Detection Detail
Author
Terri Reed
Reads
17.9K
Chapters
21
ONE
Officer Nelson Rivers puzzled over the mysterious car fire he and his accelerant detection dog, a yellow Lab named Diesel, had recently worked. An unconscious, unidentified victim. A possible missing baby. Who set the fire and why?
So many questions. He hoped the forensic team would be able to provide answers at this morning’s briefing.
He turned into the parking lot of the Rocky Mountain K-9 Unit headquarters, located on the outskirts of Denver. The sizable campus also housed the FBI K-9 training center. The two-story building, made of redbrick and beige shingles, was dwarfed by the Rockies in the distance. An American flag mounted on a pole flapped over the front entrance in the cool April morning breeze.
He parked in his usual spot, then led Diesel to the entrance, where he used his access code to enter the building.
He waved to Jodie Chen, assistant to their boss, Sergeant Tyson Wilkes, on his way to the conference room. Adjacent to Jodie’s office was Tyson’s large, glass-encased office, but Nelson could see the sergeant and the other K-9 unit members already assembling for the Monday morning meeting in the huge, glass-walled conference room, the center piece of the first floor.
After settling Diesel in his kennel next to Nelson’s desk, he headed into the conference room. He took a seat next to his army ranger buddy, K-9 handler Ben Sawyer.
Ben clapped him on the back. Over six feet of muscled rancher turned lawman, Ben always had a bit of scruff on his face and in his attitude. He hailed from Wyoming and dressed the part with well-worn jeans, a chambray shirt and a Stetson covering his dark hair. After his service with the army, he’d been a K-9 handler with the Wyoming State Police K-9 Unit. Then Tyson had recruited him to the RMKU when he began the unit six months ago.
Ben’s partner, a Doberman named Shadow, excelled in protection and apprehension. “Heard you caught a fire,” Ben drawled.
“That we did,” Nelson replied, stretching out his legs beneath the oblong wooden table. As the only arson detection team in the unit, he and Diesel had deployed Friday night to a fire near the entrance to the Rocky Mountain State Park.
It wasn’t unusual for any of the K-9 teams of the RMKU to be deployed for various different emergencies. They were under contract for the year to the FBI to serve as a mobile response unit assisting authorities on cases within the diverse and far-reaching terrain of the Rocky Mountain region. If all went well, their unit would become a permanent addition to the FBI. There was never a dull moment on the job, and Nelson loved it.
“Was it bad?” The question came from Harlow Zane, originally from the Santa Fe K-9 Unit, seated across the table. She and her partner, a female beagle named Nell, specialized in cadaver detection.
“Nobody dead on scene. One unconscious victim.” Nelson’s gut clenched with dread. “Possible missing baby.”
Frowning, Harlow smoothed back a wayward strand of blond hair from her bun. “Good and bad, then.”
“Should we head out there?” Lucas Hudson asked from a few seats down. He and his dog, Angel, a female border collie, handled search and rescue and had come to the team along with Nelson from the Idaho State Police K-9 Unit.
From the front of the room, their boss, Tyson, answered, “At this point there is no evidence beyond an empty car seat to suggest a missing child.” Tyson met Nelson’s gaze. “Nelson, tell us what you and Diesel discovered.”
Nelson rose. “We arrived on scene to find a car on fire, a midsize sedan, but thankfully the wildland fire management team had the blaze under control. The accelerant used was denatured alcohol, a clear colorless ethanol deliberately infused with hard-to-separate lethal substances meant to keep people from digesting the liquid. It’s normally used as a solvent, a cleaning agent and even a pest exterminator. Highly flammable, and when ignited, water is ineffective in putting out the flames. The wildland fire team used specialized foam to douse the blaze.”
A murmur of surprise rippled through the room.
“From the direction the car faced, the driver most likely was coming from the park,” Nelson continued. “Black tire marks crisscrossed the asphalt, suggesting the driver had lost control of the vehicle. Icy roads in April aren’t uncommon, especially at the higher elevations.”
Tyson taped up a photo of a woman with curly, short brown hair and hazel eyes on the glass wall beside him. “This is our victim, who is in a coma. The Boulder PD have identified her as Kate Montgomery, a wildlife artist from here in Denver. Single. No children. We are operating on the assumption she was driving the car since the vehicle was registered to her.”
