Deadly Webs Omnibus Read online

  “Anything else?” Michelle asked.

  “Um, yes,” Grant said, tucking the pen and notepad into his jacket pocket, hoping that this second wave of heat didn’t flush his cheeks too much. “I wanted to speak with some of Mallory’s teachers.”

  “I’ll have Mrs. Harlow print out a schedule. I’m sure one of her teachers is on their free period right now.”

  It turned out there was a teacher on her free period. And it had been the same teacher that had alerted the principal that Mallory was not in class. Ann Colthern was a mousy woman and fit every stereotypical version of the eccentric English teacher. Her hair was wild and frizzy, sprouting from her head in random, untamed directions. She wore glasses as thick as coke bottles, and she curled her body inward as if opening up would expose her to an inescapable doom.

  “I just can’t believe this is happening,” Mrs. Colthern said, dabbing a tissue under each eye, neither of which looked to be wet. “She was such a sweet girl.”

  Grant ignored the show. He’d interviewed enough people in his lifetime to know when someone was playing it up. Not that he doubted the woman’s distress; he just didn’t think it was as bad as she was letting on. “And did Mallory mention anything to you about trouble at home?”

  “No, but I do know her mother works a lot.” Mrs. Colthern shook her head. “Single mother. I heard the father is a deadbeat. Poor thing doesn’t even know him. That sort of thing can cause a lot of trauma, especially in the mind of a young girl.”

  “Mallory told you this?” Grant asked.

  “Well, no, but you know how people talk.”

  “I do,” Grant replied, ignoring the scowl Mrs. Colthern made after the remark. “Is there anyone else she was close with here at the school? Friends? Other teachers?”

  Mrs. Colthern shook her head, again adding a few dry dabs beneath her eye with the corner of her tissue. “She kept to herself a lot. Many things have changed since I was a student, but the intelligent loner as an outcast isn’t one of them.” She reached for a stack of papers on her desk, shuffled through them, then handed one of them to Grant.

  A red A+ was circled at the top, accented with a smiley face, and Grant saw the name Mallory Givens written across the top.

  “She was such a talented writer,” Mrs. Colthern said. “Always scribbling in her notebook. She was one of those students a teacher comes across maybe once a decade that makes you remember why you got into the profession in the first place.” She smiled. “Such a treat.”

  Grant had never excelled in writing, but he could appreciate a good yarn. And from the small snippet he viewed of Mallory’s prose, he admitted that it was entertaining.

  “Do you have any more of her work?” Grant asked.

  “Of course!” Mrs. Colthern spun around and opened one of the drawers of a filing cabinet behind her desk. She shuffled through the folders and then pulled one out that was four inches thick. Still smiling, she handed over the documents. “Mallory was always doing assignments for extra credit. Not that she needed it for the grades. She just enjoyed the challenge.”

  “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Colthern.”

  “If you need anything else, please, let me know.” Mrs. Colthern grabbed Grant by the arm, her small hands unable to curl all the way around his bicep, which she squeezed tightly.

  Grant gave a curt nod. “I will. Thank you.”

  When Grant stepped out of the classroom and back into the hallway, there were a few dings over the PA system which signaled the end of the current period, and a few seconds later the empty hallway was flooded with middle schoolers.

  They traveled in packs, clusters of friends discussing anything but school. They chased after one another, the hall a cacophony of shrieks, laughter, and chatter. For a moment Grant was transported back in time, almost twenty-five years, to when he walked the halls of his own middle school. He could still remember his friends, the excitement, the drama, the fear that accompanied growing up in the jungle that was the public school system. He remembered students like Mallory, and while he didn’t participate in their ridicule, he didn’t do anything to stop it because it would have exposed him, and if there was one thing kids held onto during this phase in their life, it was safety in numbers.

  Grant shuffled his way through the hordes of students and found Michelle speaking with Mrs. Harlow in the office. She stepped out of their glass-encased box of an administration office and handed him a folder.

