CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Matt crept up the driveway of the Zolek farm. Rain started up again, pouring down in a steady sheet, filling the ruts in the dirt lane immediately, the ground already saturated. He tried to avoid the deepest puddles, but mud sucked at his boots. Rain dripped off the brim of his sheriff’s department baseball-style cap.
Just ahead of him, Bree skirted a puddle and turned toward the front of the house. Matt took up a position on her left flank. Bree’s deputies split up to cover the front door, plus the house’s rear and side entrances. Todd, Juarez, and the K-9 unit followed a dozen feet behind Matt and Bree. Considering the size of the property, Bree had requested assistance from state police, including a K-9 team or two, but they were currently busy searching for a lost dementia patient.
Since the Zoleks had already killed four women, Bree had argued that they might harm Grace or use her as a hostage if they were warned prior to entry. She’d pushed for a no-knock warrant. Thankfully, the judge had agreed.
Bree motioned for the deputy carrying the breaching ram. He moved forward and slammed the black metal into the door just above the dead bolt. The lock was old and gave immediately. The door sprang open. Matt followed Bree inside, the light attached to his rifle sweeping across a wood-floored hallway.
A second bang signaled the breach of the rear door. Deputies surged into the house, turning right and left, illuminating corners, synchronizing their movements like the well-trained team they were.
Where are the Zoleks?
They’d made enough noise that most homeowners would have been startled awake. They would have leaped out of bed, jumped into pants, and/or grabbed weapons.
But all Matt saw and heard were deputies.
Bree was reading his mind, as usual. They headed up toward the second floor. Narrow spaces like doorways, corridors, and stairwells were fatal funnels, choke points you had to go through with limited ability to see threats. Fatal funnels were where fatalities most often occurred. Stairwells and long corridors were the worst. At least a doorway could be moved through quickly.
Matt’s pulse thrummed, and all his senses turned on high alert. He took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, then eased the air out of his lungs. He forced his gaze to keep moving, to encompass the entire stairwell and the landing above. Working the angles for maximum visual penetration while concealing himself as much as possible with each tread, Matt went up the stairs. On the second-floor landing, he moved down the hall, stopping beside the first doorway. Bree took the opposite side. The door was open. Matt took a quick peek around the frame. He spotted a bed and a dresser. The visible corners of the room were clear.
Two more deputies passed them and proceeded down the hall to the next doorway. Matt focused on his. He went through first, staying high, sweeping right. Bree went low and left. Matt cleared his blind corner, trusting Bree to do the same. Then he dropped to one knee and looked under the bed. “Clear.”
He heard Bree open a closet door. “Clear.”
They left the room. The two deputies were clearing the next room. Matt passed their doorway and ducked briefly into a bathroom. He swept aside the shower curtain, aiming his rifle into the tub. Empty.
Backing out, he moved to the last door in the hall. It was closed. He and Bree assumed their usual positions. Matt reached for the doorknob. If anyone was inside, they had to know their house was being raided. No one could sleep through the noise of the battering rams, boot steps, and voices.
The sound of claws on hardwood caught Matt’s attention. Greta and Collins appeared at the top of the stairs and moved toward them. The shepherd was a black shadow in the dimness. Collins let Greta sniff the bottom of the doorway. The dog inhaled but showed no real interest. Collins moved her back.
Matt opened the door, and he and Bree cleared it quickly. Clothing and personal items indicated this was the primary bedroom. The bed was unmade, the sheets dragged down onto the oak planked floor. One pillow sat askew in the middle of the mattress. The comforter was tangled at the foot of the bed.
Bree reached toward and touched the bed. “Still warm. They heard us somehow before we got to the house.”
Either they’d been watching, or they had set up some kind of surveillance.
“So where are they?” Matt asked.
“They can’t have gotten far.” Bree led the way back downstairs.
Todd greeted them in the kitchen. “House is clear.”
“Moving on.” Matt left the house. His gaze roamed over the shapes of outbuildings in the dark yard. So many places to hide.
And plan an ambush.
Clouds and rain obscured the moon and stars. Deputies were moving into a large storage shed. In the open doorway, Matt could see tractors and other large equipment. He nodded toward the large barn. Bree and Todd followed him. The double doors were tightly closed. Matt took hold of one of the door handles and pulled. The big wooden door slid on overhead tracks. Bree and Todd swept into the space, rifles lifted.
Cows occupied pens along the sides of the barn. Some dozed knee-deep in straw. Others lay curled on the ground. A few animals chewed on hay. Heads rose as Matt, Bree, and Todd walked down the aisle, peering into each pen, making sure no humans were buried in the bedding. A cow lowed as Matt shifted some deep straw. They reached the end of the barn and turned into a large space filled with milking equipment.
They quickly cleared the space and moved forward to another room, which housed milk tanks. The huge metal cylinders were raised off the ground. Matt dropped to the floor and shined his light under them. No feet. No people. They checked around the tanks but found no one.
Leaving through a back door, they approached the second, smaller barn. Matt used the same procedure to open the door. The smaller barn contained three large stalls. Only one was filled with bedding. The door stood open. With partitions six feet tall and constructed of cinder block, the stalls were made to hold something bigger than the average cow. A ripple of unease tracked up Matt’s spine.
Back in the barnyard, Greta barked.
Matt spun, hoping the dog had picked up a scent, but he immediately saw the dog wasn’t alerting. Her bark was a warning. Greta had moved into a protective position in front of Collins, who was shifting backward slowly, tugging the dog with her. Collins’s eyes were locked on something in the dark barnyard.
Matt stepped out of the small barn and squinted through the rain. Todd followed, stopping just behind him.
Bree joined them. “What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure—” An angry snort cut off Matt’s words. A shape moved in the shadow between the two barns.
A deputy clearly found the switches because exterior lights turned on, illuminating the barnyard—and a huge animal standing less than fifty feet away from them. Black and white like the other cattle, this was no cow. Clearly a bull, he was the size of a cow and a half, with massive shoulders, a thick neck, and a chest as broad as a barrel.
He snorted and pawed the ground, his power and aggression on full display.
“I’m pretty sure he’s not supposed to be loose,” Todd said from the barn doorway.
Remembering the heavy metal bar securing the barn door when he’d been to the farm, Matt was sure the animal had been let out intentionally to slow them down—or kill them.
With a furious bellow, the bull charged.