Part 2
Tessa knew him before she saw the number on the cruiser.
“He was at the church,” Stitch said under his breath. “Waved us out.”
“Fourteen,” Tessa whispered. She turned her forearm toward Raymond. “Six-oh-five. The coffee.”
Brute drew a breath, but Raymond caught his sleeve.
“Wait for Keene.”
The deputy walked past them and bent over the rifleman’s wrists.
Raymond stepped closer. “They oiled the curve and loosened the bridge rail. That man fired at us. We’re holding them for state patrol.”
“Back up.” The deputy straightened, speaking into his shoulder radio. “Unit fourteen requesting two cars at the ferry bridge on county road eighteen. Three men assaulted by an armed motorcycle group.”
He held out his hand to Stitch.
“The rifle.”
“He fired it,” Stitch said.
“And you’re carrying it. Hand it over butt first.”
Raymond gave Stitch a small nod. The deputy put the gun in his trunk, then demanded the radio. Brute raised his phone.
“Put that away.”
“Public road,” Brute said. He kept recording.
The deputy turned to Tessa. “Where do you live?”
“The camper below here.”
“Identification?”
“I don’t have any.”
His eyes dropped to her shoes.
“No ID. Camping beside the bridge. Covered in the same oil we’re hearing about.”
“I stepped in it coming up to warn them.”
“Go stand beside my back door.”
Raymond moved between them. The deputy’s hand settled against his holster.
“You can all leave on your motorcycles. Or I can book you for assault, unlawful restraint, weapons charges. County jail’s busy. Could be a while before a judge sees you.”
He looked directly at Raymond.
“You need to be somewhere at nine, don’t you?”
Tessa set the helmet carefully on a saddlebag.
“I’ll go.”
“No,” Raymond said.
“You have to be there. For Micah.”
Raymond took a step toward the deputy, caught himself, and opened his hands at his sides. For a moment he couldn’t get his jaw loose enough to speak.
“Tessa. Look at me.”
The deputy pointed toward his car. “Move.”
She looked past him instead, toward the curve.
“How’d you know where to drive?”
He frowned.
“You crossed over before the oil started. Came back after it ended.”
“I’ve driven this road twenty years.”
“Then you know you can’t see it from the hill.”
“There was a shine.”
Raymond lifted his stained hand. “I had to touch the pavement to find it.”
“You came down before you saw us,” Tessa said. “Nobody warned you. The radio was already taken away.”
The deputy’s radio hissed. He lowered its volume.
“And when you called for help,” she continued, “you didn’t tell anybody about oil on the road.”
“I patrol here every morning.”
“At six-oh-five you were parked where that truck is. Gave the man in the vest coffee. And a folded map.”
The rifleman looked toward the deputy, then away.
“I check parked vehicles. That’s police work.”
Raymond said, “You watched me fasten that helmet at the church.”
Tessa held out her arm. The number fourteen was written beside the time.
The deputy glanced down. “Ballpoint pen. Could’ve written that when I got here.”
“You parked thirty yards from my bed. Twice this week. You just asked where I live.”
He turned toward Brute’s phone.
“People watching this should know who they’re listening to. No address, no identification, living out here. I doubt she could tell you what day—”
“Sunday.”
Tessa pointed at a leaning roadside marker.
“You had two coffees. Gave one through the window. Drank yours with the engine running, then threw it over there.”
Half a dozen men looked toward the weeds.
“Lid on. Wooden stirrer through the opening. You put two empty creamers inside before you snapped it shut.”
Brute kept the phone trained on the deputy while another rider walked to the marker. He came back holding a paper cup by its rim with a clean cloth. Under the lifted lid were two little plastic tubs.
“Everybody buys coffee at that store,” the deputy said.
“Then checking the prints won’t hurt.”
He looked at her for several seconds.
“A judge gets you, your pen, and some trash from a ditch. On the other side, working men held at gunpoint, and a witness desperate to get to court.” His glance included Raymond. “Tell me who wins that.”
Sirens sounded above the trees.
“My backup,” he said.
A state patrol car appeared on the hill. It braked hard before reaching the turnout.
The woman who got out left her door open.
“Sergeant Keene,” the deputy called. “Arrest in progress. I have county units responding.”
“Keep them at the crest.”
“These people—”
“Have you reported that road hazard? I nearly lost my car coming around it.”
She spoke into her radio, ordering approaching units to stop above the bend. Then she walked toward Raymond.
Tessa heard somebody say it had been forty-two minutes.
The rider with the cup stepped forward. “She described what was in this before I went for it. Told us where he threw it.”
“The gun’s in his trunk,” Stitch added. “He took the radio, too.”
Keene looked at Raymond. “I worked Micah’s collision. I never bought the stolen-truck story.”
Tessa watched the deputy’s face as the sergeant spoke. Then she noticed the small antenna on his cruiser.
“County cars keep a record of where they go, don’t they?”
“Vehicle location system,” Keene said. “Yes.”
“So it’ll show where fourteen was at six-oh-five.”
“It’ll show me patrolling my county,” the deputy said.
“It’ll give us a location,” Keene answered.
Jesse pulled away from the man who’d been trying to silence him.
“He brought Rusk the map. Showed him where the drums went and which railing.” His words began coming faster. “And it was him on the radio. Telling us they’d left the church. I know his voice.”
Rusk twisted toward him. “You shut your—”
Keene stopped him with a look.
“Not another sound.”
She faced the deputy.
“Your sidearm. Slowly.”
“You’re making a bad call, Sergeant.”
“We’ll have the records.”
He stood with his elbow out, watching the men around him. Keene waited without moving.
At last he surrendered the weapon. She turned him toward the cruiser and reached for his cuffs…
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