  “This was everything she had,” Michelle said. “If you need any—Jimmy! Slow down!” The boy did as he was told, and she turned back to Grant, giving a nervous laugh. “Sorry about that.”

  “Remind me to never run in the halls,” Grant said then kicked himself for the stupid line. “I appreciate the help.” He reached into his pocket with his left hand and extended his card. “If you think of anything else, just call.” He paused. “I’d love to hear from you.”

  And now it was Michelle’s turn to blush, but as she took the card from his hand, she paused when her eyes caught the gold band around Grant’s ring finger. He noticed her pause and then followed her line of sight to the ring. She let go of the card and took a step back.

  “I can just call the department if I have anything,” Michelle said, crossing her arms. “I’m sure they can put me through to you.” The bell chimed, signaling the end of the transition into the next period. “Have a nice day, Detective Grant.”

  Michelle Tanner disappeared into her office, and Grant remained frozen in the empty hall as the last few classroom doors shut, with his hand still extended with his card. Finally, after a minute, he lowered his arm and then trudged out of Southside Middle and into the parking lot.

  Grant flexed his hand, looking down at the ring. He’d forgotten it was there, which was easy to do since he never took it off. And even if he did, that gold circle would never disappear. It represented a past that he couldn’t shake. When he reached his car door, a gust of wind gave an abnormal chill that seeped into his bones. He got inside the car quickly, and then his phone buzzed. It was Mocks.

  “What’d you find at the house?” Grant asked.

  “Not much,” Mocks answered. “There weren’t any signs of forced entry, and the girl’s room had a window that led to a fire escape. The window was still unlocked, so it looks like she may have left of her own will.”

  “Yeah, that fits with what I’m thinking as well. Both the principal and one of her teachers confirmed that Mallory was a loner. I think her English teacher may have been her best friend.”

  Mocks snorted. “Yeah, I don’t think she was winning any popularity contests.”

  “Did you find a notebook or journal anywhere in her room?” Grant asked.

  “A lot of books, but nothing like that. Why?”

  “Her English teacher said she always had a notebook she was scribbling things down in. If we found that, we might have a better idea of where she went and who went with her.” And the more and more Grant thought about it, the more he started to think that Mallory really did leave of her own accord. It seemed like the only thing going for her at the time was the fact that she was good in school. Her mother was never at home, and anyone that spent time with her would have realized that. Especially adults who could use that to their advantage.

  “Listen,” Mocks said, breaking Grant’s train of thought. “The dad’s probation officer got back to me. It looks like our father-of-the-year broke parole. He hasn’t heard from him in over a month. But I pulled some old property records, and it looks like the dad’s uncle has some property upstate.”

  Grant arched his eyebrows. “Upstate from Seattle?”

  “Yeah, so you can probably guess who just jumped up on our most wanted list.”

  “I can.”

  Seattle had a few growing problems. The first was the number of sex traffickers using ports to smuggle bodies from Pacific nations. Most were young girls, poor and desperate and tricked into thinking that they were heading for a better life. The second was the home
less epidemic. And the third was drugs, specifically opioids and meth that had manifested and been cultivated in Washington State’s northern border. It was an easy location to smuggle drugs from our great neighbors to the north and into the wooded areas where drug labs had popped up like camping sites.

  “We should ride together,” Grant said, getting into his car. “You head back to the station, and I’ll pick you up on the way.”

  “My money’s on deadbeat dad,” Mocks said. “Nine out of ten times it’s always family.”

  Grant started the engine. “We’ll find out when we find him.”

  ***

  Civilization disappeared the farther north they drove. Every mile Grant saw fewer buildings and more trees. But that was the way the people who lived up here liked it. There were times when Grant pondered the life of isolation. He imagined it was incredibly simple. Simple could be good. But if he was alone, then he’d be stuck in his own mind all day, every day. And that would drive him mad.

  Mocks flicked her Bic lighter. It was her own way of dealing with the nerves. Grant didn’t mind the quiet though. It gave him time to think.

  But there was a roadblock that kept appearing: Principal Tanner. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get the woman off of his mind. And with the case in front of him, that distraction was dangerous, both personally and professionally.

