That park is down the road from my place. There’s a trail that runs between the river and the road I sometimes take Hunter on, and I’ve seen the trailers through the trees. Quite a few abandoned sheds and buildings back there as well.
“Let’s go.”
It may be a long shot but I have a feeling in my gut Keith might be on to something.
We leave the apartment to the crime scene techs to go over with a fine-tooth comb, and get into the department SUV Blackfoot drives.
“Do me a favor, dial Gomez.” He hands me his phone as he pulls out of the parking lot. “I wanna touch base, see if they caught up with Tom Ward yet.”
“Blackfoot. What’ve you got?”
The agent’s voice comes through the car speakers.
“Apartment’s empty. Clothes gone. He’s flown the coop. What about you?”
“My guy is in the wind as well. Was in such a hurry he left the trailer door wide open.”
“You still there?”
“No. Just got back to the office. Why?”
“Running on a hunch here, but they may be hiding out in a trailer park south of Ward’s place. Old Homestead on the west side of—”
“I know it,” Gomez interrupts. “Heading out there now.”
Probably not a bad idea to have the extra manpower there if it turns out these two are holed up in that trailer together.
“There’s a cutoff—a dirt road—right before you get to the trailer park,” I contribute, catching a look from Blackfoot. “We probably shouldn’t come in off the road, they’ll see us coming a mile away and there’s a lot of land behind them to get lost in. The cutoff leads to a trail that runs behind the property. We could walk in from there.”
“Sounds good,” Gomez agrees. “You coming in heavy?”
“Yup,” Keith answers. “Have reason to believe McCarty is armed and I wouldn’t put it past Ward either.” He slips into the right lane and turns to continue heading south at the cutoff for the airport. “I’m about ten minutes out.”
“Couple of minutes behind you.”
Gomez is true to his word and pulls up just as we’re putting on tactical vests. He edges the Bureau’s Ford Explorer close to the trees and right behind our vehicle. I know the two other agents who get out, and lift a hand in greeting. Dylan Barnes walks over to me and claps a hand on my shoulder.
“I hear congratulations are in order?”
For a minute there I’m not sure what he’s referring to—I did claim Meredith for all to see at the briefing—but then Luna pipes up.
“Yeah, awesome you made detective, but how come we haven’t celebrated this yet?”
That reminds me of my promise to go for drinks with Sumo a couple of weeks ago.
“As soon as we have this case wrapped up.”
“Holding you to that,” Luna says with a grin, as she shrugs into her own protective gear. “Look forward to getting to know your girlfriend a little better.”
Oh yeah. They all saw. They may wait for a quieter time, but I have no doubt I’ll have that kiss come back to haunt me. Not sure what I was thinking, but I remember feeling a great deal of relief seeing her walk into the room and I acted. Hard to believe that was just twenty-four hours ago. So much keeps happening and I feel I’m running on pure adrenaline by now.
Maybe that’s what drives me to take the lead as we approach the trailer park from the rear. I’m by far the least experienced in scenarios like this, compared to the others, but I’m familiar with the terrain which gives me an advantage.
I’m sure you can’t see it from the road, but the blue Charger parked behind the trailer is clearly visible through the trees from this vantage point.
“Any movement?” Gomez whispers behind me.
I shake my head. There are three windows visible on this side. A small one I’m sure is a bathroom window, and two larger ones partially covered with haphazardly closed blinds.
“Need a closer look,” I indicate, and start inching forward when a hand clamps on my shoulder.
“Let Roosberg go, she makes a smaller target.”
“She won’t be able to reach the window,” I counter. “I’m going.”
The trailer is up on blocks and the bottom of the larger windows are at least six feet up, the bathroom even higher. Luna is five foot four, if that. There’s no way she’d be able to get a good view of who might be inside without climbing up on something.
I hold up my hand, indicating for the group to hang back and try to stay under cover as I slowly make my way closer. The large window in the center is open a few inches and I keep my eyes locked on it as I carefully put one foot in front of the other, moving as quietly as I can.
The last few feet from the trailer the cover thins and I feel a little exposed when I suddenly hear a door slam and the barking of a dog. Freezing in my tracks I wait for a beat, but when a large familiar-looking dog comes barreling around the trailer hitch—straight for me—I turn on my heel and head for the trees.
Then shots ring out and I hit the ground hard.
Meredith
“I’m coming.”
No way in hell I’m going to stay behind as Ramirez starts moving toward the trailer at the far end.
We’d been just up the road in a subdivision near the airport when the call came through, and my heart has been struggling to beat since.
People are gathered in the road in curious clusters, watching a couple of FBI officers in tactical gear disappear into the dilapidated trailer. I’m sticking close behind Ramirez as he barks his way through the small crowd.
My eyes search for Jay, who is easily recognizable because of his height, but I can’t see him. I do see Agent Gomez appearing from the rear of the trailer. He spots Ramirez and walks this way as I hear the sound of sirens approaching in the distance.
“Scene is under control. He’s in the back.”
The agent’s eyes slide over Tony’s shoulder to me and I don’t even need the words. Pushing past the men I start running.
“Shit.”
Keith is crouched down beside a prone figure, facedown on the ground. One look at the soles of those barge-sized shoes confirm my worst fears. Blackfoot is putting pressure on the back of his head. When I sink down on the other side of Jay’s body, I see his eyes are closed and blood is pooling under his cheek.
I have to tell myself even the smallest head wounds bleed a ton.
“Gunshot wound to the back of the head,” Blackfoot grinds out, annihilating my inner pep talk. “He has a pulse. I didn’t want to move him.”
Bile surges up my throat—courtesy of a missed lunch—and I force it down as I feel for a carotid pulse. When I confirm he has one, I reach for the shirt Keith is using to put pressure on the wound with shaking hands.
“Let me see.”
“You don’t have to do this. EMTs are on the way.”
I look up and glare at him.
“I’m a fucking doctor, Detective. Let me see so I can start assessing his condition and save the medics what could be precious time, goddammit.”
I’ve seen a lot in my profession but I can safely say that a hole in the back of a loved one’s head trumps anything else. I’ll carry this image for the rest of my life, even as my hands gently palpate his scalp.