Stone Cold (2 page)

Dale switched on the engine and primed himself mentally for the drive home. Already the nearby freeways were a river of headlights snaking their way toward the city, straining his eyes as cold rain spilled down from uncaring clouds tumbling through the sky above to smear his windshield. The only consolation was that he was headed in the opposite direction, away from the twinkling galaxy of city lights behind him and out into the darkness, the traffic easing as he left the urban sprawl behind.

The pale dawn revealed sprawling plains and distant mountain ranges wreathed in ribbons of tattered cloud, the road ahead a thin strip of dark asphalt stretching away into infinity and unbroken but for tiny towns scattered like beached ships across endless rolling seas of wheat and rye. Empty and silent. Dale cruised to the edge of the city, a suburban moat around the castle of civilisation separating it from the lonely wilderness beyond. He saw an old water tower and a wind turbine spinning on the cold air, convenience stores and the high school.

The cul–de–sac in which he lived was a leafy paradise tucked down on the city’s south side, only a few of the impressive houses showing any activity at this early hour as Dale pulled onto his drive. The double–garage door rose automatically as it detected the car’s presence and Dale eased the Mercedes inside, the garage lights blinking on of their own accord. His wife’s Laguna was parked inside the garage, shining a pristine electric blue.

Dale climbed out of his Mercedes and walked into the house through the interior garage door, switching off the alarm as he tossed his keys onto a shelf in the hall. The house was dark and silent as he slipped out of his shoes and strode through into the lobby. He wondered if his wife was awake yet.

He stopped when he saw the front door.

A pile of mail sat where it had fallen, probably delivered that morning but not collected. A pulse of alarm shivered through Dale’s chest as he picked up the mail and sifted through it. Clearly Sheila had not been home, and yet her car was still in the garage and showing no signs of having been driven in the incessant rain that had been falling for the past couple of days.

Dale picked up the mail as he called out.

‘Honey, you home?’

A long, empty silence filled the house. Dale walked back through the house toward the kitchen and hit the lights, and immediately he saw the light speckle of blood staining the floor tiles and a brown envelope left on the dark granite kitchen counter.

Dale opened the envelope and unfolded the piece of paper folded within. A photograph fell out and landed in his palm. His wife, Sheila, walking down a street in the city, all flowing blonde hair and mile–wide smile, talking on a cell phone. As he read the accompanying note his heart stuttered through a couple of beats and cold flushes washed his skin.

We have her already. We require $10 million in untraceable bonds. Await further instructions. If you contact the police, she will suffer. If you fail to deliver, she will die.

Dale stared at the printed words as though he was in some kind of bizarre dream and he could change them by force of will. He dug his fingertips into his eyes, squeezed hard and blinked before reading the note once more.

The words did not change.

The note fell from his hand and drifted gently down onto the deep carpet beneath his feet.

***

3

First day at a new job.

Nerves pulled taut, stretching the lines on her face and straining the muscles in her jaw. She must have been grinding her teeth in her sleep again.
Relax
, damn it.

Kathryn Stone hurried about her tiny apartment, checked her hair in a mirror on the way into the bathroom, then checked it again on the way back out. Blouse smart and buttoned up sensibly high, skirt not too short, heels not too high. Hair looks okay. First impressions count. Don’t forget purse and car keys.

‘Do you think my makeup is too heavy?’

Kathryn heard a faint murmur from the bedroom and hurried through. Her boyfriend, Stephen, had arrived home just as she was getting up. An insurance salesman, he spent hours travelling by car and airplane securing deals and restructuring corporate assurances. The last drive home had been a long one, right through the night he had said. She had to admit that he looked thoroughly exhausted. He glanced at her through one open eye, the other half of his body apparently already asleep. She wondered if he drove like that.

‘You look fine, honey,’ he mumbled.

‘Sure?’

Both eyes were now closed. ‘Sure, perfect.’

