Chapter 11
WALKER
My brakes squeal as I come to a stop in front of a one-story taupe home. The small front porch and the large window beckon me, but I sit in my truck.
I hate this part.
When I knock on an unsuspecting person’s door, the last thing they think I’m going to do is tell them that their loved one died.
I suddenly become a key character in the worst day of their life.
Some people faint, some people blame me, and I don’t fight it.
There’s no judging someone for how they react in moments like that.
Two days ago, Derek’s wife reported him missing, and now I have to tell her that he’s never coming home.
I force myself onto the iced pavement and through the steel gate. A lumpy snowman with a lop-sided smile in the yard stares at me as I pass by.
Raising my fist, my heart sinks, dreading what comes next. I rap three times on the metal of the screen door. When it opens, a short, thin woman with yellow hair stands there, wrapping a sweater around her frame.
“Afternoon, Julie,” I say with an even tone.
“Walk,” Julie greets back, like my presence brings good news, and she pushes the screen door open. “Do you have news about Derek?” Dark circles hang below her eyes.
“Can I come in?” I ask with an open hand.
She tilts her head, and I can see her mind working to understand what I’m doing here. “What happened? Did you find Derek?”
Releasing a tense exhale, I respond, “I think it’d be best if we talked inside.”
Her eyes widen as it clicks. “No.”
“Jules…” I reach for her.
She takes a step back, shaking her head in denial. “Tell me he’s okay, Walk. Tell me my husband is coming home,” she pleads.
My shoulders droop. “I’m sorry.”
Her tears fall, unbidden. “No.”
I rush forward as her knees give out and she begins to drop to the floor. Catching her around her shoulders, I hold her to me as she wails and screams. Her cries prick at my heart, making the weight on my shoulders feel even heavier, and the guilt feel suffocating.
I didn’t do my job.
I didn’t save him.
I didn’t protect him.
Coaxing Julie to the beige floral couch, I hand her tissues and offer to call someone for her.
When she doesn’t reply, I tell her that I’m calling Tad Jensen, the Evergreen Falls fire chief, to come be with her.
Everyone at the fire station are family to each other, and I know Julie doesn’t have any other family nearby.
After the quick call, I go to her kitchen. I search for a pot and quickly make us both a cup of tea. Returning to the living room, I offer her the plain green mug. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” She grabs the warm ceramic cup from me and sips. “How did he die?”
I sit on the matching couch across from Julie. “We’re still investigating, but it looks to be foul play.”
“Someone murdered my husband?” She sets her tea on a coaster on the short coffee table between us.
“I’m afraid so,” I confirm, then set my own mug down as well. “I hate to do this, but I need to ask you some questions.”
Julie squares her shoulders. “It’s fine. I can handle it.”
I start the interview like I would any other. “Had Derek been acting strange lately?”
“No, not at all.” She shakes her head.
Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees. “No change in behavior? Was he stressed about anything?”
“Quite the opposite. These last few months, he was happier.” Julie’s gaze moves to the window beside me, seeming to think back over the time frame in question.
“Did he talk about anyone threatening him?”
Her eyes come back to me. As she answers, her voice gets softer. “No. Everyone loved him. There was talk of him receiving the Medal of Valor.”
“Were there any ill feelings in the department because of that?”
Her brows lower. “You don’t think any of them killed him, do you?”
“Just being thorough,” I placate as I hold up my hands. “I need to get the full picture, so I know where to look next.”
She shakes her head again. “None of his brothers at the fire station would do this. They’re a family.”
I nod, validating her reasoning. “I know, Jules. I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s natural for resentment or jealousy to build. It doesn’t mean anyone there hurt Derek.”
Julie sips from her tea again as we hear the hinges on the front door squeak.
A voice hollers. “Julie?”
“In here,” Julie calls back.
A broad-shouldered man wearing navy blue cargo pants and a matching shirt steps into the room.
His focus immediately goes to Julie. He crosses the distance between them in a few steps and sits next to her, grabbing her hand in condolence.
“I’m so sorry, Jules. He was a good man. If you need anything, let us know.”
Julie smiles sadly. “Thanks, Tad.”
Jensen turns and acknowledges, “Walk.”
“Jensen,” I return.
“I don’t know how I’m going to tell the kids.” Julie stares down at the coffee table, but it’s obvious she isn’t focused on the natural pine wood in front of her. “I don’t know if they can handle losing another father.”
I sit up straight at hearing the new information. “Another?”
Jensen answers for her. “Julie’s first husband was KIA in Afghanistan.”
Derek, Julie, and their kids moved here about six years ago. I’ve never taken the time to get to know them better.
“That him?” I point to the pictures on the mantle above the fireplace.
“Yeah, that’s Jason,” Julie confirms.
I get up and move to get a closer look at the photo.
Jason is wearing his army uniform, standing in front of a plain backdrop.
Next to the photo is another of Jason and some other men dressed in fatigues.
The entire mantle is covered in pictures of Jason and his medals.
In the middle of it all sits a framed, folded flag.
It’s like a shrine to Julie’s dead husband.
Pivoting, I face Julie and Jensen again. My eyes roam the room, and I notice fewer and smaller photos of Derek.
“How long were you two married?” I inquire further.
“Three years. He was on his second tour when his unit was hit by an IED.”
“I’m sorry.” Trying to figure out how to frame my next question, I start, “Your children…”
Julie knows what I’m asking and answers without being offended. “Annie and Olivia are from my first marriage, but Derek is still their dad.”
“Of course,” I validate. “When did you meet Derek?”
