“Say it,” Swinn growled.
“I won’t make a fuss.” At least not while we were in the village.
Swinn grabbed my arm and pulled me out the back door and over to the cruiser parked behind the bookstore.
“You stole a Bristol police car?”
“Borrowed. Get in.”
He aimed his service weapon at me and kept it trained on me while he circled to the driver’s side and got in. The windows were up; no one would hear if I tried to call for help. But the handful of Sproingers who visited the bookstore were at the edge of the parking area. Seeing me, they made the happy face. I made a sad face.
They hopped toward the cruiser.
Swinn drove off quickly enough to startle the Sproingers, then with more control as he turned onto Main Street and headed out of the village.
CHAPTER 71
Grimshaw
Watersday, Sumor 8
“Wayne, something doesn’t feel right.”
Having cleaned his service weapon and backup, Grimshaw wondered if he should clean the shotgun next or walk down Main Street to remind people of his presence. Hargreaves had called a few minutes ago to say that he and the CIU team were heading back to Bristol, along with the officers he’d called in for backup. The access road to The Jumble was still blocked by the destroyed flatbed trucks and construction equipment, but all the bodies had been removed.
Grimshaw pushed back from the desk and rolled his shoulders. He could use some fresh air. Besides, Osgood was already out patrolling and, most likely, had answered the beach question a hundred times, so it was a good bet that no one would be asking him if the beach would reopen tomorrow.
And Julian Farrow had called to leave a warning while he’d been on the phone with Hargreaves. “Doesn’t feel right” was a warning but not a cause for alarm. Not yet. Hopefully he could keep it that way.
He reached the door when the phone on his desk rang.
“Sproing Police Station, Grimshaw speaking.”
“Officer Grimshaw? This is Agent Greg O’Sullivan with the Investigative Task Force.”
Grimshaw’s heart bumped hard. “You have something for me?”
“Probably not as much as you hoped for. I couldn’t find anything of a criminal nature connected to the names on which you initially requested background information. That said, the men are known around the Hubb NE area as well-heeled entrepreneurs who have connections in a lot of businesses. Some of the deals they’ve put together look a little shady but nothing crossed the line into illegal, at least on paper, if you follow me.”
“I do.” Grimshaw swallowed his disappointment. He’d hoped the ITF agent would find some ammunition that proved Yorick Dane and his friends had used a forged document once before to take back property after enough money had been sunk into making capital improvements. “Thanks for your help.”
“I’m not done. Like I said, I didn’t find anything criminal connected to the names you initially asked the ITF to check, but the last two? Mark Hammorson runs a security business and has skated charges a couple of times for protecting a client’s assets with a little too much enthusiasm. And while no evidence was found, Tony Amorella’s name has been linked with a couple of suspicious deaths.”
“Gun? Knife?”
“Garrote.”
Grimshaw shivered. He pictured the Murder board as it had been the evening they’d spent at The Jumble, pictured Aggie setting a businessman on the square in front of teeny Vicki—the square with a garrote beside it.
Hearing an odd sound, he glanced toward the windows and froze. Sproingers scratching at the glass. Tumbling off their companions and climbing up again in an effort to look in the windows. Scratch scratch scratch.
“Grimshaw?”
“I have to go.” He hung up on O’Sullivan and opened the station’s door. A dozen of the critters crowded the doorway, with more Sproingers heading toward him.
He scanned the street and spotted Osgood jogging toward him. He saw Julian walk out of the general store, stop at the sight of the Sproingers, and then look toward Lettuce Reed.
Closed store. A woman inside, alone. A predator with a garrote. Oh gods.
He ran across the street and down the narrow driveway that provided access to the parking area behind the store. Seeing the open back door, he drew his service weapon and approached cautiously. “Vicki? Vicki, are you there?”
Julian rounded the corner, skidding to a stop when he saw Grimshaw.
“I didn’t leave that door unlocked. I didn’t use the dead bolt, but I engaged the simple lock on the door.”
“Could Vicki have let someone in?”
“Who?”
“Ineke Xavier?”
Julian hesitated, a silent acknowledgment of the possibility. He opened the screen door, allowing Grimshaw to slip in first.
“Vicki?” Grimshaw called.
“There’s no one here,” Julian said, pushing past him and rushing into the break room. “But Vicki’s purse is still here.”
Grimshaw moved forward. Bookshelves rising almost to the ceiling. Hiding places everywhere. “Julian, look at this.”
Books on the floor, as if someone had dropped them—or they had been pushed off the shelves. A mobile phone on the book cart.
“She wouldn’t leave without her purse,” Julian said. “And she wouldn’t leave without telling me, not after I’d told her that something didn’t feel right.”
Hearing the screen door open, Grimshaw stepped into the aisle that ran from the back of the store to the front. But it wasn’t Vicki DeVine returning; it was Osgood.
“The Sproingers are fair upset about something,” Osgood said. “They keep scratching at me.”
“Vicki DeVine is missing,” Julian said.
“Maybe there was an emergency? Did you ask Captain Hargreaves?”
Grimshaw frowned. “Why would I?”
“Just before the Sproingers started to mob the station, I saw a Bristol police car leave this parking area and head west out of town.”
A car going to Bristol from that direction would turn onto the road heading south—the same direction someone would take to go to The Jumble.
“Osgood, go back to the station. Call Captain Hargreaves and make sure he didn’t send a car for Vicki. I’m heading to The Jumble.”
Osgood slipped out the door, tripping over Sproingers until he managed to get clear of them.
“I’m going with you,” Julian said.
“I’m not asking you—”
“I knew something didn’t feel right, but I left her alone here, thinking it would be a safe place. I left her alone because I was going to be gone a short while. Window of opportunity. Someone saw it and took it. So I’m going with you.”
“Then let’s go.”
CHAPTER 72
Ilya
Watersday, Sumor 8
“Ilya? It’s Vicki. Julian says something doesn’t feel right on Main Street. I thought you should know.”
He looked at the rest of the Sanguinati who had come in to report a different kind of feeling. Something dangerous. Something lethal.
“Problem?” Natasha asked.
“Yes. Boris, please bring the car. We need to get to Sproing.” Easier to travel in his smoke form, but the car would be necessary if he needed to quickly extract Victoria from the village.
The phone rang before he took a step away from the desk. “Yes?”
“It’s Julian Farrow. Someone driving a Bristol police car abducted Vicki. The car was last seen heading west, so it could be heading toward one of the four-lane roads that provide access to bigger cities.”
“But you think it’s heading for The Jumble.” Ilya wasn’t asking a question.