  “How did they communicate?” Mocks asked, peeking out from behind her shroud of silence. “Mallory and her dad?” She turned to face Grant. “She didn’t have a phone, and the dad’s background didn’t strike me as someone who would become a pen pal.”

  Grant shook his head, ridding himself of Michelle’s smile. “They could have met somewhere. The mom worked really late. It gave Mallory plenty of time to leave and come back without Mom being the wiser.”

  The turn off the highway was onto a dirt road, which was still wet from the morning rain, and Grant was forced to slow his speed down the one-lane path. They passed two trailers on their journey deeper into the woods, and their inhabitants scurried from their lawn chairs and back inside the moment they saw the car.

  “Looks like they’ve seen cops up here before,” Grant said.

  “I didn’t think we were that obvious,” Mocks replied.

  “Radio dispatch, give them an update on our location and have a unit on standby in case we need it.” Grant reached for his phone and checked the reception. “My phone doesn’t have a signal.”

  There had been a few cases of missing persons that had led Grant this far north before, and he discovered that the folks who enjoyed living on their own did not enjoy others meddling in their affairs. And when push came to shove, they were not afraid to shove back.

  They arrived at the trailer that matched the address Mocks found from the property records, and the brakes squeaked when Grant stopped the car.

  “You think he’ll run?” Mocks asked, unclipping her seat belt.

  “He might,” Grant answered.

  The sky was overcast, which only made the cold linger. It was worse up in the mountains. But the cold wind also carried the sounds of nature: birds, insects, and the light rustle of leaves. Grant would have considered it peaceful if not for the purpose of their mission.

  Both Grant and Mocks kept one hand on the butt of their service pistols as they approached the trailer. There were a few chairs in the yard, along with the truck that towed the trailer up here. The hunk of junk didn’t look like it ran anymore, but Grant made sure to box it in with his car anyway. The windows were taped over, a telltale sign that it was a drug lab.

  A rusted awning sat above the front door, and Grant pounded hard enough to shake the whole trailer and loosen some rust flakes that drifted to the ground. “Seattle PD! Open up!”

  Mocks kept her head on a swivel, her eyes scanning the area while Grant watched the door. It was quiet for a few seconds, and just before he pounded his fist on the door again, there was a loud crack that came from the back of the trailer. Mocks sprinted around the side, and Grant bust down the front door.

  A wave of heat and the stench of chemicals flooded his senses, stinging his eyes and nose. He blindly stumbled into the trailer and, through the back door exit where the suspect had fled, saw Mocks chasing him down, and he joined the pursuit, sprinting into the woods.

  The thick trees provided plenty of cover for their suspect to hide, and as the man darted between the trees, Grant thought he’d lost their man at least a half-dozen times.

  “Freeze! Police department!” Both Grant and Mocks repeated the order on their sprint, but Mr. Hoverty didn’t stop.

  A rock formation appeared, and Mr. Hoverty climbed over it to the other side with ease. Grant motioned for Mocks to stop, but his partner continued forward.

  “Mocks, no!” Grant said.

  Hoverty emerged at the top of the rock’s ledge, now armed with a rifle, and fired. Bullets disfigured the tree Mocks ducked behind, and Grant raised his 9mm Glock in retaliation.

  The ring of the gunshot, along with the recoil, paralyzed him for a moment. It’d been two years since he’d fired his weapon in the field, and he’d forgotten how harsh the sound of the gunshot was without ear protection.

  But the bullet did its job as Hoverty ducked back behind the rock while Grant and Mocks exchanged a glance from behind their respective trees. She motioned to curve around to the back side and take him by surprise. Grant nodded, the ringing still piercing his ears.

  Grant craned his neck around the tree trunk, his right shoulder scraping against the rough pine. He immediately directed his eyes toward the cluster of rocks which provided plenty of juts and mounds for Hoverty to maneuver.

