The Watchman Read online

  “McKenna, I believe Marshall plans to take his son out of the country. It’s the only logical move for him with the FBI taking over the case.”

  A sharp intake of breath came through the phone. “I’ll check with Dad. If he does know, I’ll find out where. That’s a promise. I’ll call you back.”

  I couldn’t. I wouldn’t accept Cody was gone forever from Rachel’s life. Not as long as I breathed. I failed miserably once. I paced and waited. Inactivity drove me mad.

  Finally, the phone rang.

  “Dad doesn’t know where Marshall is. I told him about the boy. My father has his faults, but I believe him. He wouldn’t hold back where a child’s concerned. He suggested you try London’s lake cottage.”

  “Where? Pine Lake?”

  “Yes. He said he’d been there two or three times.”

  “Does he have directions to the place?”

  McKenna read off detailed instruction to find the cabin. I hoped Thornton leveled with his daughter. She had more faith in his scruples than I did.

  “Noah, just FYI, this morning I received an anonymous package in the mail. It contained security tapes from Judge London’s home. They were...brutal. We’ve dropped the jailbreak charges against Rachel London. She should never have been in jail to begin with.”

  Thornton must have decided they were no longer good for blackmail purposes, since London’s real identity became known.

  “McKenna, if you were close enough, I’d kiss you.” The phone went silent. “Anyway, thanks for telling me and for the lead on Marshall.”

  There was an audible click, and she was gone.

  McKenna’s tip was the only place to start. I had no place else to go. The police probably hadn’t discovered the cabin’s existence, and I didn’t have time to wait for them to mount up a posse. To take Cody to the lodge wouldn’t be the smartest move Marshall could make, but his decisions hadn’t shown stellar wisdom. He’d succeeded so far on lazy police work and dumb luck.

  Try the cabin. I had nothing to lose.

  I didn’t enjoy the trip. Not surprising. I had ignored the media blizzard warning to stay indoors. Dressed in snow gear and boots I regretted returning Jake’s Jeep so soon, even more so when my SUV slid across the street and bounced against the neighbor’s curb. My four-wheel drive didn’t handle in icy road conditions like the Jeep.

  Snow fell in a curtain of white as I drove west. The weather worsened with each mile. Wiper blades struggled to push snow from the windshield and failed miserably.

  Images of Cody filled my mind. His shyness when he first arrived at the ranch, his love for the animals, his growing self-confidence. Because of my stupidity, his life rested in his father’s merciless hands.

  Because of the weather, the drive took twice as long. Finally, in the distance, a shaped loomed into view of what I hoped was the cabin. My headlights penetrated the near white-out conditions to illuminate the outline of a log structure. Nothing moved. No lights, no smoke from the chimney. A wide expanse of fresh powder erased any footprints there might have been.

  The only sound—that of my own labored breathing. Snow blew sideways as I mounted the steps and tried the door.

  It was open.

  That didn’t square with what I knew about Marshall, the security camera freak. Wary, I eased inside the vestibule.

  The stench of an unwashed body was my first signal of danger. I dodged to my right just as a fire poker missed my skull by millimeters.

  20

  Judge London’s Cabin, Pine Lake

  Reflexes and adrenalin kicked in at the same time. Every muscle in my body tightened. I grabbed the poker and twisted. A yelp of pain sounded behind me and I turned to face my assailant.

  A shabby, dirty man knelt on the floor in front of me, right hand pressed against his chest. “You broke my wrist.”

  I took in great gulps of air as tensed muscles unwound, and then I glanced around. Papers and burnt matches lay on the fireplace and in front of the hearth. I had interrupted the old man trying to ignite logs in the fireplace.

  I gazed down at him. “Let me look at your hand.”

  He shook his head and scooted away.

  “Come on. Give it to me. I won’t hurt you.”

  Currents of fear deepened the wrinkles in his weathered face, but he stayed put. “What do you want with my hand?”

  “I want to see if it’s broken. What’s your name?”

