Burned Too Hot: A Thriller (Val Ryker series Book 2) Page 13

  She had to be okay.

  Val glanced up at her sergeant. “Asher insists he hasn’t seen Hess since the trial, and he’s none too happy about it.”

  “So he’s been passing him notes in the legal paperwork.”

  “He says no.” Val settled into her chair.

  “And you believe him?”

  “He seems as eager to see Hess safely behind maximum security prison bars as we are.”

  “Scared, huh?” Olson smiled, not a nice smile. “Good. He should be, seeing what Hess did to his last attorney. I wonder what Michael Asher loves most.”

  Val suppressed a shudder at the reminder of Hess’s twisted view of justice. “So what do you have for me to tell the press this afternoon?”

  “Not much.”

  Val slumped against the chair’s back. Tired. No, utterly fatigued.

  Instead of folding his lanky frame into one of the seats in front of her desk, Olson paced. “Ethan Tiedemann’s picture is being broadcast all over the state, and no one has seen anything. What are the odds of that?”

  “With all the tiny farms and vacation cabins around here, there are plenty of places to hide a toddler,” Val said. She would kill for some coffee or water or anything to soothe the dryness in her throat. Unfortunately she’d have to get up and walk to the break area to fetch it, and right now that was beyond her. “Any news on the fire investigations?”

  “Got a list of what was in that gun safe.”

  Val held out her hand and Olson handed it to her.

  She skimmed the page. Four handguns: a Smith & Wesson 642LS Lady Smith Revolver Val assumed was Carla’s, a .45 GLOCK 30SF Pistol, a HK45, and a .45 ACP Beretta PX4 Storm. In addition to the handguns, there was a pump action shotgun and at least three rifles Scott used to hunt deer, and plenty of rounds for all. More than enough weaponry to consider the Milk Jug Firebug armed and dangerous. “What do you have on the explosion?”

  “Home heating oil tank. A lot of older farms have them. Houses switch to natural gas, and no one thinks to dig out the tanks.”

  “Have you talked to David Lund?”

  “He’s on my list for this afternoon.”

  “I’ll talk to him.” She tried to ignore the quizzical look from Olson. “Have you made any headway with the threatening letters we flagged last night?”

  “So far we’ve touched base with the families of Tamara Wade, Monica Forbes, and Derrick Shaw. Some of them are pretty angry, but I don’t think any wrote those letters. They were all focused on the sentencing tomorrow.”

  “And Jeff’s family?” she asked, referring to her predecessor, Chief Jeff Schneider.

  “That would be us,” Olson said.

  For a second, Val’s voice failed her. She used to think that at one time, but things had changed. Still, even though she and their mentor weren’t exactly seeing eye-to-eye when he’d died, she still missed him. She still wished it all could have turned out differently. “How about his ex-wife? His son?”

  “He hadn’t seen them in years.”

  “Call them anyway.”

  Olson nodded. “How about the family of Rebecca Schoenborn?”

  “Mother’s dead. No other family.”

  “This can’t be about revenge, Chief,” Olson said. “All those families are grieving, maybe even angry, but none are even capable of being killers.”

  Val recalled Olson’s screed about justice the night before. He was right about them being Jeff’s family. Add that to Olson’s erratic behavior in recent months and she had a case for suspecting him of seeking vengeance on Hess.

  She shifted in her chair, not wanting to examine those notions too closely lest that make them real. “Any luck on the other letters?” Val hadn’t specifically mentioned the one bearing snapshots of Grace, but she didn’t have to.

  “It was done on a standard ink jet printer. No discerning marks, no useable prints. I sent it to the crime lab in Madison, just in case they had some ideas.”

  A dead end. Like everything else. “Thanks, Pete. Do what you can.”

  Val filled him in on what little she’d learned at the morgue, and he went on his way, leaving her blissfully alone.

