Authors: Chris Stout
Days of Reckoning (26 page)
“Thought I’d save you some trouble. Who did Eldon hit?”
“Hal.” Sam cleared his throat and took another drink. “He got Hal.”
“Is he okay?”
“Yeah, he’ll be fine. His vest stopped the brunt of it. Eldon had hollow-points loaded. FMJ’s would have done a lot more damage.”
“I take it Eldon’s dead?”
“Yeah. We had to take him down. I guess that saves you some work too.”
Miranda laughed. “Touché.”
“And how are you, Miranda? Where are you?”
“I’m okay,” she said lightly. “Eldon molested me a bit, and Tim roughed me up some. I’ve got a nice lump on my head from being slammed into the trailer wall, but I’ll live.”
“Mm,” Sam said. “I think I heard that. Actually, it’s what scared the shit out of Eldon. After that, he went pretty much nuts.”
“I know. I was there.”
“And why were you there?”
“I’m sure you know the answer to that, Sam.”
“Maybe we could meet, and you could clear up a few things for me, just in case I’ve missed anything.” Sam walked with the cordless into his kitchen and poured himself a fresh glass of water.
“I doubt that will happen. My work here is done. The militia’s gone, except for Jesse. But I’m guessing it’ll be five to ten before I get a chance to try for him again.”
“Everybody knows who you are, Miranda. They won’t stop hunting you.”
“They?” Miranda said with some surprise. “Sam, I’m ashamed that you’ve let these other people take over.”
“No choice. It’s a Federal matter now. But if you turn yourself in to me, maybe we can work something out.”
“There isn’t anybody I’d rather surrender to, Sam. I mean that.” She paused for a bit. “I almost wish I hadn’t stopped kissing you that night.”
Me too
, he didn’t say out loud. “I guess it’d beat almost killing each other.”
“Yeah, I wasn’t too happy about that. What the hell were you doing there, anyway?”
It was Sam’s turn to laugh. “You know, I can barely remember. I think I went over to talk to Jesse. Saw the light on in the basement, then it went off when I came to the door. Made me curious.”
“Shit. I knew I should have left it on and laid low. Sorry about that. I hope I didn’t hit you. I really had no idea it was you until I saw your car.”
Sam smacked himself audibly on the forehead. “Shit. I parked behind your car that night, didn’t I?”
“Yup. I thought for sure you had me.”
“Never even made the connection.”
“You’re slipping there, Detective.”
“Maybe. Why’d you shoot that neighbor?”
“Needed a distraction. You had me in a pretty tight spot.”
Sam wished he had a tape recorder or a tracer to track her down. “So what happens now?”
“I guess I go to points unknown and everybody’s mother tries to hunt me down.”
“I see.”
“Well Sam, I guess this is so long.”
“Or maybe we’ll see each other soon.”
“Don’t count on it.”
“You know I can’t let this go.”
“You’re a good man, Sam. You really are. I don’t want you in my sights. Good-bye.” And with that, she hung up.
Sam looked at his phone for a bit. Suddenly inspired, he hit the star key and two digits, the code that would let him find out from what number his last incoming call had originated. He cursed when the number came up as “not being in the system.” He tossed the phone against the wall and strode into the bathroom to shower and shave.
#
Miranda showered in one of the public restrooms in a girls’ dormitory on campus. She thought about returning to Tracy’s house to clean up and rest, but the idea of confronting the corpse in the bathtub made her stomach churn. So she parked in a public garage for a few hours, changing her clothes and napping a bit, and then drove back to campus, where she would need to be anyway. At that early hour of the morning, she didn’t worry about running into anyone; college students were not known for their fondness of rising with the sun.
Her rumbling stomach alerted her to the fact that she needed to eat. She tied her hair up in a tight bun and decided to risk eating breakfast at one of the campus dining facilities. She stashed one of the MP-5’s with a trench coat under a couch in one of the dorm common rooms, then went to eat. Her threaded Glock rode in the shoulder holster under her turtleneck, and her department-issued one was tucked into the waistband of her jeans. She sure missed the PPK.
