Blow Out
Page 90
So much for distracting her, Ben thought, and said, “I’ve been wondering the same thing. Maybe she’s another loose end. Like Eliza.”
“I don’t think Eliza was just a loose end. Don’t forget, she was calling Savich, to tell him something, maybe something she knew but hadn’t said anything about before. And why not? Because she was afraid? Or because she was a part of something that led to my stepfather’s murder?”
“Whoa—that’s a giant leap. But you’re a reporter, you’re paid to make wild guesses, right?”
“Do you really think it’s such a wild guess?”
“Maybe. Who knows? Hey, I’m trying to keep from killing us here. I’m now going one hundred and ten miles an hour. Keep an eye out for more patrol cars. Or any pedestrians who might be running across the highway.” He laid a gloved hand on her leg as she laughed again. “You really want a down-home, hoe-down kind of country place where you get barbecue sauce all over your face and Billy Bob tries to make a pass at you?”
She laughed again. “That’s it exactly. And just think, I’ll be with such a guy’s guy—truck, beer, testosterone, nice butt. What more could a girl ask? Look, Alton’s coming up. I’ll keep an eye out for Petersboro.”
“Just watch the Porsche. Sherlock probably has MAX on her lap and he’s providing them directions.”
“Nah, she’s a real navigator. I’ll bet she’s using a plain old map.”
Ben slowed to match the Porsche. The squad cars behind him kept thirty feet back.
Savich led them directly into a subdivision of ranch-style homes not far from the highway. A half-dozen squad cars were angled around one of them, a dozen or more police huddled behind them, using the cars for shields.
CHAPTER 28
PETERSBORO, MARYLAND
NEIGHBORS WERE GATHERED, talking and pointing, looking both scared and excited, held behind a police line half a block away from the house. Savich pulled the Porsche behind a squad car three houses away from where Austin Douglas Barrister lived. Ben and the two highway patrol cars pulled in behind him.
He and Sherlock saw a man in a heavy jacket holding a bullhorn in his hand and ran toward him. Before they could get to him, an officer yelled, “Hey, buddy, get the hell back!”
Savich turned, pulled out I.D., and held it in the officer’s face. “Where’s Chief Gerber?”
Officer Ridley looked at the big guy in the black leather jacket who’d just climbed out of a sexy red Porsche that would cost him three years’ salary and said, “So who gives a damn if you’re FBI? Chief Gerber is busy. This is a local matter, Agent, we’ve got it covered.”
“Let’s try again, Officer. Where is Chief Gerber?”
Ridley took another step toward him, leaned right in his face now. “And why is that any of your freaking business?”
Savich grabbed Ridley by the collar and hoisted him off his feet. “I asked you where Chief Gerber is, Officer.”
“Hey! What’s going on here? Hey, you, let that officer down! Back away!”
The second officer reached for his gun. Sherlock grabbed his arm and stuck her I.D. in his face. “Don’t you even think about drawing a gun on a federal officer. Back off, all of you.”
“But—”
Sherlock said, “We’re here because the man inside that house—his mother called me, frantic for help. The FBI has been looking for him. Now, where is Chief Gerber?”
“Right here, Agent Sherlock.” A big beefy cop around fifty, with a baby face and a paunch starting to overflow his wide leather belt, approached them. “Calm down, guys. I was expecting these people. Lew, back off. Both of you get back to work.”
Savich slowly let Officer Ridley down, but didn’t turn his back on him. Testosterone filled the air, and adrenaline was pumping because of the uncertainty of what was going on inside that house, an explosive combination.
Sherlock stuck out her hand. “I’m Special Agent Sherlock, FBI. This is Special Agent Savich. You’re Chief Howard Gerber?”
“That I am.” He shook their hands. “You got here very quickly.”
Sherlock said, “We’ve been looking for the man who lives in that house for several days. Thank you, Chief, for calling me so quickly. This is a personal matter for us, as well as professional. We think we can help.”
Officer Ridley was still breathing hard, but Savich realized he now had himself under control. At least enough control so he wouldn’t pull his gun and shoot him. Savich said, never raising his voice, never sounding anything but calm and in control, “Tell us what’s happening here, Chief.”
