Chill Factor (40 page)

Dutch suspected otherwise. Wes hadn't come here to pass the
time.
Nor was he concerned about sepsis on Dutch's face or when he'd had his
last hot meal. The whiskey was a nice, friendly gesture, but Wes wasn't
that thoughtful a friend. He had an ulterior motive or he wouldn't be
here.

Dutch's gut clenched when he considered what the purpose of
the
visit might be. Maybe the whiskey was for easing the pain. If so, he'd
just as soon suffer it sooner rather than later.

"Did you come here to fire me, Wes?"

Wes's sputtering laugh appeared genuine. "What?"

"Are you the self-appointed committee representing the city
council?"

"Jesus Christ, Dutch. You are one paranoid son of a bitch, you
know
that? Where'd you get a wild notion like that?"

"From what you said last night. Don't you remember? You
reminded me
that you'd put your neck on the line when you hired me. You said that
my failure would reflect poorly on you."

"Aw, hell. We were tired, edgy. Our nerves were shot. You were
going
a little bit round the bend on the issue of Lilly, and her being in the
cabin with this guy. As your friend, I was only trying to shed a
different perspective on things. Get you back on track. But you know,"
he rushed to say when he saw that Dutch was about to interrupt, "over
the course of this day, I've come closer to your way of thinking."

Dutch eyed him warily. "What do you mean?"

Wes shot a glance over his shoulder at the closed door. He sat
forward and lowered his voice. "You think as I think—hell, as
the
feds
think—that this Tierney is our culprit, right? He's kidnapped
five
women and done God only knows what to them. And that blue ribbon shit?
How creepy is that?"

Dutch gave a terse bob of his head, unwilling to commit more
than
that until he knew where Wes was going with this.

"And your wife—the
ex
being a
minor detail—the woman you
love is trapped up there with him. I admire your self-restraint, buddy.
I really do. If I'd been in your shoes today, I would have killed
anybody who tried to keep me off that peak."

"I nearly did."

"Hawkins doesn't count."

Dutch took another sip of whiskey. Each swallow had gone down
smoother, tasted better. "What are you leading up to, Wes?"

"Let's go get Tierney. You and me."

"Begley has a chopper—"

"Forget that," Wes said impatiently. "If they get to him
before we
do, we'll never see him. He'll be hustled away to Charlotte, put under
lock and key. Even if he's indicted, his lawyer will cause delay after
delay, and five years from now we'll still be trying to bring this
psycho to trial and get justice for these ladies and their families.
That's not the law of the mountains, not the kind of law our daddies
and granddaddies believed in."

Wes had a valid point. Dutch knew from his days on the APD how
slowly justice was won, if ever.

"I never have understood how the feds got involved anyway,"
Wes said.

"Kidnapping is a federal crime."

"Yeah, yeah, but that's a technicality."

"A pretty damn important one."

Wes scooted forward until he was sitting on the edge of his
chair.
Propping his forearms on the desk, he leaned across it. "Cleary is your
jurisdiction, Dutch. This is your town, your people, and the victory
should go to you. Not to Begley or that four-eyed yes-man.

"You drag Tierney down Main Street, parade him in front of the
Gunns
and relatives of the other victims, bring him to trial in this county,
and you'll be the local hero. You'll be the bad-ass,
don't-fuck-with-me-or-my-town cop who solved the biggest crime in the
town's history." He sat back and smiled complacently. "And I'll be the
one who had the smarts to hire you for the job."

The pep rally speech was effective. Wes had painted an
exciting
picture, with Dutch as its focal point. He wanted badly for it to
become a reality. But he'd been crushed by disappointment too many
times to trust the flurry of optimism he was feeling. He was afraid
even to hope that this time, when the stakes were incredibly high, he
might finally catch a break.

"Only a crazy cop would arrest someone without evidence," he
said.
"I don't have any on Tierney. It's all speculation and hearsay."

"The feds—"

"Aren't sharing. Begley threatened to lock me in my own jail
if I
went into Tierney's cabin out at Old Man Elmer's place."

