Not Our Daughter

Thirteen

As their black Tahoe finally pulled onto the Shipleys’ street, Agent Burns stared at a row of red and blue blinking lights parked along the curb outside their fugitives’ home. Two uniformed police officers stood guard at the front door, while a couple of other officers milled about on the sidewalk. There were no signs of any arrests. No suspects locked in the back of police vehicles or handcuffed out on the front lawn. No urgency at all. On the contrary, the officers all looked quite dispirited, like they’d just been sucker punched or something. What the hell was going on?

The drive through the mountain pass a moment ago had been hell on Burns’s cell phone signal. He’d lost a full ten minutes—which felt like an absolute eternity right now. Haskins, their man on the ground, wasn’t answering his phone, and neither were any of their local police contacts. Because of that, Burns hadn’t received any updates about the situation here in Winter Park, and he was losing his mind. Especially after driving through town a few seconds ago and taking in a chaotic scene with a flood of police activity. He had a bad feeling it was all connected to their pursuit of Cole and Lisa Shipley.

The Tahoe’s driver parked in the driveway, and the second Tahoe pulled in beside it. Everyone quickly got out. Burns and Davis huddled on the front sidewalk.

“This doesn’t look promising at all,” Davis said, hands on hips.

“No, it sure as hell doesn’t.”

At that moment a thirtysomething guy with close-cropped brown hair, wearing the same dark-blue FBI jacket as Burns and the others, stepped out of the house and hustled down the sidewalk toward them.

“Agent Haskins,” he said, introducing himself upon arrival.

They all quickly shook hands.

“Why haven’t you been answering your damn phone?” Burns asked, irritated.

“Sorry, sir. I lost it in pursuit a few minutes ago.”

“Pursuit where?”

He nodded to his right. “The concert midtown. All hell has broken loose over there.”

“We noticed,” Davis said. “Give us the quick rundown.”

“I followed Cole Shipley from this house. He drove directly into town and got out on foot at the park. Then he took off into the concert crowd. I pursued but couldn’t keep track of him. There were way too many people around.” Haskins blew out forcefully, shook his head. “But then maybe I got lucky. Not so much for the cop.”

“What about a cop?” Burns asked, brow bunched.

“You guys haven’t heard?”

“We just got here, Haskins!” Davis blurted. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Haskins ran a hand through his hair, exhaled again. “Shipley shot and killed a police officer a few minutes ago. Apparently, after you put the word out here, a local officer spotted him at the concert and managed to apprehend him in an alley two blocks away. I didn’t see any of it. But somehow Shipley shot him dead before fleeing again.”

Burns cursed. “So he’s still on the run?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What about his wife and daughter?” Davis asked.

“I don’t know. I believe they were here when I left to follow Shipley. But police officers said no one was at the house when they arrived. However, all the lights were left on inside and a water faucet was still running upstairs. They must have barely missed them.”

Burns put two and two together. “He probably lured you away from here to give his wife a clean getaway. I presume there is no car in the garage?”

“Correct. But they couldn’t have gotten too far.”

Burns glanced across the street, where a collection of neighbors had gathered to take in the scene. “You talked with any of them?”

“Not yet. But I was planning on it.”

“This is a nightmare,” Burns grunted, shaking his head. “What’s the last known location for Shipley?”

“The concert venue.”

“So he could still be hiding in that crowd?”

“Yes, sir. Police are trying to break it up. But it’s a zoo.”

Burns turned to Davis. “Get over to town ASAP with the rest of the team. See what you can find. Tell Simmons and Myers to stay here with me. We’ll begin working forensics.”

“Yes, sir. Come with me, Haskins.”

Davis rushed off to rally the others.

Burns rubbed his face in his hands, still not believing that Cole Shipley had shot and killed a police officer. It certainly didn’t fit the profile he’d created. He wondered how it had even gone down. Did Cole have a gun on him? Did the officer not immediately disarm him? Or had Cole somehow taken the officer’s own weapon away and then used it against him? That was a difficult maneuver even for a skilled military man—which Cole was not. Something didn’t feel right about it. He needed more information.

A white truck with huge mud tires sped down the street toward the house and skidded to a stop directly in front of Burns. He watched as a heavyset, gray-bearded man wearing a cowboy hat, a black Fraser Winter Park Police jacket, blue jeans, and brown boots got out. The older man stomped right over to him, looking none too pleased.

“You Burns?” he barked.

“Special Agent Mark Burns.”

“Lee Jackson, chief of police.”

Burns offered a hand, but Jackson ignored it. The man’s face was flashing red, and the veins in his forehead bulged.

