Tracer Read online

  “Hell no. You know I’ve got a perfect record in that joint. It’s even written on the bathroom wall. They talk about it in hushed whispers,” Kade said. Circled around to the passenger side.

  “I thought that was because of something you caught in the bathroom?” Drake said. Started the truck and turned the heater fan down low as cold air piped in.

  “Cute,” Kade said. Pursed his lips in mock indignation.

  “It was either they were closed or your mama stuffed you so full last night before leaving you barely it back before falling asleep,” Drake said. “So which is it?”

  Kade kept the look in place. Stared out the window. “The latter. Where we headed this morning anyway?”

  A knowing grin crossed Drake’s face. Forced his head up and down in a small nod.

  Still, he let it go without comment.

  “Back to Hamilton. I wanted to check out the hall where they were having the Agriculture Commission meeting.”

  Kade held his hands out over the vents. Felt warm air. Turned the fan up higher.

  “And what are you hoping to find there?”

  “No idea,” Drake confessed.

  “Awesome,” Kade said. “And you wanted me to come along at the crack of dawn because...?”

  “Because if you’re going to be an investigator, you need to get used to doing this sort of thing.”

  “Hey, I haven’t agreed to that yet,” Kade countered.

  “No,” Drake conceded, “but you haven’t said no either.”

  The topic of conversation shifted to the upcoming NFL playoffs as Drake angled them south through the Bitterroot Valley. The sun was a bit late rising, announcing its arrival with authority.

  Light danced off the Bitterroot River to their left. Refracted off of errant patches of snow to the right.

  Caused them both to lower their visors in front of them.

  Ten minutes shy of nine, Drake parked the truck outside the Town Hall.

  A one story structure, the building stretched thirty feet across. Twice that in length.

  The entire outside was done in red brick. No windows. A pair of double glass doors out front.

  No signs of life anywhere.

  “Looks like nobody’s home,” Kade commented.

  “Only one way to find out,” Drake replied. Pushed open his door to be greeted by a puff of icy wind.

  Opposite him Kade did the same. Sucked in a deep breath as the air passed over his body.

  Gravel crunched beneath their feet as they walked towards the front door. Said nothing.

  Drake was the first to reach it. Extracted a hand from his pocket. Grasped the frigid metal handle.

  It pulled open without a bit of resistance. Warm air gushed out to greet them.

  Holding the door open behind him, Drake stepped through. Stood in the buffer zone between doors a moment. Let the overhead fans blow heat down on them.

  Pressed through the second door and into the town hall.

  Side by side they stood in a narrow hallway extending in either direction. Polished hardwood floor underfoot.

  A pair of double doors standing open in front of them.

  Sagging crime scene tape draped across the opening.

  “We are allowed to be here, right?” Kade asked.

  “Well, it’s not like I asked anybody,” Drake asked. Ducked beneath the tape. Stepped into the main room.

  “That’s my boy,” Kade replied. Followed right behind.

  The smell of gunpowder and sulfur still hung in the air.

  It appeared nothing had been touched since the incident five days before. Chairs were scattered, pushed to the side. A table at the front of the room was turned on edge.

  Sunlight filtered through frosted glass. Gave the room a ghostly pallor.

  “Kind of spooky, huh?” Drake whispered.

  Earned himself a snort in response.

  “You white boys are all the same,” Kade said. Walked forward. Started scanning the floor for clues.

  The movement sparked Drake from his trance. Drew out a smirk. “You realize your father is whiter than I am, right?”

  “Maybe, but my mom’s not,” Kade said.

  Drake shook his head in mirth. Bent at the waist. Drew up a piece of paper from the floor.

  “Anything good?” Kade asked.

  “Agenda for the meeting,” Drake said. Scanned the list. Didn’t recognize any of the items on it.

  Extended the paper to Kade. “You familiar with any of this stuff.”

  Kade cocked his head. Looked at it without taking it.

