Outsider (The Ashport Mender Series Book 1) Page 7

  “Okay, so I’m going to ask for the umpteenth time…Who are we here to see?”

  Evans, who’d eaten half her toast and discarded the rest of it for her milkshake, finished the drink and exhaled. “A friend of mine lives here. If he can, he usually helps, but…”

  “But?”

  She looked at me, serious and with some trepidation. She really didn’t want me with her but had found it better than being followed and investigated that way. “Just, don’t share your opinions in there, okay?”

  “What opinions?”

  “Just be quiet and go with it. Can you do that?”

  I assured her that I could, following her as she headed for the porch where she knocked on the door. Nothing happened. I looked around, seeing nothing of interest. It was still early, nothing to hear but birds chirping. Not even a car. If people were up, they hadn’t left their houses yet. Evans knocked again, harder this time. The doorbell to the right of the door was old-fashioned and rusted. That explained that.

  A minute later we heard the lock turn. The door opened to reveal a thirty-something man, dark hair, glasses in front of squinting eyes and a yawn beneath that. He was clad in plaid pajama bottoms and a t-shirt, scratching his head a moment.

  “Maggie?” he said and blinked hard. “It’s the middle of the night…oh no. Someone’s in trouble, aren’t they?” He opened the door wider and he stepped aside, letting us in.

  “Actually,” she said as she walked inside, “it’s morning now, Rob, but yeah, otherwise you’re right. Oh, and this is Detective Hansen. He’s stalking me.”

  By the look on the man’s face as I walked in she might have announced that I was a homicidal maniac on a murder spree. He immediately became concerned by my presence and pulled Evans aside as they walked ahead of me.

  “You brought a cop?” Rob blurted, trying to keep his voice down, but failing spectacularly.

  “No choice,” she said.

  “Is he at least tame?”

  Tame? What the hell did that mean? I saw Evans shake her head before she turned right and walked into a dining room. Dark-colored furniture, dining table, and chairs, wall decorated with paintings. It was beautifully lit with the morning sun coming in through a large window. Evans pulled out a chair and sat down, her every action indicating she was well acquainted with, and welcome in, the house.

  “There’s been a kidnapping.” She didn’t waste any time.

  “Who?” Rob asked and sat down on the other side of the table. I remained standing, leaning against the doorway.

  “Her name’s Andrea Kirby,” Evans said.

  “Kirby? Not local?”

  Evans shook her head. “Family’s not been here more than a decade.”

  Rob nodded while pressing the spot between his eyebrows. He’d been awoken abruptly, but whatever they were discussing he had come around without question. Whether the woman was local or not didn’t seem relevant to me.

  “You know the drill,” Rob said. “If I don’t know her, I need something of hers.”

  Evans nodded and got the silver locket from her purse, and I began to see where this was going. We had them showing up at the station now and then. So-called psychics who claimed they could solve cases for us. Fraud upon fraud. Some of them truly believed they could talk to the spirits of the deceased, I’ll admit that, but believing something is true doesn’t make it so.

  Rob looked at the locket in Evans’ hand, and then to me. “What about him?” he asked her.

  “Never you mind about him. You know I’ve got your back. He doesn’t believe this will work anyway.”

  She was right about that. I opened my mouth to say so and got a look of warning from Evans. I crossed my arms and kept quiet. I had promised to, after all. But this was beyond stupid and a waste of time.

  Rob took the locket from Evans. Nothing really happened. He looked down at it a moment and then handed it back to her. I remember one woman who had refused to leave the station before Bowman listened to her. She’d started chanting something incomprehensible as she did her so-called reading. It had been quite the show–hilarious and awkward, with drums and chanting. The information she had given had, of course, turned out to be completely wrong.

  “Just a flash,” said Rob. Evans looked a little disappointed but nodded nonetheless. “A farmhouse. Light gray, but not well kept. Overgrown garden. Rundown barn. Red door. Mailbox looks like a birdhouse.” He drew breath and exhaled slowly. “That’s it, I’m afraid.”

  “That’s more than we had,” Evans said as she got up.

  “No, it isn’t,” I blurted.

  “Don’t listen to him,” Evans said as she got the locket back. “Give my best to Joel.” She bent down and kissed his cheek. “Oh, and you should know…Yorov’s in town.”

  “What?” Rob exclaimed. “Are they involved in this?”

  Evans nodded as she headed past me.

  “Watch yourself, Maggie,” Rob called after her. I followed her outside, where she headed for the car.

  “Are you serious?” I called after her. “This is how you go about things?”

  She turned so quickly her hair whipped into her face as she came back toward me. “Yes. This is how I do things,” she hissed, brushing her hair aside. “Unlike you guys, I don’t spend unnecessary time running around.”

  “You mean actually investigating? As in proper police work?”

  “You people can’t even hold on to your own prisoners. Besides, Andrea might not have time for all your running around. It’s bad enough I’ve been unconscious for hours.”

  That stopped me short a moment. The mention of our lost prisoner mixed with Evans’ insults and guilt was…odd. A prisoner charged with a B&E, as well as a violent assault, had indeed escaped the transport to Ashdale about six months ago. The man had escaped, and so far, no one had seen him anywhere. Like he had vanished from the face of the earth.

