Annette Dashofy - Zoe Chambers 03 - Bridges Burned (28 page)

Twenty-eight

The clock in the ambulance service’s office read a few minutes after four in the morning. Two crew members were asleep in their bunks. Two more were in Medic One heading for Brunswick Hospital with a patient who had crashed his car into a pine tree.

“I feel like I should be doing something.” Zoe drummed a blank notepad with a pen while listening to snippets of static and conversations on the scanner. She’d taken a break from pacing the ambulance garage’s office to sprawl in the chair at the dispatcher’s desk.

“Every cop in the area is looking for her.” Earl, eyes closed, slouched on the vinyl upholstered bench across the room, one ankle crossed over the other knee, his head resting against the window behind him. “There’s nothing for us to do but wait.”

The scanner hissed, stuck on one channel too weak to draw in anything comprehensible. Zoe turned down the volume and clicked a button, skipping the offending frequency and sending the radio through its loop again. “There’s no reason for you to sit up with me. Go to bed.”

“I can’t sleep either.”

“You can’t keep your eyes open.”

“And I can’t shut my brain off.”

She huffed. “I hear you. Maybe we could get in Medic Two and cruise the county. We can be on call while driving around.”

“What do you think we’d see in the dark? We could pass Mancinelli’s truck and never know it.”

Zoe let out a growl.

How dare her partner be so rational—and right.

Someone tapped on the office’s front door. Zoe jumped, and Earl sat up, blinking. Sylvia opened the door and stuck her head in. “I was driving around and saw the office light on. Do you mind?”

Zoe waved her in. “Welcome to the regularly unscheduled meeting of Insomniacs Anonymous.”

“There’s a fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen,” Earl added, rubbing his eyes. “Can I get you a cup?”

Sylvia closed the door behind her. “That would be wonderful. Thanks.”

Earl climbed to his feet and snatched Zoe’s empty cup from the desk without bothering to ask. She smiled. He knew her all too well.

The scanner squawked out a garbled exchange between a police officer and a dispatcher on the other side of the county pertaining to downed power lines.

Zoe reached over to adjust the squelch dial. “Do I need to ask why you’re driving around at four in the morning?”

“I couldn’t sleep thinking about that darling little girl out there somewhere. And I couldn’t just sit and wait for the phone to ring.”

“I know the feeling.”

Sylvia dropped her handbag onto the bench next to where Earl had been sitting and approached Zoe, wringing her hands. “I need to apologize to you—about earlier.”

Pete was moving to Hawaii. Zoe had been pretending the conversation hadn’t happened. It was a mistake. A misunderstanding. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Yes, I do. I was mad at you. Blaming you for driving Pete away.”

Zoe ducked her face away from Sylvia, busying herself with some wayward paperclips.

“I know it’s not your fault,” Sylvia continued. “When he stopped at your farm on Saturday, I told him he was going to lose you if he didn’t watch out.”

Zoe tried to respond. Wanted to act casual and unaffected by Pete’s leaving. But words stuck in her throat. The scanner cycled back to the channel filled with nothing but static, and Zoe snapped the radio off.

Earl returned to the office with two steaming mugs and looked back and forth between the two women. “Did I miss something?”

Zoe stood up to take her coffee from him. “No.”

“By the way,” Sylvia said to Earl as he handed her a cup. “You mentioned something earlier I didn’t understand.”

“What?” he asked.

“You said Zoe wouldn’t have to leave Vance Township since Pete was moving to Hawaii.” Sylvia swung back to Zoe. “Were you planning to move too?”

Zoe sighed. “Yeah. Still am. The Krolls are selling the farm.”

“Oh dear.” Sylvia’s eyes narrowed, and her focus seemed to shift somewhere far away. “I was afraid of that.”

“He’s inside and he’s got a gun.” Nate leaned against his cruiser, resting his forearms on its roof, keeping his gaze fixed on Ryan Mancinelli’s house.

Pete was the second on the scene. Baronick had said he was on his way. Before long, the stretch of road in front of the Mancinelli and Naeser houses would be jammed with police vehicles from a variety of jurisdictions.