Nelson nodded agreement. “However, an infant car seat had been flung on its side farther down the road and a pale pink baby blanket lay nearby, along with the unconscious victim.” Nelson frowned at the memory. “There were no signs of an infant in the vicinity.” He and the officers on scene had searched. “But there were drops of the accelerant and tire tracks fifty feet from the burning car.”
“It certainly seems like some sort of abduction,” Daniella Vargas said. Her ebony eyes held a grim expression. The tough, no-nonsense woman, who’d joined the team from the Montana State Police K-9 Unit, was a bit of loner. Her dog, a Malinois named Zara, was a fierce protection dog. “But they obviously didn’t want to kill Miss Montgomery.”
“Or they believed they had,” offered Reece Campbell. The former Denver K-9 Unit officer and his male German shepherd, Maverick, were the best crime scene detection duo around.
“Paramedics had to use lifesaving measures on the victim,” Nelson told the group, confirming Reece’s suspicion.
“Which explains the coma,” Chris Fuller stated dryly, as he folded himself into a chair at the end of the table.
The former Phoenix K-9 officer sported a scar over his left eyebrow. Nelson had never asked the brooding man how he’d obtained it. Ben would know. However, Nelson chose to stay out of the tension between the two half siblings. Chris and his dog, Teddy, a spaniel, specialized in tracking, had an impressive record that had helped Ben convince Tyson to bring his half brother on the team.
“Indeed,” Tyson said. Turning back to the glass wall, Tyson taped up photos of the car seat, the pink baby blanket, photos of the tire tracks as well as the drops of denatured alcohol in the dirt. “The Boulder PD relinquished the evidence to our forensic expert. Russ and his team worked around the clock this weekend and confirmed the drops found away from the car were denatured alcohol. He hasn’t matched the tire prints to a specific type yet. However, Russ did find two strands of hair clinging to the baby blanket, which have been identified as belonging to this woman.” He taped up the Department of Motor Vehicles image from the driver’s license of a long-haired platinum blonde with brown eyes. “Mia Turner. She was arrested and tried for arson ten years ago.”
Nelson sucked in a breath. Had this woman torched the car? “Tried but not convicted?”
“Correct,” Tyson said. “I’ve asked Jodie to work up a dossier on the woman. Nelson, you and Diesel go interview her. See if she has an alibi for Friday night’s fire.”
“Will do.” If this woman was responsible for the burned car and the comatose woman, she might also know if there was a missing baby or not.
One way or another, Nelson would find the truth.
Sitting at her round dining room table, Mia Turner slammed down the phone and dropped her head into her hands. “Another cancellation.”
The fourth today. Because of the negative online reviews.
Which she had no doubt were part of her business rival Ron Davies’s smear campaign to put Jem’s Rentals out of business.
Normally April marked the beginning of the seasonal equipment rentals and the hiking, kayak and canoe tours she led. But as of now, her calendar was blank. Which meant no money coming in to pay the bills.
Her great-uncle Jem, upon whose death Mia had inherited the business, had started Jem’s Rentals thirty years ago. The company had been providing all the necessary gear for any activity on Dillon Reservoir, a freshwater lake in the middle of Summit County, Colorado.
Now Ron, a local that Mia had gone to high school with, had returned to town from wherever he’d been for the past ten years and opened up his own equipment rental company near the marina. He was doing all he could to hurt the competition—namely her.
If this kept up, she had no idea how long she’d be able to keep the rental company going. It was her only source of income at the moment. Plus, she’d promised Jem she’d take care of the business that he was bequeathing to her. She wasn’t going down without a fight.
She itched to give Ron a piece of her mind. Her fingers curled as she glanced out at the dark night visible through the windows of the cabin she’d also inherited. The two-story, A-frame structure sat among the spruce, pine and fir trees native to the high country. Her best memories were here at the cabin and the lake.
The bad online reviews and the tires slashed on Jem’s old truck were mean-spirited attempts to drive Mia out.
The police had been no help when she’d filed a complaint, not that she expected assistance from them. She couldn’t rely on anyone.
Her heart beat a bit too fast, and anxiety fluttered in her stomach. She took deep, calming breaths that did not work to ease the tingles of doom coursing through her veins. Why was she so edgy?
“Lord, please, give me peace,” she prayed aloud.