“You have no idea how badly I want to take a swing at you right now, Burns,” he said through clenched teeth, his fists noticeably balled.

“I don’t understand, Chief.”

“How the hell could you not tell me a dangerous fugitive was living in my town?”

“Well, we didn’t know until earlier this afternoon.”

“And yet you still waited several hours to inform me. You didn’t trust us until it was too late. And because of that, one of my officers is dead. Shot down in cold blood by your fugitive. And that really pisses me off.”

“I just heard that news. It’s tragic.”

“It’s more than tragic. Tommy wasn’t just one of my officers—he was also my damn nephew. Kid used to ride around with me in my police truck all the time when he was young. All Tommy ever wanted was to be like his uncle.” Jackson swallowed, fighting back his emotions. “Hell, he has a young wife and twin boys at home.”

Burns grimaced. That personal note punched him hard in the gut and brought on a fresh wave of guilt. He’d made the call to wait to apprehend Cole Shipley. And now two boys would go a lifetime without their father. “Look, I’m sorry, Chief. My sincere condolences. We obviously never intended to put any of your officers in danger. We didn’t anticipate this kind of response from the man and woman we’re pursuing.”

“You anticipated wrong.”

“Yes, sir. And I’m pissed off, too, believe me.”

Burns kept his cool. The chief had every right to lay into him. He would be doing the same thing if the shoe were on the opposite foot. Plus, he really needed the chief’s help right now. So he was eager to make peace. Without a fight to be had, Jackson let loose one more angry huff, unclenched his fists, and gathered himself.

“Well, there’s no use wasting time standing here and arguing about the details. Doesn’t bring Tommy back. I just want this guy captured and brought to justice.”

“Same,” Burns agreed.

“What do you need from us?”

“Were there any witnesses to the shooting?”

“None yet. But it’s still early.”

“What about body cam footage?”

“The kid unfortunately didn’t have it turned on. It all happened so fast.”

“What’s the latest on the hunt for our fugitive?”

“My guys are searching, but there’s been no sign of him. It’s a madhouse over there. Hard to tell one thing from another; people have been rushing off all over. He could be damn near anywhere at this point.”

“Right.” Burns’s mind was bouncing in all directions. “How many ways in and out of town?”

Jackson twisted up his mouth. “Probably a half dozen or so, if you include isolated back roads. But it’s mainly Highway 40 in both directions. Berthoud Pass, that way.” He pointed over Burns’s shoulder, then stuck a thumb over his own shoulder the opposite way. “And through Granby and Hot Sulphur Springs that way.”

“Can you shut down Berthoud Pass?”

“I can do whatever the hell I want. I’m the chief of police.”

“Good. We need to do whatever we possibly can to confine them to this immediate area. If they somehow get out, we could be screwed. These people have proven to be very elusive. If you can manage it, let’s do everything we can to create checkpoints at all exits out of town. I don’t care if you use firemen, medics, or even local ranchers—whatever it takes. We just need armed men with flashlights and phones.”

Jackson spun his weight around and snapped his fingers at an officer lingering behind him, who quickly hustled over. “Close the pass ASAP. And call Chief Logan over in Granby. Tell him we need a blockade on 40 immediately and all the help we can get over here. We also need checkpoints on all roads out of the valley. Use whoever the hell you can find. Just get them all blocked. And make sure everyone has the suspect’s photo.”

The officer rushed off with his orders.

“Best I can do,” Jackson said, turning back to Burns.

“Do you know all the police chiefs within, say, a sixty-mile radius?”

“Been on the job nearly forty years. I know everyone.”

“Can you call them all and get them up to speed? Let’s see how many reinforcements we can get over here as quickly as possible.”

“What about the media?”

“What about them?”

“I know all the TV guys, too. They could help us get the word out.”

Burns had been afraid he’d bring that up. Every small-town police chief he’d ever met relished a chance to stand in front of TV cameras. “Let’s hold off on that for now. We don’t need every drunk cowboy from Denver to Grand Junction calling in and claiming they spotted them. These first couple of hours are critical. In my experience, that would only make our jobs more difficult.”

“All right. Let me know if you change your mind. I’m good in front of the cameras.”

“Will do.”

Jackson sighed, shifted his girth. “I gotta drive over to my nephew’s house now and tell his pretty wife what just happened to him. Just the thought of it makes me nauseous. You ever have to do something like this, Burns?”

“Yes, unfortunately. It’s the worst part of the job.”

“Yeah. Promise me we’ll catch the bastard who did this to Tommy.”

“With your help, Chief, we have a much better chance.”