Читать книгу In Self Defence - Debra Webb - Страница 12

Colt leaned against the cab of his truck and blew out a weary breath. Burt had taken the body. Rather than deliver the outsider to a local funeral home, he was headed to the state medical examiner’s office to turn over the body for an autopsy. The department’s two-man crime scene unit had gone over the Sauder home with a fine-tooth comb.

The biggest thing missing at the moment was Sarah Sauder’s husband. He was supposed to be headed home from a funeral he’d attended up in Hendersonville, but he still hadn’t made it back. Seemed to Colt that the man would have moved heaven and earth to get to his wife and children after hearing about the shooting. Sarah and the kids had apparently given up hope of his arrival, since they’d left and gone to her father’s house. The lights in the Sauder home were out now and the doors were locked up tight. Colt had suggested Sarah and her kids stay with family until they released the scene. There would need to be another look tomorrow for potential evidence. Not that Colt really expected to find any.

The evening had been a tough one for Sarah. To have strangers walking through her home and touching her belongings was not something to which folks in the Mennonite community were accustomed. They were private people. Kept to themselves and stayed out of trouble. This was not the norm by any means.

US Marshal Branch Holloway paced the road just far enough from Colt’s truck to ensure he didn’t overhear his cell phone conversation. Branch had an outstanding reputation with the Marshals Service as far as Colt knew, but something had landed him in Franklin County assigned to the federal courthouse last year. Whatever it was, it couldn’t have been good. Winchester wasn’t exactly a hotbed of criminal activity, and there damned sure wasn’t much of anything that rose to the federal level in Franklin County.

Tonight, apparently, was an exception.

Branch had said the victim was some button man for the Chicago mob. Beyond that he’d been pretty tight-lipped. Didn’t sit well with Colt. This was his county and by God he needed to know the full details of what had transpired in the Sauder home tonight. He had no intention of relinquishing control over this investigation until he had no other choice. The safety of the residents in this county was his responsibility, not Branch Holloway’s.

Branch tucked his phone away and headed toward Colt. Colt pushed away from the truck and set his hands on his hips. “So what did your former boss have to say?”

“I was right. The victim is Tony Marcello.” Branch glanced toward the darkened house. “This was no random break-in, Colt. Marcello is the kind of guy who does the dirty work. Collects on loans. Acts as an enforcer or bodyguard. Bottom line, he does whatever he’s ordered to do. I can’t see a guy like that making this kind of mistake.”

Oh hell. “So you’re saying the Sauders are involved in some sort of mob business.” Colt couldn’t see it. Not in a million years.

“Sure looks that way.” Branch matched Colt’s stance, hands on hips, boots wide apart, as if they were about to see who was the fastest draw. “I’ve only been back a year so I’m not up to speed on everyone in the area. How well do you know Wesley Sauder?”

“How well do you know any of the Mennonite folks?” Colt tossed back at him. Branch grew up in Winchester. He knew the deal. “They keep to themselves. Yet they’re good neighbors, good citizens. Never any trouble—at least if there is any, they take care of it amid their own ranks.” He shook his head. “I can’t see what you’re suggesting by any stretch of the imagination.”

“But,” Branch said, shrugging, “Wesley was an outsider until what? Ten years ago?”

That much was true. “He moved here about ten years ago, yeah.” Colt considered the answers the man’s wife had given to the interview questions. “Sarah said he came from Markham, Illinois.”

“Markham’s not so far from Chicago.”

Colt heaved another sigh. “We’ll know more when we’ve run Sauder’s prints.”

Colt had instructed one of his forensic techs to lift prints from the wooden arms of the rocking chair next to the fireplace. Sarah had glanced at the empty chair when she spoke of her husband. Colt figured the rocker was the chair her husband used.

“There’s no Wesley Sauder from Illinois or Tennessee in the database,” Branch said. “So if the husband is who he says he is, you won’t find anything there.”

