Veil of Civility

Chapter Thirty-Three

Leaning against the trunk of a pine tree for support as he caught his breath, Declan looked back in the direction he had come as the sound of baying hounds filled the air. He placed his hands on his knees, taking deep breaths. He knew what the sound meant. The police had brought in dogs and were on his trail. He stood upright and tucked the file folders containing the identities of the four men who had been threatening the Sweat family under his arm like a football and set off at a light jog down a steep incline. Ahead he could see large breaks of sunlight through the thick trees and realized the forested area was coming to an end; soon he would be in open ground. Even in such good shape, there was no way he could cover the kind of distance he needed to on foot. He needed to find a vehicle if he was going to avoid being chased down and caught.

Undoubtedly the police were looking at him as a suspect in Tim Sweat's death and why shouldn't they? He'd run from the scene as soon as they'd shown up. It would take time for a coroner to determine that the gunshot had been self-inflicted and in the meantime they'd arrest and hold him. Declan didn't have that kind of time. On his own, he held the cards and could communicate when and how he wanted. In a jail cell he wouldn't have that choice; plus he didn't want to risk losing the four folders of information he'd got from Sweat. They could help him identify who it was that was trying to kill him and whether or not they had any connection to Seth Castellano, as he suspected they did.

At the bottom of the incline he stopped briefly as the tree cover gave way to a broad, rolling field that was just beginning to show signs of life in the early spring. It was a hayfield, if he had to guess, and in the distance he could see sunlight glinting off a tin roof. He didn't know if it was a barn or a house, but either way it was the only building he could see and might be his only chance for several miles of finding a car. The baying of the hound dogs sounded again in the distance and he looked over his shoulder. It sounded like they were searching the forest southeast of his current location, where he'd stopped at a set of three metal outbuildings that had been used as a storage area for a nearby farm. He hadn't been able to see the farm from the storage area and there hadn't been anything useful inside so he'd kept moving. Although it had cost him some precious time, in hindsight he was thankful he'd stopped. Hopefully the buildings would slow the pursuing officers as they would surely approach the area cautiously in case he was hiding inside and armed.

He moved in the direction of the tin-roofed building at a steady pace and as he got closer he recognized the pungent odor of a chicken coop. The smell assaulted his nostrils and brought water to his eyes as he crested the last hill before the end of the field. In front of him a small valley between more hills opened up and he could see that the tin roof did indeed belong to a long rectangular chicken coop. He surveyed the area around the coop for vehicles, but saw none. As his eyes moved across the adjacent fields, he spotted the rear of a brick ranch house surrounded by several tall trees on the opposite side of the property. A one lane gravel road forked about a hundred yards from the house and led past it and over more hilly terrain. He would have preferred to find a vehicle near the farm buildings where there was less chance he would encounter the landowner, but it looked like the house was his only choice; parked next to it he could see a blue pickup truck.

Declan kept his eyes on the house and the road leading to it as he made his way out of the field on a rough pathway that he thought had likely been made by the frequent passing of a tractor. He didn't like the idea of stealing a car from someone, but how else was he going to get out of the area and to a more secure location where he could take a long look at the information he was carrying? He didn't know exactly what he was expecting to find in the files that would be so valuable, but there had to be something that could help him find a lead.

Keeping his eyes focused on the house and his ears tuned to the road in case any vehicles approached, Declan carefully stepped over a waist-high barbed wire fence that separated the hayfield from the home's spacious yard. He darted between several tall pine trees as he moved across the yard towards the short driveway that ran off the gravel road in front of the house and ended where the truck was parked.

