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“Yes, we’re fine, I promise. We jumped over the second-floor railing, managed to land soft, and rolled. All the padding we’re wearing kept us from breaking anything.”
She gave a shaky laugh. “What happened, do you know?”
“When Dane and I went in, the room was empty. I knew in my gut it was a setup even before I saw the device—sitting on the side table, red light blinking right at us—and we got out of there.”
“Which means,” Sherlock said slowly, “that Moses Grace and Claudia got out of that room without us seeing them, somehow hauling Pinky with them. They would have had a remote detonator, a timer, or some kind of trip device.”
Connie said, “They had it all planned out. I’ll bet you anything they used Ruth’s primo snitch to set us up. She’ll rip out his pointed canines.”
Savich said, “That sounds right. We need to find Rolly, Connie, really get in his face. Put out an APB for him. We need to nail him as soon as possible.”
Connie said as she jerked out her cell, “I’ll track him down as quick as I can. They must have gotten out before we ever got here, Dillon. They could have cut through the bathroom wall, since the building is so cheaply built, or maybe they just slipped out the back window in the dark and Dykes didn’t see them. No way they slipped out after we got here.”
Savich said, “Have Police Chief Tumi and his men spread out through the woods and see what they can find. They obviously stashed another car or van somewhere. There’s an access road that runs behind the woods to the east.” But he knew it was too late. They were long gone, enjoying themselves, probably thinking that the cops outside the motel were dead or injured. That he was dead. Savich looked over at the old Chevy van. It was flattened under smoking debris. “Sherlock, we need everyone out here looking for Moses Grace and Claudia. See who you can roust. Dane called nine-one-one, so the fire department should be here soon.”
“Yes, I’m on it. Connie called nine-one-one, too, and probably every other deputy here. You swear to me you’re all right, Dillon?”
He couldn’t believe it, but he grinned into his wrist unit. He had been more scared for Sherlock than for himself. She was okay. “When this is over, I’ll take you dancing.”
He turned to Dane. “At least we’re not freezing to death anymore.”
Dane grinned, his face black with ashes, showing white teeth. “Wasn’t that a kick. A well-thought-out plan, except for that small timing glitch. They wanted you, Savich. I wonder if they saw us jump or if they think you’re dead.”
Twenty minutes later, Savich stood in front of what was left of Hooter’s Motel, watching the fire hoses douse the last of the flames. The smoldering carcass was puffing out black smoke, sending up little spurts of flame, the heat still too intense to get very close. The old building had gone up quickly. He’d had Chief Tumi send two deputies to find the owner, and at that moment he saw Raymond Dykes walking toward him, shoulders slumped, looking white and dazed. Savich wanted to kick the man into the frozen ditch where he and Dane had sheltered after the explosion. He heard Dykes say to himself, “Those bastards. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, this wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m a dead man walking when Marlene finds out.”
The final piece slid into place. Moses Grace had double-crossed Raymond Dykes. It was all a setup, to kill him and as many cops as they could manage.
Dane walked up and stood behind Dykes. In a voice as nonthreatening as a nun’s at vespers, he said, “I can see how you’d be shocked that they blew up your motel, Mr. Dykes.”
“I’ve lost my livelihood here, my whole life.”
“They lied to you and showed you some money and you decided to believe them, right?”
Dykes looked at the smoking bones of his motel. “Only information,” he said, “that’s all they wanted—information. They gave me five hundred dollars, that fast, all smiles—five hundred dollars for a phone call.” He snapped his fingers and moaned, now holding his belly. “Nothing about an explosion. I’m a dead man. You don’t know Marlene.”
“Your wife?”
“No, my sister.”
“So they paid you to tell them if the cops showed up? That was all?”
Dykes nodded, then as if suddenly realizing he was talking to an FBI agent, and saying things he shouldn’t, he gulped and shut his mouth.
Dane said, a bit of threat in his voice, “Too late, Mr. Dykes. If you don’t tell me everything now, we’ll make it real hard for you. You phoned their room when we were getting into position outside?”
