Masked Prey (Lucas Davenport #30)(64)

The dog had to be half-dragged into the bathroom, but the woman got him inside and slammed the door and then locked it with a key: “She opens doors,” she explained.

One of the men, middle-sized, stocky with curly blond hair, demanded “What the hell is this?”

Chase came in the door with a roll of paper: “Which one of you is Toby Boone?”

The blond man said, “That’s me. I haven’t even been speeding. Is this about 1919? I got nothing to do with that shit.”

She handed him the paper: “Search warrant for the premises, including the garage.”

To the agent behind the counter, she said, “Cuff him.”

The agents moved the other two men and the woman to a corner of the counter, and the agent behind the counter cuffed Boone, who said, “I want an attorney.”

“You’ll get one, though I feel sorry for the guy,” Chase said, facing Boone across the counter. “Oh yeah, I almost forgot. You’re under arrest for conspiracy to commit first-degree murder.”

Boone gave himself away: he said nothing, didn’t seem surprised.

Chase said, “Put him away,” and the agent who’d cuffed him led him to the door. At the door, Boone turned and said to the other three prisoners, “Don’t let the cops get at those coins. They’ll steal them if they get half a chance.” And he was gone, out of sight.

Chase said to the other SWAT team members, “Okay. Let’s get the other three to where our people can talk to them, get your armor off, and let’s tear this place apart.”



* * *



—

LUCAS HAD NOTICED SEVERAL DARK sedans rolling into the parking lot, more agents climbing out. As Rae had said, Chase didn’t skimp on resources. The SWAT team was basically made up of thugs with law degrees; the sedans would be the interrogators, he thought.



* * *



—

THE INTERIOR OF THE BUILDING, as far as Lucas had seen it, consisted of hanging racks between the windows, filled with electric guitars; side cases filled with used tools, ’80s boom boxes, cheap amps, questionable-looking binoculars, and even a few non-precious film cameras and out-of-date digitals, all covered with dust; and a counter/case showing gold coins in narrow blue boxes.

Lucas stepped behind the counter, walked along it, saw the butt end of a pistol in a drawer and said to Chase, “Gun,” and pointed at it, then took a door through to the back, where he found an expansive room with more tools and guitars with tags hanging on them, plus a space with a table and three chairs and a couch facing a television.

A hardwired telephone hung on the wall next to the door; useful for calls that you didn’t want going through a cell tower or a Stingray, Lucas thought. He walked on by, but then noticed a sheet of scratch paper thumbtacked to the wall beside the phone. He looked at it: a list of phone numbers. Carly’s, Ross, Shirley, Tom B., Tom N., Cop, Andy . . .

Cop.

He went back to the front, where one of the SWAT team members still in armor, still with gun in hand, was watching the three employees. Chase was there, across the counter, on the phone again. Lucas nodded at the three employees and said, “Miz Chase will talk to you as soon as she gets off her phone. We’ll try to get you out of here as quickly as we can. That list on the back wall, by the phone, can somebody tell me who Tom B. and Tom N. are?”

The three looked at one another, then one said, “I’m Tom Brenner. Tom N. is Tom Nader, he works evenings.”

“What’s Carly’s?”

“Pizza place,” the woman said. “We order in a lot.”

“You call the cops a lot? I see a Cop on the list.”

The talkative man shook his head and said, “That’s Rusty Wannamaker, he’s a part-timer, usually works evenings when Tom Nader can’t.”

The other man said, “I’m Ross Parker.”

Chase had gotten off her phone and had heard the last part of the conversation, and asked, “Lucas, could you step outside a moment?” To the three captives, she smiled and said, “I’ll be back in a minute. If you cooperate with our agents, no reason you can’t be home in an hour. We were basically here for Toby Boone.”

On the porch, she said to Lucas, “I heard that. Rusty Wannamaker. Can’t be too many people with that name.”

“Why don’t you go ask what Tom Nader does as a day job and what Cop does. You’re less threatening than I am.”

She nodded and went back inside, while Lucas hung on the porch. Bob and Rae were having a gun fest with the SWAT team and Lucas let them talk. Chase came out a minute later and said, “Wannamaker is a UPS driver during the day.”

“I’ll get my guys and we’ll take him,” Lucas said.

“Careful. He’s an assassin.”

“Yeah, well, so are we,” Lucas said.

“We would like him without bullet holes.”

“We’ll do what we can.” Lucas turned and called, “Bob. Rae. Let’s go make a movie.”



* * *



—

WHEN LUCAS EXPLAINED THE SITUATION, Bob said, “UPS. Damn. I worked for them when I was in college, three a.m. to six. Then in the summer, they had me working the pre-load, too, three a.m. to nine. Wanna talk about a shit job?”