Chapter Nineteen. Evan Garner hated being trapped in his office

Evan Garner hated being trapped in his office. It was making him claustrophobic. He paced back and forth in front of the large wall of windows.

They had heard nothing from Frank for several hours. Garner was now admitting to himself it might have been a mistake to have sent the man to Tawa. He’d thought of Frank as just another willing gun to throw at Hunter--an expendable one, if things went badly.

But now he worried that if Frank did find Hunter, she would kill him and then run, and that could make everything much more difficult. She knew how to disappear. Worse yet, it might send her straight to his office.

He pressed a button on the intercom on his desk.

Thomas responded at once. "Yes, sir?"

"Call Otter," Garner instructed. "Fill him in about Frank and the location of the wrecked car. Tell him to get a snowmobile and try to follow the track and see what the hell has happened."

"Right away, sir," Thomas responded.

Damn your eyes, Hunter, Garner thought. I wish I didn’t have to kill you. But you leave me no other choice.

It had taken Otter several minutes to break into the helicopter office. He was a bit out of practice at picking locks. He’d had to break the yellow police tape on the door, but he wasn’t worried he’d be caught. The place was out in the middle of nowhere, just as the guy at the bar had described, and he was pretty sure a small town like Tawa wouldn’t have the manpower to keep it under surveillance.

Otter stepped across the doorway and into the small customer waiting area. It had a half dozen cheap plastic chairs that reminded him of the ones in prison. On a narrow coffee table was an assortment of old magazines, mostly Sports Illustrated but a few hunting and fishing titles as well. He went behind the long counter that ran parallel to the back wall. Atop it was a cash register, which had been emptied, and small stands displaying the owner’s business cards and brochures outlining services and rates.

Shelves beneath the counter held an untidy assortment of magazines, manuals, invoices, and what looked like a lost-and-found depository--a cardboard box containing sunglasses and gloves, hats and pens, an umbrella, children’s toys, a small notebook, and a key ring with keys.

Otter moved behind the counter to a door that led into a small office. He shined the beam of his flashlight around before he stepped into the room. He spotted a desk and chair, filing cabinet, and a small TV on a stand in one corner. The owner was evidently not fussy about neatness. There was a thick coating of dust on the TV and piles of papers on the desk, and the wastebasket beside it was nearly overflowing with fast-food wrappers. Personal items were scattered here and there. On the filing cabinet were several trophies and framed pictures. Along one wall were piles of cardboard boxes, their tops open and contents spilling out like the police had gone haphazardly through them. Hanging on the wall were several framed photographs, most aerial shots evidently taken from the helicopter.

In the middle of the room, on the concrete floor, was the white chalk outline of a body, and what appeared to be a very large dried bloodstain around where the head and neck of the victim had lain.

Otter stepped around the outline and went to the desk. He opened the drawers and poked through their contents. Letters and invoices, old bills, and check stubs. A pint bottle of Jack Daniel’s, nearly empty. A half-eaten bag of potato chips.

Next he tackled the filing cabinet. It contained several folders, organized by date. He frowned. All the files were more than six months old. There was a large blank space in the drawer that logically should have contained the more recent ones, so he suspected the police had taken them.

At first glance, there seemed to be nothing here that could lead him to Hunter. But he was certain she had to have been responsible for this. The only thing he couldn’t figure was why, especially since the helicopter still stood parked outside.

Otter nearly jumped through his skin when his cell phone rang in his pocket. His nerves were on edge. It rang again. "Yeah?" he answered in a clipped voice. He listened for several minutes. A smile spread across his face. "Right on it," he answered, shutting off the phone and making his way out of the office.

Not a bad way to travel, he remembered, glancing at the helicopter as he returned to his car. But the big machines would always remind him of Hunter’s betrayal. He relished the opportunity to finally settle the score.

Дата добавления: 2015-10-30