Julie shrugs a shoulder. “Not long after Jason passed.” She lets out a defeated sigh and gets to her feet. Jensen stands with her. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I need to lie down for a bit before the girls get home from school.”
Jensen and I give our understanding. When we hear a door click shut upstairs, Jensen starts in with his own questions. “That was Derek, wasn’t it? The one burning in the field.”
“Jensen, I can’t—”
Jensen interrupts me. “Don’t give me that bullshit, Walk.”
Rubbing the back of my neck, I conclude that I can share this with him. “Yeah, it was Derek.”
“Fuck,” he mutters. “I don’t know how I’m going to tell my guys. This isn’t just a huge loss for the department. Derek was family.”
“I understand,” I console, then lead him on with my own interrogation. “Jules mentioned the Medal of Valor.”
“Yeah, Derek was like a bloodhound for fires,” Jensen corroborates. “He knew where to go, what to do. He could predict what the fire would do before it happened, and because of that, he’s saved almost twenty people. That serial arsonist has had us working overtime.”
That’s interesting…
“Could I see your reports for the last six months?” I keep my face blank, not offering so much as a hint as to where I’m going with this.
Jensen’s brows scrunch together. “What are you thinking?”
“I don’t know yet,” I lie.
Jensen rests his hands on his hips. “Will it help you catch who did this to Derek?”
“Hopefully.”
“I’ll have them dropped off at the station later today,” he says with an edge of determination I’m relying on.
“Thanks.” I reach my hand out to him. “Give me a call if you think of anything.”
“Of course.” Jensen clasps my hand and shakes.
Evergreen trees blur together as I head back toward the station, melding into one green smear mixed with white dots from the snow resting on the branches as I drive along County Road 20 alone.
The sky is just barely starting to change colors, signaling the coming of dusk.
Static crackles over my department radio, making me tense even more.
I turn up the music, hoping that the melodies of blue-collar life, nostalgia, and faith will help clarify the speculations swirling around in my gut.
Blinding headlights flash in my rearview mirror, obscuring my vision for a moment. I roll my eyes and speed up to get away from the overzealous high beams.
I don’t like that someone in my own backyard could be out there committing heinous crimes and I not know about it. Part of me wants to be wrong, but another part wants to catch him and make him pay in blood.
Levi, Santiago, and I are usually on top of the shit going down in Evergreen Falls. We take care of our own.
A quick glance shows me the same truck about forty yards still behind me. He’s been there for the last several miles.
On a hunch, I slow and take the next turn and the next after that. When my mirrors don’t light up, I slow to the speed limit and go back to the case at hand.
Back to the basics. What do I know?
I know that the victim is Derek Holt, age forty-two, multiple years with Evergreen Falls Fire.
Derek has risen in popularity over the last few months and was up for the Medal of Valor.
Derek was killed by a sharp object to the throat, then tied up on a cross, placed in an empty field, and set on fire.
Blake was first on scene.
The clash of metal on metal scrapes my ears as my body is jolted forward, and I almost bang my head on the steering wheel.
“What the fuck?”
Searching for the cause in my mirrors, I find the same beams, but they’re much closer as the lifted truck attached to them rides my tail.
Did that guy just hit me?
I can’t make out the plates, make and model, or even the vehicle's color. All I can tell is that it’s dark.
The engine revs, closing the distance again for another tap. I push the gas pedal another inch closer to the floor to get myself out of range. At the same time, I reach for my radio.
“Jo, I’ve got a vehicle—”
Another hit.
This one harder than the last.
Back tires fishtailing over the ice-covered road, I struggle to regain control of my truck.
“Walk? Are you there?” Jolene answers me back.
“Yeah, I’m here. I—”
The car behind me moves to the left lane and speeds up. I slam my foot on the gas pedal, and my engine roars, working hard to push forward. I search for any distinguishing marks on the truck but find none.
But I’m not able to get ahead of him.
“Walk?”
“Jo, I’m on Highway 109, heading north. Please send—”
I’m cut off again when the truck swerves into my lane, ramming into the bed near my tire. I start to spin, slowing everything down. Placing both hands on the wheel, I steer into the turn and take my foot off the gas.
But I’m already going too fast.
My windshield looks out over the trees along the road, and I don’t seem to be slowing down, and I’m still spinning.
Metal scrapes again, and I’m headed off the road and into the trees.
There’s a blow to my midsection, and my head is thrown backward.
One blink, and it all goes dark.
Ringing.
Static.
Hissing.
“Walker? Walker Robert Maddox, you better answer me right now.”
Groaning, I force my eyes open, but it’s just a peep before they close again. Something warm and wet drips down the side of my face. I try to take a deep breath, but it’s cut short by a sharp pain.
Great, a broken rib.
The sound of a car door shutting reaches me. “Help,” I try to shout, but it comes out as more of a moan.
Reluctantly, my eyes close again.
I’m so tired. Maybe I can rest for a bit.
Something cold and sharp presses into my skin, pushing adrenaline through my veins. Opening my eyes again, I discover a knife at my throat.
Angling my head, I try to find the person, but he growls out, “Don’t move.”
With my right hand out of his sight, I slip it onto the seat belt and attempt to unbuckle myself, but it’s jammed.
The man presses the edge of his blade in, and I freeze. A keen sting zips across my throat. It’s barely a scratch.
“Be careful what you dig up, Sheriff.”
The metal leaves my neck, and I turn my head, but the man is gone. I check my mirrors, but there’s no sign of him.
The only thing that lets me know he was here is the burning cut.
He could’ve killed me.
All he had to do was apply a little more pressure.
But he gave me a message instead.
And now I know…I’m on the right track.