But for now, it was just Pete and Nate. “What about the girl?”

“Haven’t seen her. And other than coming out on the porch with a revolver stuck in his pants and brandishing a shotgun, yelling for me to go away, I haven’t seen anything else of
him
either. He sounded like he’s been hitting the bottle pretty hard. ”

Pete studied the dark house and thumbed toward the one next door. “What about his wife and in-laws?”

“I told them to stay inside with the doors locked. The women are in hysterics. Ashley claims she never saw him come in. Didn’t know he was there.”

“How did
you
know?”

Nate glanced at Pete without turning his head and chuckled. “I knocked on his door.”

Pete huffed a short laugh.

“Figured it couldn’t hurt. Didn’t expect to get an answer. Sure didn’t expect to hear someone chambering a round into a shotgun.”

“It’s a sound that gets the message across.”

“Damn straight. I decided a hasty retreat was in order.”

“Wise move.” The last thing anyone wanted was shots fired if a ten-year-old girl was in the house with him. Pete pulled out his cell phone and punched in the number he had for Mancinelli. After four rings, a machine picked up with Ashley’s cheery voice asking the caller to leave a message.

Pete hung up. “Give me your bullhorn.”

Nate reached into the open window of his cruiser. “I was about to use it to contact him when you pulled up.”

Sirens shrieking in the distance signaled backup was on its way.

Pete lifted the bullhorn. “Ryan Mancinelli. This is Chief Pete Adams. I’m trying to call you. Do yourself a big favor and answer this time.” He handed the horn back to his officer and redialed Mancinelli’s number.

This time he picked up. “Go away and leave me alone.”

“You know we can’t do that. Not while you have Maddie Farabee in there.”

For a moment, Pete thought Ryan had hung up. Then he said, “What are you talking about?”

Pete’s gut knotted. “Are you telling me you don’t have her?”

He was greeted once again with silence, but this time it was broken by a strange keening wail. Or was that the sirens? No. Ryan Mancinelli was crying.

“Ryan? What’s going on in there?”

“I screwed everything up. Now just go away and let me end it.”

End it? Pete sure didn’t like the sound of that. “Ryan, don’t do anything foolish. As long as you haven’t hurt the little girl, we can still get you out of this mess.”

“Hurt her?” Mancinelli was in full-blown blubber mode. “I might as well have killed her myself.”

“Is she in there with you?”

“No. I told you she wasn’t.”

“Is anyone else in there with you?”

“No, damn it.”

Pete blew out a breath. They didn’t have a hostage situation on their hands. “Do you know where Maddie is?”

“No.” Mancinelli dragged the one word out into several syllables ending with an uptick, as though he were asking a question.

Pete felt his brain cool. “Do you know who has her?”

“I could have stopped this. I should have stopped this.” Mancinelli’s voice bubbled. He sniffed. “Tell Ashley I’m sorry and I love her.”

“Wait. Ryan, listen to me. You said you could stop this. Then help me out. Let me come in and talk to you.” In Pete’s peripheral vision, he saw Nate wildly shaking his head. “I’ll be unarmed.”

“It’s too late.”

“You don’t know that.” Pete hoped.

He could hear the man breathing. Heavy. Wet. Pete never took his eyes off the dark house, but saw flashing blue and red lights dancing across the night’s landscape. Sirens wound down and two state trooper vehicles pulled up. Additional units approached from both north and south.

Over the sounds of slamming car doors and crackling radio transmissions, Ryan Mancinelli’s voice reached through Pete’s phone. “Just you, Chief. No guns.”

“This is crazy.” Wayne Baronick had arrived as Pete removed his duty belt and slipped into a Kevlar vest. “You’re taking his word he doesn’t have the Farabee girl in there. Meanwhile, we do know he has at least two firearms.”

Concealed behind his SUV, Pete checked his backup weapon strapped to his ankle and hoped Mancinelli wouldn’t frisk him. “The only person he’s interested in shooting is himself.”