“I don’t think Eliza was just a loose end. Don’t forget, she was calling Savich, to tell him something, maybe something she knew but hadn’t said anything about before. And why not? Because she was afraid? Or because she was a part of something that led to my stepfather’s murder?”
“Whoa—that’s a giant leap. But you’re a reporter, you’re paid to make wild guesses, right?”
“Do you really think it’s such a wild guess?”
“Maybe. Who knows? Hey, I’m trying to keep from killing us here. I’m now going one hundred and ten miles an hour. Keep an eye out for more patrol cars. Or any pedestrians who might be running across the highway.” He laid a gloved hand on her leg as she laughed again. “You really want a down-home, hoe-down kind of country place where you get barbecue sauce all over your face and Billy Bob tries to make a pass at you?”
She laughed again. “That’s it exactly. And just think, I’ll be with such a guy’s guy—truck, beer, testosterone, nice butt. What more could a girl ask? Look, Alton’s coming up. I’ll keep an eye out for Petersboro.”
“Just watch the Porsche. Sherlock probably has MAX on her lap and he’s providing them directions.”
“Nah, she’s a real navigator. I’ll bet she’s using a plain old map.”
Ben slowed to match the Porsche. The squad cars behind him kept thirty feet back.
Savich led them directly into a subdivision of ranch-style homes not far from the highway. A half-dozen squad cars were angled around one of them, a dozen or more police huddled behind them, using the cars for shields.
CHAPTER 28
PETERSBORO, MARYLAND
NEIGHBORS WERE GATHERED, talking and pointing, looking both scared and excited, held behind a police line half a block away from the house. Savich pulled the Porsche behind a squad car three houses away from where Austin Douglas Barrister lived. Ben and the two highway patrol cars pulled in behind him.
He and Sherlock saw a man in a heavy jacket holding a bullhorn in his hand and ran toward him. Before they could get to him, an officer yelled, “Hey, buddy, get the hell back!”
Savich turned, pulled out I.D., and held it in the officer’s face. “Where’s Chief Gerber?”
Officer Ridley looked at the big guy in the black leather jacket who’d just climbed out of a sexy red Porsche that would cost him three years’ salary and said, “So who gives a damn if you’re FBI? Chief Gerber is busy. This is a local matter, Agent, we’ve got it covered.”
“Let’s try again, Officer. Where is Chief Gerber?”
Ridley took another step toward him, leaned right in his face now. “And why is that any of your freaking business?”
Savich grabbed Ridley by the collar and hoisted him off his feet. “I asked you where Chief Gerber is, Officer.”
“Hey! What’s going on here? Hey, you, let that officer down! Back away!”
The second officer reached for his gun. Sherlock grabbed his arm and stuck her I.D. in his face. “Don’t you even think about drawing a gun on a federal officer. Back off, all of you.”
“But—”
Sherlock said, “We’re here because the man inside that house—his mother called me, frantic for help. The FBI has been looking for him. Now, where is Chief Gerber?”
“Right here, Agent Sherlock.” A big beefy cop around fifty, with a baby face and a paunch starting to overflow his wide leather belt, approached them. “Calm down, guys. I was expecting these people. Lew, back off. Both of you get back to work.”
Savich slowly let Officer Ridley down, but didn’t turn his back on him. Testosterone filled the air, and adrenaline was pumping because of the uncertainty of what was going on inside that house, an explosive combination.
Sherlock stuck out her hand. “I’m Special Agent Sherlock, FBI. This is Special Agent Savich. You’re Chief Howard Gerber?”
“That I am.” He shook their hands. “You got here very quickly.”
Sherlock said, “We’ve been looking for the man who lives in that house for several days. Thank you, Chief, for calling me so quickly. This is a personal matter for us, as well as professional. We think we can help.”
Officer Ridley was still breathing hard, but Savich realized he now had himself under control. At least enough control so he wouldn’t pull his gun and shoot him. Savich said, never raising his voice, never sounding anything but calm and in control, “Tell us what’s happening here, Chief.”
