Chapter 3 - Deputy Vance’s Last Call
Nora did not call Sheriff Dalton.
She called Deputy Morales directly.
That told me everything.
He arrived alone.
The moment he saw the broken window, he cursed under his breath.
“Did you see them?”
“Two motorcycles.”
“Colors?”
“Dark. Moving fast.”
He looked at Nora.
“You okay?”
“I’ve been better.”
Morales picked up the bolt using gloves.
Then he read the note.
His face tightened.
“You need to leave town, Mercer.”
Nora laughed.
“Everybody keeps saying that.”
Morales ignored her.
“This isn’t your fight.”
“Somebody shot a bolt through a woman’s window.”
“And you being here makes her more visible.”
That was fair.
I hated it.
“What do you know about Paul?”
His eyes changed.
“He was my training officer.”
“Did he investigate the Vipers?”
Morales glanced toward Nora.
She nodded.
He exhaled.
“Yes.”
“Did Dalton know?”
“Yes.”
“Did Dalton stop him?”
Morales did not answer.
Which was an answer.
I sat.
“Tell me what happened.”
Morales remained standing.
“Paul started checking overdoses. Same supplier kept appearing.”
“Iron Vipers?”
“People connected to them.”
“Then?”
“A seventeen-year-old named Kaylee Morrison disappeared.”
I recognized the surname from Nora’s list.
“Runaway?”
“That’s what Dalton said.”
“And Paul?”
“Didn’t believe it.”
Two more girls disappeared over the next six months.
All teenagers.
All from unstable homes.
Exactly the kind of victims people explain away quickly.
Paul tracked one Viper truck to an abandoned processing plant outside town.
He requested backup.
Dalton denied it.
“He went anyway?” I asked.
Morales looked almost proud.
“Paul was stupid like that.”
I understood.
“What did he find?”
“He never told me everything.”
“Why?”
“He said the department was compromised.”
I looked toward him.
“Meaning Dalton?”
“I don’t know.”
He did.
He simply could not say it yet.
Paul made one final phone call the night he died.
Not to his wife.
Not to Nora.
To Morales.
“I missed it,” Morales whispered.
He stared at the floor.
“I was asleep.”
The voicemail lasted eleven seconds.
Morales still had it.
He played it.
Wind.
Paul breathing hard.
Then his voice:
“Luis, if something happens, check the cold room. And don’t trust—”
The message cut off.
“Don’t trust who?”
“I don’t know.”
“Dalton?”
Morales looked toward the broken window.
“I don’t know.”
Again.
Nora said, “Stop protecting him.”
Morales closed his eyes.
“He’s the sheriff.”
“My son is dead.”
“I know.”
“No, you know a report number. I know what his voice sounded like when he called me Mom.”
Morales winced.
She continued.
“You wore that uniform at his funeral.”
“I know.”
“Then decide what it means.”
Silence.
Finally Morales said, “The cold room was part of the old processing plant.”
My pulse changed.
“Did anyone search it?”
“Dalton said state police did.”
“Did they?”
Morales looked ashamed.
“No record.”
Of course.
We agreed on one thing.
No heroics.
No going to the plant alone.
Morales would quietly contact a state investigator he trusted.
I would stay at a motel outside town with Rex.
Nora would sleep at Emily’s apartment.
That was the plan.
Plans are comforting.
Reality rarely respects them.
At eleven thirty, Emily called.
Her voice was barely audible.
“Jack?”
“How did you get my number?”
“Grandma.”
“What’s wrong?”
“They took her.”
I stood.
“Who?”
“Two men came to my apartment.”
My blood went cold.
“Where are you?”
“Bathroom.”
“Lock the door.”
“They said Grandma had to answer questions.”
“Did they show badges?”
“No.”
Rex was already standing.
“Call 911.”
“I did.”
“Good.”
“Jack…”
Her voice broke.
“One of them was Cody.”
The biker with Paul Vance’s knife.
“Did you see what they were driving?”
“A black pickup.”
I remembered Paul’s investigation.
A Viper truck.
“Anything else?”
Emily sobbed quietly.
“There was mud on the side. White letters on the back.”
“What letters?”
“Cold Creek Meats.”
The abandoned processing plant had once been called Cold Creek.
I called Morales.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
I called state police directly.
Reported the abduction.
Gave Nora’s description.
Vehicle.
Plant.
Everything.
Then I made a decision Sarah would hate.
I got in the truck.
“Rex.”
He jumped beside me.
The processing plant was eighteen miles outside town.
I drove twelve before headlights appeared behind me.
Fast.
Too fast.
A county cruiser.
I pulled over.
Morales stumbled out.
Blood ran from his forehead.
I jumped from the truck.
“What happened?”
“Dalton.”
That was the first time he said the name.
No hesitation now.
“He found out I contacted state investigators.”
“Did he do this?”
“Not personally.”
Morales leaned against my truck.
“Two Vipers jumped me behind the station.”
“Where’s Nora?”
“They’re taking her to the plant.”
“How do you know?”
“Tracker.”
He held up his phone.
“Paul gave his mom a pendant after Kaylee disappeared. GPS emergency beacon.”
A red point blinked on the screen.
Cold Creek.
“State police?”
“Twenty minutes.”
I looked down the road.
Twenty minutes could be forever.
Morales read my face.
“No.”
“Nora may not have twenty.”
“Jack.”
“I’m not asking Rex to engage.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“I know.”
He grabbed my arm.
“You go in there and somebody gets killed, all of this becomes a gunfight instead of an investigation.”
He was right.
Damn him.
So we did something harder.
We waited.
For exactly six minutes.
Then the tracker moved.
Away from the plant.
Toward the river.
Morales went pale.
“That road dead-ends at the quarry.”
“Why move her?”
He looked at me.
Paul’s car had gone off a bridge.
We understood simultaneously.
They were going to create another accident.
This time, I did not wait.
I threw Morales my spare medical kit.
“Call state police.”
“Jack!”
I started the engine.
Rex braced beside me.
May you like
The red dot moved toward the quarry.
Nora was running out of road.
