Chapter 34
I’d been home for about a half hour. Still in my work clothes on the chance that I had to go back out, I had my feet up on the coffee table and a sleeping dog’s head on my leg.
Amy was curled up on the other side of Lucky, looking at her phone.
I held the remote and switched from one streaming-service app to the next to find something for us to watch.
“What do you want to eat?” Amy asked.
“I’m finding us something to watch,” I said. “You’re in charge of the food, baby.”
“Ugh. Do you want to trade?” she asked. “I think I’m probably better at finding something to watch.”
We’d been going back and forth ever since I’d been home about what to eat for dinner. We’d gone from going out to eat somewhere, to cooking something with all the groceries we’d just bought, to ordering some delivery.
“Yeah. Let’s trade.” I figured I could roll out an old trick to at least solve the food problem.
Amy passed me her phone, and I handed over the remote. I swiped the screen of her phone up and down, not even looking at the options. “This is so easy,” I said. “I got it.”
“What?” she asked.
“Nah. I’m not going to tell you. Let’s let it be a surprise.”
“No way,” Amy said. “How would you even know what I want? Tell me so I can look at a menu.”
I shook my head and pretended that I was selecting things on her phone. “I’ll just get you what you normally get.”
“Just tell me,” she said.
“All right, all right. I’ll give you one guess.”
“Hmm,” Amy said. “Casa del Fuego?”
I nodded.
“Really?”
“Yeah. Is that okay?” I asked.
“Yeah, yeah. Get me the enchiladas,” Amy said. “Ooh, and see if we can get a couple of their mojitos delivered.”
“For sure,” I said.
I brought up the place on her phone and started our order. Just as I hit the confirmation, my phone buzzed beside my feet on the coffee table. I handed Amy her phone, leaned forward, and scooped up my ringing phone. The screen said it was Donaghy.
“Damn,” I said. “This is Donaghy calling me. I have to see what’s up.”
I scooted Lucky’s face off my leg, pushed up from the couch, and answered the call as I walked to the bedroom. “What’s up, Donaghy?”
“We’ve got trouble. I don’t know what the hell is going on.”
I could hear from his end of the phone that it sounded like he was driving.
“What kind of trouble? Something with Enfield? Something with Coker?”
Enfield was the officer Donaghy had stationed at Coker’s house.
“Yeah, that kind of trouble. I was on the phone with him. He called and said that the lights had come on inside of Coker’s house, but he hadn’t seen him come home.
We were saying that maybe he’d come in from the back or something.
Then Enfield said hang on, that someone was approaching his car.
Then I heard another voice. It said something like ‘Nice night’ or something like that.
Then the guy said he brought Enfield a coffee for his stakeout and asked why he was staking out his house. ”
“Was it Coker?”
“I mean, I think it had to be. It sounded like Enfield was trying to get the guy to go away. I heard him say that he wasn’t watching the guy’s place. Then I heard the other voice say something like ‘I don’t think so’ and then just a bunch of rustling noise and what sounded like maybe screaming.”
“Screaming?” I asked.
“Yeah. That’s what it sounded like. Then the line went dead. And now he doesn’t answer his damn phone. I’m kind of freaking out. I bet I called back ten times. Straight to voicemail. I’m on my way over there now.”
“Call it in,” I said.
“Are you sure? I don’t want to overreact and flood the parking lot with a bunch of cruisers and blow things up.”
“No. Call it in,” I said. “I’m literally a mile away. I’m leaving right now.”
“All right. I’m still, like, ten minutes out,” Donaghy said.
“I’ll call you when I get there,” I said.
I ended the call and shot toward the kitchen, where I snatched up my car keys.
“Where are you going?” Amy asked.
“Work emergency. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
I went to Amy and gave her a kiss on the forehead as she peppered me with questions.
“I’ll call you from my truck,” I said.
I ran out the door and hopped into the Bronco.
The thirty-seven-inch tires spun as I shot backward from my driveway into the street.
I yanked the truck into Drive and mashed the gas toward the end of my block, where I made a left for Coker’s neighborhood.
The screen of the truck showed Amy calling—apparently, she wasn’t waiting for me to call her. I tapped the button to answer.
“What are you doing?” Amy asked.
“The guy we put on that suspect’s house isn’t answering the phone. Donaghy thinks that something might have happened.”
“What do you think?” Amy asked.
I could barely hear her over the noise from the engine. “I don’t know, babe. It could be nothing. But it could be something. Like I said, it’s right here by the golf course.”
“Just be safe,” Amy said.
“Yeah.”
“Nash. Be safe,” she said a bit more sternly.
“I heard you. I love you.”
She said it back as I hit the button on the screen to end the call.
I slowed for the approaching stop sign but didn’t stop.
Seeing no cars, I went straight through and hung a hard left into the entrance to Coker’s neighborhood.
Doing what had to be at least double the speed limit, I blasted through the winding roads of the golf course community until I neared the back, where Coker lived.
Eyes locked on Enfield’s sedan, I hammered the brakes, activating the Bronco’s ABS and traction control as I slid to a stop in Coker’s parking lot. Enfield wasn’t in the car.
“Shit.” I threw the truck into Park and killed the engine.
I grabbed my small flashlight from the Bronco’s center console and bailed out.
My head snapped toward Coker’s town house.
The lights were on inside. The Toyota was still in the gated carport.
I pulled my service weapon and ran to Enfield’s car.
The driver’s-side window was down. A couple of parking lot lights on poles somewhat lit the area.
I could see some kind of liquid on the ground around the driver’s door and what looked like the handle of a ceramic coffee cup.
“What the hell,” I mumbled.
I hit the button on the flashlight and pointed the beam into the car. Immediately, I saw the same liquid splashed all over everything—coffee, it smelled like. I aimed the beam onto the driver’s seat. When the light hit the headrest, I froze.
“Son of a bitch,” I snapped.
I killed the flashlight, yanked out my phone, and hit the button to call Donaghy back.
“Yeah,” he answered.
“I’ve got blood in Enfield’s car.”
He had a four-letter response.
“I’m going in,” I said.
“I’m five minutes out. Cars from the station should be there in three. Maybe you want to—”
I hit End on the call, dropped my phone into my pocket, and quickly crossed the parking lot for Coker’s town house as I pulled my service weapon. As quietly as I could, I opened the steel gate and went to the front door. As I leaned in for a listen, someone inside screamed for help.
I took two steps back, one lunging step forward, and put a boot into the door. The door flew into the house, sending splinters of the doorframe along with it.
Directly in front of me stood Evan Coker, hand cocked and holding a black metal-looking bar. In front of him was Enfield, bloodied and bound to a chair. Enfield’s head rested on his chest—he was either unconscious or worse. Coker had eyes locked on me.