CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

The groundskeeper’s shed sat two hundred yards off the twelfth green and thirteenth tee, on a gravel access road that led to the highway. A line of fir trees mostly camouflaged it from the golfers, a pathetic attempt to fool everyone into thinking the greens and fairways were maintained by mystical fairies instead of an army of illegals.

The officers tasked with raiding the shed were dropped off at the end of the gravel road and ran, with only the moon to guide them, to the woods bordering the golf course. Not wanting to alert anyone who might arrive at the shed from the back, the cop cars and emergency vehicles drove on and waited at a nearby farm.

Jack and Tom Hunter found Lincoln Bishop crouched at the tree line. “Is he in there?” Jack said.

“Someone’s tied to a chair, a plastic bag over his face.”

“He’s alone?”

Bishop nodded. “The chair’s been knocked over. I didn’t see any blood, but I couldn’t tell if he was alive.”

Jack’s gut twisted. He activated his radio and said, voice low, “Eastman, where’s Ryan?”

“Still in the clubhouse. Wait. Here he comes. He’s getting in a golf cart. Coming your way.”

A voice came over the radio. “A car is turning down the drive.”

“Get the plate number.”

“Roger.”

“Eastman,” Jack said. “Is Grant’s truck in the parking lot?”

After a brief pause, “Yes, sir.”

“Where’s Grant?” Jack said to Bishop and Hunter.

“No one has come or gone since I’ve been here,” Bishop said.

Jack keyed his radio again. “Eastman, stay there and keep an eye on Grant’s truck. If he shows up, arrest him.”

“Yes, sir.”

A black Chrysler 500 with blacked-out windows rolled up to the groundskeeper shed and stopped at the same time Chris Ryan arrived in his golf cart. Three men got out of the car. Two looked around the darkened landscape, the other walked up to Chris Ryan and shook his hand.

Jack keyed his radio. “Time for the cavalry.”

“Pretty sure that’s Miguel Pedroza,” Hunter whispered.

“Eddie’s made some high-level enemies,” Jack said.

“You have no idea.”

One man stood by the car, the other accompanied Ryan and Pedroza to the shed. Using the shadow of the woods as cover, the three cops ran in a crouch around the perimeter until the building was between them and the guard.

Jack took out his gun and ran across the small open area and flattened himself against the wall. He motioned for Bishop and Hunter to follow.

“This isn’t McBride!” Pedroza’s thickly accented voice easily carried through the metal wall.

Jack took a deep breath, ran around the corner, and stopped at the edge of the doorway. He peeked around and was immediately spotted by the inside guard. Jack raised his gun, pivoted into the doorway, and put three bullets in the man’s chest before he was able to draw his gun. Bishop ran past the doorway to the edge of the building and waited for the outside guard.

Chris Ryan and Pedroza turned. Pedroza’s hand went into his coat.

“Don’t move,” Hunter yelled.

Jack heard a sickening crunch and then a thud as Bishop took care of the second guard. Hunter stood to Jack’s left, gun trained on Pedroza. “Pull your hand out nice and easy, Pedroza. Hands on your head. You, too, Ryan. On your knees.”

“All clear,” Bishop yelled.

The crunch of tires on gravel announced the arrival of the cavalry.

Jack holstered his gun, went to Pedroza, and removed his gun from his body holster. He handed it to Hunter and cuffed Chris Ryan with a black plastic tie. Hunter shoved the gun in the waist of his pants and cuffed Pedroza. Jack walked to the man on the floor.

Brian Grant lay on the floor, mouth taped, a plastic bag partially torn from his head. His bruised cheeks and blood-coated mouth couldn’t disguise his expression of fear and regret. Jack lifted Brian and his chair upright, pushed the bag completely from his face, and ripped the duct tape from his mouth. “Where’s Eddie?”

“I don’t know. I was out cold when he left.”

“He’s alive?”

“He was last I saw.”

A swarm of police flooded the shed, guns raised.

“Put your guns away, boys,” Hunter said. He lifted Pedroza to his feet. “I’ve waited a long time to get my hands on you,” he said.

“No hablo ingles.”

“Uh-huh.”

Hunter handed Miguel Pedroza off to one of his agents and turned his attention to Ryan, whose smug expression hadn’t changed.

“Is Eddie hurt?” Jack asked Brian.

Brian nodded.

“Bleeding?”

“Doubt it. Chris worked him over some. He was saving him for the Pedrozas.”

Jack bent over to get on Brian’s level. “What were you thinking, Brian?” he said, voice low.

