“He didn’t want to work for a female,” Todd said.
He hadn’t been the only one. Though she’d had to scramble to hire replacements, Bree wasn’t sorry to be rid of anyone who would quit for that reason.
Bree asked, “Everything work out with the patrol vehicle?”
“It’s fine,” Todd said. “Just a dented fender. The body shop will fix it this week.”
“Great. Talk to you later.” Bree ended the call. The GPS prompted her to turn off the highway onto a narrow country road. Meadows gave way to forested slopes.
Matt scrolled on his phone. “According to his social media accounts, he’s into conspiracy theories.”
“What kind of posts?” Bree asked.
Matt scrolled on his smartphone. “How to keep the government and big business from tracking your every movement. Best antisurveillance technology. How to build a Faraday cage and why you want one.”
“I almost want to read that one.” Bree made a left. “That’s not too unusual. I’ve read about potential electromagnetic-pulse attacks on the power grid. A Faraday cage blocks those EMPs, right?”
“Right, but there’s more.” Matt whistled. “The government adds subliminal mind control to TV advertisements. Secret high-altitude government planes are spraying chemicals into the atmosphere to reduce fertility. The queen of England is either a vampire or a cannibal. Seems he can’t make up his mind which one. Finland is a fake country.”
“OK. Now he’s wading into aluminum-foil-hat territory.”
“He also belongs to a survivalist group called the Hudson Footmen. They’re preparing for a digital apocalypse. There’s no overt anarchy on their page, but they skirt just short of violence.” Matt reached into the back of the SUV and pulled out his body-armor vest. He donned it and tightened the Velcro strap with a firm tug. Bree wore a vest under her uniform shirt.
The SUV climbed as they entered the foothills of the Adirondacks. Along with the increase in elevation, boulders and rocky outcroppings appeared on the sides of the road. To the left, the landscape sloped upward. On the right side of the road, the grade dropped steeply.
A few miles later, the GPS announced they’d reached their destination. Bree slowed the vehicle but saw nothing but weeds and woods. “Do you see a mailbox or driveway?”
Matt was scanning the shoulder of the road. “No. I’ve never been to Dylan’s house, but I heard him say that he liked being off the grid when he wasn’t working.” A few minutes later, he pointed. “There. See that reflector on the tree trunk?”
Bree barely saw the glint of sunlight on red plastic. She hit the brakes and made the turn onto a dirt and gravel road. The vehicle bounced across several deep ruts before she guided the tires out of the existing vehicle tracks. She drove a full mile before the lane curved and widened into a large clearing.
In the center, a multilevel home was painted an ugly army green, blending into the landscape. Decks on all sides provided a commanding view of the surroundings. Multiple satellite dishes were mounted on the roof, and Bree spotted high-tech cameras mounted under the eaves. A large shed stood behind the house, adorned with yet another satellite dish and more cameras.
They were being watched and probably recorded.
Bree parked next to a detached garage. The overhead doors were rolled up. Inside, a tractor shared space with a dual-wheel pickup truck, a dirt bike, and several long benches filled with tools.
“We’re definitely off the beaten path.” She reached for her radio mic and reported their location to dispatch. “But there’s a significant amount of tech here.”
Matt scanned the property. “Those electronics look new and expensive.”
“Makes you wonder how he paid for them with no job.” Bree noted the house stood on a slight rise, with a good view for home defense.
“Savings?”
They stepped out of the vehicle. Water rushed in the background. The Scarlet Creek ran behind the house. Farther south, the creek meandered into the Scarlet River. The deck on the back of the house would have a water view.
Bree felt eyes on her. The hairs on the back of her neck quivered. She glanced at Matt. “Do you feel that?”
“Someone watching us? Yep.”
The uneasy feeling intensified as Bree scanned the surroundings. There were too many places for someone to hide. And with all those cameras, anyone could be surveilling them right now.
They rounded the front end of the vehicle, and someone yelled, “Stop right there!”
Bree bristled as she tracked the voice to the open garage door. She could barely see the outline of a man in the shadowy interior. “Brian Dylan?”
He took one step closer and sneered at her. “You’re that new bitch sheriff.” It wasn’t a question.
“I’m Sheriff Taggert.” Bree ignored the bitch label. “You’re Brian Dylan?”
“This is private property. Who I am is none of your business.”
“That’s him,” Matt said in a low voice.
“Mr. Dylan.” Bree didn’t like not being able to see him more clearly, but she resisted the urge to pull her weapon. “We’d like to talk to you.”
Dylan yelled, “About what?”
“Eugene Oscar,” Bree said. “We just want to ask you a few questions.”
“I know my rights. I don’t have to talk to you.” Dylan inched forward. “I’m surprised you’re working for this whore, Flynn. I hear you’re still a big pussy who’s afraid to carry a handgun.” Dylan’s tone turned mocking. “Did you finally man up?”
“I haven’t changed.” Matt seemed unperturbed by the insult.
Dylan snorted.
What an ass.
He was right about one thing, though. Bree couldn’t make him talk. She didn’t have the authority to force him to do anything. But she wanted answers. She glanced around the property. The place was outfitted like a high-tech military camp. Squinting into the dimness of the garage, she could see a cooler and other camping gear piled on the garage floor next to the pickup. Had he been away, or was he preparing to leave town? She spotted several skeins of nylon paracord in different sizes and colors hanging on the wall.
To get his attention, Bree went for shock. “Did you know that Oscar was dead?”
Dylan said nothing, but his posture stiffened.
“We found his body yesterday,” Matt said. “He was murdered.”
Dylan stepped into view. He wore full camo, complete with both a knife and gun strapped to his belt. “I didn’t kill him. What’s this have to do with me?”
Bree said, “Oscar’s mother was also killed. Did you see the news?”
“Can’t believe the media.” Dylan didn’t directly answer her question.
“You can easily verify the story,” Bree said.
Dylan cocked his head. “So why are you here?”
Had he known about Oscar’s death? Bree couldn’t tell. “We’re trying to solve Oscar’s murder. We’d like some information.”
“You have three minutes.” Dylan hooked a thumb in his belt.
“When did you last see Oscar?” Bree asked.
“I don’t recall the exact date,” he said in a snotty tone.
Bree swallowed her frustration. “How about an approximation? A month ago? A week? Last year?”
“A few weeks, but I wouldn’t testify to that. Everything I say can and will be used against me in a court of law, right?” Dylan asked.
Questioning cops was the worst. They knew every interview trap and how to avoid them. Dylan wasn’t the best liar, but he knew which subjects to evade.
“We’re not arresting you,” Bree said.
“You wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t a suspect.” Dylan lifted one hand. “I’ll tell you right now. I didn’t kill him.”
Bree took a deep breath. “Do you remember Kenny McPherson?”
Dylan’s mouth tightened, the tiny reaction giving him away. He remembered Kenny all right. Then Dylan’s eyes shifted away for a split second, a clear indication he was going to lie, before steadying on Bree’s gaze again. “The name might sound a little familiar.”
“You and Oscar arrested him for drug possession.” Bree reminded him of the basic facts of the arrest. “Kenny went to prison.”