Long Range (Joe Pickett Book 20)(82)

He lay there with his eyes wide open and his cheek bleeding while the muted crack of the second shot rolled over him. Joe didn’t move for several minutes until he heard the wail of approaching sirens and he was convinced the shooter was gone.





TWENTY-SIX


FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER, JOE WAS THIRD IN A TASK force of law enforcement vehicles speeding out of town toward Dr. Tom Arthur’s home on Buckbrush Road. The hastily organized strike force was led by Deputy Woods with Steck right behind him, then Joe, then Saddlestring chief of police Williamson, followed by two cruisers driven by town cops. Flashing light bars lit up the passing brush and trees in psychedelic colors, although only the lead SUV had turned on its siren.

After Woods had arrived on Main Street to find Patterson’s lifeless body, they’d pulled it into an alcove next to the hardware store out of the line of fire. Joe and Woods had huddled together in the shadows between the buildings while Joe explained what had happened. Woods listened, then he’d called Deputy Steck on his cell phone at home and shouted that they needed him on scene immediately.

At first, Joe wondered why Woods hadn’t made the request via county dispatch. Woods was rattled, he thought. Then he realized what Woods was up to and he agreed with the decision: keep Sheriff Kapelow in the dark, so their boss wouldn’t show up at the scene. Woods then called Williamson at home, then the EMTs at the clinic on the remote possibility that Patterson was still alive, then Gary Norwood to secure the crime scene on the sidewalk and in the alcove.

“Where did the shots come from?” Woods asked.

Joe gestured to the east.

“From the hills?” Woods asked. “That far?”

“At least a thousand yards away, judging how long it took between the flash of the muzzle and the bullet hitting Patterson.”

“Shit,” Woods said. “That was a hell of a shot.”

He raised his Maglite and thumbed it on.

“You need to get your face looked at,” Woods said to Joe.

“I will. Eventually.”

“If I were you, I’d go now.”

“If I were you, I’d get that flashlight out of my eyes.”

“Sorry.”

The beam was squelched and Joe could see nothing but orange spangles in the dark.

“Steck’s on his way,” Woods said. “When he gets here, you can cut out and go get patched up.”

Joe ignored him. He said, “Kapelow is going to find out what’s going on soon enough. You know he’s not going to be happy.”

“Screw him,” Woods said. “We don’t want him anywhere near us right now if we’ve got an active shooter situation. Who knows what he’d do? He completely botched the investigation and let the shooter kick his feet up on his desk just down the hall from us. Then he arrested the wrong man and crowed about it to the media. Now his terrific instincts have led to the murder of our county attorney.”

Joe nodded, but didn’t respond.

“Is the Game and Fish Department hiring these days?”

“Steck asked me the same thing. Nope. There’s a hiring freeze.”

“I think they’d take me over him, don’t you?”

“Not my call,” Joe said.

Woods shined his flashlight on Patterson’s body and the beam lingered on the grotesque exit wound on the back of his neck. Joe felt his stomach convulse and he quickly turned away before he threw up.

“Poor guy,” Woods said. Then: “Wait until the judge finds out.”

*

AS HE DROVE, Joe winced when he raised his left arm and rubbed his uniform sleeve over his face. The numbness was wearing off and his cheek and neck were stinging with pain and oozing blood. He could feel the grit of the vaporized brick embedded in several large contusions. He was grateful his eyes had been spared of the debris.

Using Bluetooth, he called out, “River Home,” and Marybeth answered the landline on the second ring. He wasn’t sure the cell signal on the county road was strong enough to sustain both his cell phone and hers.

“Everything has busted open,” he said to her. “You were right about Duane and Sue Hewitt, although it sounded pretty one-sided. He confessed the whole thing to me before he died. I’ve got him on tape.”

“Oh my God,” Marybeth said. “Did he kill himself?”

“He had help.”

Joe briefed her as succinctly as he could about Dr. Tom Arthur’s involvement.

“Was he the shooter?” she asked, incredulous. “Our doctor shot our county attorney in the street?”

“Yup. At least that’s what it looks like.”

“He tried to kill you at the same time?”

“He missed.”

Joe chose not to tell her about his face and neck.

“This is insane,” she said.

“Agreed. Like I said, we’re going out to Arthur’s house now. We’ve got him outmanned and outgunned. I don’t know if we’ll catch him there, but that’s the plan.”

“You need to be careful,” she said. “He’s shown he’s desperate and he’s proved he can kill from a long distance.”

“I’m glad it’s dark,” Joe said. Despite Arthur’s long-range skill, darkness would complicate an accurate shot. If it weren’t for the illumation of the streetlights in town, Patterson would likely still be alive.