Days of Reckoning (15 page)

They pulled into the lot of the police station. “What now?” Miranda asked.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. And I want to look in on my aunt. She’s a neat lady; you might like meeting her. Want to head over with me, maybe grab a bite to eat on the way?”

Miranda’s growling stomach answered for her. She laughed. “Yeah, sure.”

“Terrific. I’m going to go check my messages and see how bad things are inside. Then we’ll try to forget about this whole shit-pot for an hour or two.”

#

When they pulled into the nursing home parking lot, Miranda regretted agreeing to join Sam. It wasn’t that their meal had been a bad one; they’d had a simple but tasty dinner at one of the local establishments. Their conversation was light, touching on anything that wasn’t related to the maelstrom of murder. A few times they had even joked and laughed. But now, here they were, in the parking lot of a nursing facility and retirement community. A place Miranda had visited once before wondering if she would have to shoot the man sitting beside her. A place where she had visited one of his relatives and spoken with members of the staff. She thought back to the wig she had worn and decided it had been a flimsy disguise.
Maybe there’ll be a different nurse on duty at the reception station
, she hoped.

No such luck. But the woman behind the desk merely smiled and waved as Miranda and Sam walked past. Together they headed down the familiar corridor, finding the same room as before. Sam rapped gently on the doorframe. “Hello, Aunt Fran.”

“Sam!” Francine Connor exclaimed in delight. “How wonderful to see you! It’s been so long. Come give me a hug.”

It had actually only been about twenty-four hours, but Sam agreed that it seemed like forever. Besides which, he had been recognized. Aunt Fran was having a good day. He went over to her bed, knelt down and swept the frail woman into a great hug. “How have you been?”

“I’m managing, dear. And how are you? I’ve heard some awful things are going on in our little town. You’re not involved in any of that mess are you?” She frowned in disapproval.

Sam shrugged sheepishly. “I’m afraid I am, whether I want to be or not.” He quickly changed the subject. “Aunt Fran, I’d like you to meet one of my colleagues.”

The woman’s eyes lit up in recognition. “Yes! Becky! I believe we’ve met before. But your hair is different today. I thought you were a blonde?”

Miranda’s first thought was,
shit
. Her second thought was, who the hell is Becky? She forgot that it was the name she had adopted yesterday. She looked to Sam with wide eyes. Her face betrayed wonder, surprise, confusion. Sam smiled and winked at her in return.

“Aunt Fran, this is Miranda Leider. She works with me at the police department. She’s also a student at Sparta College, going for a master's degree in criminology. Hopes to be a detective. And she’s been a brunette as long as I’ve known her.”

Aunt Fran frowned. “But she came to see me yesterday. We talked about you, even. She said her name was Becky.”

Miranda came over and patted her hand apologetically. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Maybe it was my long lost twin.” She tried to smile, but instantly thought about her dead brother. Sam caught the shadow that passed over her face. He gave her a look of concern, but at least the elderly woman laughed.

“Well,” Sam replied with a grin, “I doubt a day is enough time for Miranda to grow out her hair this long. But I’ll ask around about this person. She was nice to you?”

“Oh yes. Very sweet. I think she has a thing for you. She wanted to know all about you.”

Miranda and Sam exchanged glances. “That’s very interesting. Did she leave a number or address, any way I can get hold of her?” He smiled conspiratorially. “Maybe she’d like to go out to dinner sometime.”

She already did
, Miranda thought.

Aunt Fran swatted her nephew on the arm. “Sam Connor! Shame on you! You’re here with a very lovely young lady. How dare you suggest romancing another woman, with her right in front of you?”

Miranda tried to stifle a laugh. She was in dangerous territory, but she supposed that it was good to be able to see the humor in it all.

Sam was duly chastised, and apologized. Aunt Fran made a show of not listening to him, but her eyes sparkled with amusement. “You should come and see an old woman more often,” she said after they had talked a while. “And, you young lady, don’t be a stranger. Whoever you are.” She smiled and gave Miranda a wink.

Miranda and Sam took their leave. Out in the hall, he said, “I wonder if she’s just having one of her spells, or if there’s something to all that nonsense.”

Miranda shrugged. “Maybe the receptionist could tell you something. Was she on duty last night?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact she was. Let’s stop by her desk on the way out.”

Now why did I tell him that
?

#

The receptionist, of course, remembered the woman with the blonde hair very clearly. “Yes, she said something about wanting to drive Mrs. Connor to church on Sundays. Said she was a deacon or something like that. It was funny, because she went to the wrong room first. And of course
Mister
Connor – God rest his soul – passed on a few days ago.”

This had Sam worried. He took down a description of the mysterious woman, thanked the receptionist, and then left the retirement community with Miranda. In the car he said, “Whoever was there last night was bogus.”

“Maybe. I think I’ll call the manager of the facility, tell them not to let anyone in without ID and to notify me about anyone who tries to visit her.”

Sam dropped Miranda off at the station. “Let’s call it a night. We’re gonna need the rest. Tomorrow’s going to be hell, but we’ll have a chance to go over the evidence we’ve found and see if we can make heads or tails of this whole mess.”

Miranda gave him a quick hug before going to her car. “Thank you for letting me meet your aunt. She’s very sweet.”

“I’m glad you like her. She sure seemed to like you to.” Miranda smiled, but her eyes were full of sadness. She didn’t say anything more, and got into her car to drive home.

The massacre at The Lodge made headline news across the state. Local papers also questioned whether the attack on Gutierrez was tied into the crime. No mention, however, was made about the stockpile of weapons found or the suspicion of militant activities. Those were pieces of the puzzle that the Police and Sheriff’s Departments were still working on, and they didn’t want to tip too much of their hand to any other militia members out there.