  His gaze roamed past me, not making eye contact. “People call me Bonehead. Just came in—trying to get out of the storm. Didn’t intend to harm anything. You startled me—I wasn’t leaving without a fight. I’d freeze out there.”

  I glared at him. “I can see where you got your nickname. That was a stupid move swinging the poker at me. I could have killed you.” Holding his hand in mine, I pushed back the frozen fabric of his coat sleeve and moved each of his fingers.

  The horrors of Vietnam, street life, hunger and extreme cold flowed through his fingers into mine, leaving me physically ill. I dropped my grip and moved away. “You don’t appear to have any broken bones. Most likely, it’s just a sprained wrist. Sit tight and I’ll try to get some heat started.”

  In a closet near the entrance, I locate the circuit box, flipped on the master switch, and then turned on the lights. Recessed lamps cast a soft glow over the room. Encouraged, I located the thermostat and inched the heat bar up to seventy degrees. The welcome sound of ignited flames soon followed.

  I hurried back to the hearth and started a fire. That and the central heating would warm the old man up quickly.

  Bonehead tried to stand and stumbled.

  I hurried to steady him. “Why didn’t you turn on the furnace? That would have been quicker than building a fire.”

  He shrugged. “I hadn’t been here long when you arrived. Didn’t even look for a thermostat. Just wanted to get warm as fast as I could.”

  I strode toward the kitchen. ”When the water warms up, I want you to take a shower. I’ll see what I can find to eat.”

  He touched my arm and suspicion wrinkled his brow. “Why are you being so nice?”

  I shrugged. “I’ve had to depend on other people’s kindness a lot lately. I’m just returning the blessings.”

  Bonehead moved in close to the blaze in the hearth. Sparks crackled and floated in wispy waves up the chimney, filling the room with a woody fragrance. “I don’t have any clean clothes, you know. Won’t do any good to bathe without clean clothes.”

  “Perhaps I can find you something.”

  The old man hovered near the fire while I found the bedroom and swung the closet doors wide. Marshall had great taste. I pulled down a designer fleece-lined jogging suit and jacket and then grabbed clean skivvies and thermal underwear from a drawer. The items were too large, but I didn’t think Bonehead would complain.

  Back in the den, I handed the outfit to the old man. “The bathroom is down the hall. The water should be getting warm soon. This place has a tankless water heater.”

  “A what?”

  “A tankless water heater. Great invention.”

  “I don’t need a bath. I’ll just get dirty again. “

  “Trust me. You need a bath.”

  He mumbled and obediently shuffled down the hallway.

  In the kitchen, I heated frozen pancakes and pre-cooked sausage and then made a pot of coffee. I left the food in the warming drawer while Bonehead showered.

  Back in the den, I picked up the papers the old man had scattered on the floor.

  For the next ten minutes, I sorted the documents into neat stacks. In one section, I found utility bills for an address in Rapid Bend, California. If Marshall paid the utilities, he probably owned the place. Not much to go on, but for the moment, it was the only lead available. Stuffing the invoice in my pocket, I returned to the kitchen, poured a cup of coffee, and went back to the den to wait for Bonehead.

  Minutes later he emerged from the bathroom a different man, albeit somewhat swamped in his new att
ire. His gray hair hung long and wet above the jumpsuit collar.

  I nodded an appreciative smile at the improvement. “Do you have another name I can call you besides Bonehead?” I knew the answer but wanted him to confide in me.

  He finger-combed his beard and his watery blue eyes met mine. “Bonehead’s been my name for more’n twenty years. It’ll do, I guess, for the next twenty.”

  I shook my head. “No, it won’t, Truman Marchant. Bonehead is not a name for a man created in the image of God.”

  His grip tightened on the edge of the sofa, and he lowered himself with shaky hands. “How’d you know my name?”

  “It doesn’t matter. But a decorated war hero shouldn’t let anyone hang a moniker like Bonehead on him.”

  He raised his chin and tears pooled in his eyes. “Big deal. A hero from a war nobody wanted. You psychic?”

  “Not exactly. You hungry?”

  He nodded and his gaze wandered around the room. “This your place?”