  “That’s a weird thing to mention,” I said, “do you know something about that escape?”

  She threw her hands in the air at that. “That’s so beside the point. What I’m trying to get through to you is that I don’t do things your way. Slow and incompetently, that is.” She visibly reined herself in, lowering her arms, closing her eyes and breathing for a moment. “I need a car.”

  “Then get into that one,” I said pointing at the sedan.

  “No,” she said and shook her head. “I think the time has come to—”

  “Get in the damn car,” I said and watched as she, to my amazement, did as told. Too tired to argue, perhaps. I didn’t really care. I opened the trunk and pulled out a laptop before getting into the driver’s seat. She’d been right earlier when saying I’d have nothing to do regarding this case without her. If I lost track of her, I had two options: tracking her down somehow, or watching Kaye and Bowman investigate a case I was not allowed to. That didn’t mean I was willing to spend any time on this insane venture.

  I drove the car a few streets away, as she insisted on not being parked in front of Rob’s house. I wondered what had sparked this immense distrust in the police with both her and him, but didn’t press it. Instead, I started up the laptop and the portable WIFI as soon as we were parked.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, exasperation clear. “We need to start looking for that house.”

  “Yes, I’ve gathered that,” I said. “But I’m not driving around for hours looking for a house.”

  She was about to argue further. I could hear her draw breath, ready to proclaim something or other about me, but she changed her mind and leaned closer when she saw that I had pulled up a map of Ashport and the surrounding areas, looking at the panoramic photos of the streets. It still took some patience, but it was way quicker to zoom in on houses on a map and exclude them than driving to each and every one.

  About thirty minutes later, I finally came over something that seemed to be what Rob had described. A nice-looking farm, gray house, red barn. Corn and barley fields and forests. No red door, nor
a bird-house mailbox. But as I looked at the photo and changed the angle somewhat, there was a weathercock mounted on the fence next to the mailbox.

  “Not exactly what Rob described,” said a dubious Evans. “And anyway, it looks too nice considering what he said.”

  Personally, I didn’t give a damn what he’d said as he’d been lying through his teeth, but I had realized this was the only way to get her to cooperate. We could check this out in no time, and then maybe she could start acting like a sane person. Maybe.

  “These photos were taken three years ago,” I explained as I turned the engine on. “Not everything looks the same anymore. And anyway, I believe I know this place.” At least knew of it. It had been abandoned this spring, the farmer named Kreutz, hadn’t been able to make a decent living. The place was too small.

  The drive took us about forty minutes west of town, into a fairly open landscape. There were a lot of farms and fields surrounded by small forests. As we approached the farm in question, Evans sat up in the passenger’s seat, staring holes at the place. The house did not look well-kept anymore, paint flaking off the walls. The same could be said for the barn house as the red color had faded and there were missing boards on the walls. No one had mown the lawn all year, and weeds and thistles now ruled that area. Behind the house was a small cornfield that had not been harvested yet. Maybe old Kreutz hadn’t sold it? That was odd. It was still money.

  I slowed down as we neared the entrance to the property, but Evans insisted we shouldn’t drive in.

  “First, you want to go here, and now you don’t,” I muttered, but she paid me no attention while she stared out the window. The weathercock still stood on the fence, right next to the mailbox, and on the ground stood a weather-beaten for-sale sign. Why the weathercock stood so close to the ground and not on top of the barn was anyone’s guess. Maybe old Kreutz had used the half-rusted thing as decoration instead.

  “At least a little investigating prevented us from using hours looking for this place.” I scanned ahead on the narrow dirt road for a place to turn the car around.

  “I’ll give you a point for using the internet,” Evans said, “but I wouldn’t discard Rob’s information just yet.” She pointed toward the barn, the placement of it making the doors visible as we passed by. Despite the hedge-clad stone fence separating the Kreutz property from the road, I could see a white van parked inside the run-down building.

  “What the hell?” I said as I took in this sight. And then we’d driven by. Evans turned in her seat, looking back at the farm as the road swung right, between Kreutz’ cornfield and the barley field of one of the neighbors.

  “More cars,” she said. “Can’t see any people, though.”

  To stop and go back to the farm would be a mistake. Likely, it would cause the kidnappers to panic, and panic might cause them to hurt Andrea…or worse. I kept on driving down the road to where the fields gave way to a forest on both sides. When I was certain we couldn’t be spotted from the house, I parked on the side of the road. I grabbed my phone, noticing a text from Rosita telling me there was no change before Evans snatched it out of my hand.

  “Don’t do that,” she said, turning it off before I had time to react.

  “Give me the phone,” I snapped. “I need to call for back-up.” I reached for it, but she simply opened the car door and got out. I scrambled out after her, but she’d already started walking into the forest.

  “Get back here,” I called after her, managing to keep my voice down on account of the farm nearby. We could barely see it to our right with the thick forest around us. Evans kept moving, pulling her hair back and fastening it with an elastic band as she went. The underbrush tugged at my feet as I rushed to catch up.

  “Give me the phone,” I hissed as I reached her.

