They all piled into Ross’s car for the short trip down the highway to the rickety farmhouse. Ross and Adams were in the front, Meeker sat against the passenger door in the back, Asher in the middle with Reese on the far side. Needing to size this up one final time, they slowly drove by the place. Once they’d rounded the curve and were out of sight, they turned around and did it again.
“There’s another car there now,” Ross noted.
“Did you note the make and color?” Meeker asked, as if already knowing the answer.
Reese beat Ross. “It was a dark Graham Sharknose coupe.”
“We’ve seen it before,” Meeker noted.
Snapping his fingers, Reese said, “That was the car that delivered the cash to McGrew.”
Meeker nodded. “So we were right about the identity of the man Pistolwhip wouldn’t give up.”
When they were about a quarter mile beyond the home, Ross pulled the sedan off the highway and into the ditch. Popping the hood, he got out and jerked the wire loose from the coil. That way, if Asher could convince Burgess to walk to her car with her, he’d find it not working.
“Everyone know what they’re doing?” Reese asked, as he stepped out into the cold night air.
They all grimly nodded as they checked their weapons. Meeker and Reese had FBI-issued handguns. Adams and Ross yanked Thompson submachine guns from the trunk and snapped in the ammo. Trying to lighten the mood, Asher pulled her compact from her purse and dabbed a bit of powder on her cheeks.
“My weapon is loaded,” she nervously announced.
“You’ll never be out of sight,” Ross assured. “If he makes any kind of move, it will be his last.”
“Check your watches,” Reese ordered. “Asher, you make your move to the front door in ten minutes. When we see you engage the man, we’ll sneak in the back door.”
“What if it’s locked?” Adams asked.
“It’s an old house,” Reese said. “I’ve got the hardware to pick old locks right here in my pocket.”
“Good luck,” Ross said.
“Be smart,” Reese added. “A little girl’s life hangs in the balance.”
The trio from Little Rock headed down the road toward the house while Meeker and Reese cut across the highway and into the woods. The trek through the brush was not easy until they finally stumbled onto an animal path. Following it, they quickly made it to the edge of the woods by the house. Leaning against a large oak, they waited.
Two minutes later, they spotted Asher. She took a deep breath and then clumsily jogged up to the house. As she was wearing pumps, it wasn’t easy to traverse the rocky ground. Getting to the porch, she noisily clomped up the steps and began to pound on the door. As she knocked, she yelled, “I need some help.” She screamed it four times before the door cracked open.
“What’s going on?” a woman asked.
“My car broke down about a hundred yards back up the road,” Asher breathlessly explained. Her performance was first rate. She sounded hysterical, or maybe by this time she actually was.
“I need to use your phone to call someone,” she begged, her voice ragged.
The door was still only halfway open, and the woman behind it didn’t seem inclined to open it any wider. In a firm voice, she announced, “We don’t have a phone.”
“But I need help. Maybe your husband could help me.”
“I’m not married,” the woman answered. “And Kosh is only a half mile down the road. You can find someone with a phone there.”
The woman tried to shut the door, but Asher stepped in to block the move. “Isn’t there someone here who could look at it? Or give me a ride to town? I’m scared to walk in the dark. I’m just a helpless woman who needs a friend.”
“What’s going on here?” a man hollered from inside the house. His voice was edgy and coarse.
“This woman’s had car trouble,” the woman snapped. “I told her we can’t help, but she won’t leave.”
Asher made her move. “I need a man. Would you please help me? I’ll make it worth your time and effort.”
The hint of a reward must have motivated Burgess; a few seconds later, he pulled the door open and stepped out onto the porch. “What’s your problem?”
“It just quit running,” she explained. “It’s about a hundred yards up the road. Would you take a look at it for me?”
“Let’s go,” Reese whispered to Meeker. “This is as good a chance as we’ll get.”
The two stole up the side of the house. Hiding between a bushy cedar and the home, Meeker peeked into the living room window. The woman was standing at the door, looking out to where Burgess and Asher were still talking on the porch.
“The girl’s not in here,” Meeker whispered.
Moving to the next window, they looked into a vacant kitchen. There appeared to be another room beyond it, but that window was on the back side of the old house. So she signaled for them to move on. A few steps later they were in a very ill-kept backyard. A few dozen empty tin cans had been thrown out just beyond the back door, and two broken chairs leaned against the wall alongside a barrel spilling over with trash.
After quickly surveying the scene, Meeker pointed to the window in the nearest wall. Fortunately there was a light on. While Reese kept his gun aimed at the back door, Meeker sneaked up and looked in. The room was tiny, not more than six feet by eight. It contained a small bed and a chair. Sitting on the bed talking to a sad-looking doll was a little girl. From all the times she’d stared at her pictures, studying even the most minute details, Meeker was quickly convinced it was Rose Hall. So this was it. They had to move now!
Ducking away from the window, she pointed to the room and nodded. Reese’s affirming look was all she needed. Crouching down, she hurried to the back door. With the man at her side, she climbed up the two wooden steps and tried the handle. It was locked. She pulled her gun and stepped out of the way as Reese crouched down and examined the keyhole. Yanking a couple of tools from his pocket, he went to work. It took him sixty seconds to complete his mission.
“Try it now,” he whispered.
She twisted it to the right and it clicked. Inch by inch she eased it opened. As she did, she heard the voices of Asher and Burgess coming through the house from the front porch.
Meeker silently stepped into a room containing a cot and an old wooden chair. There were four dresses hanging in one corner, a few magazines tossed on the lone end table, and some women’s shoes pushed under the cot. This must’ve been where Clara slept. To the left was a door that led to Rose’s room. Halfway up the door was a large bent nail pushed through a hook that held the latch in place. Helen grimaced. When they put Rose to bed, they made sure she stayed there.
Meeker pointed it out to Reese. He nodded and moved soundlessly in the other direction. Pushing past Meeker, he slid beside the archway leading into the kitchen. He kneeled there, aiming his gun at the lone figure in the living room. Then when he was set, Meeker stole the rest of the way through the back room to Rose’s locked door. Silently she yanked the nail out, dropping it into her pocket. She eased the latch back and pushed the door open. As she stepped into the tiny room, she touched her lips with her left index finger and whispered, “I’m here to take you back to your real parents.”
“My parents?” Rose whispered back. “Clara said they didn’t want me.”
“Clara lied,” Meeker said. “She’s a bad woman. Your parents want you more than you can imagine. Now, we have to be very, very quiet.”
Slipping her gun into her own coat pocket, she found the girl’s shoes and managed to get them on her feet. Just as she did, chaos erupted in the front room.
“Mitch!” Clara screamed. “Someone’s in the house!”
The man cursed while slamming the door shut. A second later, gunfire broke out. Three shots sounded, one from close range and the others from the front of the house. Scooping the girl into her arms, Meeker pulled the door open and stepped out. The first thing she saw was her partner face down on the floor. Filling the archway leading to the kitchen was Mitchell Burgess.