Peace. A foreign concept.
Since the night of the warehouse party fire ten years ago, Mia had not known peace. She believed, with her whole heart, someone had planted the evidence that ruined her and her best friend Lindsey Gates’s lives. There would be no peace until Mia exonerated Lindsey, who sat in jail convicted of a crime she hadn’t committed.
A whisper of a noise outside the front window had Mia jumping to her feet.
Dread slithered up her spine, tensing her shoulder muscles.
Just the wind. Right?
Probably.
Maybe.
Or not.
The forest surrounding her cabin teemed with wildlife.
Or humans.
A blast of anger, born of frustration that someone—Ron Davies?—was trying to drive her out of business, and guilt for the seemingly good life she led while Lindsey sat behind bars, straightened her spine and lifted her chin.
She was done with being scared. She couldn’t count on anyone else to protect her or help her. She had to take care of the situation herself.
She’d meet this threat head-on, whether human or animal.
She turned off the dining room light, throwing the cabin into darkness, save for the moonlight spilling through the windows. Silently, she made her way to the decorative storage cabinet in the kitchen, where she kept her weapon and all the research she’d gathered on the warehouse party fire.
Palming her Glock 9mm, she checked the chamber and the magazine. Not many people in Dillon were aware that she once held a PI license that afforded her the ability to carry and made her a good markswoman. She prayed she wouldn’t need to use the weapon. But that would depend on whether she met with a predator or not.
She slipped out the back door. The moon shone bright overhead, the light filtering through the deep forest surrounding her home, and created shadows filled with unseen threats. Who was out here? Why were they tormenting her?
Because she was getting close to the truth of that long-ago night? Or was this simply more of her competitor’s aggressive tactics to put her out of business?
Cautiously, she went down the back porch stairs and made her way toward the front of the cabin. A breeze off the lake sent shivers sliding over her flesh. The nocturnal sounds of insects and small animals foraging for food suddenly quieted, making her halt in her tracks. Unease raised the fine hairs at her nape.
An out-of-place sound, like a dog growling, had her turning her head to listen. She didn’t have a dog, and as far as she knew, neither did her nearest neighbor.
A barrage of gunfire slammed into the side of the cabin, nearly taking her out. The noise was deafening. She dove to the ground, rolling until she bumped up against a stack of wood, providing her cover.
Someone was trying to kill her.
Gunfire!
Nelson crouched behind the large, older model pickup truck listing on flat tires and reeled in Diesel’s leash, bringing the dog close. It took a moment for Nelson to realize the bullets were striking the other side of Mia Turner’s cabin and were not directed at him.
Was Mia the target? Why? Did this have anything to do with the car fire? And most importantly, who was pulling the trigger?
A bubble of frustration lodged in his throat. It had taken him longer than expected to reach the high-country town of Dillon, Colorado. An accident on the highway outside of Denver had all lanes blocked for hours, making it past nightfall by the time he’d arrived at the address and parked a ways down the drive, wanting to get the lay of the land before approaching the house. The place was dark. At first, he had figured Mia wasn’t home.
But then Diesel growled just as the first shots rang out.
A fresh volley of bullets pelted the wooden house. Answering gunfire from near the structure echoed through the forest.
Nelson withdrew his weapon and decided against turning on his flashlight. The last thing he wanted was to make him and Diesel a target. Staying crouched and in the shadows, he and the yellow Lab made their way around to the other side of the big truck. In the ambient light of the moon, he could make out stairs and a porch leading to the back door of the two-story cabin. Was Mia inside the house? Was she the second shooter?
The dossier report showed a handgun registered to Mia as well as an expired private investigator license. A surprising fact that had him wondering what the story was there. What had prompted a woman who’d been tried for a felony to become a private investigator?
The information he’d read on the warehouse fire and the charges brought as a result were straight forward. Mia and her friend, Lindsey Gates, attended a rave party in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Dillon which ended in an inferno that killed one person. Both Mia and Lindsey had been charged with felony arson and manslaughter. Witness accounts claimed Lindsey had brought the accelerant to the party and Mia brought the means to ignite it. However, Mia was acquitted by a jury because the evidence against her didn’t support a conviction. Yes, she’d brought a camp stove that ran on gel fuel to the party along with popcorn, but the prosecution couldn’t tie her to the butane canisters that caused the fire. Lindsey had been convicted and was currently serving time. The evidence against her—a confession note found on her computer, multiple cans of the accelerant found in the trunk of her car and Lindsey’s fingerprints on the remains of the butane canister recovered at the scene—were enough to convince a jury to render a guilty verdict.
