Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
GABE
The EMTs rushed in, carrying their gear and running a gurney.
Gabe rose to his feet and backed away from Spurring’s still form.
The responders were followed—of course, because this was Gabe’s life—by Deputy Choi.
He resisted groaning. Sheriff Bree Eagan liked him, but he had the distinct feeling that Choi’s opinion of him was somewhere below dog poo. Maybe she just wasn’t a people person.
How many times do I have to remind you that people are overrated, Chance.
Fine. There was some truth to that.
Deputy Choi stopped a few feet away. “You’re having quite the week, Mr. Karne, and it’s only Tuesday. What happened here?”
Gabe was intently watching the emergency team rip Spurring’s shirt off. The wound did not look good. Even with the only light source being the grate, he could see that there was a lot of blood.
“Karne!” Choi said sharply.
“Oh, sorry.”
“Jesus Christ. Can you guys take yourselves out front so we have room to work?” one of the EMTs said impatiently. “Trying to save a man’s life here.”
Peering at him, Gabe recognized Simeon Greery, Heartstone’s fire chief. When you ran a rural fire department, you apparently wore all the hats.
“My apologies, Chief Greery. I wasn’t thinking,” Choi said. “Follow me,” she snapped at Gabe.
Gabe returned to his earlier assessment that the arrow pointed to Deputy Choi just not liking him. He’d have to fix that. But later.
“Where’s Elton?” Gabe asked when they emerged from the bunker. “He was waiting for me out here.”
“Mr. Cox is in his vehicle,” she said with a fierce scowl. “Or he was.”
Gabe looked across the parking area and spotted a familiar form climbing out of the Ford and starting toward them.
“He generally doesn’t stay put.”
“Mr. Karne,” Choi said, turning her attention back to him, “tell me exactly what happened here. And don’t leave anything out.
” Her notebook and that very excellent pen were both out and waiting for him to start talking.
But Gabe was paying attention to Elton, who was moving slower than usual.
Deputy Choi’s gaze followed Gabe’s. “On second thought, let’s do this at the station, where Mr. Cox will be more comfortable.
He can follow us there. You’re riding with me. ”
Great, another free ride in a cop car. If he were ten, this might have been considered fun.
“Can I ride in the front?”
Two extraordinarily long hours later, Gabe and Elton were leaving the Sheriff’s Office building after giving their official statements to Deputy Choi.
She’d placed them in different interview rooms, presumably so they couldn’t hear what each other said.
Gabe got stuck in the same one he always did.
What was it with the sock smell? Someone needed to check the vents for dirty laundry.
Since she wasn’t arresting them—yet—Gabe guessed that their statements had been similar enough. And Elton’s couldn’t have taken more than three sentences, anyway. He’d never entered the bunker or spoken to Spurring.
Gabe’s stomach chose that moment to growl almost louder than the Ford’s engine.
“I’m fucking starving,” he said, turning the key in the ignition. “Also, when I said I never wanted to ride in a cop car again, I meant never. Has the universe not figured this out yet?”
Gabe was still bent out of shape that Elton had been allowed to drive himself while Gabe had been chauffeured like some common criminal. He’d really wanted to point out that he was not a common criminal; in fact, he was uncommon. Rare. Singular. Exceptional. Also, ex-criminal.
“Choi should know that old men are equally likely to be criminal masterminds. You could have driven off to—”
Elton interrupted him. “We didn’t finish our lunch at the Geoduck because you went haring off after Nicole. No ranting while your blood sugar is low.”
Right. The mysterious server.
“God, was that just today? And what about Spurring, will they share his condition with us? Did he make it or not? My blood sugar is not low.”
Elton shot him a look informing Gabe that he either had low blood sugar or was being a drama queen. Maybe both.
“I was going to text Knute to see what he can find out for us, but I forgot to charge my phone last night. Battery is dead.”
“Good idea. Can’t beat the old cops network, I’d guess.” Gabe drew in a deep breath and rolled his head. “I could murder a pepperoni pizza. Wanna grab one?”
Murder, Chance? Really?
Perhaps murder was the wrong word, but he was damn hungry. Gabe’s stomach was on redial, reminding him that the grilled cheese sandwich and clam chowder he’d abandoned were a long time ago.
“Only if we take it to my house,” Elton said a tad crankily, “so I can text Knute.”
Maybe someone else had low blood sugar. Gabe kept that thought to himself.
Elton always said that The Pizza Joint was too loud. The ceilings were high, so he was possibly correct, but Gabe thought he needed hearing aids. They’d argued about it only last week. On the other hand, Gabe wanted to go over The Fuckery of the Day, and a pizza place was not the place to do so.
“Sounds good to me.”
The Pizza Joint was inexplicably busy, and it took forty minutes to get their order.
If he’d been in Seattle, Gabe would’ve bailed and headed for the next restaurant three doors down.
But the brewery, which had excellent food, wasn’t open on Tuesdays, and everything else was a drive Gabe wouldn’t have survived.
“Oh my god, I’m ready to eat my own hand,” Gabe complained as he set the to-go box down on Elton’s kitchen counter. “A reverse Donner Party kind of thing.”
“Grab some plates, why don’t you?” Elton said, ignoring Gabe’s reference. “Bring ’em out to the table. I’ve got the paper towels and water already.”