  “You don’t want to be using your phone now,” she said, paying me little heed. Her eyes scanned the forest ground as she walked, but kept returning to the farm.

  “God damn it, Evans, will you listen? Give me the fucking phone.”

  She stopped a second then and gave me a bemused look. I didn’t usually curse that much. “I don’t want cops here.”

  “Well, you got one,” I said as a twig snapped under my shoe. Not loud enough to be heard across the barley field. “And I’m getting several more to join us. You’ve got no idea what you’re walking into.”

  She shrugged. “I threw it in the backseat when I left the car,” she said and started walking again. Quick strides taking her through the woods and, though not in a direct line, still for the farm. I took a couple of steps the other way, back toward the car, but stopped short. She had no idea what was waiting for her at the farm. There had been two kidnappers that I’d seen in the alley back in Ashport, but likely, there had been a third–the driver. She didn’t even have a gun. I let out a growl in anger and frustration, clenching my fists as I turned around and headed after her. Before anyone at the station could show up, whatever she was trying to do would be done. For better or worse. Probably worse.

  I jogged between the trees and caught up with her quickly. She didn’t say anything as I joined her, only kept walking. At least she wasn’t running into this. She was taking in the area, surveying what was there. Like me. I agreed on her route. Walking through the cornfield could give us some cover, though it would be possible to see the stalks moving because of our approach from the first floor of the farm house. No, the safest way was to head around the field and sneak up to the house along a hedgerow that separated the farm from the field. It stretched from the house, almost down to the forest as trees surrounded the field on two sides.

  We quickly made our way there, bending as the hedge was no more than five feet. It was thick and not possible to see through, so it provided us with cover as we moved as fast as we could. We stopped by the corner of the house and could, at the same time, see the back. Between the house and the hedge, the ground was covered in gravel, and we could hear someone moving at the front of the house. No talking, though. A guard maybe?

  “Let’s try the door,” Evans whispered, pointing at the back door. There weren’t many windows on that side of the house, increasing our chances of not being seen by someone inside. I nodded and drew my gun from its holster.

  “Not a good idea,” she said, seeing this.

  “There are likely three kidnappers here,” I protested in a tone that made it clear I wasn’t discussing it. “And they have already shown they have no qualms when it comes to shooting people.”

  “She bit her dark, pink lip. “Fine, but don’t use it unless you absolutely have to.”

  “Thank you for enlightening me, I would have just shot at everything if you didn’t say that,” I said, the sarcasm bleeding out of my voice. God, I sounded childish, but I was so angry at being in this situation. This was not how things were done.

  Evans simply shrugged, and then made a run for the door, me following close behind. We managed to cross the few feet of gravel fairly quietly, each stopping by a side of the door. At least there was no shouting or other indicators we’d been seen. I reached out with my free hand and tried the handle. The door slid open. That was convenient, I thought as I headed in, Evans close behind me.

  There were no people. The old house had for the most part been emptied of furniture, only the odd chair and lamp here and there. We went through a small living room, kitchen, and pantry, finding nothing and no one of interest. Knowing that someone was out front, we kept away from the front door and the windows on that side of the house, and headed up a pair of narrow stairs instead. Most of the steps creaked under our feet, making us stop a couple of times, but nothing happened. I became more and more convinced the house was empty.

  Upstairs, we found ourselves in a cramped hallway that revealed three doors. I drew breath at the same time as Evans touched my shoulder, pointing at what I already saw at the end of the hallway. A red door. Like her friend Rob had said. It just wasn’t the front door. I glanced to the right seeing that the door in t
he middle stood ajar. No one came out. The door to the far right had to be the bathroom, a stylized picture showing the profile of a man peeing in a potty giving this obvious conclusion.

  I suspected these rooms were as empty as the ones downstairs, but they needed to be checked nonetheless. I took a step to the right and saw Evans head straight for the red door as soon as she got past me. I cursed inwardly as I went after her, stepping into the room behind the red door.

  Nothing. Hope sank a little. I hated Evans’ approach to this, but I admit, even I had gotten my hopes up when I saw the red door. Shit. No Andrea. But my pulse intensified at the sight of a chair in the middle of the room. There was no other furniture and it was bolted to the floor.

  “She was here,” Evans whispered as she went to the chair, checking it. “Look, she was tied to it.”

  I looked where she pointed, seeing traces of rope that had worn into the wood, polishing off the varnish. I nodded at her. It seemed Rob had been spot on. Andrea had been kept here, tied to a chair for two days now. It dawned on me that she couldn’t be far away if her kidnappers were still here with their cars.

  “They’ve kept her tied up like this for so long?” Evans said, her voice blending with her whispers now. She looked genuinely distraught at the thought.

  “Listen,” I said, keeping my voice low. “She might still be kept here. We need to—”

  A shout from outside made me snap my head around. A shriek followed, and I ran to the window and looked down at the courtyard. Shock hit me as I saw a woman. It had to be Andrea, though her head was covered by a black hood. Her hands were tied behind her back and the big bald man I’d seen who’d taken her in the first place was forcing her into the trunk of a car. She struggled until he smacked her head into the back of the vehicle.