Chapter 24 Jo
Chapter 24
Jo
Daylight was fading, which could be either an advantage or a disadvantage. It meant she and Mike would not be easily seen as they approached the residence. It also meant that if Farley Wade decided to make a run for it, they’d have a hard time tracking him down in these woods.
Farley was the kind of man who would try to run. She’d known him since the fourth grade, when he’d first barreled his way to her attention after he shoved Leon LaCroix on the playground. Jo had responded by shoving Farley back, twice as hard. Their relationship had gone downhill ever since. Over the years, either Jo or one of her colleagues had arrested Farley for a variety of offenses, from driving under the influence to petty theft to stalking his ex-girlfriend. While stalking a woman was a long way from abducting a girl, the general trajectory of his behavior was undeniably ominous.
This wasn’t the first time she had visited this driveway, although she’d always driven down it in her cruiser, past the same sagging mailbox, past Farley’s rusting pickup truck, which he left parked in a turnout carved into the woods. He’d inherited this land, along with the double-wide trailer, from his grandmother. Judging by the deteriorating condition of the property, he had not made a single improvement since she died. The saplings along the driveway had not been kept at bay, and the overhanging branches were now close enough to snare any car that dared come down this dirt road.
Gunfire cracked nearby.
Instantly Jo dropped to the ground.
Mike ducked to a crouch right beside her. “What the hell?” he whispered. “Is he shooting at us ?”
Three more shots rang out. Pop pop pop.
Frantically she peered through the trees, trying to sight the double-wide she knew was just ahead. She could see lights glowing, could hear a dog barking—a big dog, by the sound of it. Another complication.
Five more gunshots rang out, but she didn’t think the bullets were aimed at them. So who the hell was he shooting at?
The girl.
She sprang up and began to run toward the gunfire. She didn’t remember reaching for her weapon, but it seemed to magically materialize in her hands as she emerged into the clearing, her barrel raised to return fire.
But there was no fire. All she found was Farley Wade, who was so shocked by her sudden appearance that he stood frozen with his mouth agape, the gun clutched in his hand.
“Drop it!” she yelled.
He didn’t move. Couldn’t seem to move. In that twilight gloom, he looked like a cardboard cutout, as easy to bring down as a paper target at the gun range, but she didn’t fire. Mike moved in beside her, his weapon drawn, but he held his fire as well. In the double-wide, the dog’s barking turned to frantic howls. Time slowed down, and as the seconds dragged past, Jo registered the multiple soda pop cans, punched with bullet holes, lying on the ground. Three more cans were lined up on a sawhorse, and the yard was littered with brass bullet casings.
“Come on, Farley,” she said. “Don’t be stupid. Drop the weapon.”
He let his gun fall to the ground. “What the fuck, Jo? What is this?”
“We just want to talk to you.”
“Yeah, like you were ever one for just talking. I’m minding my own business here. On my own fucking property.”
“Where’s her phone?”
“What?”
“The girl’s cell phone. We know you have it. It pinged off the cell tower when you turned it on.”
“I don’t know anything about any girl.”
She looked at Mike. “Cuff him. Then we’ll search the place.”
Farley backed away. “Now wait a minute. Don’t you need a warrant?”
“Not if we think someone’s in imminent danger.”
“Who? Who’s in danger?”
“You tell us, Farley.” She glanced at Mike and nodded.
Mike pulled out his handcuffs.
Farley bolted into the woods.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jo groaned, and she sprinted after him.
Farley led her into underbrush so thick that it snagged her ankles, clawed her pants. He was only a few paces ahead, making no better headway through these brambles. Then he pivoted to the left and headed toward his driveway. Toward his pickup truck.
Behind her, Mike stumbled and crashed to the ground. Yelled out an uncharacteristic oath. Farley wasn’t wearing any body armor, didn’t have a radio weighing him down, and he was pulling ahead. If he made it to his truck, if he got the engine started ...
She slammed through a tangle of vines and stumbled onto the driveway. Any second now, she expected to hear his truck roar to life, see his taillights flicker off into the distance, but all she heard was her own breathing, hard and fast. Where was he? Had he doubled back into the woods?
Then she saw the figures moving toward her. In the fading twilight, they were faceless silhouettes, an ominous platoon marching in formation. The figure in the lead stepped forward. Locked in his grasp was a squirming, cursing Farley Wade.
“I take it you wanted this gentleman returned to you?” said Ben.
She’d always thought that Ben Diamond, with his perpetual glower and his shaved head, had a strong streak of thug in him. Now he lived up to that image by dropping Farley at Jo’s feet with the ease of a seasoned bouncer.
Farley moaned. “This is police brutality!”
“We’re not the police,” Ben growled.
“Then who are you?”
Jo snapped handcuffs around Farley’s wrists and whispered into his ear: “You don’t want to know.”
She locked Farley in the back of Mike’s cruiser, now parked in Farley’s yard, then she and Mike stood outside the double-wide, considering what to do about their next problem: the dog. Jo had only to reach for the doorknob when the barking started inside, loud and deep. This was not a dog she wanted to tangle with.
