Chapter Eleven

Art walked briskly through the quiet office. The day was growing late. Rachel and Tim still sat at their desks, finishing paperwork. A few other marshals clustered at the other end of the room, trading details of their day. Art pulled up a chair and sat down in between the desks.

"We have a situation," he said quietly, without preamble. "I have reason to believe that Raylan is being held hostage somewhere."

Rachel sucked in a shocked breath, hand tightening around her pen. Tim raised his eyebrows. He leaned towards eyes, eyes dark and serious. "Why do you think that?" he asked.

"Because I just had a phone call from him, telling me he was going to visit his Daddy. That sound like the man you know?"

Both of them shook their heads.

"No, I didn't think so, either," Art muttered. He moved the chair a little closer to the desks. He didn't want the news to spread too quickly. You never know who is listening, he thought.

"What can we do?" Rachel asked.

"I need you to put out an APB on his car. I don't expect that his cell will be turned on, but set up a trace in case it does get switched on," Art said. "I'm going to give his folks a call, in case he turns up down there." He sighed. "I really hope he does turn up down there."

He stood and walked back towards his office, liberating his bottle of bourbon from the safe. Glass clicked on glass as he poured himself a stiff drink. He swallowed it in one gulp, pouring himself a second before changing his mind and screwing the cap back onto the bottle.

Rachel knocked at the door. "APB is out. Tim is setting up the trace. Let's hope someone turns his phone on."

"Just for a few minutes." Art shook his head. "I turned in an old favour from a friend. There have been girls going missing from all over the state. No bodies have been found, so the local police just assumed the girls ran away."

"You don't think that they did?"

"No," Art spread a map on the table. He pointed to a curve of road. "This is where the patrolman was shot. Raylan saw a blonde girl in the woods here too." He checked something, then slid his finger across the map. "This is the logging road. The cabin where Shelley Decosta's body was found is just off it."

"Lots of old cabins and mines in that area." Rachel said. "It would be pretty easy to hide a body. Or hold someone hostage. Lots of empty woods. No-one around to hear anything."

Their eyes met across the map. "The dogs searched when we found the body. They didn't find any tracks."

Rachel sighed. "They were in a truck. The ground is too stony to hold a tire print, and they knew the dogs wouldn't be able to follow them."

Art nodded. "That's what I think too."

Tim entered the office. "The trace is up." He stuck his hands into his jeans pockets. "I had to call in a favour to get it does this quickly."

The phone rang. Three pairs of eyes fixed on it. Art reached over and picked the handset up, shaking his head after a few seconds. Tim and Rachel slumped, torn between relief and worry.

Art finished his call. "Mr. Arnold just put another inmate in hospital. Knocked him down and tried to choke him."

Tim raised an eyebrow. "I didn't think the little bastard had it in him."

"Me either. He seemed kinda puny in the car." Rachel shook her head. "Is the other inmate going to be okay?"

Art shrugged. "They don't know yet."

"It'll keep him out of our hair for a while, at least." Tim said.

Art made a sound of agreement, then fell quiet. Then room fell into an uneasy silence as they all contended with their thoughts. The phone rang again. Art snatched it up, knowing it was foolish to get his hopes up for an answer so quickly.

"Art Mullen," he said tiredly. "Oh, hello chief."

He talked for a few more minutes, getting information before setting the phone down grimly. "That was the police chief. They've found Raylan's car. It's in a lake, just west of where the patrolman was shot dead."

Tim frowned. "That seems really fast."

Art lifted an eyebrow. "I know. I'm starting to wonder if our police chief knows something that we don't."

Rachel smoothed her hair. "You think he's involved?" she asked.

Art stood and picked up his gun. "Let's go ask him."