Pushed Too Far: A Thriller (22 page)

“Okay.”

He tapped a few keys and the monitor flicked to life.

The shot showed three rows of slot machines, a handful of people scattered among them, trying their luck. She scanned the grainy image of each face, squinting her right eye in an effort to adjust to the blurring that seemed to be growing worse.

The first three people, she didn’t know. Then she spotted Monica beaming as Derrick hit a button and the machine paid out. She looked so happy, her gestures exaggerated as if she was quite drunk. Derrick, too, seemed to be swaying a little on his feet.

Val’s throat closed and tears welled in her eyes. She took a couple of breaths through her mouth, did her best to blink her vision clear, and pointed at the screen. “There. That’s Monica and that’s her fiancé Derrick.”

Subera nodded as if she’d just told him what he already knew.

So it was true then. Monica was dead. Derrick was dead. And Val had a feeling she knew who did it.

As if conjured by her thoughts, Dixon Hess walked down the aisle toward the couple, watching the row of machines as if trying to pick the best one to play.

Val held her breath, waiting to see what he’d do.

He bumped into Monica, grabbed her a little to keep her from tipping both herself and Derrick onto the floor, and then he resumed his walk, moving off the bottom edge of the monitor.

“That was him. Dixon Hess. He bumped into them.”

S.A. Subera moved the video back a few seconds and played it again, asking her to point Hess out on the screen. Then he let the footage roll.

There wasn’t much left. Monica and Derrick hugged and horsed around for a few seconds, then left the frame in the direction Hess had.

“He picked her pocket,” Lund said simply.

Val had to agree. “She didn’t have a purse with her, so she must have had her wallet there.

“Wallet was in the room.”

“Of course,” she said. “It was her key.”

Again Subera nodded, as if he’d already figured it out.

Val continued. “He saw they were drunk, so he grabbed the key and waited for them.”

“Not drunk,” said the agent. “Another camera shows him hanging out at the bar area.”

“He put something in their drinks.”

“We’ll have to see what the tox screen finds.”

Again a wave of emotion washed over her, and she struggled to hold it together. In normal circumstances, she’d ask to see the crime scene, even though she had no cause for the FBI to grant her that wish. Today, she was certain she couldn’t handle seeing Monica’s face without dissolving into a sobbing heap.

But there was one thing she had to know.

“Did he do anything to the bodies?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like sew their mouths shut? Something unusual?” She could feel Lund watching her, no doubt remembering what Hess had done to Tamara Wade.

“As a matter of fact, he did.”

She scooped in a deep breath, as if she was about to plunge under water. “What?”

Subera glanced at Grace. “That information is restricted to law enforcement personnel.”

Val nodded. “Grace, will you step right outside the door?”

Eyes looking a little shell shocked, she nodded and scampered out, more eager to escape the horror than curious for maybe the first time in her life.

Lund scooched back his chair. “You want me to leave, too?”

“Please.”

Once Val and the special agent were alone, she turned to face him and braced herself. “What did he do?”

“He cut off the male’s penis.”

Val frowned. She didn’t understand. Derrick wasn’t part of the trial. He had nothing to do with Hess’s conviction. In fact, Monica and he hadn’t started dating until after Hess was behind bars.

So why would he mutilate Derrick in that way?

“Did he mutilate both of them?”

“She has some cuts. They looked largely superficial, though. Meant to cause pain.”

“How did she die?”

“He put duct tape on both their mouths. The male has his throat cut. From what we can tell without an autopsy, it looks like the female might have choked to death.”

“He choked her?”

“No. He taped something in her mouth. She aspirated her own vomit.”

She almost asked what Hess had taped inside Monica’s mouth, but then she knew.

Hess hadn’t mutilated Derrick for anything Derrick had done. He’d done it so he could take from Monica what she loved best.

And a part of what she loved best was what killed her.

Someone was camping on an icy night like this?

Kasdorf picked up his pace, moving through evergreen and birch, pine needles cushioning his steps. He’d been out doing his usual rounds, walking the perimeter, checking to see if the trees were suffering damage from the ice storm, keeping an eye out like he always did.

The sun was going down, not that you could see it through the thick clouds. But soon it would be dark. He wanted to make sure his land was secure before night set in.

Then he smelled the smoke.

He could just imagine what was going on. Not campers, not on a night like this. So who was it? Cops? Soldiers after his arsenal? Criminals waiting until they thought he couldn’t defend himself?

He had some news for them. Dale Kasdorf could always defend himself.

All he had to do was reach his bunker.

A hundred meters from his house, he picked up the tread of work boots in the snow.

