been sharing her thoughts.
“Let’s go,” he said, urgency in his tone.
They ran toward the rear of the two-story farmhouse.
Jarvis had to have noticed the black SUV parked behind his red pickup as soon as he’d turned into the driveway, so the man realized that he had company. But Wyatt’s Ford was unmarked. There was no way for Jarvis to know that the vehicle belonged to a TBI agent. If he’d suspected his visitors were members of law enforcement, he probably would have backed out of the driveway and sped away.
Unless, thinking they already had enough evidence to arrest him for the murders, and that he had nothing left to lose, Jarvis planned to kill them.
An ominous feeling flooded Ashley’s body as she and Wyatt reached the back porch of the white farmhouse. She feared their encounter with Jarvis wouldn’t end well. Would he greet them with a shotgun?
She’d been uneasy since they’d arrived. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t searched a suspect’s property before—she had, many time—but something about this place felt … off. As though evil haunted the grounds.
Just before they rounded the corner of the house, Wyatt slowed his pace. He held up his hand, signaling for Ashley to stop. He wasn’t ready to make their presence known. She nodded, coming to a halt beside him.
The Chevy’s engine died. A few seconds later, she heard a car door open and then slam shut. Wyatt met her gaze. He’d obviously been waiting for Jarvis to exit the sedan.
Maybe Wyatt had been afraid that if the man saw them while still in the car, he’d flee. Ashley could blend in as a local, but it only took a quick glance at Wyatt to know that he was a cop. It was more than just the sports jacket he wore and the badge clipped to his belt. It was the way he carried himself that gave his profession away.
“Okay,” he whispered, indicating that it was now safe to confront Jarvis.
She followed Wyatt around the end of the house. She caught sight of a tall man with brown hair, dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved tan pullover, loping up the front porch steps. He appeared to be a close match to their suspect.
Wyatt called out, “Mr. Jarvis. We’re special agents with the TBI.”
The man froze.
He turned toward them. The expression that crossed Jarvis’s face sent a chill down Ashley’s spine. But in less than a split second the malevolent look vanished, replaced with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“What can I do for you?” Jarvis asked.
Ashley stuck to Wyatt’s heels as he strode up to the porch.
He flashed his badge and made the introductions. “We’d like to talk to you about Pryecorp.”
Wyatt obviously intended to throw Jarvis off base by leading with the mention of the man’s former employer rather than questions about the three deceased victims and Jarvis’s whereabouts at the time of the murders.
Jarvis winced. “I done my time for starting that fire.”
“This has nothing to do with the arson,” Wyatt assured him. “We’d just like to find out a little bit about the company. So far, you’re the only living employee that we’ve identified.”
Wyatt’s statement was true. But then again, they hadn’t yet tried tracking down any of the plant’s other workers.
Jarvis held Wyatt’s gaze for a moment.
Ashley could tell that the man was trying to figure out the real reason for the TBI agents’ visit.
“Okay,” Jarvis finally said. “Come on inside.”
He led them into a living room decorated in hues of green and brown. The same color palette as the motel room Ashley and Wyatt had rented. Only Jarvis’s home appeared much cleaner. If it wasn’t for the strange vibe that permeated the farmhouse, she’d be tempted to call it cozy.
Jarvis motioned toward a plaid sofa topped with throw pillows. “Grab yourself a seat.”
Ashley and Wyatt settled down among the pillows, but Jarvis remained standing.
“Why do you wanna know about Pryecorp?” he asked them. “They ain’t been around for years.”
Wyatt donned his poker face.
“We’re working a case that involves their land on Marbury Highway,” he stated, not giving away the fact that they were really here to ask questions regarding Daphne’s murder.
Recognition flickered in Jarvis’s eyes.
It seemed clear that he knew about the toxic waste buried on the Pryecorp property.
“Well, I’ll be glad to talk to ya,” Jarvis said. “Just give me a minute to run to the bathroom first.”
Ashley stood as he headed for a hallway. She watched from the living room as Jarvis entered a room on the right and pushed the door closed. From the layout of the house, she could tell that the room he’d disappeared into featured an exterior wall.
“He might try to climb out a window,” she whispered to Wyatt. “I’m going to circle around the outside of the house.”
Odds ranked high that Jarvis had realized he was a suspect in the three murders. And he’d likely decided to escape.
As Wyatt nodded in agreement, Ashley rushed out the front door. She trotted down the porch steps, hoping she could get to the bathroom window in time. Rounding the right corner of the house, she passed the chimney for the living room fireplace. A few yards farther, a small window dotted the wooden siding. It seemed to be located in the correct spot for the bathroom.
Ashley pressed her back against the wall. If Jarvis spotted her, he’d likely slip out of the bathroom and climb through a window on the rear of the house. He could get away before she realized that he was gone.
She stood still and waited.
Fear sliced through Ashley’s heart as gunfire exploded inside the farmhouse.
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
With her heart hammering in her chest, Ashley raced around to the front of Jarvis’s farmhouse, toward the sound of the gunfire that had erupted inside. She’d counted five shots. How many had hit their target?
She had no doubt that Jarvis had fired first. Had he caught Wyatt off guard?
Images of her partner lying motionless on the living room floor, blood pooling around him, flooded Ashley’s mind. What would happen to Kaylee if the already traumatized young girl lost her father? Tears threatened Ashley’s eyes as she forced the thoughts aside.
Her instincts—or maybe even a premonition—had warned her that the encounter with Jarvis would end in tragedy. She just prayed that Wyatt was still alive.
As she zoomed up the front porch steps, Ashley drew her Glock. She had a narrow view into the living room through the screened door. She didn’t see Jarvis. Or Wyatt.
