TWENTY-TWO
Truman had nearly arrived back at his department when his phone rang. It was the Deschutes County Sheriff’s Office reporting that it had found an abandoned red pickup with some minor front-end damage.
“Who’s the owner?” asked Truman.
“The tags are long expired,” said the deputy. “But it’s registered to a Joshua Pence in Nevada.”
“Crap.” The theory about Joshua’s truck having been used to run Mercy off the road appeared to be accurate.
“Have you towed it yet?”
“Nope. We’re waiting for the tow truck.”
“Give me your location.”
Truman took the next turn and floored his accelerator, wanting to get to the scene before the truck was moved.
Nearly twenty minutes later he pulled up behind a county cruiser on a little-used side road and spotted the tail end of a truck in the brush off the side of the road. No tow truck in sight.
“Did you touch anything?” he asked the deputy.
“I opened the door and looked through the contents of the glove box. Once I radioed it in and heard about the BOLO for the vehicle, I backed off.”
Little effort had been made to hide the vehicle. They’d picked a quiet road, but the vehicle was still visible from the street. Truman wondered if an empty gas tank had led to the poor hiding spot. “See any keys?”
“Nope. It was unlocked and one of the windows left down.”
Truman walked around the vehicle. It’d had a hard life. The bed of the truck was well dented and had a few holes. The tires should have been replaced ten thousand miles ago, and a headlight was missing. He crouched down to look at the missing headlight. The truck had minor damage around the missing headlight, and he could see scrapes of black paint in the dents.
Mercy’s Tahoe.
Slipping on gloves, he opened the driver’s door and did a quick visual inspection. There were holes worn in the fabric bench seat on the driver’s side, and the floor was littered with fast-food wrappers, Big Gulp cups, and soda cans. Truman opened the ashtray; it was full.
DNA.
Probably DNA on the straws in the cups too.
Not that we’d use DNA to figure out who abandoned a truck.
The mess could be from Pence, but if Truman had a suspect for who had run Mercy off the road and he wanted to handle the expense, he could test to see if it matched.
I’d rather get someone to confess.
No doubt he could intimidate a suspect with the fact that they’d left their DNA all over the inside of the truck. Cheaper too.
He backed away from the vehicle and looked at the towering pines in the area, trying to get a mental picture of where he was. “Do you know how far we are from Tom McDonald’s place?” he asked the deputy.
“Who?”
“Never mind.” Truman strode back to his vehicle and pulled up his location on a map on his phone. He zoomed out, getting a bigger picture of the area. McDonald’s ranch was less than ten miles away. He stared at the screen for a few seconds and knew he needed to pay a visit.
Once Mercy had admitted the McDonald crew might have run her off the road, Truman had done as much digging on Tom McDonald as he could. She’d said what she’d uncovered on McDonald was clean. Truman had found the same.
It was too clean. Given that he was associated with the Idaho militia leader Silas Campbell, Truman felt there should have been a few skirmishes on McDonald’s record. Truman had never had a real conversation with Tom, but he’d seen the man around Eagle’s Nest a few times. He’d pulled up what information the state had on Tom McDonald before heading to the ranch, and let the information percolate in his brain on the drive. Something about McDonald niggled at his brain, but Truman couldn’t see any issues.
McDonald was boring.
Too boring?
He pulled into the remote property and parked next to a few trucks. Four men stepped out of a large building fifty feet away, and Truman immediately identified the girth of Tom McDonald. Two others were the men who always accompanied McDonald. To his surprise the fourth man was Mercy’s brother, Owen.
As they got closer and he recognized Truman, Owen missed a beat in his stride. His jaw tightened.
“Morning, Chief.” McDonald held out his hand to Truman. “What brings you all the way out here?” He didn’t bother to introduce the other two men, who hung back a few feet behind him. Big guys who wore bulky outerwear that could hide a multitude of weapons.
Truman nodded at the silent trio, his gaze lingering on Owen, who looked away.
Fine. I’ll play it your way.
Truman shook McDonald’s hand, ignoring his obvious hint that Truman was stepping outside the Eagle’s Nest city limits. “We recovered a red Ford pickup a couple miles down the road from here,” he said, stretching the truth a bit. “Was wondering if any of your men know anything about it?”
McDonald didn’t look at his men. “Who’s the owner?”
“Joshua Pence.”
“Don’t know the name. Why’d you come here instead of going to his house?”
Truman didn’t flinch at the obvious lie. “The home address is in Nevada, and the registration is out of date. I’d heard he was working for you.”
