Days of Reckoning (3 page)

Horn spread his hands. “Look, I admit it seems strange, but honestly, he may have left them back at his place, especially if he knew he wasn’t going back there.”

“What about his car? You didn’t say it was found nearby. He had to get there somehow.”

“If he ditched it on the side of the road, Highway Patrol probably had it towed. I’ll check with the local troop and see where they sent it. Maybe the keys will be in there.”

Miranda nodded. “Okay. Is there anything else you need from me?”

“Not right now, no. I’m really sorry you’re going through all of this, Miss. I mean it. One of my deputies ate his piece a few years back and…” he rubbed his head. “Well, it never feels possible that it could happen. We’ll do our best by him. I promise you that.”

“Thank you Sheriff. I appreciate it.” She gave him a sad smile as she rose and then went into the lobby.

#

Sam put aside the magazine he’d been reading while he waited for her. He waited to speak until after they left the Sheriff’s office.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You look like you’re a million miles away.”

Miranda glanced at Sam for an instant, and then returned her gaze to her hands. “Yeah, I guess so. Just trying to process all this.”

“Sorry, that was a stupid question. I was just wondering if, you know, if there’s anything I can do.”

“I’m hanging in there. Really. I think I just need to go home and be alone for a bit.”

“Well, if you need help with anything, funeral arrangements, anything at all, I’ll be happy to help. I know it’s hard, without any family around.”

“Thank you,” she said.

They drove the rest of the way back to the police station in silence, but when Sam put the car in park, neither of them made any move to exit.

“Listen,” Sam said, “I was pretty young when my parents passed away. Hell, I was overseas when my Mom died of her heart attack. So I know how lonely it gets.”

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“Nope. I’m an only child. I’ve got an aunt who’s still alive, but Alzheimer’s is taking her fast.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Miranda fumbled with her seatbelt, but still didn’t reach for the door handle. “Justin and I, when we were kids, were pretty close. We kind of went our separate ways after high school. I really feel like I let him down. I always tried to look out for him when we were little.” She swallowed hard, trying to clear the lump that re-emerged in her throat.

Sam knew better than to say anything, so he squeezed her shoulder and left it at that.

Chapter 3

Miranda pulled a bottle of vodka out of her freezer and poured herself a healthy dose. She savored the first sip of the fiery liquid, hoping it would help cleanse her mind and burn away the memories of her brother’s tragic past. She sat in an old recliner and flipped through the stations of her television. Nothing satisfied her, so she paced into her bedroom. She tried to convince herself to go to bed. Exhaustion should have been sweeping over her in waves, but instead all of her nerves tingled and screamed for her to do something, to take action. So she went back into the kitchen to refill her drink, but instead stared at the small key that hung from a magnet on the side of her fridge.

Justin had left it with her, just in case his ever was lost. Miranda had likewise given him a spare key to her place. The keys bothered her. She tried to imagine her brother simply leaving his set in the car while he walked off to shoot himself. Perhaps that was what really happened. But it didn’t fit, not with what she knew and hadn’t revealed to the Sheriff.

She set her glass in the sink without refilling it and grabbed the key, then walked back out the door.

#

Sam Connor tried once more to wade through the papers on his desk. A couple of the city patrolmen were working with the Sparta Campus PD in an attempt to break up a small drug ring that had appeared on campus. The reports Sam read indicated that progress was substantial, and there was the possibility of an arrest being made in the near future. Good news, but not enough to wash out the bitter taste the day left in Sam’s mouth.

He glanced over a request forwarded to him by Wainwright. The school district wanted someone to come in and speak to the high school about police work. Attached was a note from Wainwright that read “Good recruitment opportunity.”

“Sounds like being back in the Army,” Sam muttered. After a tour as an MP in Iraq, Sam served out the rest of his enlistment working at the recruitment center. High school assemblies were always referred to as “good recruitment opportunities.” Sam, remembering what it was like to be a senior, wasn’t sure how comfortable he felt encouraging the young men and women to go into a profession that gave them the chance to carry automatic weapons.

He caught himself drifting, and gave up on work for the night. The paperwork would be there for him in the morning. He drove his unmarked car home and entered his house to the sound of the telephone ringing. The likelihood of his favorite ex calling tempted him to let it go to voice mail, but on the off-chance it was something important, he picked up.

“Sam? It’s me, Barry.”

“What’s up?”

“You come over and help me out real quick? Loretta’s in a bad way again. I’m locked in the bathroom, and I thought maybe you’d talk her down again.”

Sam rubbed his eyes with a sigh. Barry and Loretta Hamm lived just a few doors away, and their domestic disputes were constant. Since Sam had moved into the neighborhood he’d been able to referee the fights and keep them from killing each other, a task made more difficult whenever one or both of them was drunk.

“Sure Barry, I’ll be right over. Just hang in there, okay?”

Thanks man. I sure do ‘preciate this.”

Sam made sure he had a pair of plastic restraints and checked that his baton and pistol were in easy reach. He hoped he wouldn’t need them, but Loretta could a tough one to handle.

#

Justin’s apartment, part of a house that had been turned into a duplex, was located in a run-down neighborhood close to downtown Sparta. Miranda pulled in front of it and got out of her car. She scanned the gravel driveway, and saw Justin’s motorcycle resting under a tarp beneath the small carport. The bike made her smile. He’d bought it for the look, but actually riding the thing terrified him. Miranda had taken easily to it, and offered to buy it from him.

“Guess that’s not a problem now,” she thought aloud, and the bitterness returned. She scanned up and down the street, confirming that Justin’s car was not there, and went up to his apartment.