The attendant at the check-out counter regarded her puffy face with concern. The woman looked familiar, but she couldn’t quite place a name with the face. Miranda ignored the look and paid for her meal. She picked out some French toast, bacon, hash browns and several glasses of orange juice. Seating was ample in the mostly empty dining hall, so she chose a table near an emergency exit where she could sit with her back against the wall. Halfway through her meal, the check-out attendant approached her, frowning.
“Can I help you?” Miranda asked, wiping her hands on a napkin and leaning forward for easier access to her Glock.
“I’m sorry to bother you dear. But I couldn’t help noticing,” the woman paused and sat down, “those bruises on your face. If you need someone to talk to, there’s plenty of counselors available, and the campus police will keep your identity anonymous.”
Miranda stared in shock for a moment and then sipped at her orange juice in an attempt to suppress a grin. “I appreciate your concern, but I can take care of myself.”
“I know. I’m sure you can. It’s just that, sometimes we could all use a little help, is all.”
Miranda smiled gently. “Well, you should have seen the other guy.”
The woman looked skeptical, but nodded. A whistle from the counter let her know that another student needed service. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. I just… well, I know what it’s like to live in an abusive home. I just got away from my man myself, so I’m pretty sensitive to the issue.”
“I understand. But I’ll be fine, really. Thanks though,” Miranda squinted to read the name printed on the woman’s tag. “Thanks, Loretta. I appreciate your concern.”
Loretta Hamm smiled knowingly and rose to return to her post. Miranda finished her breakfast quickly, not wanting to be disturbed again, then hurried out of the dining hall to prepare for the rest of the day.
The combined law enforcement agencies met at the Sparta PD to discuss Unity Day. Sheriff Horn was there, along with the commandant of the local Ohio State Highway Patrol outpost. Two agents from the FBI were in attendance. The police chief of the Sparta Campus PD arrived a minute late; following him through the door was a captain from the Columbus, Ohio Police Department, which was lending mounted officers for crowd control. In the absence of Wainwright, Sam was in attendance representing the Sparta City Police Department.
Since Unity Day was taking place on his turf, the campus officer, John Blankenship, was in charge of planning for security and crowd control. He had been working closely with Sheriff Horn and, until he was killed, Chief Wainwright. Because of the murders, Sam wasn’t fully up to speed on what was going to happen, but he knew that his tired officers were being relied upon mostly to support crowd-control.
“I think we all pretty much know our roles,” Blankenship said. “Highway Patrol is going to provide immediate security for the gentlemen from the NAACP and the other major figures in attendance. Captain Jameson’s men,” he indicated the officer from Columbus, “have been kind enough to take over patrol of the streets surrounding the campus. My uniformed men and the sheriff’s deputies will be doing random searches, checking ID’s, and responding to any incidents that occur in the designated rally areas. Sam, your men will be the plainclothes units, and also on patrol in the city, backing up anyone as needed.”
Sam nodded in reply. Because of his depleted ranks, he didn’t mind being relegated to the background. Besides, it would give him time to try and figure out what Miranda might do next.
“Now, I have a quick question,” Blankenship said. “What is the threat assessment of this militia unit that’s shown up?”
Sam and Sheriff Horn exchanged glances. “Well,” Sam said, “the one we’ve discovered to be operating locally has been pretty much wiped out.”
“And the person who’s been killing them?”
“We haven’t caught her yet, but everyone is familiar with her identification.”
“She used to be one of yours, so I hope everyone knows her. But that means she knows you guys too.”
“Miranda’s pretty banged up right now,” Sam explained. “I think I wounded her a couple of nights ago, and she’s had a rough time ever since, near as I can tell. She knows we’re after her. And I don’t think there’s anyone left for her to go after. The whole militia is dead or in jail. She’s too smart to risk another attack.”
