Scarlett took a photo of the bloody swath, then used her hands to measure the width of the stain. She held them up to show Marcus that whoever had been dragged was much wider than Gayle.
Understanding flickered in his eyes, followed by relief. ‘Not Gayle,’ he mouthed, then grimly pointed to the van parked in one of the six bays. Scarlett recognized the vehicle from the security video taken outside the Ledger’s loading bay. Sweeney had driven it to slaughter the Ledger’s employees and to abduct Gayle.
The license plate was different from the one captured in the security video. Someone – likely Sweeney – had changed the plates. Scarlett snapped a photo of the new plate in case things went south. If Sweeney managed to get by them and escape, she’d have to call in a BOLO.
Marcus moved quickly and quietly, opening the van doors to shine his flashlight around the interior. No Gayle. There was a bloodstain on the carpet, but the blood had dried. Had it been Gayle’s blood, it would have still been damp. Whoever had bled there had done so fifteen hours or more before.
‘Demetrius?’ she mouthed, and Marcus shrugged, then reached into the open driver’s-side window and brought out a set of keys, pocketing them. Scarlett gave him a nod of approval.
Marcus proceeded to the door that led from the garage into the laundry room. Again he took high, she low. For the first time she was truly seeing the former Army Ranger at work, and she was more than impressed. She’d known he was stealthy and capable, but while she’d had to develop a relationship with her other partners, she and Marcus seemed to flow together like two streams meeting in the woods.
They encountered no resistance, the house having a too-quiet, abandoned feel. With the power out, there wasn’t a single sound – not a hum from the fluorescent lights nor the low drone of an AC fan. The silence was oppressive.
Marcus’s lips thinned and she knew he was worried that Sweeney had already moved Gayle. She shook her head. ‘Think positive,’ she mouthed, and he nodded and squared his shoulders.
They moved from the laundry room into a grand foyer. Twin staircases curved upward, where they were connected with a balustrade that provided a bird’s-eye view of the lower floor and the front of the property through a large window over the front door. There were bedrooms upstairs. If they didn’t find Gayle in the basement, they’d check those rooms next.
They found what they thought was the door to the basement off the foyer, but it turned out to be the kitchen. Marcus went in first, giving her the sign that he’d located the basement door. Scarlett pulled the kitchen door closed behind them, covering Marcus as he opened the door to the basement. Steep stairs disappeared into inky blackness.
This would be the dicey part, walking blind down a flight of stairs, not knowing what they’d find below. This could be the trap. Scarlett pointed at Marcus to take the stairs. If Gayle was downstairs and incapacitated, he would be able to carry her. She pointed to herself and the door. She’d stay up top and guard the entrance. It would be too easy for someone to lock them in if they both went downstairs.
She listened intently, not hearing a sound as Marcus navigated the stairs as silently as he did everything else. She drew a breath and prepared to wait.
Cincinnati, Ohio
Wednesday 5 August, 11.20 P.M.
Ken buttoned his shirt, listening for any stray noises downstairs. He’d heard nothing since the power had gone out. He’d jumped from the shower and done a check of the property from the upstairs windows but had seen no one, so he’d gone to his room and quickly picked out clothes in the dark. But he wasn’t dismissing the danger.
That the power had gone off now was not coincidental, and he wondered if Sean had made it happen with a timer. Or if his son had a confederate. Except that at this point there wasn’t anyone left to be his accomplice.
He let out a breath. Except for Decker and Trevino, the second of Burton’s two ‘green’ guys. Sean was supposed to have checked into Trevino. Ken cursed himself for having underestimated his son. Then he cursed himself for underestimating Reuben.
His jaw tightened. Reuben had probably laughed at Ken, knowing the video he held was a real ace in the hole. Ken thought he might be more pissed off that he hadn’t thought to do the same to Reuben.
He finished getting dressed, then checked his tracking program on his cell phone. Decker was at the downtown office, just as he said he’d be. Joel was at his home, as he always was. Looked like those two would be the last men standing after Ken left for his retirement. They could keep the company, or what was left of it. At least until Alice got out of jail.
He didn’t have a tracker for Trevino’s phone. The guy had been too low on the totem pole to warrant his attention. Ken knew that if he ever got into business again, he wouldn’t make the same mistake. Nobody would fall below his radar.
Still hearing nothing downstairs, he grabbed the suitcase he’d just finished packing when Sean had interrupted him earlier, drew his gun and crept down the stairs. He had barely enough time to go to Shawnee Lookout and get into position in the spot he’d chosen in advance. He’d have a perfect view of the park’s entrance and a clear line of fire to anyone standing there. He’d do the job, get in the van and drive straight to Toronto.
He wouldn’t come back to the house to feed Sean through the woodchipper while he was still alive, although that would have been immensely satisfying. He also wouldn’t take the time – now or later – to put a bullet into poor Gayle. Instead he’d leave word for Decker to come by in a week or so. The woman would be dead by then – her heart wasn’t so good. Decker could return the body to the O’Bannions. After losingMarcus and most of the Ledger’s staff, having Gayle’s body dumped on their doorstep would be one more way to make them suffer.
He slipped down the curved staircase for the last time. He made no sound, his gun at the ready, just in case. But he heard no one. Saw no one.
He paused in the laundry room to ensure the silencer was fixed to his gun. He’d put a bullet through Sean’s skull before he drove away. It was far better than the little bastard deserved, but at this point, getting away was all that mattered.
He stepped into the garage and froze.
Sean was gone.
Cincinnati, Ohio
Wednesday 5 August, 11.20 P.M.
‘What’s in the big shed?’ Kate asked Agent Davenport after hauling him to his feet. He rose with a natural grace to brush the dirt and leaves away from his jeans, then his shirt. But some of the leaves stuck to his shirt and he had to peel them off. He dropped them to the ground, each one sticky with blood. ‘Shit. Are you hit?’
‘No. Not my blood. The shed is their body disposal unit,’ he said tersely, and started walking back to the house within the walls. ‘Complete with a woodchipper. They dig a big hole, aim the chipper at it, sludge the bodies, add a pinch of composting materials . . .’ He wore an expression of disgust. ‘Voilà. No more bodies. When the hole is filled, they take down the shed, dig another hole, move the chipper, and put the shed back up.’
Oh my God. ‘Why were you in there?’
‘I was hiding someone. Do you have medical backup? Because there’s a guy in that shed who will need help.’
‘Two ambulances. They’ll be waiting at the main road. Where’s your handler?’
The large blond stopped abruptly. ‘What do you mean? You haven’t talked to him?’
‘He hasn’t checked in for two days. He’s overdue.’
‘Shit. Then you don’t have Reuben Blackwell or Jason Jackson in custody?’
‘No,’ she said and his jaw went taut. ‘Who are those men?’
Agent Davenport grabbed her arm. ‘Get someone to 5487 Wharton Court ASAP,’ he commanded. ‘Agent Symmes is my handler. If he doesn’t have ID for whatever reason, he’s got a zipper tattoo around his biceps. The other two guys will be Sweeney’s men. You don’t want them walking free, trust me. If Symmes hasn’t called in, something is very, very wrong.’