  “Naw, but ranching isn’t really my thing. Hang onto it anyway though. Has to be somebody around that can translate.”

  Drake nodded. Pocketed the paper. Moved to the front of the room. Examined the table and chairs lying on their side.

  Walked past them to the back wall. Looked at the rows of pictures hanging in order.

  Top tier, City Counsel.

  Second level, County Commission.

  One below it, Agriculture Commission.

  Kade stepped beside Drake and scanned the photos. Found the exact same thing his friend was staring at.

  “Yesterday, Rink set up a meeting for me with a group of veterans out in the woods south of here,” Drake said. Jutted his chin towards the wall. “The last thing I asked them before I left was if there was any way a trained Army sniper opened fire in here and didn’t hit anybody.”

  Kade paused a moment. Waited to see if Drake would continue.

  He did not.

  “What did they say?” Kade asked.

  “They laughed. Told me maybe it wasn’t a somebody he was trying to hit.”

  Kade snorted. Nodded. Stared at the pair of bullet holes that took out both eyes in the picture of Holt Tierney.

  “I’d say they were right.”

  “You ever heard of this guy?” Drake asked.

  Kade shook his head. “Never. You?”

  “Nope. What say we go pay him a visit?”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Speed dial three.

  Number one was Bernice. Always had been. Rarely got used.

  The second was Rex Johnson. Was called into action a minimum twice a week. Usually more. Sometimes much more.

  Third in the pecking order was McIlvaine. Added less than a month before. Used only a couple of times.

  This was one such time.

  The line rang twice before McIlvaine’s voice responded. Sounded a little groggy. A bit irritated.

  “Yeah?”

  Holt ignored the insubordination. Launched right into his reason for calling.

  “I’ve got someone here to see me. I’m going to leave you on speaker phone. I want you to listen in.”

  “Who is it?”

  The sound of McIlvaine moving around could be heard over the line.

  “Drake Bell,” Holt said. Checked the name he’d jotted down just a moment before to be sure.

  The movement on the other end stopped. “Who the hell is Drake Bell?”

  Holt pushed out a sigh. Rolled his eyes. “Lukas Webb’s attorney.”

  “Oh, shit,” McIlvaine said. Started moving again. “When?”

  “Right now, you idiot,” Holt spat. “They just stopped by the office and asked if I had a few minutes. I told the secretary to give me two minutes and send them in.”

  It sounded like McIlvaine snorted, spat, on the other end. “Alright, go ahead.”

  Holt muted the cell-phone. Tucked it up against a stack of papers on his desk, out of sight. Pretended to be looking at his computer as the door opened.

  Through it walked two young men in their mid-twenties, both well built. One a little taller, little thicker. Blonde hair shorn short.

  The other looked part Native American. An ethnic mixture of some sort. Long dark hair.

  Holt stood as they entered. Extended his hand across the desk and introduced himself.

  The blonde took the lead.

  “Thank you for seeing us Mr. T
ierney. My name is Drake Bell, this is my investigator Kade Keuhl. We’ve been retained by the family of Lukas Webb to look into the shooting last weekend.”

  All three settled down into seats.

  Holt put on a grave expression. Shook his head. Bit back the tinge of anxiety that passed through him.

  “Looking into it?”

  “Well, as you know, Mr. Webb is being kept in a coma,” Drake said. “So nobody is really sure why he did what he did. Given that the Sheriff has a guard posted by his door waiting for him to wake so he can haul him off to jail, we’re looking into things now.”

  Holt nodded. “Yes, I saw on the news the other night that Paula Goslin is talking about asking for the maximum sentence against him. Such an ugly situation.”

  “Very,” Drake said. Glanced over to Kade. “Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?”

  “By all means,” Holt said. Leaned back. Raised his eyebrows. “I don’t know a lot, but you’re welcome to it.”

  Drake nodded. “Appreciate it. I understand you serve on the Agriculture Commission, correct?”

  “I do,” Holt said. “Have for almost thirty years.”