“I don’t have any employees by that name. I don’t know where you got your information, but it’s not right.” McDonald held his gaze, his face expressionless.
“Joshua Pence was the man whose body was found at the Jackson Hill fire last week.” Truman watched McDonald carefully.
“Is that the guy the FBI harassed my employees about the other day? They were poking around, asking if anyone knew him. Why’s everyone think I know something about him?”
“I don’t know anything about the FBI’s visit. You’ll have to ask them.” Truman felt Owen’s stare on him. “I’m here about the truck.”
McDonald finally glanced at his men. “Anyone know about an abandoned truck?”
Three heads shook in unison.
McDonald turned back to Truman. “I think you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“Sounds like it. I appreciate the help.” Truman let his gaze wander across the ranch buildings. “Looks like things are coming along. I heard you’ve got some good employment opportunities going on. Planning on lots of building?”
“Some.”
“I can put the word out around town if you’re looking for workers.”
“I’ve got plenty at the moment.”
Behind McDonald, the man wearing a camouflage parka shifted his stance and intensified his glare at Truman. Truman met his gaze and gave him a friendly smile. “I think the red truck was involved in an accident the other day. Someone nearly killed an FBI agent when they ran her off the road. They got real lucky she wasn’t hurt.”
The guard’s glare turned into a subtle smirk.
“Don’t know anything about that,” said McDonald. “Not our truck.”
Truman eyed the camo-wearing guard and decided to see if his fast-food theory was right. “Well, it’s been driven since Pence died. Whoever took it for a joyride left all sorts of garbage inside. Soda cans. Straws. Cigarette butts.” Camo’s smirk evaporated as he realized the items Truman mentioned could harbor DNA, and Truman contained his grin. Gotcha. “It’s got some front-end damage too. With residual paint from the federal vehicle it hit.”
Tom McDonald kept his cool. “Sounds like you’ll have plenty of evidence when you catch whoever stole it. Probably teenagers.”
“Probably,” agreed Truman. He took a last quick glance at Owen. Mercy’s brother looked slightly nauseated.
That’s right. You’re hanging around with guys who nearly killed your sister.
Truman touched the brim of his hat and made polite good-byes. He felt their stares burn hot on his back as he walked back to his SUV. He sat in the cab for a while, pretending to work on his computer, letting them sweat about what he was doing. As he fiddled with his console, he realized he hadn’t experienced an ounce of anxiety about confronting the men. None. Zip. Nada. Pleased, he tried to identify what had changed since he’d fallen apart the other day.
I care. I care about justice for Joshua Pence. I’m not thinking about myself.
Mercy too. He was determined to find out who’d tried to kill her in that car accident, because he didn’t want it happening again.
He started the vehicle and pulled a tight circle to head back the way he’d come. He noticed that one of McDonald’s two guards was still in the spot where they’d spoken, waiting for him to leave.
Go tell Daddy I left.
He fumed as he drove off. He suspected all four of the men knew where the truck had been for the last week. Possibly Owen did not, but without him opening his mouth to defend himself, Truman would group him with McDonald’s crew.
No matter that he was Mercy’s brother.
Tom McDonald watched the police chief drive off his property. The asshole had sat in his truck for five minutes before leaving and completely screwed with Tom’s peace of mind. The chief didn’t have any authority here, and both of them knew it. He’d come out only to stir up trouble and try to intimidate him and his men again.
He’d heard good things about the police chief of Eagle’s Nest, but now Tom had his own opinion. The chief wasn’t afraid to overstep his bounds to harass innocent men. Just like every other cop. He might have his townspeople snowed about the type of man he was, but Tom knew he had the inflated ego that always came with the badge.
Unnecessary. Cops were government tools to enforce its extraneous laws. Tools to protect itself from the very people who’d given it power.
Soon.
Owen Kilpatrick paced in the small living room of the farmhouse as Tom watched him out of the corner of his eye. He wanted to believe Owen was with him 100 percent, but in the last few minutes Tom had started having doubts. The police chief had rattled Owen. Even Deke watched Owen, distrust settling into his features.
Did I bring him into the fold too fast?
“What’s going through your head, Owen?”
“A lot of officials have shown up here,” said Owen as he continued his pacing. “First the FBI, then the state police looking for dynamite, and now the local police chief. It’s getting hot.”