Kathryn refused to let Stephen’s disinterest mar her day. Truth was in his current state she could have taken a blow–torch to her hair and his response would likely have been the same. She had worked damned hard to support their tiny apartment while Stephen travelled to the ends of the Earth for his meagre commission and she had studied equally hard for her diploma. Now, finally, she too would be earning again.

Kathryn walked back into the kitchen as though riding a gentle wave of coffee fumes, bacon and egg. She placed everything that she had cooked on a plate and tray, careful not to splash her crisp white blouse, and carried it through into the bedroom.

Stephen was flat on his back beneath the sheets, eyes still closed beneath neatly trimmed black hair that framed a wide, lightly shadowed jaw. He was annoyingly attractive even when exhausted, or at least he was to Kathryn.

‘Breakfast is served, sir,’ she said as she rested the tray beside him on the bed.

Stephen grinned dreamily and propped himself up on his elbow to examine the offering. ‘What would I do without you?’

‘Sleep,’ she replied, ‘and go hungry. There’s more food in the chiller if you need it. Right now, I’ve got to go to work. Do I look okay?’

Stephen grabbed her arm and pulled her gently to him, kissing her on the lips. ‘You look fine, okay? Good luck on your first day.’

‘See you tonight.’

Kathryn slipped into her heels and jacket and strode out of the apartment. The air was crisp and cold, the thin lawns outside the block encrusted with ice and the windows of her battered old Lincoln sheened with a light frost. The bitterly cold weather took its toll and it required several grinding, screeching attempts to both get the engine started and keep it running until it was warm enough to risk committing travel. It was like bringing somebody back from the dead.

The drive was not a long one but it required negotiating from the city’s east side to the centre, through the usual slog of early–morning traffic. Kathryn drove through town and guided the geriatric car into a parking lot alongside the Great Falls Police Department, rows of patrol cars and a couple of motorcycles parked facing her and the Missouri River flowing cold and dark behind. Kathryn switched off the rattling engine and sat for a moment in contemplative silence. Today was the day. She was on her own. Focus on the future. There is no past. You have a job to do. Check your hair in the mirror.

The car’s ancient fold–down mirror distorted her face, making her jowls look larger than they really were and her cheeks poke out as though she were a squirrel feasting on chestnuts. Her long brown hair matched her eyes. Not too much makeup, just a dab here and there. Professional. Smart. The
I–don’t–need–to–plaster–my–face–in–gunk
look that she imagined smart guys, like police detectives, might like.

Kathryn reached down to her left hand and removed a silver commitment ring from her finger. It has been given her by Stephen after their first year together, a token of their love. She looked at it fondly for a moment, warmed briefly by the hazy memories of happiness, and then she opened the glove compartment and tossed the ring inside before slamming it shut. It felt as though a breeze block had been lifted from her shoulders.

Now, get out of the car.

Kathryn got out of the car into the cold air, careful not to catch her suit on the greasy door. She slammed the door hard to make sure the catch caught, and then slammed it again when it didn’t. Her reflection in the grubby window now looked angular, almost gaunt.

‘Miss Stone?’

Kathryn whirled. ‘Yes?’

A uniformed officer with short blonde hair peaking from beneath her cap smiled at Kathryn’s startled response. ‘Easy there, tiger. You’re due to meet Detective Griffin?’

‘Yes, at ten,’ Kathryn replied.

‘Don’t sweat it,’ the officer replied. ‘You should have seen me the day of my first arrest: two teenagers lobbing stolen ice–cream into a lido and then at me when I intervened. I looked like a walking vanilla with cherry by the time I’d apprehended them. This way, please.’

Kathryn followed the officer into the station, past the front desk with its armoured glass window and through a security door into the station proper.

A small operations room filled with busy desks constituted the centre of the station’s activities, where detectives sat with their heads down talking quietly on phones or searching computer screens with furrowed brows. A municipal law enforcement agency, the overall department was manned by eighty or so sworn men and women supported by some forty civilian staff, along with two canine patrols and the subject of Kathryn’s visit: the HRU team.

