Danny’s parole officer got a wake-up call at four in the morning. He’d been groggy, his voice deep with sleep, but he’d promised to head into the office and pull Danny’s file.
Two hours later when Rick got a call from the parole officer, he had had a chance to swing by his house for a quick shower and to pick up Tracker. Armed with a last-known address for Briggs from the parole officer, Rick and Tracker swung by the office and picked up Bishop.
Tracker sat alert in the backseat when they parked in front of the one-story clapboard house covered in a blend of old paint and mold.
Bishop glanced at the house and the pile of garbage by the front door. “Delightful.”
Tracker’s gaze looked at the house and he barked again.
“What’s with the dog?” Bishop asked.
Rick and Tracker shared a strong connection and he’d learned long ago if the dog was barking he needed to pay attention. “I don’t know.”
Rick got out and opened Tracker’s door. The dog barked.
Bishop slid out of his seat. “Why you bringing the dog?”
“He’s restless. Don’t worry, he’ll behave.”
Bishop slammed his door.
When Rick and Bishop banged on Briggs’s house door, Tracker sat at the bottom of the stairs, his ears perked and his gaze bright. It was seven in the morning.
No one answered. Rick banged again.
Bishop stood back, flexing his fingers. “I’m looking forward to meeting this guy.”
Rick shook his head slowly. “Let me do the talking. You’re angry and that’s not good.”
“Aren’t you angry?” Bishop asked.
“Yeah. But I’m better at locking the anger away until I’m ready to pull it out.”
Bishop’s jaw tensed. “I’ll be fine.”
Rick met his gaze. “I do the talking.”
“Understood.”
Rick hammered his fist on the door. “Police. Open the door.”
A light clicked on inside and the shuffle of feet moved toward the door seconds before it opened to a woman. In her late thirties, she had light brown hair, bloodshot eyes ringed with day old mascara, and pockmarked skin. “What do you want?”
“We’re looking for Danny Briggs,” Rick said.
She coughed. “He left yesterday. Took off like a bat out of hell.”
“What’s your name?”
“I’m Cindy Gavin. I’m his girlfriend for lack of a better word.”
“Mind if we search the place?”
She wore a silk robe that gapped slightly at her breasts. Smiling, she opened the door wider and stepped back. “Help yourself. He ain’t here.”
The two officers moved into the small house. It was decorated in a cat theme from the black carpet to the leopard drapes to the striped wallpaper. Pictures of lions and tigers hung on the wall. Mugs on the kitchen counter were striped like a tiger. While Bishop stood in the living room with Cindy, Rick searched the house. There was no sign of Danny Briggs.
Rick emerged from the bedroom. “Did he say where he was going?”
“Nope. Just packed a bag and took off.”
“Why’d he leave?”
She shrugged. “We were watching television, the news came on, and he got real sick-looking.”
“What was on the news?”
“I don’t know. I was reading a magazine. He was waiting for a sports score update and then there was some news story about an artist and he was gone.”
The story about Jenna and the Lost Girl had spooked Danny. “Any idea where he might go?”
“He’s been staying with me since he got out of prison. He’s got a few friends from before he went up. I guess he’s with one of them.”
“You have names?” Rick asked.
“Yeah, sure.” She rattled off several names as she reached in the pocket of her robe and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She lit one. “What’s he done now? Guy’s got a hot head and isn’t afraid to use his fists.”
“He ever mention anything about a kid or a wife?” Rick noticed the faint yellowing of a fading bruise on Cindy’s wrists as if they’d been gripped hard.
“No. You telling me he’s got a wife or a kid looking for him?”
“Not exactly,” Rick pulled a card from his pocket and handed it to her. “We’ll track down his friends, but if you see Danny, call me.”
She flicked the edge of the card as she raised the cigarette to her mouth with the other. “He’s really screwed up this time, hasn’t he?”
“He sure did,” Bishop growled.
Rick smiled, no hint of anger. “Let’s just say we got a few questions for him. And you’d be wise to call if you see him.”
“Yeah, sure. Why not? He’s a pain in the ass and it would be great to get him out of my life.”
The detectives turned and started for the car when Tracker glanced past Rick to the side of the house. The dog began barking loud.
Bishop glared at the dog but Rick immediately reached for his weapon and whirled around. Following Tracker’s gaze toward the side of the house, he instantly saw the flash of a gun muzzle as a tall man stepped out of the shadows.
“Drop your weapon!” Rick shouted.
Bishop reached for his gun just as the man in the shadows raised his gun.
With Tracker barking angry and loud, Rick pointed his weapon. “Drop your gun now!”
Bishop leveled his gun. “Drop it! Now!”
The man hesitated and then, seeing he was outgunned, lowered his gun to the ground. He raised his hands.
Bishop raced toward the man, gun drawn. “On your belly now!”
The man held up his hands over his head and dropped to his knees as Bishop kicked the gun away. Rick reached for his cuffs and secured the man’s hands behind his back. Rick rolled him to his back.
No missing the man’s identity. He matched the picture the parole officer had on file.
“Danny Briggs,” Rick said. “Thought you were out of town.”
He reeked with the stench of whiskey and cigarettes. “What the fuck do you want with me?”
“The gun alone is enough to send you back to prison, Danny.” Adrenaline surged in his veins.
“The gun’s just the start,” Bishop said.
“Fuck,” Briggs said. “I ain’t done nothing wrong.”