  I shook my head. “It just became the property of a very nice lady who, I hope, won’t mind us using it until the worst of the storm passes. When I leave, I’ll take you to my place. You can stay there. I’ll trust you to take care of my home. If you make a mess or destroy anything, I’ll hunt you down. That clear?” I settled my hand under his elbow. “Let’s stop playing twenty questions and eat.”

  We stepped into the kitchen, and he attacked the food like a ravenous bear. Through a mouthful of pancakes, he said, “I’ve done things I’m not proud of,” he swallowed. “Been trying to drown out the war for a long time. Never been able to do it. Doctors gave a fancy name to my condition, a war related stress syndrome of some kind. Couldn’t handle stateside. Took to the streets like many of my comrades. Haven’t been able to make my way back to where I was before the war. Thought sure the storm tonight would put an end to my problems.”

  I wasn’t really worried about leaving the old vet in my home. The Lord knew I didn’t have the answer to the homeless situation. He also knew no way would I put that poor soul out in this weather. Besides, the tiny homeless shelter in Hebron was filled to capacity this time of year.

  The snow had lessened, but a white world surrounded us on the drive home, and Truman fell asleep soon after we started. In the silence, a gentle voice reminded me McKenna had not been my only source of hope. An unseen hand guided me to Ben Marshall’s place, and led me to a clue to his possible destination. God answered in His own time, in His own way.

  

  Noah’s Home, Hebron Wyoming

  At home, I showed Truman around the house and to the guest room. The pups took to him right away. That was a good sign. Truman shuffled his way around, getting the feel of the place. He licked his lips, and his fingers twitched. He wanted a drink, and I couldn’t help him.

  “Truman, sit.”

  The paper-thin creases around his eyes deepened, pain in his weak blue gaze. He rubbed his hands against his thighs, limped to a chair and plopped down hard.

  I went to the kitchen, poured two cups of fresh coffee, and handed one to him. “I don’t have any liquor. I’ll give you some pain medicine to help you through the night. Tomorrow, I’ll ask a friend to take you to the nearest detox center. That’s the only way you can beat this thing—get your life back. Will you go?”

  “Yeah, I know. I know. Just for the record, I’ve done that before.” His shoulders raised and dropped in quiet desperation.

  “How long ago?”

  “Ten...twelve years.”

  “Tell me how you came to be in the mountains in the dead of winter.” I knew most of it from my earlier touch, but I wanted to keep him talking to take his mind off his habit.

  “You know where Evanston is?” he asked.

  “Yeah, it’s on Highway 80 a couple of miles from the Utah border.”

  He nodded. “Every spring a bunch of old hippies and tree-huggers go up there to commune with nature.”

  I grinned. “The locals call them Rainbow People.”

  “I’ve come with them a couple of years and stay in their camp. They give me food, liquor, and a little weed from time to time. It’s a vacation of sorts. Gets me away from the smog in L.A.”

  I arched an eyebrow at him. ”Evanston is a long way from that mountain cabin.”

  “Yeah, don’t rush me. I’m coming to that.”

  I shut up and listened.

  “The day the group headed back to California, I was drunk and they left without me. So I hung around Evanston, working a little here and there until it started to get cold. I hate cold weather. Then I made the stupid decision to see if I could hitch a ride to see my mother in Nebraska.” Truman shivered and took a sip of coffee. “I caught a ride with a fellow who called himself Oscar something. He said he’d take me as far a Hebron. His cell phone kept ringing, and the last call came about two miles from the cabin. I know because I walked it. That last conversation riled Oscar. He pounded on the steering wheel and started swearing.

  “When I asked him what was wrong, his face turned a shade of dark red I didn’t like, and he said his job description had just changed. Then the sorry sod pulled a gun and made me get out of the car.

  “I tried to explain I’d freeze to death out there in the middle of nowhere. He just waved the gun and told me it wasn’t his problem, but if I could make it that far, there was a cabin that shouldn’t be too far ahead. He turned the car around and drove back the way we came.”

