Chapter Thirteen Brad #3
“Cover me!” I shouted as I pulled my weapon and raced across the road where the truck had gone off the highway and hit a tree.
“Hands up, Ford!” I yelled as I approached.
I wasn’t sure what I was walking up on. “Don’t be dead, you son of a bitch.
” I carefully approached and felt Adam behind me.
“You’re not gonna get off that easily—” I opened the door and pointed my weapon.
My stomach took a massive dive. “Who the hell are you?” I then called over my shoulder. “Smith, call a medic.”
“Ahh.” The man struggled to move, and my disappointment set in. I saw he’d been trying to type a text message. I grabbed the phone from him and read the text.
Zach Savage: Gumbo drive my truck to our meeting spot.
Me: Cops are on to the truck. I’ll stall . . . was all that he’d been able to type in, but he hadn’t pressed send.
Zach Savage, I repeated internally as it pulled at a memory from years ago. Huh . . .
“You got ID on you?” I felt around the man’s pockets as he struggled to breathe. I felt his wallet and pulled out his license. “Rodger Gummy. Wow, that’s quite the last name. I’d stick with Gumbo.” Sirens could be heard in the distance. I checked the man over. “Can you speak?”
“No,” he gasped.
“Well, that’s a start.” I wiggled a glove over my hand and felt his weak pulse.
“Wanna tell me why you’re driving Timothy Ford’s truck and why you’re texting someone named Zach Savage about us?
Are you involved in those murders too?” His eyes widened and his mouth opened as if he were going to say something.
I felt around his stomach, and he yelped. “You’ve got internal bleeding. Looks like the airbag got you pretty hard. That’s all I can see, but I’m no doctor.”
His mouth opened, then shut again.
“I see you’re wearing a cross.” I gave him a little shake. “Hey, stay with me. Hey, Gumbo, you might wanna do the right thing with the man upstairs and tell me where Timothy is.”
Saliva dripped from his chin as he turned his head ever so slowly to look at me. “This is”—he coughed—“far from over, Detective Stone. So many foxes.” He smiled, then his head fell as he lost consciousness.
There had been a couple of times in my life when something had chilled me to my core. The river murders, the first time I’d witnessed my brother have a PTSD episode, and now this man’s comment.
The medics arrived, and I stepped back to give them room. I tucked what I’d heard from Gumbo away to unpack later. I gave them as much information as I could as they took over.
“Stone,” Cap called as he approached with Kennedy on his heels. “Did we get him?”
“No. It’s not him.”
“Fuck.” He dropped his head as his face plummeted.
“Sorry, Cap.” I groaned as we got close. I was just as pissed as he was.
“You good?” He looked at me, and I nodded. “All right.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “Look, go home and give me your report in the morning. Let’s make this as smooth as we can.”
“I will.” I wouldn’t let Cap down, and he knew it. “But I got his phone—he was in Ford’s truck and in contact with some guy named Savage.”
“This is great, Stone. Good work. Now take a moment and shake it off.”
“Copy that.” I nodded without another word and hurried to my car.
I turned the key, and once she purred to life, I headed to the city.
My mind drifted back over the case, and my first instinct was to call Bree and fill her in, but I wanted to be respectful of her boundaries.
I eyed the lake and felt my chest tighten as images of her swimming toward the shore flooded back to me.
She could have died that night. The thought sickened me. I tried to force it away, but it stuck.
I didn’t consider where I was headed. I just found myself at the bottom of the church steps. I think my soul must have known I needed guidance from someone higher up.
The place was empty, just what I wanted. I slipped into the middle row and drew in a deep breath and let my guard down. My eyes went to the beautiful stained glass windows, then I relaxed and bent my head.
I felt movement on the bench and quickly looked up. “Hello, father.” My lips curved upward.
“Sorry to disturb you, my son. What a lovely surprise to see you again so soon. Are we sitting in silence, or do you wish to talk about what brings you here?”
I leaned forward and rested my arms on the pew in front of me. “I know I chose this life, one where I fight evil for the good. This case just seems different.”
“How so?”
“This killer confuses me. The clues confuse me. It’s a case like no other.
” I rubbed my eyes. “He’s taken two lives now, and there is zero evidence of why.
I get the sense he just enjoys messing with us.
Why use a poison made from some crazy green moss?
