“And now? Where is she now?”
I hung my head. “I don’t know. She went off the side of that boat like she’d been hit by a board. By then I was ducking rifle rounds and trying to hide behind an inflatable boat. I had to deal with them before I could help her.”
“You say you didn’t kill them when you had the chance. They were sure as hell trying to kill you two. So why not?”
I explained about overhearing them talk about “Lucas” doing the actual shooting. “I couldn’t know what Mingo had told them about us. They were a couple of deputies, probably doing what they thought was right.”
“That’s bullshit. Deputy sheriffs arrest perps and bring them to justice. They don’t shoot them down like wetbacks in a fucking river.”
“Like I said, I think it was the other guy who did the shooting. I believe emotions are running high up there. If they saw what remained of Rue Creigh, and Mingo spun them up, well… cops. What can I say.”
He looked at me the way a drill sergeant looks at a recruit who’s shown up with a pink Mohawk. That was a look I remembered from boot camp.
“And now I suppose you think you’re going back in.”
“Thought crossed my mind,” I said. “Carrie’s still out there.”
“So’s Mingo and his mafia,” the sheriff said. “This time they’ll get you. You’re in no shape to go anywhere. You look like you’re ready to fold up right there in that chair.”
He was right. I was suddenly very tired. My bones ached, I didn’t want to look at my foot, and I was worried sick about Carrie. It had been her crusade, but I was the guy who’d made it out of the kill zone. I didn’t look forward to the kinds of looks I’d be getting once the SBI crew showed up.
“You need to go offline for a while while I get some adult supervision into this mess,” he said. “Go back to that French boudoir of a hotel room and wait for me to tell you what you’re going to do next.”
“I mostly need some sleep,” I said. “That’s what Carrie was trying for when Rue Creigh waltzed in and took her prisoner. Right here in beautiful downtown Carrigan County, now that I think about it.”
He gave me a sour look. “Okay, okay, I’ll put some people on your hotel. You still have that Creigh shotgun?”
“It’s out in that Robbins County cruiser,” I said. “I’d like to keep it, though-Nathan took my SIG.”
He thought about it for a moment, then realized the shotgun would provide little ballistic evidence.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll have a deputy follow you back to the hotel. Then I think we’ll park their cruiser back out by the county line.”
“What if Carrie was right?” I asked. “What if Grinny Creigh’s got a clutch of kids in a cave somewhere and is preparing to transport them to God knows what?”
“First things first,” he said. “Let’s find out what happened to Carrie. You’re positive it wasn’t the deputies who did the shooting?”
“They had handguns, the shooter had a rifle of some kind. I definitely heard one of them say, ‘Lucas got her good.’ Don’t know who Lucas is. That’s all I’m sure about.”
“But they didn’t prevent it, either.”
“No, they did not. And at least one of them was looking forward to phase two.”
“That’s what makes this thing so tough,” he said. “I have zero jurisdiction or authority over there, or I’d take a crew in and look for Carrie. So now I’m going to call in some cavalry. Like I said, they’ll want to talk to you.”
“Ducky.”
I slept right through to five o’clock, even though I’d set a clock for three. I fed the dogs again and then limped up to the main lodge to get something to eat. My ankle was coming down a little bit, but my instep still hurt and I couldn’t get a shoe on yet. When I got back to the cabin I found three large men with North Carolina SBI windbreakers waiting for me. The shepherds were watching them from inside the screen porch. They weren’t barking, but they hadn’t let them in, either. They showed ID, and I told the dogs that it was okay. I led the threesome into the living room.
The man who appeared to be in charge introduced himself as Senior Supervisory Special Agent Carl Gelber. He was not a happy camper. He looked like an enforcer for a mob loan shark, minus the big pasta belly. Of his two associates, one was young, maybe twenty-five, and the other was in his late forties. Both of them were big boys, too. The SBI must have a goon squad hidden somewhere, I thought, as I watched them try to fit into the cabin’s lavishly upholstered chairs.
Gelber said he’d been briefed by Sheriff Hayes and now he wanted to hear it from me, beginning at the beginning. I asked them if they wanted a drink. Gelber just sat there looking like he was barely in control of his temper, and, no, they were not here to socialize. This was definitely a business call. His expression said that I was lucky not to have been hauled down to a dungeon for this little consultation.
I took them through it from the beginning, or at least from the point where Carrie had gotten involved. They did not take notes-they just listened. Gelber watched me the way a hawk watches a little bunny hopping across a big field, waiting for it to get equidistant from any possible cover. His stare was sufficiently hostile that I called in the shepherds and made them lie down next to my chair. If he got the message, he didn’t let on. Finally, when I was finished, he told me to go through it again. That pissed me off-he was in fact treating me like some kind of suspect.
“No,” I said. “I’ve told you what I know. I’ll answer questions if you have some.”
Gelber’s face froze and he balled his hands into fists. Big fists. Frack sat up, staring at him. “Not your call, cowboy,” Gelber said, leaning forward in his chair as if he were getting ready to come at me. Frick sat up now, and both shepherds were locked on, without a word or signal from me. Gelber finally noticed what was happening.
“You sic those dogs on me and I’ll shoot both of them before they get off the first bark,” he spat.
I sighed. “You make any sort of move just now and you’ll lose both your hands and your face,” I said quietly. “You need to settle down, Special Agent.”
Gelber got very red in the face, and for a moment I thought he was going to try it. It would have been interesting. Bloody and noisy, but definitely interesting. Then the older agent intervened.
“Carl,” he said in a voice of calm authority. “Get ahold of yourself. You’re being unprofessional.”
Gelber blinked, turned around to look at the older man, and then deflated. “Yes, sir,” he said. “Sorry, sir.” He relaxed fractionally in his chair, opened his hands, and put them on his knees. Both shepherds relaxed along with him.
“Lieutenant Richter,” the older man said to me. “I’m Sam King, and I’m the western district manager for the SBI. As you might imagine, everyone’s pretty upset right now. Why don’t you and I have that drink. We’ll just let these gents go outside for a cigarette.”
It was my turn to blink, but I agreed immediately and told the dogs to lie down and watch. Gelber didn’t much care for that word “watch,” but he and his buddy stepped outside. Both shepherds followed them to the door and then sat down on the porch. Gelber’s anger seemed to have been genuine, so I didn’t think they were playing the bad cop, good cop game, but I decided to be on my guard. If this guy was the western district manager, he’d be looking to make sure that this situation didn’t get any serious mud on the SBI’s shoes.
“We went into Robbins County,” King said once we sat back down. “I had one team looking for Carrie Santangelo, or her remains, in the area where you said the shooting went down. No sign of her, unfortunately.”
“Maybe fortunately,” I interjected. “No body might mean she’s still alive.”
“Or drowned and not coming up for the usual two more days,” he said gently. “We did find the remains of the raft, hung up on a snag. Complete with bullet holes. And someone’s nasty toy.”