The house was a one story brick ranch with its exterior mostly surrounded by tall evergreen shrubs that hadn't been trimmed back in many years. From the looks of the lawn and the lack of any kind of homely decorations, he suspected the owner of the property was elderly and that could work out in his favor. With any luck, if there was anyone inside, he would have the truck started and be rolling out of the driveway before they even heard a sound. Keeping his eyes on what little bit of window he could see through the thick shrubs, he approached the truck low and slow and reached out to touch the hood. The metal was cold, signaling that it hadn't been driven recently. The truck was a navy blue Chevrolet and from the body style he was guessing it was an early nineties model; hopefully it still ran. He moved around to the passenger's side where the body of the vehicle hid him from view, and pulled up on the door handle. He paused briefly to see if anyone had seen or heard him, then rested easy as no sounds came from the house. Looking over his shoulder, he cleared his six o'clock position. The door came open with a low clunk as the latch released and he leaned inside as he pulled it the rest of the way open. The cab smelled heavily of cigarette smoke and the passenger's floor area was littered with old receipts and sales paper inserts that had been trampled by wet shoes and were now a permanent part of the worn carpeting. On the seat sat a bucket of white spackling and a rusted paint scraper. He grabbed ahold of the paint scraper and reached across to the steering wheel to begin prying the casing off so he could get to the wiring underneath.

As he placed the blade of the scraper into the joint between the upper and lower casings, the sound of crunching gravel drew his attention. He ducked quickly down onto the seat and turned around as he slid out of the truck. Looking towards the gravel road, panic rose as he saw a brown and white Crown Victoria turn right at the fork and head towards the house. He pushed the truck door closed and moved around the front of the vehicle, his eyes darting between the house and the approaching police car as he crouched to hide from the deputy's view. He needed a place to hide before he was seen, assuming he hadn't been already. Spotting a low porch on the front of the house, white plastic lattice work across the bottom to hide the edge of the wooden boards, he moved towards it, looking for an opening. At the meeting of the lattice work and the edge of the house, time had loosened whatever nails or staples had been holding the white vinyl to the wood. He leaned down and tore a piece loose before lying on the ground in a prone position and pulling himself under the porch on his elbows. Sliding around in a circle, he reached out and picked up the piece of lattice work, leaning it against the edge of the deck to hide his entry point. He squinted and held his breath as the dust from the dirty ground underneath the porch settled.

Looking through the triangular holes in the lattice work, he watched as the Crown Vic, clearly bearing the logo of the Franklin County Sheriff's Office, turned right into the short driveway and pulled to a stop behind the parked truck.

He could hear the muffled sound of the deputy's radio unit through the closed doors of the vehicle and wondered if the man had seen him as he'd approached the house. The sound of the door latch being released preceded the sound of two feet hitting the gravel driveway as the deputy left the cruiser. Declan scooted back from the edge of the porch, hoping the shadows would hide him from view if the man happened to look down. The short distance still gave him enough visibility to watch the deputy's actions.

"Dispatch this is 2-Adam-23. I'm 10–62 for a 10–66 at 608 Rucker Road, copy?"

"10-4, 23, advise 10-8. Over?"

"Copy dispatch, will advise."

The deputy walked over the ten foot distance between his cruiser and the edge of the porch. Declan could hear the boards of the weathered porch creek under the man's weight as he passed over him. The sound of a screen door being pulled open preceded a forceful knock on the front door. Slow footsteps sounded heavy on the aged floorboards of the house as the occupant made his or her way to the front door and opened it, metal hinges squealing in protest.

"I'm Deputy Rogers with the Franklin County Sheriff's Office." the deputy said. "How do you do, Ma'am?"

"I'm fine, Deputy," an elderly woman answered, a question audible in her raspy voice.

"Ma'am, I'm here because we're searching for a suspect in a crime that happened a few miles southeast of here. Now, I don't want to scare you, but have you seen anyone you didn't recognize around here this afternoon?"

Declan grimaced as he waited for the woman's answer. Had she seen him through a window as he'd approached?

"No. No, I haven't."

He breathed easy.

"Okay, Ma'am. The man we're looking for is approximately six feet in height, he has blonde hair and he's kind of thin. At this point he's considered armed and dangerous, so please do not open your door for anyone and call us immediately if you see someone matching that description. We'll be patrolling the nearby areas frequently until we find him."

"Oh, dear. Alright, then."

Declan could hear the fear in the woman's voice and he shook his head. He didn't mean anyone any harm; he just wanted to get back to his wife. There were people out there that did mean harm, though, and they had already killed a lot of good people. If they weren't stopped, chances were that they'd kill a lot more.

"One last thing before I leave, ma'am," the deputy said. "Would you mind if I had a look around the barn and the chicken coop just in case someone may have tried to hide there?"