  Two leaping steps and Grant ducked behind the cover of the next tree, repeating the process of ensuring Hoverty was still behind the rocks before each adrenaline-fueled sprint. Between runs, another gunshot thundered from the rocks, and Grant saw Mocks crouched low behind one of the thinner trees where Hoverty had pinned her down with gunfire.

  Grant stepped around the trunk of his own tree, exposing himself to gunfire, and managed to squeeze off three shots that sent Hoverty cowering behind the rocks. Grant glanced left and saw a clear path up the left side of the rocky protrusion. He sprinted up the uneven slope, his lungs catching fire from the cold air. His eyes stayed glued to the ridgeline, knowing that any moment Hoverty could appear over the side and blow him off the face of the earth. But he didn’t.

  Grant leapt over the ledge, Hoverty too busy reloading his rifle to notice the detective barreling down on him. Grant tackled Hoverty, and the pair rolled down the back side, elbows, knees, and limbs smacking against the hard and jagged edges of rock, the cold amplifying the pain by ten.

  Their tumble ended at the base of the rocks, and Grant and Hoverty rolled onto the soil and leaves. Both the Glock and rifle had left their owners’ hands, and Grant did his best to corral the pain from the collisions down the mountain, searching for the pistol.

  Finally, Grant spied the Glock in the dirt, and he scrambled on all fours toward it until a heavy weight flattened him back to the earth.

  Hoverty rammed his fist into the detective’s lower back and left side. Grant jammed his elbow into Hoverty’s rib and knocked him off. A gunshot rang out, and for a moment Grant thought Hoverty had gotten hold of his rifle. But instead of pain, he heard Mocks’s voice.

  “Grant! You all right?”

  The combination of the punches and the fall from the rocks left him groaning as he pushed himself off the ground slowly. “Yeah.” He retrieved the pistol, holstered the weapon, and then removed his handcuffs. Grant manhandled Hoverty onto his stomach and pinched the steel around his wrists nice and tight. With the suspect apprehended, Grant took a moment to catch his breath while Mocks finally lowered her own weapon.

  “You’re sure you’re all right?” Mocks asked.

  “Just need to catch my breath.” Grant nodded toward Hoverty. “Let’s get him back to the trailer. See why he was in such a hurry to run.”

/>   Chapter 4

  Grant’s inquiry into why Hoverty had run didn’t take much investigation. The inside of the trailer was filled with enough drug paraphernalia to supply meth to the entire state of Washington. And in addition to the drugs, Grant found a trove of unregistered firearms, along with a filing cabinet filled with documents that seemed out of place.

  Mocks poked her head inside just as Grant started sifting through them. “Backup is on their way. Might be a while though since the closest unit is in another county.” She gestured to the cabinet. “What’d you find?”

  Blank forms with legal jargon plastered over the pages. “They look like government forms.” Grant shook his head. “It’s nothing I recognize though.”

  Mocks stepped inside, and Grant handed her a stack of the papers. “Christ, the whole cabinet is full of them.”

  Grant stepped outside, a handful of the papers still in his hand, and made his way to the car where Hoverty sat in the backseat, handcuffed. He flung the door open and shoved the papers into Hoverty’s face. “What are these?”

  Hoverty kept his face forward. His cheeks were thick with a matted beard, and his forehead and neck beaded sweat, despite the frigid cold. Grant figured he must have been coming down off of something. The man wouldn’t stop shaking.

  “You’ve got a trailer full of drugs and firearms, and you assaulted two police officers,” Grant said. “You don’t have a lot of leverage right now.”

  “All that stuff was in the fuckin’ place when I got there, man.” Hoverty kept his head low when he spoke. “All I do is show up and make the drugs. They don’t tell me nothin’ else.”

  “Who’s they?” Grant asked.

  Hoverty chuckled. “Like I’m gonna tell you, shithead?”

  Grant glanced down at his watch, the timer just now reaching the five-and-a-half-hour mark. Once they crossed into six-hour territory, it was a race to find Mallory before it hit twelve. After that the chances of finding her were cut in half every subsequent hour. There wasn’t time for delicacy.