"He can't do that."

"Doesn't matter if he can or can't. Right now, I don't know
what
they've got on Tierney, so how can I arrest him and make even a minor
charge stick?"

"Do you think Begley would be guarding his rooms so closely if
there
wasn't incriminating stuff in there? Bring the guy in and then worry
about the evidence."

"We have constitutional rights prohibiting that, Wes."

"I know, but isn't there a term for apprehending somebody
believed
to be…" He waved his hands as though trying to grasp the
words.

"Probable cause."

"That's it!" he said. "Say the robbery alarm at the bank goes
off,
and you see a guy in a mask running out of it. The money bag isn't
visible, but you go after him anyway. You don't wait to gather
evidence."

Dutch left his chair and paced a slow circle around his desk.
The
whiskey had helped dull the throbbing pain of his face, but another
dose of ibuprofen tablets wouldn't hurt.

"I agree with what you're saying, Wes, but it's impossible.
Begley's
ordered the chopper for tomorrow morning. If it's dear, if the wind
dies, if the pilot makes it as far as Cleary, chances are good he'll be
able to take it up to the peak. But it'll take days for us to get
enough equipment and manpower in here to clear up that mess on the
road."

"The mess on the
main
road." Wes was
grinning like he'd
just pulled the winning ace from his sleeve. "But what about the other
one?"

It took Dutch a moment to catch his meaning. When he did, he
barked
a laugh. "The road on the mountain's western face? That's little more
than a cow path."

"A cow path covered in a foot and a half of snow, which levels
it
out and makes it easier to navigate."

"If you're a penguin."

"Or a snowmobile."

That checked Dutch's next argument. He stopped and thought
about it.
"Can a snowmobile get up an incline that steep?"

"Worth a try. Besides, the inclines are more gradual on that
road
because of all the switchbacks."

That was true. Dutch remembered taking a date up to a popular
parking spot when he was in high school. By the time they'd reached the
romantic lookout at the peak, she was green with car sickness, so ill
he hadn't made it even to first base with her.

"Okay, but who has snowmobiles?"

"Cal Hawkins."

Dutch laughed so hard it made his face hurt worse. "Oh, that's
great. Just my luck. He's the last person in the world who would vite
me to use his snowmobiles."

"He has no say in it. His old man bought four of them a few
years
back to rent to winter vacationers. The bank repossessed them after Cal
put them up for collateral on a loan he didn't pay back."

"Again, great."

Wes was still grinning. "I haven't come to the best part yet.
The
bank is keeping them in storage. Guess where? In the school bus garage."

Dutch was beginning to see the light. "To which you have a
key."

"Riiiiight," Wes drawled. He toasted Dutch with the whiskey
bottle
and took another drink from it. "I also have a key to the office where
the keys to all the Cleary Independent School District vehicles are
kept."

"How come you're just now thinking of this?"

"Cut me some slack, will ya?" Wes said around a burp, sounding
offended. "There's been a lot going on."

"Why didn't Cal suggest we use the snowmobiles?"

"Because his brain is mincemeat. Besides, they've been out of
sight,
out of mind for over a year. He's probably forgotten all about them.
The bank, too, more than likely."

"Let's not remind anyone of them," Dutch said, growing
increasingly
excited. "We need to keep this quiet. If Begley gets wind of it, he'll
stop us."

Wes nodded. "Tonight, gather up everything you think you'll
need.
Have you still got ski clothes?" Dutch nodded. "Good. Let's meet just
before daylight at the garage, ready to go. We'll start up the mountain
as soon as it's light, before Begley has a chance to launch his
helicopter."

"We'll have to go through town to get to the western face.
What if
somebody sees us or hears us? Those things are loud. What excuse will
we give for taking them out of the garage and using them without the
bank's permission?"

"Dutch, for godsake, you're the chief of police," Wes said
with
annoyance. "If somebody questions you about it, you say you
commandeered them to assess what's needed to clear the road, to check
out downed power lines, to rescue a cat. Christ, I don't know. You'll
think of something."