  She sat still, closing her eyes. Five minutes, that’s all she needed. Five stretched to ten before she finally worked up the energy to push herself out of her chair. A drink of water to unstick that pill from her throat, then she’d tackle driving to the hospital to check on Lund.

  Oneida was on the phone when she emerged. “Yeah, she’s here. Just came out of her office. Sure. I’ll send her your way.” The dispatcher ended the call.

  Val raised her brows. “I assume by she you mean me?”

  “Sure do. It’s Jimmy. I sent him to the north shore. A theft at the convenience store there.”

  Thefts weren’t common in Lake Loyal, but they happened, just like in any other town. However usually the chief of police wasn’t part of the tag team. Especially when she was already struggling to stay on top of a multi-pronged investigation, not to mention her personal health situation. “Where’s Ginny Jones?”

  “Out on a call. Co-op reported a theft, too.”

  “Both in one day?”

  “World’s going crazy. At least we have it better than Baraboo. They had a murder-suicide, a drunken brawl, and a break in at a construction company. Like a big city crime wave or something.”

  Val checked her watch. “I have to stop at the hospital, and I have a date with the press in little over an hour. Can’t Weiss handle a shoplifting call on his own?”

  “This isn’t about the call.”

  Val could see Oneida was enjoying drawing out the drama, and a little shot of excitement trilled up her spine. “You have something for me?”

  Val

  In a town the size of Lake Loyal, it didn’t take long to get from the police station to… well, anywhere, and soon Val was pulling into the convenience store lot and parking her unmarked Taurus next to Jimmy Weiss’s black-and-white.

  The convenience store was located on the edge of what was now the most exclusive neighborhood in the area. Where fishing cabins had once lined the lakeshore, now multilevel homes stood, their windows reflecting the southern sun, their elaborate tiered decks waiting to be decorated with teak furniture and brightly colored ceramic pots overflowing with flowers once warm weather hit. Vacation homes for the wealthy driving up from Chicago. Retirement homes for people who had dreamed of living on a lake their whole lives.

  She found Jimmy in a closet-size room marked Employees Only, staring at a monitor. When he spotted Val, he motioned her over. After introducing her to the manager, a heavy set man who had just moved to the area, he motioned to the screen. “We have security footage of the girl.”

  “Go ahead,” Val said.

  The manager hit the play button. The inside of the convenience store appeared on the monitor. Three people stood at the counter, one checking his Wisconsin Lottery scratch game numbers, the other two waiting to pay for gas or snacks. A flash lit the side of the screen, the glass door opening.

  “There she is,” Jimmy said.

  Looking past the people at the register, Val focused on the girl slipping into the store. She was thin and small, just starting to develop, a cloud of light brown waves pulled back in a ponytail. She slipped down an aisle.

  Many seconds passed before she came back into view. By this time the lottery loser was on his way out the door, and the girl slipped in behind him, walking out with a package under her arm.

  “Stop the video,” Val said.

  The manager paused it, the image on screen showing the side of the girl’s face.

  She glanced at Jimmy.

  The young officer was beaming. “The missing twelve-year-old.”

  “Emily Lang.”

  “And that’s not all,” Jimmy continued. “Look at what she’s buying.” He pointed at the screen.

  Under her arm, the girl held a package of diapers, Pull-Ups for boys.

  “They’re the 2T to 3T
size,” Jimmy said. He handed Val a comparable package of diapers and pointed at the details printed on the package. “There are 26 diapers in this size, and you can see the 26 in the image. That’s the size Ethan Tiedemann would probably wear.”

  Jimmy had twin sons about the same age. If anyone was the department expert on diapers, it was Officer Weiss. But his conclusions, while interesting, were a bit optimistic.

  “There could be any number of reasons she’s buying diapers,” Val pointed out as gently as she could.

  He looked a little deflated.

  “That doesn’t mean you’re wrong. Just means you should follow up.”

  “I will.”

  “And take the tape as evidence.”

  “I will.”

  “And inform Sergeant Olson, so he can report it to DCI.”

  “I will.”