“At least let me slip around to the back of the house. He’ll never see me, but I’ll be close in case you need assistance.”

Pete straightened. He met Baronick’s concerned gaze and nodded. “You make a move without my okay and I’ll shoot you myself.”

“Roger that. But if I hear gunshots, all bets are off.”

Pete grinned. “Deal.” He picked up the bullhorn. “I’m coming in.”

Aware that a dozen or so law enforcement officers lined the edge of the road, weapons trained on the Mancinelli house, Pete approached the front porch. He watched each window for movement or a glimpse of light reflecting off a shotgun barrel. Anything to warn him if Mancinelli decided to do more than simply talk.

With the sirens now silent, the crickets serenading the night from the woods behind the house sounded deafening. Nate had already heard Mancinelli pump a shell into the chamber, so there wouldn’t be any warning.

He climbed the steps. Crossed the porch. Turned the knob. The unlocked door opened. “Ryan? It’s me. Pete.”

“I’m in the kitchen.” The voice was slightly slurred, but no longer weepy.

The first gray light of dawn filtered through the windows, offering enough illumination to allow Pete to pick his way through the entryway without tripping over the wadded throw rug. The maid clearly had not come to visit since Ashley moved out and her husband had trashed the place.

Pete found him, as he’d said, in the kitchen. Mancinelli sat on a stool at the center island, holding up his head with one hand. The other rested on a revolver lying on the counter. A quick visual sweep revealed no other weapon. However if Pete’s count was accurate, there were two more empty whiskey bottles than there had been on his last visit.

“Hey, Ryan,” he said, keeping his voice soft. Like they were old buddies. “Where’s the shotgun?”

Mancinelli tipped his head. “On the couch. I unloaded it.”

“Okay. Good.” Equally good, Mancinelli showed no interest in whether Pete had brought a concealed weapon to this little powwow. Still, the man’s hand was on the only visible gun in the room—a large-frame Smith and Wesson .45. “I don’t suppose you unloaded that one, too?”

Without meeting Pete’s gaze, Mancinelli snorted softly. “No. I figure I still might wanna use it.”

Not so good. Pete leaned against the kitchen island, doing his best to appear relaxed. “Let’s talk.”

For the first time since Pete had arrived, Mancinelli looked up at him. “Is Holt dead?”

“No.” At least not the last time he’d checked. “What happened between you two in the motel room?”

Mancinelli blinked. “Between us? I wasn’t there.”

“You didn’t shoot Farabee?”

“Hell no.”

“The gun found next to him, the gun used to shoot him, was registered to you.”

Mancinelli covered his eyes with his left hand—the right one still gripped the big revolver—and moaned. “I never should’ve let him take it.”

“Who?” Pete put one foot up on the rung of one of the stools, bringing his backup pistol a little more in reach. “Let
who
take it?”

“Holt. He doesn’t own a gun, but wanted one for this meeting. I offered to come along, but he insisted it was something he had to do by himself. So I gave him my Beretta.”

“What meeting?”

Mancinelli lowered his hand, but kept his gaze on the revolver. “I told him it was a bad idea. I mean, this plan of his has sucked from the start. He should’ve listened to me and stayed away from the whole mess, but he thought he could handle it. Take the guy down. Instead, his wife ends up dead. That idiot Tierney, too.” Mancinelli sniffed and swiped the back of his left hand across his nose. “Though God knows
he
was no great loss to humanity.”

Pete tried to will Mancinelli into meeting his gaze. “Who are you talking about?”

But Mancinelli didn’t seem to hear him. “This is all my fault. I’m the one who introduced them. I knew the asshole was bad news, but I didn’t know how bad. I should’ve. I should’ve insisted Holt stop this crusade of his. Now it’s too late. That bastard is gonna kill Maddie. And then Ashley.”

Ashley?

Mancinelli lifted the revolver. Swung the big barrel up. But not at Pete.

Before Mancinelli could bring the muzzle to his own head, Pete reacted. Launched over the counter separating them. Grabbed Mancinelli’s right hand. And twisted.

Just as the gun went off.