Tom wished he hadn’t told Deke, Al, and Owen about the state cop looking for dynamite. All three men had started to sweat and then had grown angry at the thought that there might be a traitor in their midst. Their reactions had felt genuine to Tom, and he was nearly certain none of them had reported the dynamite. But that left forty other men and women who might have made the call.
“Are you worried?” Tom asked. “None of the cops had any facts. They were all just following rumors.”
“Who’s spreading these rumors?” asked Owen.
Al came through the farmhouse door, his face full of annoyance. “Don’t know why the chief waited so long to leave.”
“He was trying to intimidate us more,” said Tom. “More proof that he’s got nothing on us. He was just blowing hot air.”
“We should have cleaned out the garbage,” muttered Al.
Owen froze midstep. “What garbage?”
“Nothing.”
Owen stared at Al for a long second, and disappointment flashed across his face. Tom knew he’d suspected that his two men had run his FBI-agent sister off the road, but now he was positive.
What will he do about that?
“Do you have a problem with my plans for the dynamite?” Tom asked Owen.
The tension in the room tripled. Al and Deke slowly turned toward Owen, waiting for his response.
His hands clasped behind his back, Owen looked at Tom and then the other two men. “I don’t. You can do whatever you want on your own property.”
“But it’s not my property yet.”
“It will be soon,” said Deke. “She’ll come around.” He nodded emphatically, as if he could will it to happen.
Tom studied the large man. Deke was a few peas short of a casserole, but he had heart and was one of the best shots Tom had ever seen. That was the primary reason Tom had picked him to watch his back. Another reason was that he was usually silent.
“I didn’t ask your opinion,” Tom told Deke.
Deke clamped his mouth shut and straightened his spine, focusing his gaze on a spot past Tom’s shoulder. “No, sir.”
Tom turned his attention back to Owen. “Your sister could have been hurt the other day. That was the fault of these two boneheads. It wasn’t my intention.” He held Owen’s gaze. “But I won’t stand for federal agents trying to walk all over me. I’ll strike back when warranted. Do you have a problem with that?”
Owen hesitated a split second too long. “No, sir.”
Disappointment washed over Tom. I had such high hopes for him.
Owen was different from the other men who’d come to him. He was successful, smart, and motivated. Anger had driven Owen to Tom. His brother’s death as a result of shoddy police work had opened Owen’s eyes. He wanted what all the other men wanted: change. They wanted change that returned their dignity and pride.
Not this constant stealing of their taxes to support greedy politicians, or to have to look over their shoulder every time they stepped outside their own front door. They wanted to simply live their lives. Instead they were being nickel-and-dimed while the government created new laws to give itself power to sweep in and take whatever it wanted.
A forest your family has owned for fifty years? Hand it over. We need to protect an owl.
Pastures your cattle have grazed for the last decade? Keep off. We need to protect the river your cows drink from.
Then the federal officials would show up with their guns and all the power.
Unfair.
“Maybe this isn’t the place for you,” Tom said to Owen.
Owen took two steps toward him, passion flaring in his eyes. “You know we want the same things. You’ve got the strength to sway men to support you. I believe in what you’re doing.” He held Tom’s gaze, sincerity ringing in his tone.
I believe him.
Tom had strong faith in his gut instincts. His temporary doubts about Owen vanished. Owen might have a soft spot for his sister, but he wouldn’t let it get in his way. Tom held out his hand to Owen, who grabbed it and shook it firmly.
“I’m with you,” Owen stated.
“Good,” said Tom. “Now how are we going to figure out who the leak is around here?”
Owen blew out a breath. “I have my suspicions about that young kid working on the bunkhouses.”
“Cade?” Tom was shocked. The kid was polite and worked hard.
“Maybe he didn’t do anything intentionally, but it’s possible he mentioned the dynamite to his girlfriend.”
“And she reported it? Why would some teenage girl care about dynamite out here?”
“She’s my niece . . . Her dad died, and she lives with Mercy.”
Understanding struck Tom. “You think she told her aunt? And that’s why things have heated up around here? Why didn’t you mention this sooner?” He was horrified. One of his workers was dating the live-in niece of an FBI agent?
Owen pressed his mouth into a hard line before answering. “I only put it together recently. I didn’t realize he was the guy I’d seen with my niece until I bumped into him here the other day. Even then I wasn’t sure.”
“So you could be wrong.”
“Could be. But I’m thinking it’s the same one.”
“I think I need to have a talk with Cade.” Tom turned to Deke and Al. “Go find the kid.”
“He’s off today.”
“Dammit.” Frustration heated his face. “I want to see him first thing tomorrow.”