"No, go right ahead. I'm going to call my son and ask him to come over. Will you notify us when you've found the man you're looking for?"

"Do you have a television or a radio, ma'am?"

"Yes."

"We'll be keeping people updated through the local stations."

"Thank you, Deputy."

Declan listened as the woman closed the door with a thud and the deputy released his hold on the screen door allowing it to bang closed. The deputy's heavy footsteps sounded over the porch and Declan watched as he made his way back to his vehicle and entered, closing the door behind him. Muffled voices sounded as the man radioed his dispatcher and informed her of his return to his vehicle. The cruiser's engine started up and the deputy backed out of the driveway and drove towards the barn that was a short distance past the tractor path Declan had traveled a few minutes before.

Waiting until he was sure the deputy was out of sight, he pushed the loosened lattice work aside and slid out from under the porch, his black coat and blue jeans tan with dust. He had no idea how close the lady's son lived, but he knew he needed to get out of the area quick before anyone saw him. He looked at the truck and grimaced. He wasn't as concerned about the woman inside seeing him, but was there really any chance that he could get the thing started and get away without alerting the deputy? He doubted it, but it was the only option he had. He crossed the untrimmed grass to the driver's side of the pickup and opened the door. Closing it as quietly as possible, he tossed the file folders onto the passenger seat and grabbed the handle of the paint scraper that was sticking out of the steering wheel casing where he'd left it. Good thing the deputy hadn't checked the truck or else he would have known someone was around by the obvious attempt to hot wire the vehicle. Prying the casing down far enough to get his fingers inside, he pulled off the bottom casing and revealed the wires underneath. After a quick inspection he identified the two wires that would complete the circuit. With the bladed end of the scraper he tore them loose and twisted them together before allowing them to touch the starter wire. The truck sputtered as he held the wires together and the starter began to squeal. After what seemed like a solid minute but was probably only a few seconds, the engine turned over and the truck came loudly to life. He sat up in the seat and pulled the gearshift into the reverse position. The truck lurched into gear and he backed out of the gravel driveway, skidding to a stop as he shifted quickly through the gears and pressed the accelerator to the floor. The truck's rear wheels spun against the loose gravel and churned a cloud of dust as the vehicle shot forward towards the fork in the road. He didn't know exactly where he was, but he took a gamble that the deputy had been coming from the main road when he'd arrived at the house. He made a left at the fork and sixty yards later the road turned from gravel to pavement and he knew he'd made the right decision. As he passed a row of more modern homes he could see the intersection of the main road ahead. He slowed as he approached the intersection. The brakes ground loudly against the bare rotors and he fought to keep the steering wheel from pulling to the left. With his attention on keeping control of the truck, he glanced through the pitted windshield just as another Crown Vic pulled onto the road and blocked his way. He stomped hard on the brakes and brought the truck to a skidding stop, his eyes locking with those of the deputy behind the wheel of the cruiser, who now had his radio to his mouth and was shouting into the mic.

Declan slammed the truck into reverse as he pressed the pedal to the floor. The nearly bald tires slid against the smooth pavement before finally gaining traction and pushing the vehicle backwards. Placing his arm over the back seat he looked over his shoulder as he backed the vehicle up the road as fast as it would go. The back end fishtailed and he fought to keep the badly aligned truck from swerving off the road and into one of the manicured yards on either side. As he cleared the last of the homes, he stomped hard on the emergency brake and slapped the gearshift into neutral as he turned the steering wheel sharply, causing the truck to skid sideways and around in a half circle.

Declan braced for impact as the deputy pursuing him collided with the rear bumper of the truck and pushed it forward. Declan shifted back into drive, popped the emergency brake and again pressed the pedal to the floor. White smoke plumed from the rear wheels as the truck struggled to gain traction. With only inches between his rear bumper and the front bumper of the police cruiser, he swerved the truck, deliberately trying to get the deputy to back off, but without success. The truck bounced violently as the paved surface ended and a cloud of dust cascaded into the air. With the fork in the road just ahead of him, he looked through the truck's windows trying to determine which way was more likely to lead him back around to the main road, but his choice was made for him when he saw a cloud of dust trailing behind a vehicle coming down the road to the right. The deputy from the old lady's house was trying to cut him off at the fork.

