Don't Tell A Soul (Detectives Kane and Alton)

“I think Pete is past help.” Dean turned his mug around on the table then lifted his gaze to her. “Getting back to the Old Mitcham Ranch, I expect it will be some time before the forensics team has finished their enquiries?”

“No, it’s all done and you can arrange for the cleaners—if you can find anyone to venture down into the root cellar. I doubt you’ll have much luck selling the place.” Jenna sipped again and a warm glow started from her toes and spread. Lethargy spread over her and she yawned. “Sorry. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Drink the coffee. It will make you feel better.” Dean smiled at her. “Do you have any leads? Pete mentioned you think Josh Rockford might be involved, and Stan Clough too.”

“I can’t give you details, sorry, but whoever killed Sarah knows how to cover their tracks. Forensics didn’t find a thing.” She held a finger to her lips and giggled. “Shh, don’t tell Kane I told you.” What is wrong with me?

Fifty-Four

Kane pulled up behind the cruiser parked behind a clump of bushes not ten yards from the gate to Clough’s piggery. When Deputy Daniels did not get out of the vehicle to greet him, he slid from the driver’s seat, and with one hand on the handle of his Glock, strode toward the vehicle.

The cruiser was empty.

He glanced toward Rowley and raised both eyebrows. “You don’t think he went in alone, do you?”

“Nah. He hasn’t got the balls.”

The hairs on the back of Kane’s neck stood to attention. He pulled Rowley behind the cruiser and did a visual scan of the area. The snow around Pete’s cruiser appeared undisturbed but the road to the piggery twenty feet away was clear of snow from recent traffic. “I don’t like the look of this one bit. If Pete had wanted to speak to Clough alone or with the sheriff, he would have driven, not walked.”

He moved to the back of the SUV to retrieve his rifle. He wanted it close by, just in case. “We’ll go in on foot and take a look around. Keep your wits about you and watch me for signals.”

“Yes, sir.” Rowley followed him from the car, keeping low.

The front of the house appeared deserted, with no cars parked outside. Clough had recently cleared the snow from the driveway leading to the main house and barn. He held up one hand to stop Rowley and listened. He could hear the clink, clink, clink of a chain passing through a pulley and the grunt of a man doing heavy labor. He pointed at the barn and placed one finger over his lips to keep Rowley silent. Stealthily, he headed for the outside of the building and, keeping his back to the wall, edged toward the entrance. He bobbed his head around the corner, but instead of seeing Clough, a pool of blood dripping from a line of pig carcasses met his gaze. Clough used the area as a killing shed. He listened but only the sound of pigs grunting nearby reached him. Turning back to Rowley, he shook his head. “Clear. Noise carries through these huge sheds; I heard a man using a pulley before. It must be coming from the piggery. We’ll go round back of the barn and use the tree line for cover.”

“Okay.” Rowley jogged the length of the barn then paused at the corner and peered around. He glanced back over one shoulder. “Clear.”

Kane ran through the snow, giving Rowley the lead, then pulled him up before they reached the open stretch before the piggery. He pointed to a line of car tracks running from the perimeter of the fence close to the highway and dropped his voice to a whisper. “We’ll go round back.” Sticking to the tree line, his feet sunk deep in snow as he led the way slowly toward the back of the piggery. Kane examined the area, taking in escape routes and possible ambush positions. He turned to Rowley. “Cover me.”

Keeping low, he dashed across the open space and waited a few seconds before waving Rowley to his side. They moved toward the entrance and Kane pointed out footprints in the snow. He handed Rowley his rifle and pointed to the door. With care, he reached for the handle and turned it slowly, wincing at the sound of rusty metal grinding. He pushed the door open and a rush of warm stink hit him. More fresh blood. His stomach rolled and he pushed down the sudden rush of apprehension clawing at his guts. Keeping his back flush to the wall, he called out, “Black Rock Falls Sheriff’s Department, I’m entering the premises. Come out with your hands up.”

He heard a man swearing and the sound of something heavy hitting the floor. Turkey-peeking around the door, a wave of terror smashed into him at the sight of a naked body curled on the blood-spattered cement floor. His gaze traveled over white buttocks covered in gore to a massive steel hook sunk between the shoulder blades. He pushed his rifle into Rowley’s hands and met his gaze. “We have found our killer. Cover me.”

Gathering his courage, he moved into the

opening and took a defensive stance, holding his Glock in both hands and aiming at the man standing over the body like a predator protecting its prey. The man with dead sunken eyes gaped open-mouthed at him in surprise. He gripped a chain in his filthy hands. From what Kane could see, he had been using the block and tackle to lift the body into the pigpen. Disgust and rage rolled over him. “Get your hands up or as God is my witness, I’ll blow off your fucking head.”

To his surprise, the man dropped the chain and complied. Aiming his weapon at the man’s chest, he scanned the surrounding area. Apart from the pen filled with noisy pigs, the man and the blood-soaked body, the area appeared to be empty. Kane eased inside the piggery with Rowley close behind. “Keep your weapon aimed at him and shoot him if he moves a muscle.”

He took a few steps toward the body and crouched to check vital signs. He rolled the body over, and bile rose up the back of his throat at seeing Pete Daniels’ sightless gaze. “Jesus. It’s Pete.”

Face battered and bruised, Pete’s head hung on a strange angle. As Kane made sense of the brutality before him, he realized someone had broken Pete’s neck. The cause of the blood was one single wound under the ribs. Keeping his Glock trained on the man, he straightened.

“He’s dead.” The quivering man with the sunken eyes stared at him. “They said they didn’t have time to play with him, he died real quick.”

Crushing the need to open fire and kill the simpering animal standing before him, he waved Rowley forward. “Cuff him.”

Rowley had not moved.

Kane turned his head to look at the white-faced man beside him. Rowley’s face held an expression of sheer terror. “Rowley, look at me. We can’t do anything to help Pete now and I need you to keep it together. Is that Stan Clough?”

“Yeah, and he killed Pete.” Rowley’s finger dropped onto the trigger of his pistol. “He needs to be put down.”

Kane laid a hand on Rowley’s arm. “I agree, but if we kill him, we’ll never know what happened here and there has to be more people involved.”

“I didn’t kill him.” Clough opened his hands wide. “Why am I always the one you blame? It wasn’t me. It was the aliens.”

“Right.” Kane holstered his weapon and moved toward Clough, turned him around, and patted him down then cuffed him. “You are standing here with the dead body of one of my deputies and you’re not to blame.”