Chapter 25 The Hunt #2
“Central, 431. Ranger Gunderson and I northbound 550, just past mile twenty-nine, following two suspect vehicles turned eastbound 352. Possible headed to Allen sliver lode. Blue-gray Ford Explorer registered to Councilwoman Amy Caufield. Unable to locate councilwoman—possible kidnap victim. Second vehicle, silver Chevy Tahoe, matches narcotics drop pursuit, two days ago. I’m off-duty, POV, in pursuit. Request all available units.”
Donna’s voice came back. “Copy, 431. Two vehicles eastbound 352 from 550, Explorer to Caufield, councilwoman missing, possible victim, Tahoe matches narcotics pursuit. All units copy.”
Gunderson side-eyed him after he ended the transmission. “What do you think Caufield’s connection is to all this? Is she involved?”
That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? “Knowingly? I’m not sure. I think they’ve been using her shop as a place to store their drugs until they’re ready to deliver. I think that’s what the blue square and the St stand for.”
“Store?”
“Yeah, could indicate her physical store or storage. Too many threads to unravel right now.”
“So with or without her knowledge, they’ve been using her business like Grand Central Station, moving their shit in and out of Fall River?”
Shane nodded. “And I think those black dots are their drop sites. Or pickup sites. Or both.”
“Then she has to be involved. How could she not know what’s going on under her nose? I mean, she’s at that place twenty-four-seven, right?”
Shane had asked himself the same question again and again.
He gritted his teeth. “Not exactly. She opens early but closes mid-afternoon. She keeps a tight lid on the keys, but someone still could have duplicated and distributed copies. She’s reported things being out of place that she can’t explain. ”
“That could be a cover.”
“It could,” Shane agreed. “But whether she’s part of this or not, she could be in danger. We’ve got to find her.”
“Are you and the councilwoman …” Gunderson made a circling motion with his wrist.
Shane slid him a warning glance. “We’ve been friends a long time.”
“Friends, or friends?”
“Like I said, friends for a long time.”
Gunderson raised his hands in a surrendering gesture.
“I’m not trying to replace Dixie as the town yenta.
I’m just trying to get a lay of the land.
We’re already going into this blind, and I like to gather as much information as I can beforehand.
Kinda puts me at a disadvantage otherwise, especially if there’s personal shit riding on the line. ”
Shane sighed. “I get it. And if it turns out she’s part of this operation, whatever ‘this operation’ is, I’ll make the arrest myself.” His heart thudded, a heavy stone lodged in his chest.
Gunderson nodded.
The thrumming of the truck’s tires on the asphalt was the only sound for several long minutes.
Then he asked Gunderson to radio Dispatch.
“Ask her if 346 is done with that fatality yet. I want to talk to that deputy about the vehicle.” As Gunderson picked up the mic, Shane reminded him that the fentanyl had been tossed from a beige pickup.
“Got it.” Gunderson raised Donna. “Central, 431. Can you check if 346 is clear from that fatal at mile sixty-three? I need contact.”
“Copy, 431. Stand by.”
A beat passed, two, three … Gunderson pointed out the windshield. “Mile marker forty-seven up ahead. Your turn onto County Road 352 is just beyond, and it’s hard to see through the trees, especially at night.”
They’d been flying along a good ten miles over the speed limit, and Shane slowed down, anticipating the turn.
The radio crackled to life.
“431, this is 346. Dispatch advises you needed me?”
“Affirm,” Gunderson replied. “You clear from your fatal at sixty-three?”
“Wrapping up now.”
Shane gave Gunderson a look, a silent push to dig deeper.
“Copy, 346. Advise details about the beige pickup. In pursuit. Might be connected.”
Soon they learned the driver of the beige pickup had been headed southbound at a high rate of speed when he hit a deer.
The animal came through the windshield, killing the driver.
He went on to answer questions about possible narcotics in the vehicle, affirming he’d discovered a bag of pills, which he’d taken into custody, bagged, and tagged.
“Plates?” Shane asked.
“No plates. Driver appeared to have false ID. VIN comes back to Utah. Reported stolen two weeks ago.”
A new question bubbled up in Shane’s brain, and he had Gunderson radio Donna once again. “Advise wrecker’s location for fatal at sixty-three.”
She told them the tow truck was out of Ouray. They hadn’t been able to raise Micky Allen, their usual go-to.
They signed off, and Gunderson exchanged a quick glance with Shane. “The beige pickup was headed south—”
“Toward County Road 352,” Shane finished for him.
“Do you think the pickup was supposed to join our convoy?”
“Entirely possible they were planning to rendezvous.”
Gunderson motioned out the window. “Take this track to the right. It leads to the cabin.”
Shane turned off the county road and onto the trail to the cabin. “How far are we?”
“Miles, and the road only gets worse from here. It’s going to take a while.”
Not what Shane wanted to hear. Thank God he had to focus on the narrow, winding path that resembled a game trail more than a road. Bumping over its ruts and roots would keep him from going nuts thinking about what might be happening to Amy right now.