Lisa Gardner - Gone

The door jerked open. Hal finally appeared, sporting three days’ worth of beard, a dark green flannel top, and the sorriest pair of jeans Shelly had ever seen. “Don’t you touch nothin’.”

“Well, Hal, we don’t feel like standing here all day. We’re on official police business.”

Hal scowled at her. Ironically speaking, he was still a young man, and wouldn’t be half bad looking if he ever cleaned up his act. He was tall, with dark wavy hair and the athletic build of an outdoorsman. He had a reputation as a good marksman, a hunter who skinned and hauled his own deer, often pulling the carcass for miles through the woods. And while the local boys had worked him over pretty good, by all accounts he’d put up one helluva fight. They’d arrested all three of his attackers in the emergency room; two were receiving stitches and the third had two broken bones.

Shelly didn’t think Hal would have any trouble with a five-foot-six-inch female. And again, when sober and properly motivated, he could be cunning.

Shelly climbed the steps of the front porch. She was trying to peer discreetly into the gloom. She wanted to see if good ol’ Hal had the most recent edition of the Daily Sun. Couldn’t tell. Lighting was too poor, and Hal wasn’t exactly a housekeeper; it was hard to pick out anything from the towering piles of trash.

“Got a warrant?” Hal asked.

“Got something to hide?” Shelly replied evenly.

“Yeah. World’s greatest Chinese food. Don’t want the word to get out. So if you don’t mind, Sheriff, I think I’ll return to my dinner.”

“And to think, you struck me more as a pizza man.” Shelly leaned against the doorframe, crowding Hal’s space and pushing him back a step. Give her another minute, and she’d have her foot inside the door. Better yet, she’d completely block Hal’s view, giving Dan more leeway to walk the grounds.

Hal coughed three times, not bothering to cover his mouth. His own ploy to gain real estate. Shelly didn’t budge, though she’d seriously have to consider burning her clothes later today.

“Need cough syrup?” she asked idly. “Bet you have some in the house.”

“Bet I do. All this rain, a man’s bound to get a cold.”

“So that’s why you buy it by the case?”

Hal just grinned. Some over-the-counter cough syrups contained the chemical compound pseudoephedrine, needed to make methamphetamine. First sign of increased meth activity in an area was the sudden shortage of cough syrup in the local pharmacies, making drugstores a new and interesting arena in the war against drugs. First, stores were asked to report bulk orders. Budding illegal chemists simply started “cherry-picking” their local markets, buying a bottle here, a bottle there, etc.

At law enforcement urging, stores then stopped carrying the over-the-counter drugs, well, over-the-counter. You wanted children’s Sudafed in Oregon, you had to personally request it from a pharmacist. Even this method wasn’t foolproof, however, so for the latest round of combat, the giant pharmaceutical companies had promised cough syrups that were pseudoephedrine-free just for these kinds of markets. Would still treat the common cold, without endangering half the teenage population.

Of course, that still left online pharmacies, drug runs to Canada, etc., etc. Criminals were stupid, but never as overwhelmingly stupid as law enforcement would like them to be.

“I heard you owe some money,” Shelly said, trying to jump-start things by dangling a little bait.

“Me? No way. Never a borrower or lender be.”

“Why, Hal, you’re quoting Shakespeare.” Shelly batted her eyes.

Hal grinned. Not a good look on him, considering what years of tobacco chewing had done to his teeth. “Shakespeare? Hell, my old man told me he wrote them words himself. Son of a bitch; shoulda known he was lying.”

“More like plagiarism. So you ever gonna fix this place up?”

“Why? Guy like me always has a few people who think I’ve done ’ em wrong. New windows will just make new targets.”

“Did you do them wrong?”

“Ah, Sheriff, I just want to eat my Chinese food and repair another stove. Can’t a guy make a living?”

Shelly nodded, chewing on the inside of her lip. Hal was blocking her view of the house as well as stalling the conversation. Definitely a guy with something to hide, but then again, that’s why they’d come here. Hal would always be hiding something, and he was right about not bothering to replace the windows.

“What about some guys who may have done you wrong?”

This was a new tactic. Hal frowned, squirreled an eyebrow, and tried to figure it out. “What’d you hear?”

“I hear some guys are looking to score some quick cash. Doing all sorts of crazy-ass stuff. Kind of activities that bring the state police into the town, and soon, the FBI. That sort of thing fucks it up for everyone, don’t you think?”

Hal finally put two and two together-and proved he’d read the most recent edition of the Daily Sun. “The kidnapping,” he murmured.

“Yes, sir.”

For a change, Hal’s reply was immediate and forthcoming. “Ah, no way. I do not go there. Abducting some woman, making ransom demands. All for a lousy ten grand? That is crazy-ass. I can barely stand being around some chatty female long enough for sex. Like hell I’m locking one up in my house.”

“Well, you do have a barn.”

“Ah jeez.”

“Just let us take a quick tour. Then we can remove you from the suspect list and save you the same visit from the FBI.”

“As long as the FBI is packing the same warrant you are, I got nothing to worry about. Time for my dinner-”

Hal moved to slam the door. Shelly stuck her foot in the way. “We’re serious about this,” she said quietly. “It’s not the same old shit, Hal. One word, one whisper she is anywhere near here, and a judge will grant us permission to tear your place apart board by board. Forget the windows, you won’t have a house when we’re done with you.”

“I don’t deal in bodies.”

“You know who might?”

Hal stared at her. Shelly stared back. “All I need is a whisper…”

“All right,” he said abruptly. “You got some paper? I’ll write you a goddamn list.”

Ten minutes later, Shelly and Dan both climbed back into the department’s SUV. The vehicle had sunk down, the tires stuck. Hal cursed them both when he came back out of the house. He grabbed a hammer, yanked the MDF off the windows, and used the boards as giant planks behind each wheel.

They got traction. Hal got covered in mud. Last glimpse Shelly had was of a tall, morose man, plucking wood out of the dirt and preparing to board it once more to his windows.

“What do you think?” she asked Dan.

“Third barn in the back shows a lot of work that’s new.”

“Good place to stash Rainie Conner?”

“He could, but given the size and location, he’d make a lot more money with a lab.”

“My thought, too. Definitely a criminal, but not our criminal.”

Dan glanced at his watch again.

“OT pays better than milking, Dan.”

“Yeah, but on days like this, I miss the cows.”

Tuesday, 5:08 p.m. PST

THE VOICE ON THE OTHER END of the phone was once again flat, eerily mechanized. “I don’t like crowds.”

“I prefer smaller parties myself,” Quincy said. His mind was racing. He wished he had notes in front of him, a more thorough analysis of the case. He was supposed to be an outsider, flown in for these situations. Handed a file that contained names and photos of people who meant nothing to him. Then he could coldly dissect the facts and outline key message points, before retiring to a back room to watch others implement his strategy.