  “And that you’re now the Chair?” Drake asked.

  “Co-chair,” Holt corrected. “Myself and Wanda Pritchett.”

  Drake jotted the name down. “Can I ask, what exactly does the Commission do?”

  The feeling of uneasiness began to recede within Holt. They weren’t sniffing around him with any suspicion.

  They were merely gathering baseline information.

  He laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back further in his chair.

  “In short, it depends. Our chief concern is to be a pass-through for information from the state to the producers. If new laws are enacted, new zoning regulations, vaccination requirements, that sort of thing.”

  Again Drake wrote down the information. Flicked his gaze over to Kade. “Doesn’t seem like the kind of thing to get a rifle and start shooting over.”

  Holt shook his head in earnest. “No, it doesn’t. I think the sheer shock value of it has hit us all harder than the act itself.”

  “Really?” Kade asked. Let the surprise show in his voice.

  “Of course,” Holt answered. “This is Montana. We’ve all been around a rifle being fired before. But indoors? Over something so innocuous?”

  Drake and Kade both nodded in assent.

  “Have you, or any of the other commissioners, had any trouble with Lukas Webb in the past?” Drake asked.

  “Never,” Holt said. Tried out his best modesty voice. “To be honest, I don’t think we’ve even spoken in the last fifteen years. Not since he was a boy and he used to tag along with his father.”

  “Did you know Mr. Webb?” Kade asked.

  “Every rancher in the area knows each other,” Holt said.

  “Were you close?” Drake asked.

  “I’m not sure how you mean,” Holt said. “Mitch Webb wasn’t what you would call close with anybody. A small time guy trying to make ends meet.”

  “So he might have had some animosity towards larger producers like yourself?” Kade asked.

  A bit of a fire flashed behind Holt’s eyes. He paused to make sure it was gone before pushing forward.

  “Not at all. He was just always busy. In a hurry. Kept to himself. Far as I know though, he never had any trouble with anyone.

  “As for myself, I was sad to hear he passed. We didn’t even know he was sick, that’s how much he kept to himself.”

  Drake nodded. Made another note.

  “Can you tell us about the shooting itself?

  Holt exhaled, glad to be moving on.

  “We were going through some routine business when Lukas kept trying to raise his hand to speak. I was presiding over the meeting and explained to him that’s not how things were done.”

  “Not how things were done?” Drake asked.

  “You see, we abide by basic parliamentary procedure,” Holt said. “We have a set agenda that the commission discusses. At the end, we open the floor for public comment.

  “He was trying to skip all that. Demanded to be heard right that instant.”

  More notes taken.

  “So you dismissed him?” Drake asked.

  “Not at all,” Holt replied. “I just told him he would have to wait until the public comment period to be heard. He didn’t seem to like that, stormed off.”

  “So he was angry when he left?” Kade asked.

  “Very,” Holt said. “Fighting mad, or I guess as it were, shooting mad. Just jumped up and left.”

  “And then what happened?” Drake asked.

  “We all thought that was the end of it,” Holt said. “Went about the meeting until he walked back in and opened fire.”

  Drake took some more notes.

  “I understand it was an employee of yours, a Hank McIlvaine, that put down Mr. Webb?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Holt said. “He’s a consultant I hired a while back to help me streamline some things here at the ranch. I asked him to sit in on the meeting and see if there was anything that caught his ear we might do differently.”

  “So his being there wasn’t as a security presence of any kind?” Kade asked.

  “Certainly not,” Holt said. “I knew about his military background, but I didn’t know he carried a weapon.”

  Drake made a few more notes. Nodded. Looked up at Holt.

  “Just lucky he was there, huh?”

  Something about the question, the tone, caught Holt. The modesty fled from his features. Face hardened.

  “I guess so.” He stood. “Now, I am sorry to cut this short, but if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have a meeting with my ranch supervisor to get to.”

  Drake and Kade both stood. Shook hands again.

  “Absolutely,” Drake said. “Thank you for meeting with us.”