Mike pulled out his weapon.
Oh no. Jo thought about her own dog and how it would break her heart if anyone ever harmed Lucy. No, they were not going to shoot the animal. It wasn’t the dog’s fault its owner was a jerk.
“Let’s think about this,” she said.
“The girl could be in there. We’ve got to get inside.”
“I know, I know.” She went to Mike’s cruiser and leaned in. “Want to call off your dog?” she said to Farley.
“No.”
“It’d save everyone a lot of trouble if you cooperated.”
“That’s why I’m not gonna cooperate.”
“Look, Farley, I don’t want to have to shoot it.”
“I don’t care. He’s not my dog. He was my grandmother’s.”
“And you don’t have any sentimental attachment?”
“Dog food’s expensive.”
She felt a tap on her shoulder. “Excuse me,” said Lloyd Slocum.
“Not now.” She kept her gaze on Farley. “So for the record, you’re telling me you don’t care if your dog gets shot?”
“I don’t care.”
“Excuse me,” Lloyd repeated.
She turned. “ What? ”
“I have half a pastrami sandwich. When I heard the barking, I thought it might come in useful, so I got it from the car.” He handed her the sandwich, wrapped in plastic.
“You just happen to have a sandwich around?”
“I always pack an emergency sandwich, in case I get stranded someplace without food.” Which, judging by the man’s girth, did not happen very often.
She looked at Mike, who still had his weapon out, and then at the sandwich. God, she hoped this worked. She did not want a dead dog on her conscience.
She peeled off the plastic wrap, releasing the aroma of pastrami and mustard, and her stomach gave a loud rumble. She’d missed dinner, and all she’d eaten this evening were those few delicious tidbits from the Martini Club’s antipasti tray. This sandwich was just what she craved, and now she had to feed it to the dog. Cautiously, she pushed the trailer door open an inch. The dog lunged toward her, growling, teeth bared. She could feel Mike move in close behind her, knew his finger was already on the trigger. She waved him back.
“Hey,” Jo said to the dog. “Hey, sweetie. Are you hungry? Look what I have for you.” She tore off a corner of the sandwich and pushed it through the crack in the door. In an instant the dog snatched it up, and she heard the noisy chomp of jaws devouring the morsel. “Want more?” She pushed the door open a little wider. This time the dog didn’t lunge but simply peered out, a line of drool hanging from his tongue. She held out another scrap of sandwich. He devoured it and stared at her, whining for more. A black Labrador. Huge, yes, but not aggressive, just hungry, poor thing. She wondered how long it had been since Farley had last fed him. Cautiously, she reached in and gave him a pat on the head.
He licked her hand. Okay, then.
She fed him the rest of the sandwich, then turned to Mike. “I think it’s safe to let him out.”
She opened the door, and the dog came trotting out of the trailer, tail wagging. Jo was the one who’d fed him, petted him, but to her annoyance, he headed straight toward the glowering Ben Diamond, of all people.
To her surprise, Ben immediately dropped to his knees and wrapped his burly arms around the dog. “Oh, you are a good boy, aren’t you? Who’s a good boy?” he gushed, and was rewarded with a slobbery lick on the face.
So much for Ben’s gangster act. All it took was a dog to unmask him.
She pushed the trailer door wide open and glanced at Mike, and they both pulled on latex gloves. Hoping there weren’t other dogs inside to deal with, she stepped into the double-wide and confronted the stench of a filthy trailer. She flipped on the lights.
“Jesus” was all Mike could say.
Along with inheriting his grandmother’s double-wide, it appeared Farley had also inherited her nicotine stains and her rubbish. The walls and ceiling were tinged a sickly yellow, and the odor from decades of cigarette smoke had permeated the plaid sofa and the worn green carpet. The trash can overflowed with empty tin cans and beer bottles, and in the sink were plates crusted with the remains of Farley’s last meal. It appeared that no one had vacuumed or dusted in months, maybe years, and black dog hair was everywhere. If Zoe Conover had been in this trailer, the forensic traces of her would certainly still be here.
As Mike headed toward the bedroom, Jo ducked into the bathroom. There she scanned the floor and sink, looking for any evidence of a female presence. She saw plenty of short brown hair strands—either Farley was prematurely losing his hair, or he’d never bothered to sweep the room—but nothing that would match Zoe’s long brown hair. She opened the medicine cabinet and saw shelves filled with prescription pill bottles, not his, most of them long expired. Grandma had been a pill popper.
Mike came out of the bedroom. “The girl’s not here. But I found this,” he said, holding up an iPhone in a neon-pink case. “And come look at what else I found.”
She followed him into the bedroom, where he pointed to the closet, its door hanging open. Stacked inside were a dozen plastic bins. Mike lifted off one of the lids to show her the contents.
“Voilà!” he said.
She stared at the jumble of jewelry, purses, and watches. “Holy cow.”
Mike nodded. “Someone’s been a busy boy.”