Face aching, he climbed to his feet and holstered his pistol. Kruger was too far away to hit with a handgun. He watched the handcuffed man disappear into the trees. Kruger moved with impressive speed and agility.
But he wasn’t worried.
He walked to the rear of his vehicle and opened the trunk. Opening his first aid kit, he mopped the blood from his face. He punched an instant ice pack and held it over his throbbing nose. Kruger had likely broken it. A few minutes with an ice pack now might stave off some swelling. Clogged nasal passages would slow him down.
Besides, he was in no rush. They were miles away from help, and even Kruger couldn’t run at top speed through the woods in the dark. The PI would have to slow down or risk breaking an ankle. But even if Kruger could make good time, he didn’t have to catch Kruger. He only had to catch Ms. Dane. The counselor was smart, loyal, and determined, but she was not athletic.
And Kruger would never leave her.
The key to a successful hunt is knowing your prey and being able to predict its behavior.
They were both handcuffed and unarmed. No one knew where they were.
He moved aside the evidence bag containing Kruger’s and Dane’s personal possessions. When he’d stashed their phones in the trunk, he’d removed the batteries. No one would be able to track them. Their last known location was outside Stan Adams’s house. If Dane’s sister on the SFPD went looking for her, that was where she’d start.
Maybe he could plant some evidence at Stan’s house . . .
He’d sort it out later. Tonight, his focus had to be on stopping Kruger and Dane. Those two were relentless. They’d discovered Lou Ford’s death. It was only a matter of time until they tied Ford’s death to Mary’s.
He removed the battery from his own phone. He wanted no GPS record of his upcoming trek through the woods either.
After laying the ice pack aside, he took four ibuprofen tablets from his kit and swallowed them with water. He stripped off his coat and uniform shirt and tossed his Kevlar vest into the trunk. Kruger and Dane weren’t armed, and the vest would slow him down. Instead, he layered a long-sleeve thermal shirt and a fleece pullover, then put his coat back on. He exchanged his campaign hat for a wool cap.
Then he began loading his many pockets: water, protein bars, spare fully loaded magazines, a flashlight he wouldn’t use unless necessary, a compass, fire starter sticks, and matches. He didn’t plan to be out all night, but a good hunter was always prepared. Reaching back into the trunk, he added a silver emergency blanket.
His hunting cabin was at the end of this lane. He knew every game trail in the woods around the lake well. He would not let Kruger and Dane get away. His future depended on catching them.
He returned the first aid kit to his trunk and removed his AR-15 from the rack mounted under his trunk lid, wishing he’d thought to bring his personal hunting rifle. For deer hunting, he preferred the 30-06. His personal rifle fired a larger, heavier bullet with more stopping power at a greater distance. He’d seen too many deer shot with the light AR-15 rounds get up and run, needing to be finished off with another shot. But he’d have to be close to hit his target in the dark anyway. And if possible, he wouldn’t use his official weapon.
He stooped and picked up the handgun he’d dropped when Kruger kicked him. He’d taken it off a stupid kid a few months before and kept it, just in case he would need a gun to toss next to a suspect. He slid it into his pocket. He’d planned to use the throwaway weapon to kill Kruger and Dane before they’d gotten away.
He hadn’t expected to have to hunt them down. Kruger’s rush had thrown a wrench into his plans. He should have expected it. The PI was more dangerous than he’d thought. He wouldn’t underestimate him again.
The rifle felt balanced and comfortable in his hands. It would do. He closed the trunk and turned to the woods.
Time to go hunting.
Chapter Forty-Five
Sharp left the store with a new phone in his hand, his account data freshly downloaded from his cloud account to the device. A series of messages from Lance popped onto the screen. Sharp read them, stunned by the news that someone had tried to kill Jenny in the ICU, and that Stan was now the top suspect. He dialed Lance’s number, but the call went directly to voice mail.
He left a message. “Call me after you and Morgan question Stan. One of the boys set up a meeting for me with someone who was at the sheriff’s station on August 10, 1994. I’ll let you know if I learn anything interesting.”
Sharp pressed “End,” slid his phone into his pocket, and drove to the meeting location, Bridge Park. He stopped his Prius in front of the Revolutionary War monument and parked next to an old Chevy Chevette at the base of the old stone bridge that spanned the Scarlet River. A figure hunched on one of the three wooden benches facing the water.
Sharp zipped his jacket, making sure his sidearm was accessible. He might not like to carry a weapon, but considering the rate people were dropping in this case, he’d make an exception.
He got out of the car. Snow fell in lazy eddies of wind and gathered on the grass as he walked across it.
The figure on the bench stood. “Are you Sharp?”
“Ned?”
“Yes.” Ned eased back onto the bench. He was in his seventies. The black wool coat and fedora he wore were old and threadbare.
“We could have met somewhere warmer.” Sharp turned his face away from the wind.
Ned shook his head. “This meeting is not public. I’m only talking to you because I owe Bill. He pulled my kid out of a car wreck years ago.” He craned his neck to give the area a nervous scan.
“What are you afraid of?” Sharp asked.
“Have you seen all the dead people lately?” Ned’s tone hinted that his fear was justified and obvious. “Bill says you’re investigating the skeleton they pulled out of the lake a few days ago.”
“Yes,” Sharp said. “The skeleton was identified as Mary Fox. She disappeared August 10, 1994. Bill tells me you were working that night.”
Ned nodded. “But no one knows I saw anything, and that’s exactly how I want it to stay.” He took a deep, audible breath. “I was a janitor in those days. I took care of the sheriff’s station and a couple of other small county buildings. Sheriff’s station got cleaned twice a week.” He toyed with a hole in the thumb of his black leather glove. “I was in the maintenance closet, getting ready to mop floors. There was a commotion in the hallway. The door was open a couple of inches. I looked out. The sheriff, he was Chief Deputy King back then, he was bringing a young woman in through the back door.”
A chill settled low in Sharp’s gut. Mary?
Ned continued. “There wasn’t a camera covering every single inch of the station in those days. The back corridor was a blind spot. Deputy Walsh was struggling with a drunk. King cuffed the woman to a ring next to the payphone that used to be there. He handed her a quarter, told her to make her call, and went to help Walsh. The drunk was raising a ruckus, shouting and cursing and thrashing around. Neither King nor Walsh had any patience left. They beat on him, then it got real quiet.”
Lou Ford.
Ned paused to catch his breath. He raised his eyes and stared out over the river. “I backed into the dark part of that closet. I didn’t want either of them to know I saw. I didn’t come out until they were both gone.”
“What happened to the woman?” Sharp asked.
“I heard King offer her a deal. He’d drop the charges against her if she promised to keep her mouth shut about what she saw.” Ned paused. “He took her right out the back door. Never brought her inside the station.”
King might have offered Mary a deal, but he didn’t live up to his end of the bargain.
Ned set his hands on his thighs and pushed to his feet. “I don’t know anything else. That’s all I saw.” He raised a hand, palm toward Sharp. “Before you ask, I will not testify. Nor will I admit this conversation ever took place. Not unless King is six feet underground or in a prison cell. He isn’t the kind of man who lets things go.”
“You think Sheriff King is killing people?” Sharp asked.
“There ain’t anybody else left. Walsh moved to Florida. I heard he was dying.” Ned shivered. “Walsh, he was shook up when he realized the prisoner was dead, but King just shrugged it off, like it was no big deal. The sheriff is one cold-blooded SOB.”