Whiskey Sunrise - a Christian Suspense Novel: A chilling tale of a desert that buries its secrets. (18 page)

Rye took his hand and pressed firm. “Good to see you too, Doc. I hate to call you for the same reason. I think you know these officers.”

The coroner shook hands with them then faced Rye.

“Call said this was a weird one. Where’s the body?”

“No body, just a big pool of blood. Need your take on it.”

The coroner shifted his position and opened his mouth to say something when his head erupted in a shower of blood and brains. The air tasted of coppery death. The report of a rifle echoed off the surrounding buildings.

Rye dropped to his knees. His bad knee cracked, but he didn’t feel pain with the adrenaline suddenly coursing through his veins. His gun appeared in his hand. The two officers joined him at the base of the SUV.

“Where did that come from?” DePute yelled.

“Can’t tell,” Rye said, his weariness gone. “One shot. Efficient.” He risked a peek over the hood of his Tahoe. “But if I had to guess, from the angle of the shot, I’d say it came from that restaurant. Or close to it.” He ducked back down.

“I think that bullet was meant for you, Chief,” said Heilo looking at the coroner. “Is he …”

“Dead?” Rye finished her question. “With half his skull blown away, I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say yeah.” He peeked through the driver’s window. Scanning the area, he spotted movement on the roof of the restaurant.

“Over there. On the roof,” Rye pointed. “DePute, take the front. Heilo, with me.”

They raced toward the line of palm trees at the edge of the parking lot, guns ready. When they reached the trees, Rye spotted a white Ford F150 fishtailing out of a parking lot. A light from the back of the truck was out. Dust from the tires rose into the air. He cursed.
Too far away for a shot.

“I see him, Chief.” Heilo yelled. “You know who drives a pickup like that?” Her voice said she had the answer.

Two names came immediately into Rye’s mind. “Depending on the model year, Batts has an older one. Barend Jilt—List’s associate, mind you—drives a newer make. But I didn’t get a good enough look.”

There it was. A connection to both of his suspects.

<><><><><><><><><><>

He slammed his foot down on the accelerator and sped away. He pounded a fist against the steering wheel while a stream of curses poured out of his mouth.
Why did that fool doctor have to move at the last second? I had Dawlsen dead to rights.

He got his cell phone and speed dialed the same number.

“Negative,” he said when the ringing stopped.

“Our friend will not be happy.” The line went dead.

He rolled down the window. Just ahead I-8 crossed over the Mohawk Canal. Slowing down on the bridge over the canal, he reached his arm out the window and tossed the phone over the cab.

Time for Plan B … in Phoenix.

<><><><><><><><><><>

Chee lay with eyes closed on the beat-up couch. He had said his night prayers and now wanted to sleep. Despite the night’s chill, the windows stayed open. A desert breeze blew through the torn screens, carrying the nocturnal harmony. He nodded in the spiritual satisfaction of being connected to the land of the
Diné
, smiling at the call of the coyote.

“Sing to me, little brother.”

His stomach sated with fry bread, Chee dropped into sleep. In his dream, he saw a young woman standing outside his trailer. She waited for his permission to enter. He owned very little and kept his home clean. No need to make preparations for his guest.

In his dream, he went to the door of his trailer and held it open for the woman.

“Ya’at’eeh.”
Hello
. “Come.”

“No,” she said. “You are asleep, and I want to speak with you. I will wait.”

Chee’s eyes blinked open. He pushed up off the couch and crossed the floor of worn boards. Peeking out the door’s window, he spotted the real version of the dream woman. The moon bathed her in silvery light. In a white gown, she looked like a spirit. Her black hair hung to
her waist, and she stared at her bare feet so Chee could not see her face. He sensed a great spirit power within her.

He opened the door, its hinges squeaking loud in the night.

“Come.” Chee motioned to the woman.

“Yes. Now that you are awake, I can speak to you.”