  “And… good job, Jimmy.”

  The beaming smile flashed back across his face. “Thanks, Chief.”

  “Whether this has anything to do with Ethan or not, we need to find Emily and make sure she’s safe.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  And just maybe, this was the break Jimmy hoped it was.

  Chapter

  Fifteen

  Emily

  As soon as Emily got back with the diapers, she raced downstairs and tiptoed into the dark theater.

  The soft light filtering through the closed blinds streamed from the windows in the next room and fell on his crib. His blond head bobbed, once, twice, then he looked up, blinking his blue eyes at her. “Emeemee!”

  She let out the breath she was holding and gave him a smile. “You were sleeping the whole time?”

  “Emeemee! Cacker!”

  Emily had been lucky to make it out of the convenience store without being seen. She’d only gotten one package of diapers, since that was all they’d had in Ethan’s size. But it was a big package. Added to what she’d salvaged from the tub, and it would be enough for a little while. She’d have to think, to figure out what to do to get more.

  In the meantime…

  Ethan stood up at the gate, grunted, and held out his arms for her to take him out of the crib. “Cacker!”

  She lifted him, and set him down on the floor. The sun was getting low outside, so she closed the theater room door and switched on the light. “Okay, okay.”

  “Cacker!”

  “Crackers and Sponge Bob?”

  “Mine! Mine!”

  She bent down to kiss the top of his head then walked to the mini fridge to see what kind of dinner she could invent. She’d saved her job, at least for now, and the rest, she’d figure out later.

  At least, she hoped.

  Val

  Val hated hospitals. The smell. The squeaking of rubber-soled shoes on waxed floors. The waiting… and waiting… and endless waiting. She could swear the buildings themselves were designed to sap the life force from anyone who entered their doors. Maybe that’s how they actually healed sick people. Taking energy from those who picked over salads in the cafeteria waiting for news. Plugging it into patients as if charging a battery.

  Lund looked as if he might not be holding the charge.

  “Hey there,” Val said, the sight of him wearing a hospital gown, an IV snaking from his arm made her want to get him out of this place and back to the world of the healthy as fast as she could.

  “Hey.”

  “Your color looks good.”

  He arched a brow. “My color?”

  “Yeah. Looks good.”

  “What does that mean exactly?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just something people say in hospitals.”

  He gave her a half-smile. “Sorry I missed you last night.”

  “It was late.”

  “I’m supposed to be released any time now.”

  “I had a word with the nurse on the way in. Told her to get you out of here ASAP. That you’re wanted by the cops.”

  “Am I?”

  “This cop anyway.” She got a full smile for that comment, one she could feel as a shiver in her chest. “But only as long as you promise not to get yourself blown up again.”

  “I’ll work on it.” He looked her up and down. “Rough day?”

  Val resisted the urge to hide her numb hand behind her back or sit down so he wouldn’t notice that she favored her left leg. “I have to talk to you.”

  Lund’s mouth flattened to a hard line. “Is it Ethan?”

  “No news.”

  “Then what?”

  “The explosion yesterday. Did you know there were fuel oil tanks buried on the property?”

  “Had no idea. Maybe I should have, but I’m afraid I’ve been dedicated to ignoring the place since it passed to me.”

  Val knew the old dairy farm was filled with difficult memories for Lund, first concerning his wife Kelly, and then the train-wreck of a dangerous fling he’d had last fall with a woman named Chandler, after Val had told him he needed to move on with his life.

  “Was the fire set by our guy?” Lund asked.

  “You mean, the Milk Jug Firebug?”

  Lund flinched. “That’s terrible.”

  “Yes, it is. And yes, a milk jug was used to set the fire.” She filled him in on what little they knew so far.

  “Grace with you?” he asked.

  “She’s out of town.”

  Lund gave her a quizzical look, as if he wasn’t sure he heard right.

  “Her father is spending some quality time with her.”

  “Father?”

  “The doctor who helped you at the fire.”