Not surprisingly, his place was dark. She shuddered as a light breeze swept across his doorstep. Before she put the key in the lock, Miranda reached for the Glock tucked into the small of her back. She stood to one side as she pushed the door open, then snaked her free hand around to flip the light switch that rested on the wall by the door. No one greeted her in the small living room.

She stepped across the threshold and made a quick inspection of the apartment. Satisfied that no one lurked in the kitchenette, bedroom or bathroom, she closed the front door and stood still to get a feel for the apartment.

Miranda couldn’t place it, but something was definitely wrong.

She paced around the rooms, looking for something that didn’t belong. She reentered the bedroom and scrutinized everything. Justin’s computer, stereo, television and other equipment all seemed to be in order. A cell phone charger sat next to his monitor, but no phone was plugged in. She didn’t recall the Sheriff saying he had recovered a cell phone. Maybe that disappeared with the car as well.

Miranda turned on the computer. It was a few years old and took several minutes to boot up, so while she waited she opened his closet. Clothes hung on the rack, but the shelf above it was clear. That struck her as odd, because she knew that her brother had several firearms, and kept the pistol boxes and ammunition in his closet. And for that matter, there should have been a hunting rifle and shotgun tucked somewhere behind all those clothes. Maybe in the coat closet...

But no, that was empty too.

There was neither an attic nor a basement, so the remaining options for hiding long guns were limited. Miranda double- and triple-checked underneath the sofa, bed, recliner and in the pantry. She even checked the toilet tank, because she knew of perps who tried to hide drugs and weapons in there.

Nothing.

It was as she walked back into the bedroom to sit at the computer desk that she realized how empty the apartment was. Except for a fine layer of dust on the flat surfaces, it was almost show-ready. And while she doubted her brother required too many creature comforts, she knew from growing up with him that he wasn't the housecleaning, neat-and-tidy type. His place look like it had received a professional cleaning, with all personal effects tossed away.

She sat in front of the computer and started looking for folders. A quick scan of the computer’s files showed that almost everything had been erased. His e-mail inbox was empty, there weren’t any saved messages and his address list was blank. She clicked on the icons for two web browsers, but their histories and favorites showed no activity.

Miranda rubbed the back of her neck and sighed. She looked for photo albums or something that might pertain to her brother. Whoever had erased everything apparently didn't want it to look like they had been there, so they hadn't wiped the hard drive. That was smart, but they'd been a little too zealous. If something had been left behind, she might not have dug any deeper. But as it was, Miranda went into the computer's control panel and launched a system restore. It might not bring everything back, but it would give her more to go on than she had now.

#

Social networking and browsers that saved passwords were wonderful things, and after retrieving more than she ever thought she'd find, Miranda drove ten miles out of town to a bar called Rusty's Tailpipe. The name would have made her laugh, but she was well aware of its reputation.

Gravel crunched under her tires as she pulled into the lot. She maneuvered her car and parked facing the exit, in case a quick retreat was called for. Then she sat, debating what the best approach would be.

Miranda had a picture. She recognized her brother, but not the man and woman who flanked him. She could tell that it was taken at Rusty's, though, because of the full-sized Harley mock-up mounted on the wall behind the trio. It gave her a place to start, and that was all she needed.

She checked herself over. Her purse would stay in the car. Too much chance of it being lifted inside. She also opted to leave her service weapon in the car. Her Glock was just a bit too bulky to wear with tight jeans. Instead, she had her Beretta in a belly band holster. It wasn't the most convenient location, but it wouldn't be too hard to reach inside her open jacket and underneath her tank top if she needed to draw it. She put her license, department ID and some cash in her front pocket. She didn't want to badge anyone unless absolutely necessary. Satisfied, Miranda left her car and headed towards the door.

The bouncer at the door did as he was supposed to and insisted on seeing her ID. Since he seemed reasonable, Miranda also showed him the picture she'd printed out. "You seen any of these folks here tonight?"

He frowned with clear suspicion. It was still early in the night, and he looked like he wasn't quite ready to be breaking up fights.

"It's not like that," Miranda said. "The guy in the middle is my brother. He wanted to meet me here. I didn't see his car, and I don't know the other two, so I just thought it'd be easier to ask you rather than search that crowd."

The bouncer didn't look convinced, but he nodded nonetheless and pointed at the woman. "Think she came in an hour ago. Check over by the pool tables. I ain't seen the other dudes."

Miranda did her best to give him a bright, perky smile. "Thanks!" she said, handing him an extra ten with her cover charge.

She moved into the bar. Booths lined the outer walls. In the center were tall tables, with the bar itself stretching across the length of the back wall. To her right were four pool tables. Miranda moved there first, because it would be easier to examine people while feigning interest in the games. She saw a tall, bottled-blonde playing at one of the tables in the middle. The woman wore a sleeveless denim jacket, and a barbed-wire tattoo encircled her bicep. When she moved to the other side of the table to line up a shot, Miranda knew she was the woman in the picture.

It looked like the game had just started, so Miranda took the opportunity to circle the bar in search of the other man in the picture. She stopped at the bar first, where she scanned faces while waiting for a can of beer. She had no intention of drinking the stuff, but they didn't offer bottles here because of the potential for using them as weapons, and she would be out of place without a drink in her hand. At least no one would be able to tell how much beer she did or didn’t drink.

Her tour of the bar did not reveal the man, so she wandered back to the pool table. The woman with the tattoo was just about to put the 8-ball in a corner pocket and finish the game up. She sank it easily. Her opponent swore, but still shook her hand, passing off a small wad of bills in the process. The woman pocketed the bills and left the table, heading towards the bar. Miranda followed.