Sam sat in his office with a legal pad and a pen. He scribbled and doodled, trying to clear his tired and aching mind. In the center of a clean piece of paper, he wrote the name “Damon Shearer” with a circle around it. In the top right corner he wrote “Wainwright,” circled it, and connected it with Damon’s circle. “Beaumont” went on the top left corner, connected to the previous two names. Underneath went “Militia” and lines drawn to it, with a circle on Beaumont’s line. That was a connection Sam wanted to work on. He knew Beaumont and the Chief had known each other well. And Beaumont was certainly in a position to provide weapons and ammunition for the militia. By why would Damon want to kill him? And everyone else, for that matter?

At the bottom of the page, Sam wrote the name “Justin Leider,” Miranda’s dead brother. Was his murder part of all the bloodshed? He too, was connected to Damon, through Beaumont and as one of the suspect’s friends. Next to Justin’s name went “Miranda,” with a huge question mark. But she was one of the good guys, right? Bad enough that her brother had shot himself. But Sam couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling he’d had since his visit to his aunt the night before. She had seemed so certain, except for the hair color. And the receptionist confirmed her story. And anyone could buy a wig….

Sam shook the thought out of his mind when he heard Miranda come into the office. He tossed the pad into a desk drawer and stood to greet her. “Sleep well?” he asked.

Sam pulled out a fresh legal pad. “Murder number one. Henry Beaumont. Owns the local gun store. He’s shot in the leg, chest and head. Store gets ransacked, several handguns and a couple of Class III weapons are missing.” He tore the page off and set it aside. “Next. A Sparta police officer on patrol at Beaumont’s house is assaulted, and remains in critical condition. He’s shot twice with a .357 Magnum revolver.” Sam tore the second sheet, and set it beside the first.

“Now the big one,” he continued. “Four bodies, including the Chief of Police, found shot to death at a remote hunting cabin. One body’s found with a 9mm semi-automatic, there’s a .45 and a 9mm found inside. The .45 belonged to the Chief, and the other weapon presumably belonged to the second body. Outside, the fourth body has a .357, with six empty cases in the cylinder. Then there’s the basement.” He tore off the third sheet of paper. “Down there’s a shitload of surplus military-style rifles, handguns and ammunition. And paraphernalia indicating that some type of right-wing supremacist group has met there.” Sam tore the fourth sheet off, laid it beside the others, and sighed.

Miranda rose from her chair and came around to Sam’s side of the desk so she could look at his scribblings. “And then there’s my brother. Except he died weeks ago. But he’s connected to at least some of these people. So how do we tie all this together?”

“We find Damon Shearer. Easier said than done.”

“What about this Bill Banks character?” Miranda asked. “The one found with the .357? Both Beaumont and Hector were shot with a weapon of that caliber. What if he killed Damon too and we just haven’t found the body?”

Sam nodded. “I’ve wondered about that, too. I have a suspicion that his bullets are going to match the ones we found in Hector. But not Beaumont’s. Just a hunch, but I think I can explain.”

“Okay.” Miranda’s face betrayed her skepticism. “Shoot.”

“Let’s assume the Chief is involved neck-deep in this militia. The guns were found, after all, in the basement of his lodge. That militia is going to need supplies. And Beaumont happens to be a gun dealer, so they can get all sorts of goodies from him. Now, I found automatic weapons hidden in Beaumont’s shed. Suppose Damon wanted those for himself, for whatever reason. He kills Henry and steals his keys, intending to go get the weapons. He may even have been there and picked up a few, and just couldn’t take everything at once.”

“Makes sense.”

“Now, suppose these weapons were meant for the militia?”

Miranda nodded. “It would be reasonable to assume, then, that the Chief knew Beaumont had them. Chief wants to make sure he gets them and sends a couple of his boys out to find them. Hector comes along and gets shot, because maybe he caught them there.”

“Right on,” Sam said. “Then everybody gathers at the lodge, because shooting a cop is serious shit, and they’re gonna need Wainwright’s help in pulling their asses out of the fire. Damon comes by, because he can’t get into Beaumont’s place anymore, and he takes them out. There had to be a fifth shooter, because we haven’t found the weapon lying around that killed those four men. And I bet that weapon was a stolen MAC, taken from Beaumont’s store by our friend Damon.”

“But why?” Miranda asked. “Why torture the Chief, for instance. Or Beaumont, for that matter. I can’t think of any other reason to shoot somebody in the knee other than to cause him pain.”

Sam shrugged. “Information, I guess. He wanted to know where these military weapons were. Beaumont wouldn’t say, so he got the third degree. Same with the Chief. Maybe he didn’t get the guns and wanted to know where they were.”

“And my brother? He died well before any of these weapons were found. But it was once his body was found that everybody else started dropping off.”

Sam sighed. He rummaged through his desk and pulled out a sheet of paper, which he passed over to Miranda. “This is a police sketch from West Virginia. The subject in it allegedly burned down a church there.”

Miranda looked at the picture. It bore a resemblance to her brother, and confirmed what Damon had told her when she questioned him by the stream. She kept her expression tight and looked back up at Sam.

“Whether your brother killed himself or had help along the way,” he continued, “it may have had something to do with that. Especially with these military weapons coming in, if he was involved with this militia they would have wanted to avoid any heat he might bring. It might also explain why everybody has started shooting now. The weapons are here, some of them are likely missing, and everyone is already jumping because of what might have happened with Justin.”

She nodded. It was perfectly plausible, which certainly worked in her favor. “Thank you for showing me this. That explains a lot.” Her voice was quiet, and she slid the sketch back over to Sam. “It’s hard to believe we don’t have any information on this militia, what they stand for, what they want to accomplish, how they want to accomplish it. I’m amazed there’s never been anything that has come to light on them.”