” I glanced at him. “Sorry, father, I shouldn’t have revealed that. ”
“These lips are sealed as always.” He patted my arm. “And now you’re questioning why the Lord would allow such things.” He raised his brows, and my mouth twisted at his comment.
“Maybe a little.” I knew that wasn’t fair. God didn’t have control of everything. Demons were everywhere with their own agenda.
“The Lord takes who he needs, sometimes in the worst of ways. It’s hard for us to understand.
I can’t say I understand why he’d take those two young women in such a way.
” He pointed to the ceiling. “I think of little Johnny Cleveland. Just playing one afternoon in his mother’s greenhouse, and the Lord decided he needed him. ” He fingered the cross he wore.
Greenhouse? The word bounced around in my head. “I don’t remember that. What happened exactly?”
“It happened in the next town over, Colville.” He stopped to think. “Back in the sixties or seventies, I believe. He was playing with a friend and got into something, some kind of moss—I’m sure she said moss. Anyway, within seconds the little one was gone.”
I looked up at the ceiling and felt something inside me shift. “Was the friend killed as well?”
“I don’t believe so.” He shook his head, then looked toward the door. “Forgive me, son, but I have to meet someone.”
“Of course, thank you for the chat.”
Something told me it was worth checking out. I called Cap.
“Stone, are you resting?”
“Cap”—I ignored him—“I want to check into something. Will you call ahead to the Colville PD and let them know I’m coming to look at some files?”
“I can do that. Want to share?”
“Probably nothing, but do you remember what detectives were working in the late sixties and seventies?” I knew his father had worked closely with the Colville PD back then.
“Sanders and Pera stand out the most. They both worked homicide. Sadly, both have passed.”
“Okay.” I repeated their names in my head.
“Keep me in the know.”
“Copy that.” I hung up and decided I wanted Bree along. Ten minutes later I banged on her door.
“Bree!” I called out. “Open the door.”
The door flew open, and her face scowled. “Brad, for heaven’s sake. What are you doing here?”
“Get dressed.”
She leaned to the side and looked around me, then spotted the dirty side of my car from my earlier chase. “What happened to your car?”
“I’ll explain. Just get dressed.”
“Why?”
“We’re headed to Colville.” I told her a few details on the chase, but left out Rodger Gumbo’s name.
Bree balanced her coffee in her hand as I held the door open for her. Once I showed my badge to the officer at the front desk and explained, she waved us through.
“Old files are stored downstairs, second door on the left. Knock yourselves out.” She turned back to her laptop.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Concern was written on Bree’s face, and if I hadn’t been so focused, I’d have relished the feeling that she cared. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me right away.”
“I was trying to give you space.”
She let the topic go and dumped her big purse on the table, then followed me through the rows of stacked boxes. “Okay, well what are the odds this isn’t a wild goose chase?”
“You of all people understand a gut feeling.” I scanned the scribbles of dates and names in marker. “I just think we need to check it out.”
“All right, let’s do this.” She headed for the other side of the shelf, and we started to hunt. We stopped for a short break about an hour later to clear our heads but jumped back into it. Any clue that might give us something would be worth finding.
“Got it!” I yelled and pulled out a box and hauled it over to the table. I quickly went through the case files and pulled out the one I wanted.
“Oh shit”—Bree leaned over and held up a photo of young Johnny on a red bike—“he was so young.” I looked away. No matter how many cases I dealt with, kids were the worst.
“Here it is.” She moved closer as she read it out loud.
“‘Johnny Cleveland, age eleven, was playing with a friend in his mother’s greenhouse when he inhaled something made from some kind of plant.’ She swore she’d never seen it before and had no idea how he found it.
There was an inquiry, but she was cleared. ”
“What do they say was the type of plant?” I waited for her to discover it.
“Um . . .” She ran her finger along the page, then stilled. “Oh my god, Brad.” She pointed to the name. “‘Butterfly root moss’! Do you think the mom might have something to do with our case? Like revenge on the girls or something?”
“I’m not sure of that”—I slid the file out of her hands—“but I’m interested to know why he died and not his friend.” She stepped closer, and I tried to ignore the goose bumps her silky hair brought up on my arm as we both sifted through more paperwork.
“There’s nothing here on the other kid, except that they kept his name out of it to protect him from the media.”
“Mrs. Cleveland moved after her son’s death”—she held up a handwritten note from Detective Sanders—“which is not surprising.”