Whoever it was hadn’t gone to any lengths to hide his tracks, just as he hadn’t seemed to give a thought to concealing the smoke.

He could hear the fire crackle, and judging from the glow on the other side of a stand of pine, he was drawing near. His hands trembled with the surge of adrenaline, but he was ready. He was capable of killing a man to defend himself and his property. Hell, he’d take on police, the IRS, even the CIA if he had to. A man’s home was his castle. A man’s guns were his life.

He fought through the last thicket of brush and trees. For a moment, he froze in his tracks.

His house. The flames, the smoke, they were coming from his house.

And looking up at the bonfire, smiling, was Dixon Hess himself.

Kasdorf raised his Bulldog to fire, but by the time he brought the weapon up, the bastard was gone, ducking behind trees.

Kasdorf had a choice. He could give chase or he could protect his arsenal.

Slipping the revolver back into its holster, he raced into the flames.

L
und hated to interrupt, but when a call went out for a fire at a property near the dairy farm, he didn’t have much choice, especially in light of who the owner of that property was.

The door to the security office swung open and Special Agent Subera stuck out his head. “What is it.”

“I need to talk to Chief Ryker.”

“It’ll have to wait.”

He rested his hand on the door. “Can’t wait. It’s about a fire. You might want to hear about this, too, if you’re serious about solving your double murder.”

“It’s connected?”

“I’m pretty sure. Yes.”

Subera swung the door wide. “Come in then.”

Val stood up as he stepped inside. “What is it?”

“Fire. Kasdorf’s place.”

“Hess. Has to be.”

Subera looked from one to the other. “Fill me in.”

Lund let Val do the honors.

“Kasdorf was a witness in Monica’s case against Hess.”

He blew a breath through tight lips, just short of a whistle. “He’s taking out everyone involved in the case?”

Val nodded. “One by one.”

“Who’s left?”

Lund pointed to Val, then himself. “You’re looking at ‘em.”

“And possibly Sergeant Olson,” Val added.

“But if you don’t mind, I’ll leave you two to talk about that. I have to someplace to be.” He spun for the door.

“Wait.” Val’s voice.

He turned back.

“Kasdorf. The guy has an arsenal. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had some really crazy stuff. You might just want to let this one burn itself out.”

He saw what she was getting at. “But it would be a blast to be able to put it out myself.”

She shook her head.

He held up his hands. “Kidding.”

“Just be careful.”

A warm feeling seated itself in his chest, right next to the tremble of worry for her. “You, too.”

Val would give almost anything to take Grace and Lund, hole up in a luxury resort somewhere far away and sleep until her body functioned again and the grief she felt over Monica’s death faded away. Instead she did the only thing she could.

The job … whether she was suspended or not.

Monica’s murder was out of her hands. She could assist on the case, even offer herself as a witness to Hess’s vendetta. But the crime didn’t take place in her jurisdiction. That particular arrangement would be worked out between tribal police and the FBI.

However Liz Unger’s death was something she could pursue and she intended to do just that.

Driving back to Lake Loyal was slow going. Light rain continued to fall, the temperature continued to balance on the edge of freezing, and ice continued to build up, layer upon layer, coating asphalt and trees and power lines alike.

Grace stared through the Nova’s windshield, eyebrows tilted low and arms crossed over her chest. “What if the power goes out? It’s supposed to get colder.”

“Honey, we’ll just have to deal with that if it happens.”

“Can you drop me off at home so I can check on them?”

Of course, the horses.

Under normal circumstances, Val would jump at the idea. Grace had already visited the morgue and the scene of a brutal murder, even if they didn’t actually enter the room. That was a lot for a sixteen year old to handle in a day. But with Hess still out there …

“I’m sorry, Grace. You need to stick with me for now.”

“It’s Dixon Hess, isn’t it? You think he’ll come after us next.”

Val opened her mouth, then closed it before any lies could slip out. Protecting Grace was vital, but she couldn’t give empty reassurances. Her niece seemed to have forgiven her for keeping the multiple sclerosis a secret. Following that with another fib might destroy the trust they had left. “He won’t come after us if we don’t give him the opportunity. That’s why you need to stay where it’s safe.”

“Okay. If you agree to stay safe, too.”

“That’s a deal.”

The streets of Lake Loyal were deserted, the businesses lining Elmwood closed for the weather. Grace had been right about the temperature dropping, but instead of the cold transforming rain into snow or sleet, it continued to fall as liquid and freeze on whatever surface it hit. Even salt was no longer able to keep up.

Of course, businesses being closed didn’t mean the police station was. And as usual, Oneida was running the show. Spotting Val and Grace in the vestibule, she clamored to the entrance to let them in. “Chief. Am I glad to see you.”