Alert for any movement, she pulled the door open.
The room seemed deserted. She inched inside.
“Ashley,” Wyatt’s voice called.
She pivoted to her left. Wyatt sat on the floor, hidden behind an armchair. Blood saturated the back side of the left leg of his chinos. He’d been shot in the calf.
Ashley dropped to the floor beside him, intent on stopping the bleeding.
“No,” Wyatt said, pushing her away. “It’s not serious. You need to go after Jarvis. He ran out the back. And Ashley, be careful.”
She couldn’t just leave him. The wound might prove to be worse than Wyatt realized. What if he bled out before help arrived? She’d never forgive herself if she passed up the chance to save him.
“Wyatt…”
He met her gaze. “I’m okay,” he said. “I’ll call for backup and an ambulance. So, go. Hurry.”
His decision had obviously been made, and it was clear that she couldn’t change his mind.
Feeling torn, Ashley nodded. As she stood, she heard the Chevy’s engine roar to life. Jarvis was making his getaway.
Ashley had to stop him.
She darted out the front door. Before she could cross the porch, the Chevy swerved into a U-turn. It would be impossible to catch Jarvis on foot. And she didn’t have the keys to Wyatt’s SUV. She feared that this was the end of the line. That they’d never find the man again.
Her heart leapt to her throat as Ashley saw the butt of a pistol swing out of the open driver’s side window.
She ducked just as Jarvis fired.
From her position on the top porch step, Ashley shot back.
The bullet passed through the open driver’s window, shattering the sedan’s windshield. In rapid succession, she fired a second and third round into the car’s front tire.
The Chevy careened to the right and plowed into a massive oak tree.
As she rushed toward the sedan, the passenger door flew open. Jarvis aimed his pistol at Ashely again as he hopped from the car. She dove behind the rear end of Wyatt’s SUV a split second before a shot rang out. A clank reverberated through the air as the bullet hit metal.
Scurrying along the side of Wyatt’s vehicle, she headed in the direction that she’d seen Jarvis run—toward the backyard. She peeked around the nose of the SUV.
Jarvis had vanished.
In addition to the barn, several smaller outbuildings stood scattered across the property as well as a multitude of wide-trunked hardwood trees. A countless number of places that Jarvis could hide. Would he run as fast and far as possible, never to be seen again? Or would he take cover and wait for Ashley, planning to shoot her in the head?
The hairs on the back of her neck bristled as Ashley crept toward the rear of the farmhouse. Pausing for only a moment, she fired a round into the two passenger’s side tires of Jarvis’s red pickup, just in case he doubled back and attempted to drive away again.
Skirting from tree to tree, Ashley made her way into the backyard. To her left, up a small rise, stood the nearest of the property’s sheds. A padlock hung from a hasp on the closed door, so she knew that Jarvis wasn’t inside. But the building would be the structure he could duck behind the quickest.
Checking to her left and right, Ashley raised her Glock and bolted for the shed. She pressed her back against the rough, wooden-planked wall and listened. The only sound that she heard was the autumn breeze whistling through the bare branches of the hardwoods.
Ashley edged along the side of the building. Ready to fire, she swung around the structure’s rear corner. Jarvis wasn’t there.
She continued down the back side of the shed. Stacks of firewood lined the opposite end, blanketed by a blue tarp. She paused, collecting her thoughts, trying to guess where Jarvis had gone. She glanced toward her feet. A corner of the tarp hugged the ground.
Fresh drops of blood dotted the blue canvas.
At least one of Wyatt’s bullets had hit its mark.
It appeared as though Jarvis had leaned against the woodpile for support, the blood from his wound dripping down the side of the tarp. But where was he now? Had he fled to the left, into the forest? If so, she’d probably never find him.
Another shed stood between Ashley and the barn. Since Jarvis had been shot, it seemed more likely that he’d take shelter in one of the outbuildings, rather than heading for the woods. She hadn’t noticed any first aid supplies in the barn, but she guessed that it was possible he might have bottles of liquor—or something else that could be used as an antiseptic—stashed in one of the sheds.
Using the ancient oaks and hickories as cover, Ashley zigzagged her way toward the next outbuilding. From her vantage point, she could only see the side of the structure, not the front. So she had no way of knowing whether or not the door was locked. She decided to scope out the rear of the building before checking the door.
Making sure that Jarvis was nowhere in sight, she sprinted toward the shed. This building seemed quite a bit older than the first. Cracks separated the weathered wallboards. Ashley pushed her face against the widest gap and peered into the shed. Dust particles danced in the narrow streams of sunlight that poured into the structure. As in the barn, broken furniture filled the space. No Jarvis.
Glock first, she circled around the rear of the building. She didn’t find any evidence suggesting Jarvis had traveled that way. He was probably either hiding in the barn or the fenced-in chicken coop just beyond.
Ashley wondered how much blood the man had lost. Did Jarvis have a simple flesh wound? Or had the bullet pierced a vital organ? If the latter proved true, he might be dead by the time she found him. But if it turned out to be the former, he’d likely still have a lot of fight left.
He’d shoot the second he caught sight of her.
Preparing herself for the battle, she jetted up the dirt driveway toward the barn. As she neared the front of the building, Ashley froze. The latch that normally bolted the double doors shut hung open. When Jarvis had arrived home, she and Wyatt had rushed from the barn, back down to the farmhouse.
In his haste, had Wyatt forgotten to close the latch?
Goosebumps broke out on Ashley’s arms.
The odds ranked high that Jarvis was inside waiting for her. She realized that he’d probably positioned himself just on the other side of the doors. That he’d fire his pistol as soon as he heard her approach. Before she even had the chance to get one of the doors all the way open.
