Shallow Creek

“What happened after Spee and Tyson picked you up last night?” he asked.

“Spee chewed me out for getting in her way and then sent me home.”

“What happened after that?”

“I walked to my truck and drove home,” Brendan said, his fatigue setting in again after all the excitement.  “Why?  What happened?”

The man cracked his knuckles impressively and folded his arms while he stood before Brendan.  “You are the last known individual to see my agents alive, so I’d like to know what the hell happened.”

Brendan ground his teeth before responding.  “When I was walking away, a black Dodge pickup flew by me, heading back up to where Spee was parked,” he said.  “You know, behind that old grocery store.”

Norman stared at him for a moment, and then nodded to the invisible observers hiding behind the one-way mirror on the wall.  “I think we both know who’s probably involved here.”

“Yup, and it ain’t me.”

“Do you have any idea where my agents would be taken?”

Norman was now calmly composed on the outside, but his voice cracked slightly.  Brendan understood.  If Grant had captured the agents three hours ago, every minute counted now.

“Check all the property listings under my name, since that’s the trick they used with the farm.”

“We’re already looking into your holdings, and any property owned by any of your family.”  He briefly ground his palms against his temples.  “Can you tell me anything useful?”

Brendan rolled his shoulders and popped his neck with a quick tilt of his head.  “No, I can’t,” he said.  “Can you get these damn cuffs off me now?”

Chapter 41

Brendan’s butt ached from sitting in the small wooden chair.  Hailing from time when comfort wasn’t a primary consideration, this particular model featured a paper-thin cushion and sharp edges all round.  He shifted his cuffed hands in his lap.  At least they’d moved his hands to his front, and they’d definitely loosened the cuffs by a couple of clicks this time.  Brendan sighed, leaned his weary head back against the wall, and closed his eyes.

But sleep never came, no matter how much he provoked it.  His head drooped heavily, and it was tough to focus enough to hold it in one spot.  He quickly approached that boundary beyond which drunkenness and abject fatigue merged into one and the same.  Finally his eyelids accepted gravity’s gentle tug and closed firmly as his chin sought a resting place against his chest.

He jerked awake at the sound of Norman’s voice yelling at him from across the open space that served as both the sheriff’s office foyer and the DEA task force’s headquarters.  The man’s words jumbled together and Brendan couldn’t make any sense of them.  His eyes settled on the desk next to him where Agent Norman had earlier left a printout of a spreadsheet showing all the property owned by the Rhodes family.  His mom and dad’s house was the only thing listed in their name, and only Grant’s mobile home showed up under his.  Brendan’s name on the other hand came up with three hits.  One he guessed was the farm he’d discovered a couple of nights ago.  The other two were a mystery, but also looked like farm addresses.

“Answer me, damn it.” Norman grabbed Brendan by the shirt and pulled him close.  The agent’s awful breath assaulted Brendan’s senses one more time, dragging him fully out of his sleepy stupor.

“Okay, okay,” Brendan insisted.  “What is it?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you own a black Dodge truck?”

“I don’t.  My Ford is green.”

Norman growled something unintelligible before shoving Brendan back into the wooden chair.  Brendan watched as the lead agent snatched a piece of paper out of a nearby assistant’s hands.

“On this list of ten vehicles that you own, you’ll see right here an entry for a black Dodge pickup.” Norman thrust the crinkled paper into Brendan’s face.  “Why do I keep finding your name everywhere I look in this investigation?”

“Because my brother’s an asshole.”

“You’ll have to do better than that.”

The piece of paper flew across the room after Norman crumpled it in a rage.  Brendan refrained from needling the agent any further.

“Why did I just find a partially burned-out black Dodge with Agent Tyson’s blood on the backseat?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’d have thought a Marine would at least know how to torch a vehicle.”

“I do know how, so it wasn’t me.”

This admission gave Norman pause.  “And why did I find a handgun with your name etched into the grip sitting on the floor?”

“I couldn’t tell you,” Brendan said.  “I haven’t seen that gun in—”

“Save it,” Norman snapped.  He pointed at Marcus, who’d been standing and watching the whole scene unravel.  “You, take this man back to a cell and make sure he stays there.”

“Sir, doesn’t this seem a bit too obvious?”

Norman cut Marcus off with a violent shake of his arm.  “You do as I say right now, Deputy.  Got it?”