Brian worked his jaw. Tears rimmed his red eyes. “My family needed the money.”

“And now you’re going to jail.”

Jack stood and walked up to Chris, who knelt on the concrete. A couple of sheriff’s deputies started unbinding Brian from the chair.

“You’ve killed four people and kidnapped a federal agent, and for what?”

Chris stared straight ahead. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jack inhaled and counted to ten, hoping the urge to pummel this bastard would pass. Bishop eased next to Jack and, somehow, his six-foot-five presence calmed him. “Take him to county,” he ordered Bishop. He nodded and lifted Chris Ryan to his feet.

“I played against you, you know,” Chris said to Bishop.

“Did you?” Bishop grabbed his elbow and propelled him along.

“Baylor guard, ’88 to ’90. I was on the sideline when you blew your knee. Nasty injury.”

“And here I am, taking you to jail.”

“Funny how life works.”

“Hilarious.”

Miner entered the shed as Bishop left.

“Listen up!” Jack yelled. “Grab some flashlights. We’re searching the surrounding area for Eddie. Miner, you’re in charge.”

He nodded in acknowledgment and started drawling orders to the other men. Jack turned to Brian who rubbed his wrists before the sheriff’s deputy cuffed him again. Jack pulled his iPhone from his pocket, opened the voice app, and hit record.

“Brian Grant, you’re under arrest for kidnapping Sean Edward McBride Junior.” Jack pulled a card from his shirt pocket and read Brian his Miranda rights in front of the deputy then ordered him to go join the search. Jack sat Brian back into the chair, pulled a stool up in front of him, and sat. He tucked the card back into his pocket and buttoned it. “Do you understand these rights as I’ve read them to you?”

“Yes.”

“I’m recording this interrogation. The resulting audio may be used in your prosecution or defense. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want a lawyer, or will you willingly answer my questions?”

“If I do, will it keep me out of jail?”

“Since Eddie’s a federal agent, the final decision is up to the Feds, but your cooperation will go a long way and, if you don’t lie to me, I’ll do everything I can to help you.”

“Even though it was Eddie?”

“I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for Susan and the kids.”

Brian’s shoulders slumped. He bowed his head.

A paramedic came into the shed to look Brian over. “Want me to wait?” he asked Jack.

“Give me five minutes.”

“I’ll be at the rig,” the paramedic said.

“Your brother, Kyle Grant, stated he called you on Tuesday, November 6. What did he say?”

“He told me Eddie was a DEA agent and for me to tell Chris Ryan.”

“Not Michelle Ryan.”

“No. Chris. I told Kyle I worked for Michelle.”

“Since when?” Jack said.

“Monday. She offered me a job.”

“To make up for losing Matt’s contract?”

“To keep me quiet about what I heard at the truck yard after the bonfire.”

“What did you hear?”

“Michelle threaten Matt.”

Jack filed the confirmation of Fred’s story away. “So, you told Kyle you worked for Michelle. What did he say?”

“That her days were numbered and that Chris would take care of me.”

“What did you do?”

“Went to Chris.”

“Did you talk to Michelle at all?”

“No.”

“Did you call Chris? Go see him?”

“I called, told him Kyle had a message. He told me to come out to the club. I came out and demanded he tell me what was going on before I gave him the message.”

“What did he tell you?”

“He told me Michelle was about to be arrested for murdering Matt and Amy, and she killed the men in the Old-Armed Soldier’s House.”

“Chris told you yesterday that Michelle was going to be arrested?”

“Yes.”

Jack tried not to let his elation show. His theory that Chris had planted the gun in Michelle’s dresser was looking more and more likely. “Go on,” he said.

“Chris said Michelle was going to go away for a long time and he was going to take over. He offered to bring me in, but I had to show my loyalty by helping him take care of Eddie.”

“You agreed.”

“Yeah. I went to DI last night and waited for Eddie to get back. I talked to him, distracted him, while Chris snuck up behind him and knocked him out. We brought him out here, and Chris beat him up, then left me to guard him.”

“How did he get free?”

Brian looked away, ashamed and angry. “He taunted me into it. Stupid thing to do.”

Jack stood. “All right. On your feet.”

Brian rose. “Is it enough? Will you help me?” Jack grabbed his arm and propelled him out of the shed. He passed him off to the paramedic at the ambulance when Deputy Eastman ran up, out of breath. “They found him.”

“Where?”

“Curled up in a ball and shivering at the bottom of the sand trap on the thirteenth green.”

“How is he?”

Eastman shook his head. “High as a kite and beat to hell.”