Blankenship didn’t look convinced.
“If she shows, we’ll see her coming,” Sam said.
“I hope.” The Chief of Campus Police next turned to the FBI men. “And this ‘Reverend’ guy who’s showing up, to protest Unity Day. What can we expect from him?”
The taller of the two agents replied. “Wallace Dean Mercer, also known as The Reverend. He’s a big name in the right-wing militant movement. He spends a lot of time and money on public access channels, and also travels around the Midwest, especially focusing on college campuses. He spouts off a lot of racist bullshit, but usually doesn’t start anything too serious. It’s after his appearances that we start seeing, uh, incidents occurring.”
“But he hasn’t been connected personally to any of these incidents.”
“We haven’t been able to establish anything concrete, no,” the agent replied.
“Okay, so we’ll have to be vigilant after the event as well. Can you enlighten us as to what we can expect after he leaves?”
The shorter agent responded. “Mostly scare tactics. Crosses being burned in yards, rocks thrown through the windows of minority churches. Occasionally there have been fires set.”
“I don’t suppose this reverend was in West Virginia a couple of months ago?” Sam asked.
“Yes, he was there almost two months ago.”
“So that was right before the firebombing there that killed those two people,” Sam said. “And Miranda’s brother was one of the suspects. And now he’s dead, which is why she went after the militia here. So if she knows that Reverend Mercer was the catalyst, he’d be an awfully tempting target.”
“So,” Blankenship said, “the question about her still stands. Is she going to cause trouble for us today?”
Sam debated how to answer that. With a connection established between The Reverend and her brother, all of his instincts said that Miranda would be there gunning for him. The man advocated killing innocents, just because of their skin tone. The people Miranda had killed… well, she went after those who themselves wanted to kill. He remembered Hector and Hal, lying in the hospital from gunshot wounds inflicted by members of this Sparta Militia. Part of him was inclined to let her take The Reverend down. But he also remembered Jesse McClintock’s neighbor, an innocent bystander gunned down so she could escape. He wondered what would happen if the police did find and close in on her. How many would she sacrifice to get away?
He cleared his throat nervously, aware that everyone was waiting for his answer. “Maybe it’s possible that she could be a threat,” he finally said. “Not to the people at Unity Day, but maybe to those who are against it. But bear in mind that she’s hurt. We found traces of her blood at the trailer last night. She’s tired; she has to be, because I am, and we’ve been keeping the same hours. We don’t know how long she was held by those men in the trailer, so there’s the possibility she was sexually assaulted. And remember that she was also wounded a few nights ago as well. Her reserves are bound to be low. If she shows up, she’ll make a mistake. We have her ID’d, including what she might look like with an altered appearance. If she’s there, we’ll catch her.”
“Good,” Blankenship said. “I don’t want Armageddon breaking out on my campus.”
The group discussed some more procedural details, and then broke up to oversee the progress made by their respective subordinates. Sam caught the attention of the two FBI agents, and they drew aside with him for a private conference.
“This Reverend guy,” Sam said, “does he have any kind of entourage? Travel with any heavies or anyone like that?”
“He’s usually got a couple of men he refers to as his Deacons in tow. They act as his personal bodyguard. We’ll be making sure that they aren’t armed. Some of them have carry permits, but they’re never allowed to carry weapons at a public gathering. We’ll make sure they’re clean.”
“Any leads come up on those weapons I found at Beaumont’s house?” Sam asked. “Or any of the weapons that may have disappeared from there?”
The shorter agent replied, “Those M16’s were stolen from a National Guard Armory. A Squad Automatic Weapon also disappeared. It hasn’t turned up yet. Other rifles were also taken; they’ve been turning up across the country. It’s likely the SAW is out there somewhere.”
“I found a lot of spare ammunition in that shelter as well. It could have been to feed that machine gun.”
“Possible,” the tall agent said. “But who’s going to be using it? You said yourself the militia’s been wiped out.”