He pressed harder on the accelerator and tightened his grip on the wheel until his knuckles turned white. As he approached the fork he allowed the vehicle to glide to the left and braced himself for the impact he knew was coming. Giving the accelerator a last push, he managed to clear the fork with the cab of the truck before the oncoming police cruiser hit him.

The car collided with the rear quarter of the truck and Declan steered hard to the left as the truck was knocked into a sideways skid. Correcting the steering, he brought the truck back into a forward trajectory and looked into the rearview mirror. Through the dust he could see that the two deputies had narrowly avoided a collision and were now trying to back out of each other's way so they could continue the pursuit. The temporary delay allowed him to distance himself from his pursuers, but he knew the advantage wouldn't last. There was no way the old truck could outrun the amped up engines of the police cars and any hope of making a sudden turn to throw them off his trail was foiled by the dust cloud being churned up behind him. It was clear as he wound his way furiously over a curvy section of the dirt road that he needed to find a place to ditch the truck and get back into the forest on foot. Without being able to outrun the police cars, it was his only way of escaping. Glancing into the rearview mirror again, he could see the blue lights of the police cars through the dust, closing the distance. Ahead another fork in the road became visible and he looked to the right and left. On the right the dirt road continued winding its way around the grassy fields and to the left a thick patch of forest was cleared at the crest of a hill where a water tower broke the tree line. Taking the road to the left he gambled that there was some kind of building at the base of the water tower that might slow the approach of the pursuing deputies. Any law enforcement officer with more than five minutes of training wouldn't approach with any speed a building that potentially held an armed suspect, and that could give him all the time he needed to make a run for it through the woods and put some distance between himself and the police.

The road narrowed as it became tree lined and he slowed slightly as overgrown branches slapped the sides of the truck. The water tower was less than fifty yards ahead of him and he could already see that his gamble wasn't going to pay off. There was nothing at the base of the water tower but a ladder leading to the top and a dead end. Damn he thought as he moved his foot from the accelerator to the brake and slowed the truck to a skidding stop. Quickly he gathered the folders into a stack and left the truck. Behind him he could hear the crunch of gravel as the police cruisers approached, their progress slowing as they entered the tree covered area. Maybe his idea had panned out after all. Maybe the deputies were worried he would take up a position on the water tower and try shooting at them as they approached. With the truck hopefully blocking their view of him, he ran into the woods as fast as he could.

Fifty yards behind the water tower, in the cover of the trees, he stopped and listened. He couldn't hear any sounds from the vehicles and assumed the two deputies had stopped their pursuit. He took a minute to look around and to try and decide what direction he was headed. In the ferocity of the chase he hadn't been paying attention to where he was going and quickly began retracing his movements in his head as he moved forward in a jog. The sudden bark of a large dog at his back jarred him and he jerked his head over his shoulder towards the water tower. Had one of the deputies been a K-9 unit? He couldn't afford to wait and find out. He broke into a run, grabbing onto trees and pulling himself forward through the forest as he heard the barking continue behind him.

Jumping over a downed tree, he landed in a clearing created by a set of high-tension wires that cut through the forest. Wading quickly through the waist high scrub brush he crossed into the forest on the other side before continuing to run. Ahead he could tell that the patch of forest he was in was coming to an end and he knew he had no chance of outrunning a dog on open ground. As he broke the tree line he saw several weathered buildings in the clearing. Sliding down a hill on his heels and grabbing at tiny scrub pines to keep himself upright, he landed at the bottom and ran for the biggest building.

Dodging around several piles of cut trees, the property he was now on appeared to be a saw mill. The buildings were made from split boards that were weathered black with age and he could see a conveyor belt coming through the side of the biggest building's A-frame. As he ran he looked for any signs that the place was occupied and saw nothing. No vehicles appeared to be present and a dirt driveway cut through the forest to his right. Several barks bellowed from behind him and he picked up his pace, his breath coming in rapid gasps. Arriving at the side of the biggest building, he ran around it until he found a door. Pulling it open by the twisted metal handle, he entered and pulled it shut behind him, holding it closed by the interior handle as he felt something leap against the door with a frustrated bark. Breathing heavily, he looked around the area near the door and found a rusted screwdriver on a workbench that was thin enough to fit into the door handle. He jammed it through the hole to hold the door closed and turned into the building.