They’d finally sat down at Elton’s tiny dining table when there was a knock on the door. Gabe started; with his back to the door and his focus on his slice of pepperoni supreme, he hadn’t seen or heard anyone arrive.
“Muvverfphucker,” Gabe complained, chewing fast and swallowing while also jumping to his feet to see who was outside.
He flung the door open to Knute Bakke standing on the stoop.
“Are we having a party and I didn’t know it? Knute, you should’ve told us you were coming. Elton could’ve baked a cake because I am not sharing my pizza.” Gabe reclaimed his seat, grabbed another slice of pizza, and took a huge bite.
“Knute?” said Elton, looking up at his old friend. Mild astonishment indicated he had not expected him to show up.
“Elton.” Knute growled his name.
Gabe hid a grin and wished he had a stash of Elton’s Red Vines for this show.
“I had to drive out to this godforsaken island and find out for myself what kind of trouble you and Rockford here had gotten yourselves into. My sources could only tell me there was a shooting response and Emmett Spurring was involved. They were very cagey about witnesses.”
Rockford? That was a stretch. “I don’t think my sunglasses are cool enough to compare me to Rockford, but I appreciate the nod,” Gabe muttered before grabbing two more pieces of pizza and plopping them onto his plate. Okay, he was thrilled over the comparison, but these two didn’t need to know it.
“Let me grab a folding chair.” Elton left the table and shuffled to the hall closet, where he kept two extra chairs, then returned carrying one of them.
“Have a seat,” Elton said, waving a hand at the empty spot as he busied himself by overtly plugging his phone into its charger.
“Pizza?” Gabe offered. “Half pepperoni supreme, half something with actual vegetables. Elton insisted.”
Knute eyed the pizza and then Gabe. “Will I lose a hand if I take a small slice?”
“Ha, ha, ha. Not as long as it’s from Elton’s side.”
“Go right ahead and help yourself,” Elton added.
When Knute had a slice of pizza in hand, he looked at both of them in turn. “Well? Get talking.”
“Deputy Choi told me not to talk to strangers,” Gabe said primly. Or as primly as he could around a huge bite of pizza.
“You know, I keep my permit up to date.”
“What, your fishing permit?” Gabe snarked.
Knute growled. Gabe started to laugh, hard enough that tears came to his eyes.
“Sorry, sorry. It’s been a long day, right? I feel like it’s been a week already, and all I’ve done is find bodies. There’re three days left before the weekend even, and I’d prefer not to discover three more.”
“Gabe, pull yourself together and have some water,” Elton said. “Then tell Knute what happened with Spurring and don’t leave anything out.”
Gabe gulped down most of a pint of water and set the glass down with a thud. Knute and Elton were watching him closely.
“Right. Spurring. He was on the ground and bleeding when I reached him. I didn’t see anyone else, but there are several entrances and exits to the bunker.” And a whole separate parking lot at the other end of a walking trail.
Elton and Knute nodded, encouraging him to continue.
“Spurring was in the middle corridor, I’d guess. I could see that he’d been shot in the chest, so I yelled for Elton to call the ambulance. It had to have happened before we arrived because I didn’t hear any shots. Did you, Elton?”
Elton shook his head.
Gabe continued. “He was still conscious—sort of, anyway. I asked him who did it, but he didn’t say.
He did whisper something about Peter and then Wilson, but I couldn’t tell if he meant them together or not.
It seemed like he shook his head when I asked what Peter had to do with everything, but I imagine he was in a lot of pain.
Peter Vale wasn’t a great guy, but I’m having a hard time imagining him partnering with Wilson.
And Peter’s been dead for a while, so what the hell?
When I asked Spurring again, he said something like, ‘No, not Peter,’ which was not at all helpful.
The last thing he said before going unconscious was, ‘Tried to get out.’ I don’t know if he was referring to himself or what, but I assume that’s what he meant. ”
“That’s it? That’s everything he said?” Knute asked.
Gabe nodded, feeling a bit glum and wishing they’d gotten to the fort sooner, but then, having a run-in with a gunman was something he was happy to have avoided. “Yep.”
“Huh. Peter, you say?” Knute narrowed his eyes, lasers attempting to drill into Gabe’s brain.
“Yeah, but also not Peter. Anyone taking the last piece?” Gabe pointed at the lonely slice of mushroom, artichoke, garlic, and pesto pizza.
Heartstone Island may have been remote, but the owners of The Pizza Joint knew their customer base was eclectic.
Pepperoni was Gabe’s go-to when he was starving, but his favorite was the Thai chicken.
He stopped for a minute and wondered if they should have bought two pizzas.
“Heaven forbid we get between you and the last piece of pizza, Gabe.”
And Elton thought he was a fucking comedian.
Gabe snagged the last slice, folded it long ways, and took a big bite. All three of them were quiet, mulling over what had possibly been Emmett Spurring’s last words.
Or, in Gabe’s case, enjoying the last of the gooey deliciousness.
Knute’s eyebrows shot up, that laser stare still focused on Gabe.
“What?” Gabe demanded. “You’re making it hard for me to eat here.” He didn’t enjoy having the retired homicide cop’s attention on him.
“How positive are you that he used the name Peter? Could it have been something close that sounds like Peter?”
“I mean, yes? Of course it could have. Why?”