“Then again, if we get a hit from a database then we’ll know he isn’t who he says he is.” Damn. Branch’s contact was able to access the needed information in an instant. Colt didn’t have those kinds of resources. As much as he wanted to be grateful for the potential assist in this case, he was mostly ticked off. “Otherwise, the only thing we’ll know for sure is that Sauder doesn’t have a criminal record and he hasn’t needed a background check that required his prints.”

“Guess so.” Branch was already marking his territory. He wanted this case.

“We could debate what this shooting boils down to all night and we still won’t be any closer to the truth than we are right now.” Colt wasn’t relinquishing a damned thing until he understood exactly what they were dealing with. “We need to do this right, Branch. By the book. No getting ahead of ourselves.”

Colt didn’t know all the details of why Branch had left Chicago and ended up back in his hometown on a babysitting assignment, but there would be plenty to the story and little if any of it résumé-worthy.

“We’ll play it your way for now.” Branch glanced once more at the Sauder home. “I’ll touch base with you tomorrow.”

Colt gave him a nod of agreement and watched him get into his truck and drive away. He sure as hell wished Melvin Yoder wasn’t on his deathbed. Tomorrow Colt would check in with the family to see if a short visit with the patriarch of the Mennonite community in Franklin County might be possible. Yoder would know his son-in-law better than anyone. Sauder would never have been able to marry Yoder’s daughter if he hadn’t approved of the man.

Colt’s father and Yoder had been good friends. At least as close as an outsider could be with a member of the closed community. Hopefully that friendship would help now. If the older man’s health would tolerate a visit, Colt needed some insight into Wesley Sauder. What the hell kind of man would be a no-show when his family needed him?

There was only one plausible answer: a man who had something to hide.

Colt loaded into his truck, took one last look at the farmhouse. Whatever Sarah Sauder and her husband were hiding, he would find it.

* * *

COLT HADN’T MUCH more than pulled into the driveway at his house when another problem cropped up. His son, Key, pulled in right behind him, and it was well beyond his curfew on a school night.

Colt sat stone-still behind the wheel of his truck. He’d already shut off the engine, and the headlights had faded to darkness. His son had no idea he was out here. Probably thought his overbearing, out-of-touch-with-reality daddy was in bed asleep by now. As Colt watched, the eighteen-year-old climbed out of his truck and closed the door quietly. He glanced around the yard and started toward the house.

Staggered toward the house.

Colt swore under his breath. He watched his only child beat a crooked path to his bedroom window, which he subsequently opened and struggled clumsily through, ultimately falling into the house. If Colt was lucky, right on his head. Maybe it would knock some sense into him. The boy was hell-bent on trouble. He’d had everything he ever wanted handed to him on a silver platter—including that brand-new pickup his Granddaddy Wilhelm gave him. The real problem was that between his momma and his granddaddy, the kid was spoiled rotten. Colt was the only one who issued any sort of rules, and shared custody ensured that at least half the time his son had no rules whatsoever.

He was headed down a bad path.

But this was the first time Colt had known him to come home drunk. He glanced in the rearview mirror at the shiny red truck parked behind him. The boy had been driving while intoxicated. Colt had witnessed it with his own eyes. All the other dumb stuff he overlooked was nothing to compare with this. Driving under the influence was not something he could pretend not to notice in order to keep the peace.

“Damn it all to hell.”

Colt emerged from his truck, slammed the door and headed for the house he’d inherited from his daddy—the one thing Colt hadn’t lost in the divorce. By the time he reached Key’s bedroom, his son was lying on the floor where he’d fallen and was snoring up a storm. Shaking his head, Colt closed and locked the window. He picked up the fob to the boy’s truck and tucked it into his pocket. No more driving for at least a month. Waking up his son and giving him what for at the moment would be a pointless waste of energy. Arguing with a drunk got both parties nowhere fast.

Morning would be soon enough to tackle this unpleasant task. He considered helping his son into the bed but decided he should sleep it off right where he’d fallen. His cell phone had tumbled from his pocket and lay next to him. Colt made another decision. The kid didn’t need his phone for a while, either. A set of wheels and a cell phone were luxuries that not all kids his son’s age enjoyed. Why should Key have access to those and more when he couldn’t obey the rules?

