Ken Mercer was not in a good mood. Holmes County was normally a little over an hour’s drive from Columbus. Because of the hazardous road conditions and a slew of accidents they encountered along the way, the trip had taken nearly three hours, despite the deep-snow prowess of Bertrand’s Subaru Outback. The plows had deposited ten feet of snow on both sides of the highway, which had been narrowed to a single lane in places. With the wind cranking to thirty knots, snow continued to drift across the tops of the peaks, giving the road a bizarre, tunnel-like countenance. Weather aside, he was ready to put this unpleasant task behind him as quickly and discreetly as possible.
They arrived in Painters Mill proper with a band of snow that lent the town a quaint, storybook ambience. Most of the businesses along Main Street had opened despite the inclement weather. A bakery. A couple of tourist shops. Nice little coffeehouse. An old man wearing insulated coveralls operated a snowblower outside an old-fashioned barbershop.
“Fucking Mayberry,” Mercer said beneath his breath as they crept down the street.
“Yep.” Bertrand stared out the window, sour faced and sullen. “They took care of Tyson last night. Clean hit. Ambush.”
Mercer nodded, felt his mood darkening even more. “Hated to do that. He was young.”
“Couldn’t be helped. He was tight with Colorosa.” Bertrand growled. “Should’ve chosen his company a little more carefully.”
Mercer was relieved he hadn’t been involved. Two thugs had owed Bertrand a favor. He’d called in the marker, and they’d gotten it done without either of them having to get their hands bloody. It disgusted Mercer that a man’s life—a cop’s life—could be bought and sold so cheaply.
“Did you check with tow companies to see if any of them towed the truck Colorosa was driving?” Bertrand asked.
“There are two, and neither has towed a tan Ford F-150. No one remembers seeing a woman matching her description. As far as we know it’s stuck in a snowdrift somewhere.”
“She’s being careful.” Bertrand looked out the window, made a halfhearted effort not to snarl. “What else we got?”
“There’s one motel in town. Half a dozen B and Bs. We’ll check them all while we’re here.”
“What about Burkholder?” Bertrand said.
What about her indeed? Mercer had spent most of last night thinking about her. Remembering things he was probably better off not recalling. Ten years ago, Kate Burkholder had been an idealistic young cop with a reputation for doing things by the book. She was pretty in a girl-next-door kind of way, religious and trying not to show it, and ready to dive into a world she wasn’t quite ready for.
In some ways, Kate had been more of a challenge than Colorosa. Not because she was a player, but because she was young and inexperienced. The first time he’d taken her to bed, he’d half expected her to be a virgin. To his surprise, she wasn’t. He’d slept with half a dozen women since, but he’d never forgotten Kate.
Realizing Bertrand was still waiting for an answer, he shook off the memory and set his mind on the business at hand. “She lives on a farm up in Wooster. Became chief here in Painters Mill shortly after leaving Columbus. Three full-time officers. Two part-timers. No marks against her.” He shrugged. “That’s about it.”
“I can’t see a chief of police taking in a fugitive,” Bertrand muttered. “Not without notifying someone.”
Mercer shrugged. “They were tight back in the day.”
“Or maybe Colorosa is talking and Burkholder is listening.”
“Maybe.”
“You call the hospital in Millersburg?”
“Clinics, too. No sign of her. No gunshot wounds treated recently.”
Bertrand nodded. “We need to pull out all the stops on Colorosa.”
“Everything’s in the works.” Mercer turned down the heat, knowing that the sweat he’d broken beneath his coat had nothing to do with the temperature.
“Let’s check the motel first.”