She crossed the sandy land between her and his trailer without looking up. At his door, she raised her head and leveled dark eyes at him. Chee recognized her. The witch he was to take to Rye. Chee shivered, feeling her shaman powers wash over him. He swallowed the growing lump of fear.

“Your nephew,” she said with a tone of dread, “is hunted by a great evil. We need to go to him sooner. He needs our help, or he won’t be alive this time tomorrow.”

Rye struggled into wakefulness. A glimpse through one bleary eye confirmed his location as his bedroom. Rolling his head back and forth, he cast a glance at the clock. 9:12. Morning? Yeah, from the light coming in through the window.

With a groan, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and pushed into a sitting position. Head hanging low, he stared down at his hairy legs sticking out of dark boxers. With a sigh, he rose to his feet and headed into the master bathroom. Relieving himself, he stared at his image in the mirror over the toilet.

“You need some coffee,” he told the reflection.

After splashing cold water on his face, Rye stumbled back through his bedroom, into the hall. He prepared the coffee pot and headed to the living room to wait for it to brew. He stopped.

Lying on the couch under a sheet, Heilo slept, hair spilling across a pillow. One arm protruded from the sheet, hand resting next to her handgun on the table. Beside the gun sat her neatly folded uniform. Under the table, she had lined up her shoes heel-to-heel
and toe-to-toe. A slight snore escaped from her lips.

Did we …?

With a snort, she woke and sat up on the couch. The sheet tumbled from her shoulders to reveal a black sports bra.

“
Buenos dias
, Chief.” She yawned and stretched.

“Morning, Heilo.” He hesitated. Then, pointing a finger back and forth between them, he asked, “Did we … you know …”

“Have sex?” She laughed then coughed. “No. You were so tired, I drove you home and dragged your butt to bed. I straightened up your casa a bit. When I went out to my car, I found all four tires slashed. I figured I’d stay the night.”

He held out his hands as if to stop someone. “Someone slashed your tires?”

“Yeah. Pissed me off royally, but I was too tired to do anything.”

“We could have been killed in our sleep.” Rye paced, rubbing the top of his head.

She shrugged. “Don’t sound so disappointed.”

Rye pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “Take a shower. I’ll round us up some breakfast. After we eat, I’ll get someone from the garage to come out and fix your tires.”

She stood, unabashed in her bra and panties.

Rye turned his head. “Towels are in the cabinet.”

After finishing a breakfast of scrambled eggs, coffee, and conversation, Rye stood in the shower enjoying the lukewarm water.

In the bedroom, toweling off, he heard the crunch of tires. Peering through the venetian blinds, he observed Iona exiting her Land Rover.

Great. Just what I need.

Before he could do a thing, he heard Heilo fling open the front door.

“Welcome to Rye Dawlsen’s trailer,” Heilo said in a sing-songy voice. “The sleeping quarters for exhausted cops.”

Iona froze at the bottom of the stairs, her eyes wide. “Cora?”

Rye shoved on a pair of pants and a gray WPD t-shirt. He rushed to stand behind Heilo. “Who?”

“Corazón Heilo.” Hand on a hip, Heilo tilted her head at him. “You don’t know my first name, Chief?”

Iona turned a gaze on him, and he felt the heat rise on his face. “It’s not—”

“I don’t want to know,” Iona said, raising a hand to silence him. Pounding up the wooden steps to the front door she shouldered her way past them, a sneer crinkling her lips. She stopped as her gaze slipped to the sheets on the couch.

“Nothing happened, I swear,” Rye said.

“Are you done with your sleepover?” She crossed her arms under her breasts, tapping a foot.

Heilo pointed at her car and snapped, “Look at my vehicle …” But when her mouth formed a “b,” Rye shook his head no. Heilo huffed then added, “Someone slashed my tires after I got the Chief into his house.” She leveled an icy stare at Iona. “How am I supposed to go home with four freaking flats?”

The two women stared daggers at one another. Rye wanted to crawl back to the bathroom and hide.