  I rubbed the stubble on my chin. It was inconceivable someone would drive that far just to dump a homeless man in the mountains. “Truman, did he seem to be headed for that cabin? I didn’t notice any other homes in the area when I drove in.”

  “Yeah, I gave that a lot of thought on my long walk. I think he set out for the cabin until that call. Then he changed his mind. I heard him ask the person on the phone if he still wanted the job done.”

  Could it have been one of Marshall’s cronies headed to meet him there? Marshall could have changed his mind when he discovered the authorities were looking for him.

  “What did the guy look like?”

  “Typical hunter type. Wore a loud red plaid coat and a stupid red hat with earflaps. You know the kind hunters wear.”

  Truman, the fashion police.

  “What was he driving?”

  “A silver sedan.” Truman ducked his head and stared at the floor. “I didn’t pay a lot of attention. Oscar had a bottle of whiskey he shared with me.”

  “Your guardian angel was riding on your shoulder. Accepting rides from strangers in desolate country like this can get you killed.”

  “Now you tell me.”

  “Your mom’s still alive?”

  His head jerked up. “I...I think so.”

  “When was the last time you talked to her?”

  “Christmas. Three or four years ago.”

  “So you’re not sure. You have a phone number?”

  “Y-Yeah.”

  That made me angry. “How can you not let your mother know you’re alive and well? You ever consider how many nights she might worry about you? Go call her now. There’s a phone upstairs if you want some privacy.”

  His face wrinkled like an accordion. He closed his eyes and took two short breaths. Finally, he nodded, turned, and trudged upstairs. In the quiet of my home, a soft cry of Mama drifted down the stairs followed by the quiet echo of sobs.

  21

  Noah’s Home, Hebron, Wyoming

  With Truman in bed, I warmed up a cup of Mabel’s hot cider and took it to the den. Bella jumped up beside me on the sofa and nudged my hand, her signal she wanted some attention. I scratched her ear and then slid her head off my lap and grabbed the phone.

  Detective Rena Chavez answered.

  “Rena, this is Sam.” I didn’t have time to explain my false identity.

  “Yeah. What do you need?” Her voice sounded strained—noncommittal.

  How much had she found out about me? “I need to find a residence in Northern Cal
ifornia that belonged to Harold London. I could try to track it down on the Internet, but time is an issue.”

  The phone line became silent for a moment. “I checked you out, Sam. I know your name isn’t Sam Spade. The FBI warrant—”

  “They dismissed that yesterday.”

  “I know, but I still can’t help you. I won’t jeopardize my job for a stranger who lied to me once already.” A click and she was gone.

  I drew in a deep breath. I liked Rena and wished I could make her understand why I lied. But I knew she wouldn’t listen. So much for the fast way.

  I called Amos and gave him the information I’d tried to give Rena.

  “Do you know what county the residence is in?”

  “No, but I have the city name, a post office box, and a zip code. Amos––I also need to know if there’s an airport close where a small plane could land. One more favor. Call the sheriff’s office there and tell them to get to the place ASAP. I’m pretty sure Marshall’s on his way there with Cody.”

  “Give me the zip code.” In the background papers shuffled and someone hacked a cigarette cough. I expelled the breath I’d been holding and gave him the number.

  “I’m on it. I’ll call you right back.”

  Thirty minutes later, I had the physical location of the cabin and the name of the closest airport.

  I called George and told him what I needed.

  “That’s at least an overnight trip. Let me clear it with Norma.” He called a few minutes later.” Meet me at my plane in fifteen minutes.”

  Everything settled, I began to get antsy. Had Marshall driven? Had he found someone to fly him to Rapid Bend? Wanted by the police, Marshall wouldn’t take Cody on a commercial flight against his will. He would either charter a plane or drive. I was betting on driving since George had the only local charter service.

  Upstairs, I shook Truman awake.

  I placed my hand on his shoulder and held it there to ensure he gave me his full attention. “I have to leave. Something important has come up. There’s plenty of food in the house. Don’t let your friends show up here. My hospitality extends only to you.”