I don’t like the idea of Blue getting behind the wheel any more than I like the idea of using him as bait. But despite the heinous nature of his past crimes, I don’t believe he has any intention of harming anyone or running. The one thing I do know is that if the sting is going to be successful, Ruth Weaver must believe Blue is alone and free of police surveillance.
We’re at the police station, standing outside the interview room. “Here’s how it’s going to go down,” I tell Blue. “Once you reach your house, you’ll pull into the garage and park just like you always do. Once the garage door is closed, you and Officer Maddox will go inside. Did you leave any lights on?”
“Nope. Never do.”
“Are there any curtains open?”
“Kitchen, I think. There’s a window above the sink, and I got a bird feeder out there.”
“Since those curtains are open, do not turn on any lights until Officer Maddox takes his position in the hallway outside the bedrooms. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“I want Officer Maddox’s eyes on you at all times, Blue. If you screw that up, the deal is off and we take you back to jail and I’ll lobby heavily when it comes time for the prosecutor to file charges. Do you understand?”
“I got it.”
“Once Officer Maddox is in position, I want you to turn on all the lights. I want you to open the drapes or blinds. Make yourself visible from outside. If there’s a TV in your living room, I want it on and I want you on the sofa, visible through the front window.”
He nods.
“What’s behind the house?” I ask Blue.
“Woods.”
“Lots of places to hide back there,” Glock puts in.
“Do you have a back patio?” I ask Blue.
He nods.
“We believe Jerrold McCullough was accosted on his back patio. We found pieces of a broken mug that had been swept over the side. If you want to move around, you can go out onto the patio, as if you’re enjoying the fresh air.”
At his nod, I address Glock, “I’ll be parked next door at Brewer’s Salvage Yard. I’ll have my cell and the radio. And a pretty good view of Blue’s house and front yard, but I can’t see the back from there.”
Blue speaks up. “You can see the backyard from the master bedroom.” He looks at Glock. “I can show you if you want.”
Glock frowns at him. “I’ll figure it out. You just do as you’re told.”
“Give me a few minutes to get into position at the salvage yard,” I tell Glock. “There are a couple of places I can park and not be seen from the street or Blue’s place.”
“You got it, Chief.” He gives me a let’s-do-this nod. “Watch your back.”
“You, too.”
*
Twenty minutes later, I’m in the Explorer with the vehicle wedged between a corrugated fence and the forklift used to move scrap metal. A foot-wide section of fence is missing, which gives me a decent view of Branson’s house and front yard. I’ve been there only a few minutes when I see the flash of headlights and then Blue’s Mustang barrels down the lane. The twin headlight beams play over the facade of the house. The security light blinks on and the garage door rolls up. I try, but even with the vehicle illuminated by the garage light, I can’t see Glock. So far, so good.
A moment later, the garage door rolls down. Another minute, and a light appears in the front window. My cell vibrates against my hip, and Glock’s name pops up on the display. “The eagle has landed,” he says.
“Roger that. I’m in place. How’s the view?”
“I’m in the rear bedroom. I can see the backyard to the fence from here.”
“Good.” I pause. “Blue behaving himself?”
“Like an angel.”
“Make sure he stays visible,” I say. “Going to be a long night. Let’s do everything we can to draw this woman out.”
“Got it.”
I end the call and settle in for the wait.
*
By 4:30 a.m., I’m stiff and cold and convinced the entire operation is a bust. Not only am I stretching the rules by involving Blue, but I’m also starting to think I was a fool for thinking it would work. Of course, I went into this knowing there was a high probability that Ruth Weaver wouldn’t show. I could spend a week parked in this junkyard, and it could all be a waste. Still, it was worth a shot, but disappointing nonetheless.
I’ve talked to Glock six times and Mona twice in the last three and a half hours, eaten an energy bar I found in my glove compartment that was a month past its expiration date, and left my vehicle to pee in the weeds next to a totaled ’72 Ford LTD.
I’m thinking about throwing in the towel—at least for the night—when my cell vibrates. I glance down to see Mona’s name on the display. “Hey, Mona.”
“Chief, I’m sorry to bother you, but I thought you should know … Hoch Yoder called for you a few minutes ago. Wouldn’t say what he wanted, but he sounded … strange. I offered to patch him through, but he started talking about souls and forgiveness and then he just hung up.”
I pause, trying to ignore the twinge of worry threading through my gut. “Do you know where he was calling from?”
“That Amish community pay phone at Hogpath Road and the township road.”
“Did you call him back?”