Distant Memory (21 page)

Tanner complied, driving slowly, but not so slowly as to draw attention. “One house has its garage door open,” Tanner said.

“Better than that,” Hobbs said. “The garage light is on, and I can see the door that leads into the house. It’s open too.”

“You think they’re in there?”

“Not anymore. Take us back. I’m going in.”

“It’s really not our jurisdiction,” Tanner reminded the detective.

“I know that, but someone may be hurt. Something happened here. Something violent.”

“Off,” Moyer said coldly, and the automated phone went dead. Pacing around his office, he considered what he had just heard. Massey had reported in and, using cryptic phrases, brought him up to speed. Moyer replayed the brief conversation in his mind.

“I had to downsize the project,” Massey had said easily, like any executive conversing about business over a cell phone. In previous conversations he had been freer in his discussions, knowing that the call was encrypted. The fact that he was now using euphemisms told Moyer a great deal. Massey was afraid that they had been compromised. By the
stranger who was linked to the woman? “The on-site man just wasn’t meeting expectations, so I had to let him go.”

“I understand,” Moyer said, knowing that McCullers was no longer involved. He had seen the whole thing through the unblinking eye of his spy satellite. “I saw the memo. It was picture perfect.” Moyer was certain that Massey knew his every move was being watched electronically.

“I see,” Massey answered, relaying his understanding.

“That’s good,” Moyer replied. McCullers was out of the way permanently, and Moyer felt no remorse. That had always been an option. Bringing in outsiders had inherent risks. Had McCullers shown any leanings toward blackmail, he would have been disposed of quickly. Even trained killers could be murdered. Massey had exercised that option.

“I’m still looking for a new staff person and believe that I have found the right woman for the job. I’m driving out to meet her right now. Maybe we can close the contract this evening. I think we can.”

He had the woman in his sights. That made Moyer smile. It was all just a matter of time now, and Massey would put an end to the nightmare. There would be bonuses for him. Huge bonuses. “Good,” Moyer said. “I’m sure you’ll make all the right decisions on this. Do you expect any ramifications from the dismissal?”

“None, sir. None at all.”

“Wonderful. Take care and hurry back. We need you at the office.” Massey would understand the implication. Moyer wanted this done and done now.

“Yes sir. I’ll keep you posted.”

“You do that. I’m willing to commit whatever resources are necessary to secure the proper help.”

“I understand, sir, but I think I have all that I need.”

Moyer knew that Massey did indeed understand.

H
obbs’s heart pounded in his chest. His mouth was dry, and his tongue felt like burlap. He was frightened. With his weapon drawn and aimed in front of him, he made his way slowly into the open garage. A sudden inrush of adrenaline coursed through his veins. His senses were on fire, as if someone had turned up the volume on his hearing and had fine-tuned his eyesight.

Tanner was behind him, his weapon at the ready. His movement was slow and determined. He heard every sound from outside. He listened for voices or the sound of a television that might indicate someone’s presence.

Breaking the rules. That was what he was doing. He was out of his jurisdiction and entering a house for which he had no search warrant, a house he couldn’t even be sure was the one Nick Blanchard and the mystery woman had been in, and proceeding with insufficient backup. All he had to go on was the video from the helicopter and his guess that Blanchard had parked his truck in front of the house he had now entered. For all Hobbs knew, he was entering the house of some hardworking citizen who just happened to live on the same street as the man Hobbs wanted to talk to and who had simply left the door to his garage open.

But there was a compelling reason to make entry into the house. A
dead man, one who had pretended to be a police officer and who had showed an unusual interest in Blanchard and the woman, lay a couple of hundred yards away. Hobbs should have waited for backup from the local boys. That was protocol.

Something caught Hobbs’s eye in the garage: skid marks, the kind a car lays down when accelerating from a still position. Someone had left the garage in a hurry. Bending down, Hobbs touched the rubber marks. A fine black powder clung to his fingertips. The tracks were fresh. He held up his fingers to Tanner, who nodded.

Glancing over the rest of the floor, Hobbs saw something else: small dark splatters on the concrete. He stepped over to them, stooped down, and studied the blotches: blood, freshly dropped to the porous cement. Someone had been hurt. This had to be the right house.

Moving stealthily forward, he paused at the door that connected the garage with the home. With an expert’s eye for detail, he immediately noticed that the doorknob was loose and that long, thin cracks ran vertically up the edge of the door. The door had been rammed or kicked—from the inside. Hobbs didn’t have to look to know the doorjamb would bear the same stress fractures. The most convincing proof was found farther up the jamb: a bullet hole.

Not wanting to leave his own fingerprints on the doorknob, Hobbs reached down with his left hand and placed two fingers on the door’s damaged edge while still holding his gun in his right. He nodded to Tanner, who returned the gesture, pointing his .357 at the door. If someone was waiting on the other side, Tanner was ready.

Hobbs stood motionless, listening. Nothing. He pulled the door back, thankful that it swung silently on its hinges.

His advance changed from slow and tentative to fast and forceful. He led the way, bursting into the empty living room, Tanner on his heels. They pushed through the hall, examining every room and opening every closet.

They found nothing. No gunman, no bodies.

Then, “Blood.”