The HRU or High Risk Unit was considered a
Red Flag
team, qualified and certified for use around the state and region when needed. Routinely activated for calls within the city, it had also occasionally been used outside the city upon request. The unit consisted of four components: entry teams, negotiators, snipers, and medics. Overseen by the TAC Commander, it was comprised of officers throughout the agency doing their day to day duties in patrol, detectives and support services that, upon HRU activation, were alerted and reported for a briefing with their equipment readied before transport to the scene of any crime.

Several weeks before, a pair of riders from the notorious
Bandidos
motorcycle gang had spiked themselves to the eyeballs on peyote buttons after a drinking session in Tuffy’s Bar and abducted a nine year–old girl, Amy Wheeler, before holing themselves up in an abandoned farmstead down by the lonely waters of Muddy Creek. Local residents had called the police and the HRU had spent nearly eight hours talking down the bikers, who were armed with sawn–off shotguns and a severe lack of interest in staying alive. A pair of Great Falls detectives had joined the HRU entry team on the request of CCSO.

The HRU team had done a fabulous job. Unfortunately, the bikers had continued to take drugs in favour of using their brains. Drunk on their own biker–gang prowess and the nameless chemicals surging through their bodies, they decided to go down fighting when the HRU team, believing them to be on the verge of a suicide pact, decided to burst in.

In the shoot–out that followed their captive Amy Wheeler was hit by a ricochet and fatally wounded. Both bikers were apprehended, two police officers lightly injured. In the inevitable investigation into the event, although all officers were rightly cleared of any wrong–doing, a forensic examination by the ballistics team had identified the weapon that had caused the shrapnel burst that had killed the little girl.

A shot fired by the sidearm of Detective Scott Griffin, in support of the HRU team.

Kathryn knew the procedures that were performed as a matter of course in the wake of fatal shootings by the police, but she had read the file with particular care in this case. Detective Griffin’s gun had been collected as evidence. The Critical Incident Stress Management System had been activated, with a mandatory debriefing of all officers involved taking place within seventy two hours. Detective Scott Griffin had been placed on paid administrative leave for a few days to process what had happened, but had reportedly returned to work a few days later. A GFPD Firearms Use Review followed, along with an internal non–criminal investigation which quickly identified that Griffin’s shot was targeting one of the bikers and also identified the unfortunate ricochet which caused Amy Wheeler’s death.

The State Department of Criminal Investigation, or DCI, had then conducted a criminal investigation. The following Coroner’s Inquest had taken place and had determined that Detective Griffin’s actions were entirely justified and that no course of action could have prevented the ricochet.

Throughout the entire process, Detective Griffin’s actions and intentions as an officer of the law had been revealed as entirely within procedure and indeed exemplary. If there had been a problem with the officer’s actions, then the County Attorney’s Office – or, more likely the Montana Attorney General’s Officer, if DCI were investigating – would have reviewed the case and perhaps brought criminal charges against the officer. The FBI might also have considered civil rights violations against the officer, and Amy Wheeler’s family could have sought damages though a lawsuit against the agency. But none of these things had happened. Detective Griffin had been cleared to return to active duty, his record untarnished by the tragedy.

Two weeks later, Griffin had been found slumped in a bar on the edge of town at two in the morning, incoherent with grief that a shot fired by his own hand had killed a child he was devoted to protecting even at the risk of his own life. Griffin was given a further leave of absence for two weeks, before being reinstated as a detective with the department and offered the support that he needed.

The Great Falls Police Department was on the pioneering forefront of identifying and addressing the issue of Post–Traumatic Stress Disorder, or PTSD. Officers within the department had built a program to alleviate the stigma attached to the condition and educate officers and their families regarding warning signs and how to get help. The Great Falls Police Protective Association, a private association for and funded by the department’s officers, had stepped in on Griffin’s behalf to arrange for time off, travel expenses and the cost of any treatment. Griffin had refused the more expensive option of a specialized program in Vermont, but had reluctantly agreed to see a local counsellor based in the city.

Kathryn Stone.