Disgusted and exhausted, Colt wandered to his bedroom. He placed his hat on the bureau. He needed a shower and a beer. He thought of his son passed out on the floor in the other bedroom. Maybe he’d forgo the beer. He dropped onto the side of the bed and pulled off first one boot and then the other, tossing the well-worn footwear to the floor. Socks went next. He’d worn cowboy boots his whole life. His daddy bought him his first pair as soon as he could walk. If his dad were still here he would know what to do to steer Key in the right direction.

Sometimes Colt wondered if his ex-wife allowed the boy to run wild just to get back at Colt for the divorce. God knew Colt had never been allowed to behave this way, and he damned sure hadn’t intended for his son to end up on this plunge into stupidity. But Karen let the boy do anything he wanted. She’d named him after her daddy, Keyton. Colt had been good with that, since his son would carry the Tanner surname. He’d wanted to be fair. But Karen Wilhelm had never played fair in her life. Key hadn’t been a year old the first time Colt caught her cheating. He’d put up with her lies for ten years in an attempt to hold his family together. Then he’d had enough.

He peeled off his shirt and reached for his belt. Key’s cell phone blasting a rap tune stopped him. Mom appeared on the screen. Colt tapped the screen and answered with the same “yo” his son always used.

“Baby, I just wanted to make sure you got home all right. You were a little drunk.”

Outrage coursed through Colt’s veins. “You allowed our son to drive when he’d been drinking?”

Silence screamed across the line.

“Why do you have Key’s phone?”

The cold fury in her voice was nothing compared to the white-hot rage gushing through Colt at the moment. “Because he dropped it while he was climbing through his bedroom window. At the moment he’s passed out on the floor.”

“I’m... I’m sure he wasn’t drinking that much when he left here. He must have stopped at a friend’s on the way home.”

Liar.

“He won’t be driving for a good long while. And he won’t be available by cell, either.”

“My father gave him that truck. You don’t have any right to take it.”

“You would rather I arrest him for driving under the influence? I can definitely do that, and I don’t need your or your daddy’s permission to do it.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

He laughed. “I arrested you, didn’t I?”

Of course, her rich daddy had hired the best lawyer in the county to take care of the situation. So far, he’d managed that feat five times. No wonder their son felt no fear of consequences. He’d watched his mother skate out of trouble his whole life. Including ten years of Colt looking the other way while she screwed her way through the county’s male population.

“My father will be calling you in the morning.”

The call ended.

Colt turned the phone off and shoved it into the pillowcase of the pillow he didn’t use. His boy would never think to look there. God knew his momma wasn’t coming anywhere near Colt’s bed.

He shucked his jeans and boxers and headed for the shower. While he waited for the water to warm he thought of the biggest mistake of his life.

Hurting Rey.

Each time he saw her he was reminded of the enormous mistake he’d made. How the hell had he let her get away? He almost laughed at the idea. He hadn’t let her do anything. Audrey Rose Anderson did what she damned well pleased, then and now.

She had been his everything since he was a kid. If he was honest with himself, he had been fascinated with her since the first day of kindergarten when she kicked the boy who laughed at him for crying. Cutting the other kid some slack, he had no idea Colt’s mother had been dying with cancer. No matter that she’d been so sick, she’d wanted to take her little boy to his first day of school. When she’d left him in the classroom the tears had streamed down his face. Colt had been terrified she would die before he was back at home with her.

After kicking the laughing kid in the shin, Audrey had walked up to Colt and said, “I like your boots. You want to sit at my table?”

They had been friends from that day on. And then he’d fallen in love with her. Head over heels in love. Even now, thinking of her made it hard to breathe.

“You screwed that up, dumbass.”

Colt stepped into the shower and drowned the memories beneath the spray of hot water.

There were some transgressions for which there was no forgiveness. Rey reminded him every chance she got.