  “Her father, huh? He sure looks a lot like her. But I heard he was a friend of yours, not your sister’s.”

  If Val wasn’t mistaken, there was a twinge of jealousy in his voice. “Long story.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “And I’m not good at telling personal stories.”

  “Gee, really? Usually I can never get you to shut up.”

  She smiled, shaking her head. “I’m glad you didn’t die.”

  Lund held out his hand.

  Val paused, afraid to touch him, but much more afraid to let the moment pass.

  She slipped her fingers into his.

  He pulled her closer. One step. Two.

  Her legs pressed against the edge of the bed. This wasn’t smart. Having a real relationship with Lund wasn’t possible. Not for her.

  But God how she wanted to be close to him. God how she wanted to be less alone.

  “I miss you, Val.”

  “I miss you, too.”

  “Do you think… I don’t know… maybe we can start over?”

  She said nothing. What could she say?

  “Okay… then can we try to start where we left off?”

  She closed her eyes. She let him coax her down to sit on the bed, her hip pressing into his side.

  He skimmed his hand up her arm, to her shoulder, and cradled the back of her neck.

  “Seeing you lying on the ground like that…” She shook her head, not sure she could go on.

  Lund waited, not rushing her, just being there. His warmth seeping into her, making her feel as if he was charging her batteries, not the other way around.

  Val opened her eyes. His face was a little blurry, her hand resting on his chest was numb, but despite all that, here he was living, breathing, and looking at her as if she was the most desirable woman in the world.

  She had no right.

  They had no future.

  But she wanted it, even for a moment.

  She wanted him.

  Val leaned forward, and he guided her down to his lips. His kiss was soft, like the tentative brush of a feather, then it grew warmer, closer.

  Urgent.

  A knock sounded on the open door. “Excuse me?”

  Val forced herself to let go, to push back from Lund, to scramble to her feet. She couldn’t quite catch her breath, and for a moment she just stood there, wobbling on her weak leg, unable to answ
er.

  “Uh, what is it?” Lund finally said.

  The psychologist, JoAnn Pender, stepped tentatively into the room, glancing back and forth between Val and Lund, as if not quite able to put the whole scene together in her mind. “Chief Ryker. Oh, I’m sorry for interrupting.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” Lund said.

  Pender focused on Val. “I called your house, left a message with your niece.”

  Val’s cheeks felt warm, as if she was a teenager. She ran her palms over her suit, smoothing wrinkles that weren’t even there. “I’m sorry. I didn’t get it. Things have been hectic. Is it urgent?”

  Pender waved off Val’s concern. “It can wait. There are a lot more important things now.”

  The psychologist stepped further into the room, stopping almost even with Val. She tilted her head, staring at Lund as if he was the most pitiful thing she’d ever seen. “I thought David might need someone to talk to.”

  Lund gave the woman a confused frown. “You’re recruiting for one of your support groups?”

  “Not specifically. But this is just the sort of thing our support group is meant to deal with.”

  “Just the sort of thing?” asked Lund. “What sort of thing?”

  A crease formed between Pender’s eyebrows, dipping behind the bridge of her glasses. “You don’t know?”

  Tension trilled along Val’s spine. “Know what?” she and Lund said in unison.

  “The fire chief. Jerald Fruehauf. He died from his injuries about a half hour ago. I’m so sorry.”

  Chapter

  Sixteen

  Lund

  Lund couldn’t breathe.

  He couldn’t think.

  “Could we have some privacy, please?” Val asked the psychologist, her voice sounding as shaky as Lund felt.

  “It might help David to talk to a professional.”

  “Later.”

  “Sometimes the shock is worst right away.”

  “Later. Please.”

  “Certainly. Your niece has my number. Call me if there’s anything I can help with.”

  “Thank you,” Val said.

  Lund heard the door close and latch, but he wasn’t watching Pender’s exit. His eyes were on Val. “Thanks for getting rid of her. I don’t think I can handle professional help at the moment.”