  Holt nodded. Walked them to the door. Watched out the window as they headed for their truck.

  “Well, what did you make of that?” Holt asked aloud.

  “You’re good at what you do,” McIlvaine said through the speakerphone. “I’ll give you that.”

  “Managing people?” Holt asked.

  “Lying out your ass.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Wednesday.

  The busiest night of the week on Drake’s calendar.

  A standing dinner date stretching back two years and counting.

  It started not long after Sage first moved to Missoula. As low woman on the totem pole at St. Michael’s Hospital, she was given the second shift.

  Decided to stay there so her mornings were free to run with the Zoo Crew.

  Not that she’d ever once admitted it.

  In an effort to try and mitigate the damage to her social life, Drake started meeting her for dinner on Wednesdays.

  Every Wednesday.

  Sometimes he brought Kade or Ajax. Every once in a while he brought Q.

  On occasion, he would bring food with him. Others, they would eat whatever the cafeteria was serving.

  This week, Drake arrived solo and empty handed. Found Sage waiting for him by the door. Greeted her with a hug.

  “No special delivery this week?” Sage asked. Feigned a pouting face.

  “Sorry,” Drake said. Spread his hands wide. “This week you just get me.”

  “Damn.”

  “Hey, blame your mama,” Drake said. Held open the door to the cafeteria for her. “I don’t think I’ve eaten since I left your house.”

  A knowing laugh slid from Sage as she passed through the door. “You don’t know the half of it. You should see the mountain of food she sent home with Kade last night.”

  “I bet,” Drake said. Followed her into the serving line. Took up a clear plastic plate. Piled it high with veggies.

  “Please tell me that’s not actually what you’re eating for dinner,” Sage said. Let disapproval and contempt drip from her tone.

  Without glancing her wa
y, Drake spread shredded cheese over the plate. Two scoops of bacon bits. Croutons. A hefty dollop of ranch dressing.

  “Better?”

  “Getting there,” Sage said. Smirked. Fixed her own plate to match his.

  Drake paid for their meals. Handed a bottle of water to Sage. Took up a sweet tea for himself.

  Followed her to their preferred perch in the back corner.

  “So tell me, what had you two out and about so early this morning?” Sage said. “Thanks for the invite, by the way.”

  “Wasn’t your area of expertise,” Drake said. “Besides, if I’m going to convince Kade to pursue becoming a PI for me, I need to get him involved.”

  Sage shoveled greens into her mouth. Looked at him in silence.

  Finally conceded the point with a shrug.

  “What were you guys up to anyway?” Sage asked. “I talked to Kade for a second earlier, he was damn near spitting mad.”

  “I’m aware,” Drake deadpanned. “You should have been in the truck with him. I used to think having Ava ride shotgun was bad.”

  The comment stopped Sage’s fork halfway to her mouth.

  She lowered it back to her plate. Arched an eyebrow.

  “Oh yeah? And how is the lovely Ava?”

  Drake smirked and shook his head. Let Sage know how ridiculous he thought the question was.

  “She’s good, thank you for asking. Wished us, all of us, a Merry Christmas just two days ago.”

  “I’m sure she did,” Sage said. Returned to eating.

  “And we all returned the sentiment,” Drake said. Kept his face aimed downward to hide his smile.

  “So, Kade was pissed earlier,” Sage said. Blatant change of subject. No effort to hide it.

  The smile on Drake’s face grew wider. He looked up and shook his head again.

  “We went down to Hamilton to take a look at the Town Hall where the shooting took place. Went over afterwards to meet with a guy named Holt Tierney.”

  “The rancher?” Sage asked.

  Drake’s fork stopped by his mouth. His eyes leveled on Sage.

  “You know him?”

  “Not know him know him. He was in the paper today,” Sage said. Took a long pull from her bottle of water. “Big article about the shooting. How it shook everybody up, but he’s still planning to host his annual Winter Ball on Friday as a sign that things are getting back to normal.”