Tanner was crouching over several dark spots on the thick carpet. There were blood splatters and a dark smear. “It looks like a gunshot wound. Whoever was shot probably fell here.”

“How can you tell?”

“Experience. I can’t be sure without the proper lab work. The smear tells me that the victim fell to the ground and that his wound marked the rug. I wonder which one of them took the bullet?”

“No way of knowing,” Tanner admitted.

“At least we have some evidence. Forensics may come up with more. We might be able to get a match with the blood found in the wrecked Lexus. If we do, then we’ll know that it was the woman who was shot.”

“What about the dead man? Could it be his blood?”

Hobbs shook his head. “I don’t see how. He was shot square in the chest and wouldn’t have been able to move more than a few feet, if that.”

“This raises everything up a few notches. We have gunplay in the house and a dead man on the street. This is no longer a missing person–accident investigation. It just became murder.”

“Swell,” Tanner said sardonically.

“You had better let the locals know what we’ve found.”

“Okay,” Tanner said. “What are you going to do?”

“Talk to the neighbors. Maybe one of them can give us a description of the car that was parked in the garage. Surely someone has seen the car used. I doubt Blanchard drives his truck down to the local store to pick up milk.”

“Someone needs to take a look at the truck, too. I’ll do that just as soon as the other officers arrive.”

“Good idea.”

As the men left the house, Hobbs reminded himself that every minute lost was more time for his quarry to put distance between him and them.

“Do you have any money?” Lisa asked as she made yet another turn on 150.

“Some. Why?” Nick asked.

“There’s a drugstore up ahead. I want to pick up something for your arm.”

“It’s okay. The bleeding has stopped.”

“It needs to be cleaned,” she said firmly. “You’re going to need some pain relievers, too, both for the arm and the leg.”

“I don’t think we should stop,” he said. His voice had weakened.

“I haven’t seen anyone behind us since we left the house. I think we shook them.”

“Maybe, but you don’t know that,” Nick protested.

“I know if that wound gets infected that we’re going to have bigger problems than we have now. There would be no way to keep you out of the hospital. We’ll be okay. It’s a public place. I’ll be fast.”

Nick fell silent. He didn’t like the plan, but he knew it was necessary. He shifted in his seat and pulled out his wallet with his uninjured arm. “Do you think a twenty will do?”

“It should.”

Nick sighed. “Okay. But please be quick.”

“I will. You figure out what our next move should be.”

The shopping center was situated at the junction of Highways 150 and 33. Finding an open spot near the front door of the drugstore, Lisa parked the car. “It looks like a mom-and-pop shop,” Nick said.

“Just as long as they have what we need.” Without hesitation, she exited the car and walked quickly through an automated glass door.

The inside of the drugstore seemed unusually bright. The overhead fluorescent lights beamed their brilliance onto several rows of product shelves and off the highly polished linoleum floor. Coming from the
early dark of evening, Lisa had to blink several times while her eyes adjusted to the glare.

“Good evening,” a voice said, startling Lisa. A young woman with blond hair was standing behind a counter at the far end of the small store. “Can I help you find something?”

“No,” Lisa said, watching the woman’s response. The young lady stared at her for a moment as if she recognized her.
The bruises
, Lisa thought, remembering the bump on her head and the bluish cast of the skin on the side of her face. “Well, actually yes. I’m looking for disinfectant and pain relievers.”

“Aisle two for the disinfectant; aisle three for the other. We have aspirin, ibuprofen in various names, and—”

“Ibuprofen will be fine,” Lisa said, remembering that that was what Nick had offered her. He must prefer it. Moving as quickly as she could without being obvious, she walked down the aisles. She picked up a large bottle of pain relievers, some antiseptic spray, then as an afterthought a small first-aid kit. The gauze and bandages would be useful.

“That will be nineteen fifty-five,” the woman behind the counter said when Lisa brought her purchases to the register. “Will there be anything else?”

“No, that will be—” Lisa stopped short as she looked up from the counter and past the young woman. Looking back at her was the single eye of a video camera. Her heart tripped, and her stomach plummeted.

“Ma’am? Are you all right?”

“Um, yes. I’m fine.”

“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

There was no ghost, but the video camera terrified her. What was there about it? Maybe that someone could be watching her right now? Or could be recording her face and purchase, or tracking her through the store—

“Tracking,” she whispered.

“Excuse me?” the woman said, bagging the items.

“Nothing,” Lisa said quickly. “I was just thinking out loud.”

“Oh, I do that all the time. My husband teases me about it.”

“Thank you,” Lisa said and quickly exited the shop.

She returned to the car, but before opening the driver’s side door, she circled the auto twice.

“What was that all about?” Nick said. “Some sort of good-luck dance?”

“Have you seen anything? Any strange people? Strange cars?”

“No, and you had better believe that I’ve been looking.”

“Why didn’t they follow us?” Lisa blurted as she started the car.

“Maybe we hurt our attacker more than we realize. Maybe they were slow to get off the dime.”

“I doubt it,” Lisa said. She drove slowly, purposefully. “I need a dark spot, or at least a place that’s out of view.”

“Why?”

“They may not have chased us because they didn’t have to. They may know where we are.”