“Whatever.” Iona broke the silence flinging her hands in a frustrated gesture. “Don’t just stand there like a pair of goons. Finish getting dressed.” She turned her narrowed gaze upon Rye. “I’ll take you both into Whiskey.”

Minutes later, they got into Iona’s Land Rover. Silence hung like an ice cloud inside the car. Even the desert heat failed to provide warmth.

Near the end of SR01, Rye asked Iona to stop her vehicle. She stared straight ahead and didn’t slow down. Several sarcastic remarks came to his mind, but he thought it best not to say any of them.

“I want to get my newspaper.” He pointed to the mailboxes with the newspaper tube underneath.

Iona sighed and pulled over to the row of dust covered plastic boxes, refusing to look at him. She pressed her lips together to signal her unwillingness to talk. He closed the car door a little too hard and went over to his box. Looking skyward at the darkness gathering in the southwest, he reached for the newspaper tube when a sudden pounding on the glass halted him.

“Chief, don’t move!” Heilo screamed, both fists striking the window.

That’s when he heard it, the sinister rattle icing his blood. He caught the scent of cucumbers and glanced down at the tube. Instead of the day’s paper, a rattlesnake lay inside, coiled and ready to strike, its tongue flicking like lightning strikes. It pulled its head back. Taking a deep breath then holding it, Rye eased his hand out of range in slo-mo and stepped backwards.

“Nice snake,” he whispered to the animal. “Nice stupid snake hanging out in my newspaper tube.” He hoped the soothing tone took away the snake’s combativeness. “I’d wanna bite someone too if some moron stuck me in a tube.”

He slid back into the passenger’s seat and grabbed its edge to steady his shaking hands.

“Thanks, Heilo. I owe you one.”

“Don’t mention it.” Looking at the window, she rattled off a string of profanity in Spanish at the snake.

“I hate to state the obvious,” Iona said. “But snakes don’t hang out in newspaper tubes.” Turning to Rye, she added, “Looks like someone wants you dead.”

<><><><><><><><><><>

Iona hit the brakes and squealed to a halt outside Heilo’s tiny homestead.

“Get out,” Iona said. She gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled firmness and stared out her side window.

Rye clenched his teeth so as not to say something to aggravate the tension. He and Heilo exchanged glances. Rye nodded once. Without a word, she slipped out the car and slammed the door shut. Rye turned at the tapping at his window, and Heilo stood there, motioning for him to open his window. He lowered it.

“I’m gonna grab a few hours of sleep and come into HQ,” she said. She didn’t look at Rye, but stared at Iona. “I’m not ashamed of what happened between us.”

“But I thought nothing …”

“That’s right. Nothing happened, so I have nothing to be ashamed of.” She saluted and scuffled away, shoulders slumped.

Rye risked a glance at Iona. She stared straight ahead, eyes cold.

“Hurricane’s coming,” Rye said, hoping to break the ice.

She wheeled upon him. “Did you sleep with her?”

Rye sat back, straighter. “No. Heilo? No.” He shook his head and laughed nervously. “No. Didn’t you just hear?”

“You better not have.” She turned to stare straight ahead. “You’re still married.”

She shoved the gearshift into drive and lead-footed away from the curb. Minutes later, she pulled into the back parking lot of the twins’ apartment and pulled alongside Rye’s Tahoe.

“Thanks, Iona … I …”

“Get out. I might talk to you later.”

She pulled away and left Rye staring down at his feet. There were days he just didn’t understand women. Iona had made him feel guilty, and he hadn’t even done anything to feel guilty.

After driving back to HQ, Rye stopped at the Pre-Booking Room and swept off his western hat. Yellow police tape blocked the door. He stared at the chaos.

“Soooo,” he said, tapping his hat against his leg, “what exactly are we dealing with here? What happened, who caused this, why, and how?”

“What happened,” Reese said, coming down the hallway, “is that we lost a prisoner. I spent over two hours processing Pre-Book and Lockup. Lots of blood in the cell, but I think it’s all from our guest. I took several samples. Got beaucoup photos. How the unsub got to him, I don’t have an answer.”