Despite what he read, Nelson still had questions. He needed to find out what was going on here and now with Mia. But first, calling for backup took priority. Using his cell phone, he dialed 911. After identifying himself in a low voice to the dispatcher, he explained the situation. The dispatcher promised to send a unit out right away.
Nelson hoped they arrived before anything happened to his suspect. She was their only link to the car fire and the coma victim. If Mia ended up dead, they had no leads to go on. No way to know if there was a missing baby or not. The stakes were high, and it was up to him to find Mia Turner and question her.
He contemplated putting Diesel back into the SUV, but he didn’t want to take the time. His K-9 partner would protect him and sound an alarm, even though protection wasn’t the dog’s specialty. The mild-mannered Lab could be fierce when riled up. It just took a lot to rile him.
In a low crouch, keeping Diesel at his side, Nelson hurried past the porch stairs to the edge of the cabin. He peered around the side in time to see the muzzle flash coming from the forest as more bullets pierced the cabin wall but didn’t hit the windows. Nelson couldn’t see any specific target. Was the shooter’s objective to scare, not kill?
Diesel gave a low growl.
“Diesel, quiet,” Nelson whispered. He didn’t want to draw the gunfire toward them.
Too late, Nelson realized Diesel was warning him of another threat.
The hard barrel of a gun pressed into Nelson’s kidney. Diesel’s growl deepened and he strained against the tight hold Nelson had on his leash.
“Don’t move,” a female voice whispered. “Who are you? Why are you trying to kill me?”
Nelson tucked in his chin. Surprise gave way to chagrin at being caught unawares. “Miss Turner?”
The woman demanded again in a quiet tone, “Tell your cronies to stop shooting at me.”
“Not my cronies,” Nelson whispered back. “Miss Turner, I’m here to question you, not shoot you.”
“Right.”
Staying in a crouch, he shifted to face the woman. She remained in shadow, though he could make out her silhouette. Diesel stopped pulling at the leash and panted, obviously not seeing the gun.
“Put down your weapon,” he said.
Ignoring his words, she asked, “If you’re not with them, who are you?”
Before he could answer, another barrage of gunfire rent the air, this time the bullets definitely directed at them. Dirt spat up at him, inches away from where he huddled. The gunman must have moved so that Nelson, Diesel and the woman were in his line of sight. Nelson holstered his weapon and in a swift move, grabbed the gun in Mia’s hand and wrested it away from her, effectively disarming her. She was after all a suspect in a crime that might involve the abduction of a baby.
She let out a yelp of protest. “Hey!”
Ignoring her outrage, he secured the weapon at his back in the band of his jeans.
More bullets whizzed past his head, splintering the wood of the cabin. He hooked an arm around the woman’s shoulders and hooked his other arm around Diesel’s neck, taking both the dog and woman to the ground, as he said to Diesel, “Belly.”
The dog immediately dropped to lie flat in the dirt.
Nelson covered them with his body, wishing he’d put on a flak vest before leaving RMKU headquarters. He hadn’t anticipated a shootout.
“Stay down,” he commanded to both the woman and the dog.
He rolled to his side and unholstered his weapon. He aimed toward the last muzzle flash he’d seen and fired. A loud curse bounced off the trees. The sound of somebody crashing through the forest echoed in the stillness.
Mia pushed at Nelson and wiggled away until she was free. Jumping to her feet, she said, “I have to go after him.”
Nelson grabbed her by the arm and yanked her back down. “Not in the dark, you don’t.”
A few seconds later, they heard the roar of an engine and a vehicle peel out over graveled rock. The shooter had escaped.
Mia yanked her arm away from him. “Who are you?”
Getting to his feet, he holstered his weapon and looped Diesel’s leash around his hand. “Officer Nelson Rivers of the Rocky Mountain K-9 Unit out of Denver. Why don’t we take this inside?”
He wanted a look at this woman, to see her face, her reaction when he asked her about the car fire. About the missing baby. And why a gunman was targeting her.