She gave a shaky laugh. “What happened, do you know?”
“When Dane and I went in, the room was empty. I knew in my gut it was a setup even before I saw the device—sitting on the side table, red light blinking right at us—and we got out of there.”
“Which means,” Sherlock said slowly, “that Moses Grace and Claudia got out of that room without us seeing them, somehow hauling Pinky with them. They would have had a remote detonator, a timer, or some kind of trip device.”
Connie said, “They had it all planned out. I’ll bet you anything they used Ruth’s primo snitch to set us up. She’ll rip out his pointed canines.”
Savich said, “That sounds right. We need to find Rolly, Connie, really get in his face. Put out an APB for him. We need to nail him as soon as possible.”
Connie said as she jerked out her cell, “I’ll track him down as quick as I can. They must have gotten out before we ever got here, Dillon. They could have cut through the bathroom wall, since the building is so cheaply built, or maybe they just slipped out the back window in the dark and Dykes didn’t see them. No way they slipped out after we got here.”
Savich said, “Have Police Chief Tumi and his men spread out through the woods and see what they can find. They obviously stashed another car or van somewhere. There’s an access road that runs behind the woods to the east.” But he knew it was too late. They were long gone, enjoying themselves, probably thinking that the cops outside the motel were dead or injured. That he was dead. Savich looked over at the old Chevy van. It was flattened under smoking debris. “Sherlock, we need everyone out here looking for Moses Grace and Claudia. See who you can roust. Dane called nine-one-one, so the fire department should be here soon.”
“Yes, I’m on it. Connie called nine-one-one, too, and probably every other deputy here. You swear to me you’re all right, Dillon?”
He couldn’t believe it, but he grinned into his wrist unit. He had been more scared for Sherlock than for himself. She was okay. “When this is over, I’ll take you dancing.”
He turned to Dane. “At least we’re not freezing to death anymore.”
Dane grinned, his face black with ashes, showing white teeth. “Wasn’t that a kick. A well-thought-out plan, except for that small timing glitch. They wanted you, Savich. I wonder if they saw us jump or if they think you’re dead.”
Twenty minutes later, Savich stood in front of what was left of Hooter’s Motel, watching the fire hoses douse the last of the flames. The smoldering carcass was puffing out black smoke, sending up little spurts of flame, the heat still too intense to get very close. The old building had gone up quickly. He’d had Chief Tumi send two deputies to find the owner, and at that moment he saw Raymond Dykes walking toward him, shoulders slumped, looking white and dazed. Savich wanted to kick the man into the frozen ditch where he and Dane had sheltered after the explosion. He heard Dykes say to himself, “Those bastards. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, this wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m a dead man walking when Marlene finds out.”
The final piece slid into place. Moses Grace had double-crossed Raymond Dykes. It was all a setup, to kill him and as many cops as they could manage.
Dane walked up and stood behind Dykes. In a voice as nonthreatening as a nun’s at vespers, he said, “I can see how you’d be shocked that they blew up your motel, Mr. Dykes.”
“I’ve lost my livelihood here, my whole life.”
“They lied to you and showed you some money and you decided to believe them, right?”
Dykes looked at the smoking bones of his motel. “Only information,” he said, “that’s all they wanted—information. They gave me five hundred dollars, that fast, all smiles—five hundred dollars for a phone call.” He snapped his fingers and moaned, now holding his belly. “Nothing about an explosion. I’m a dead man. You don’t know Marlene.”
“Your wife?”
“No, my sister.”
“So they paid you to tell them if the cops showed up? That was all?”
Dykes nodded, then as if suddenly realizing he was talking to an FBI agent, and saying things he shouldn’t, he gulped and shut his mouth.
Dane said, a bit of threat in his voice, “Too late, Mr. Dykes. If you don’t tell me everything now, we’ll make it real hard for you. You phoned their room when we were getting into position outside?”
