“They know I’m here. I’ll radio if I think it’s something I can’t handle.”
The skepticism on Jim’s face stung Ben’s ego. He waved off the man and rolled up his window. The chill from the night air had frosted the dried grass along the road, and his headlights gave it a silver cast. In just the short moment he’d had his window down, the interior of his car had completely cooled. He cranked up the heat and cautiously drove on, turning on his brights and watching both sides of the road for anyone else who decided to leap out of the darkness.
“Jim’s older than I am,” he mumbled. “Jerk doesn’t think I can handle myself.”
The ruts in the dirt road made his vehicle bounce and jerk, and he heard packed dirt scrape his undercarriage. One of these days, everyone in the department will have four-wheel drives. Right now, the department could afford only two.
He turned off the road into the Hills’ driveway. Someone had nailed two hubcaps to a pine, marking the driveway. Tacky, but effective, even in the dark.
Keeping his heat blasting, he lowered his window and listened as he drove. Ahead the Hill home was dark. Beyond it Ben could see the outline of a wide, low outbuilding and two small sheds beyond it. Ben stopped the car next to the house, but in a position where he could see all three buildings. He turned off the engine, but kept his lights on and listened again.
Quiet.
Too quiet?
Any moonlight was hidden behind a thick layer of clouds. Ben’s headlights were the sole source of illumination, and he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.
They could have driven away in the other direction and not been seen by Jim.
Ben grabbed his big flashlight from his console and stepped out of the car. This wasn’t a job for the tiny LED flashlight on his belt. The big one felt good in his hand. Secure and powerful. It was a good friend. It’d been used to bust car windows, pound on doors, and even knock a guy in the temple. A dozen years ago a meth-head had rushed him, and since Ben had the flashlight in hand, he’d used it. The druggie had sunk to the dirt as if his bones had dissolved. Ben transferred the flashlight to his left hand, rested his other on the weapon at his hip, and walked toward the house.
“Hello? Anyone out here? Eagle’s Nest Police Department.”
He checked the security of the front door and shone his light on all the windows as he circled the home. Everything was intact. Heading to the largest shed, he shone his light as far left and right as he could. The powerful beam was penetrating, but all he saw were fences and bushes. He reached the barn, hollered his identity again, and then slid the giant door open, surprised it wasn’t locked. His flashlight revealed several empty stalls, and the strong scent of hay and livestock reached his nose. He strolled in, senses fully engaged, watching for prowlers.
A faint whoosh sounded outdoors. Ben spun around and darted back to the front of the shed, peering quickly around the corner before stepping out into the open. A faint flickering light reflected off the back of the house.
One of the other sheds has been set on fire.
“Eagle’s Nest Police Department!” he shouted.
The noise of a dirt bike engine reached his ears. Its sound grew fainter, heading away. Ben took that as a sign the firebug was taking off and stepped out of the low barn to assess the fire. One of the small sheds had just started to burn, and Ben smelled gasoline. He called dispatch for backup and fire support. He spotted a watering trough close to the small burning shed and went to disconnect the hose to play firefighter, suspecting he could have the fire out before backup arrived.
Something whirred by his face, and its wind brushed his cheek. Then he heard the shot.
He dropped to the ground and turned off his flashlight.
He shot at me!
Images of the dead deputies from the other night’s fire flashed in his memory. Thank the heavens above he missed. His wife’s face popped into his head, and he nearly wept with relief that he’d told her he loved her before leaving.
You never know when you won’t return.
He called dispatch again, adding that there was an active shooter on the property. He recognized Denise’s voice but didn’t bother to flirt. Her efficiency calmed him.
“You okay, Ben?” she asked after relaying his information.
“Just need a clean pair of pants.”
“Stay low.” They ended the call.
He rolled closer to the watering trough and started to crawl around to the other side to put some metal between him and the shooter and get out of the light from the fire. His breath came in short pants, and his knees ached from the cold of the ground. Far off, the dirt bike engine started up again. He hadn’t noticed it’d stopped before the shot.
Did someone that far away take a shot at me?
Are they gone now?
He didn’t feel like sticking his head up to find out. He cursed, glad his wife wasn’t in earshot, as he realized his trusty flashlight had been a beacon to guide the shot. He was crawling into the pitch blackness on the other side of the trough when his hand touched something warm and solid.
He jerked back his hand and strained to see in the black. The dark was too dense.
It’s alive.
And human.
His heart tried to pound its way up his throat. He pushed the lens of his flashlight into the ground and turned it on, casting a faint glow behind the trough.
Sightless eyes stared back at him. No, he’s dead. The corpse was heavyset and thickly bearded, and Ben didn’t recognize him.
But the blood that slowly oozed from the long gash in his neck told him the man had been recently murdered.
FIVE
Mercy slept like the dead, opening her eyes only as Truman kissed her forehead.
He was fully dressed and had deep circles under his eyes. She blinked. How did I not hear him get up?
“What time is it?” she asked, squinting at her clock.
“Almost five in the morning. Someone took a shot at Ben this morning.” His grim tone sped up her waking process.
“Is he all right? What happened?” She sat up and shook the sleep out of her head.
“He’s fine. Pissed but fine. He was responding to a prowler call and found a small fire. Then someone shot at him.”
“Did he catch the shooter?”
Truman sighed. “No. But they left behind a body. We don’t know who he is yet, but someone cut his throat.”
Now she was fully awake. “Do you know anything about the body?”
“I know he was murdered at the site moments before Ben found him, and Ben estimated the victim to be in his sixties. A big guy with a lot of graying facial hair.”
“Ben didn’t know him? Ben knows everyone around here.”
“Exactly,” Truman said. “Now I’m wondering if our arsonist is from out of town.”
“This incident has to be related to my case.”
“Our case,” Truman corrected her.
She looked sideways at him. “Technically the murdered officers are my case. And now another officer has been shot at? I suspect Jeff will see that as belonging to me too.”