Page 137 of South of Nowhere

You could buy surplus uniforms for a song online. Corps of Engineer patches too.

Olsen—or whoever she really might be—was working with Bear.

Colter said, “There’s no bomb curtain coming. In fact, they’regetting ready to blow the rest of the levee. And it’s going to happen any minute.”

“You’re sure?” Tolifson asked.

Dorion answered, “She told us the curtains would be here in forty minutes or so. We’ll start to ask questions when they don’t show up, so they have to blow it before that happens.”

Debi Starr blurted, “We need backup!” She grabbed her mobile.

Colter was studying the trio across the valley, trying to see sidearms. The phony corporals wore Colt 1911 .45s. Powerful and accurate, and because they were so heavy, they offered little recoil, which meant that you could fire fast with good aim.

He could assume that Olsen had a concealed weapon of some kind.

“Now!” The voice was Debi Starr’s, speaking into the phone. “I want Prescott Moore on the line now. We’ve got lives at risk in Hinowah…Well, let me tell you, miss, I am sick and tired of hearing excuses about Fort Pleasant. Get his butt on the phone this minute.”

“Debi!” Tolifson whispered.

She ignored him. “Well, I wouldn’t need that tone if you’d unclog your ears and listen to me. Moore. Now.” She sighed. “Then connect me to Sheriff Barrett.” A brief pause. “Sheriff. It’s Debi Starr, Hinowah Public Safety. We’ve got three people in our sights, armed, and they planted the bombs here in Hinowah. They killed one person and shot up another. We need a full county and highway patrol responseimmediately…SWAT and bomb squad. I meannow. And no more ‘poor Fort Pleasant’ crapola.”

“Geeze, Debi,” Tolifson muttered.

Colter called, “Tell him we have an active shooter. That always gets attention.”

“Active shooter?” Tolifson asked. “But there isn’t one.”

Colter Shaw said, “There will be. In about sixty seconds.”

61.

Another thought landed hard in Colter Shaw’s mind.

If Annie Coynewasthe fall person, which he knew was true, she had to be eliminated.

It was the only way the plot would work. Alive, she would deliver credible alibis, counter evidence and witnesses to prove shewasn’tbehind the levee explosion or the planting of lithium samples.

But if she were to die, the authorities would be inclined to follow the path of least resistance in the investigation: assign the guilt to her and close the case.

He drew his weapon.

“Colter,” Starr began, “what…”

“Bring the keys to the van.”

“Heck. Of course!” Nodding, she clearly understood.

She started after him, fishing in her pocket, as the items on her service belt bounced sideways and up and down. The woman was getting quite a spoonful of law enforcement today, the sort that had surely never been seen in a small town before.

More activity in a single day than any true crime podcast could offer up in a month.

He sprinted through brush down the hill toward the van. Just as he broke from the bushes he saw Bear, holding a gas can in both hands. Their eyes met and Colter aimed in his direction. Bear was strong but a three-gallon container weighs about twenty-five pounds. He was straining to hold it. The cap was off.

“Down. Careful.” Colter didn’t want it to tip over and spill. The engine of the van was running and the hot tailpipe might set off a blaze.

The man nodded. And began to crouch and do as told. “Okay, Mr. Shovel. We’re all good here.”

Starr ran up and targeted him too. The big gun was held steady in her hand.

---