Dutch gnawed on his lower lip while reviewing the plan from
several
angles. He didn't see a downside. Taking and using property belonging
to someone else was glorified theft, but Wes was right. Who was going
to challenge the chief of police for doing what was necessary to
apprehend a suspect?

And doing something, even something shady for which he could
later
be reprimanded, was better than sitting here watching his face fester
and letting the FBI humiliate him.

For the first time in two days he felt in control, and Jesus,
it
felt good.

He raised his cup. "Meet you at four-thirty."

CHAPTER  27

THERE MUST HAVE BEEN SOMETHING TERRIBLY UPSETTING about that
conversation," Marilee said to her brother. "How many times do I have
to tell you—"

"Until I believe you, William."

She had made coffee in an old-fashioned percolator that heated
on
the gas range. They were having it in the living room, sitting in
chairs they'd moved close to the fireplace for warmth and light. For
half an hour she'd been trying to get information out of William about
his unprecedented and secretive conversation with Scott Hamer. She had
yet to get a straight answer.

"Scott threw up before he got out of the yard. What were you
talking
about that was so awful?"

"If it had been any of your business, Scott wouldn't have
asked to
speak to me alone. Take the hint, Marilee, and stop asking me about it.
You're becoming a nag."

"And you're a liar."

"I haven't lied," he said smoothly.

"Why would Scott seek a private conversation with you?"

"Me of all people, you mean?"

"Don't put words in my mouth, William. I wasn't
implying—"

"Of course you were." He narrowed his gaze on her. "You know
what I
think this is about? Jealousy."

"Jealousy?"

"It's killing you that I'm more important to one of your
pupils than
you are."

"That's ridiculous!"

He studied her for a moment, his smirk indicating he believed
otherwise. "Well, the cause for your interest really doesn't matter,
because as I've said,
repeatedly
, the topic of
our
conversation was private and no concern of yours."

"When one of my students vomits in my yard, it's my concern."
She
hesitated, then asked the question she had dreaded asking. "Was it
about Millicent?"

His expression shifted. He looked at her with curiosity of a
different sort. Speaking slowly, he said, "How odd that you would
mention her."

"Not that odd, since you were speculating on the reason for
their
breakup earlier today."

"But Scott didn't know that."

"
Did
you talk about Millicent?"

He hesitated, then said, "Her name came up."

"In what context?"

"In the context of Scott's relationship with Wes."

"Wes? What does he—"

"More than that I can't say without violating confidences,
Marilee."
He set his coffee cup on the end table and announced that he was going
to bed. "I'll be leaving early to open the store. Don't bother getting
up to see me off."

"I had no intention of getting up to see you off." It was a
cheap
shot, unworthy of her. William didn't even acknowledge it as he left
the room.

Because of the power outage, there would be no school
tomorrow. She
should be looking forward to another free day. Instead, she was deeply
troubled.

Wes, Scott, and William. The chemistry of that trio made
Mar-ilee
uneasy. Beyond living in the same town, they had nothing in common
except furtive conversations about something that William refused to
discuss, when ordinarily he loved being the purveyor of information and
gossip. His reticence was annoying. It was also unsettling, especially
since Millicent Gunn seemed to factor into it.

Marilee's uneasiness kept her awake for hours, even after
she'd gone
to bed. She didn't realize she'd fallen into a restless sleep until she
was awakened by her lover. He was in bed with her, caressing her
through her nightgown.

"Oh, I'm glad you're here," she said, lightly touching his
face.

Within seconds he had the nightgown off her, holding her
tightly
against him, his penis hard and insistent. She placed her thigh on his
hip, took him in hand, and guided him into her. But tonight he didn't
want fantasies or finesse. He pushed her onto her back. His thrusts
were hard and fast, almost angry.

Afterward, he lay across her, heavy with exhaustion, his head
on her
breasts. She caressed the back of his neck, relieving the tension that
had collected there. "You've had an awful day."

He nodded.

"Talk to me about it."

"I just want peace. I want you."

"Me you have," she whispered and folded her arms around his
head.