Inside, the place was like a large barn with a conveyor belt in the center that was used to bring in the logs from outside so they could be sawed and split into boards. The room smelled heavily of sawdust, and thin beams of sunlight exposed the dust floating in the air as they pierced through the spaces in between the boarded walls. He looked for any other entrances, but didn't see any. The only hole in the building besides the door he had come through was for the conveyor belt and it was too high for either a dog or a human to reach. He breathed easily and considered his next move as the barking continued from outside the door. He knew the two deputies wouldn't be far behind the dog and that they would be radioing for more units to back them up. He walked a little further into the building and noticed a set of steps that led to a room off a second floor catwalk. Maybe there was a door there that he could sneak out of. He climbed the steps two at a time, the weathered boards creaking under his weight and the catwalk shaking slightly as he stepped onto it. He crossed it carefully to a closed door and slowly opened it.

Inside was an employee break room with a refrigerator, microwave and a square table in one corner. It was clear from the settled dust that it hadn't been used in quite a while. On the opposite side of the rectangular room was a door that obviously led to what was intended to be the front of the building. Faded vinyl lettering on the window in the door read Walterman's Lumber. He crossed the tiled floor to the door, and looked outside. The doorway led to a second story porch that had a set of stairs leading down to the small parking lot in front of the building. The driveway he'd seen on his way in ran off the lot and up into the woods where he assumed it connected with the dirt road he had been on a short time ago. A cloud of dust coming through the trees attracted his attention and he watched as it moved closer. Knowing exactly what it was he wasn't surprised when a police cruiser appeared at the top of the driveway and stopped. The officer inside surveyed the lot and the buildings below and brought his radio to his mouth. Ducking out of the window, Declan reached down to make sure the door was locked.

Standing against a counter he could see out of the window to the right side of the lumber yard where he'd first approached the property. Two men in brown and tan uniforms appeared at the crest of the hill and one yelled a command in a language that Declan didn't understand. From the other side of the building a tan and black German shepherd bounded between the piles of uncut lumber and up the hill to his master's feet. The men stood beside a row of trees looking over the property for any sign of him and prepared to take cover if he began shooting.

They had him cornered now and they knew it. The driveway was blocked by the police cruiser and if he tried to make a run for it out of the back door that he'd come in through, the dog would be on him in a matter of seconds. He knew that the one deputy in his cruiser at the top of the driveway would soon be joined by more vehicles and that within a few minutes the entire place would be surrounded. He wiped his face with his hand and took a deep breath as he considered his next move. For the moment he had time on his side and while he wasn't willing to harm innocent men, they didn't know that and would be extremely cautious and well prepared before attempting to enter the building after him. He turned around and placed the files on the counter top in front of him. Spreading them out, he opened one and looked at the face of one of the men he'd killed.

The face the paperwork identified as Jack Turlington stared back at him and he recognized the man as the apparent leader of the four, the man he'd beaten to death beside a bulldozer two nights earlier. He set the folder aside and opened each of the other three.

Scanning briefly over the information on each man's DOJ application he settled on the fact that the information was likely for real. Nothing in the documents looked out of place. By all appearances they were just four men who had applied and were working at a small security company in central Virginia. Somehow Declan needed to find a way to get the information out of the physical folders because there was no way he was going to be leaving with them still in his possession.

"Attention," a voice from outside bellowed over a bullhorn. "This is Franklin County Sheriff Steve Scruggs. We have the building surrounded. This place hasn't been used in several years now so we know you're alone. Give yourself up or we're prepared to come in after you."

Declan turned towards the window and leaned his head so he could see outside. Three more police cars had arrived at the top of the driveway and behind them a white SUV bearing similar law enforcement markings was parked. A total of nine men were now gathered near the cars, all taking cover behind the open doors of the vehicles. He scanned the tree line quickly and didn't see anyone else in position, but it didn't matter. There was still no way he was going to make it on foot with as many men as were out there and there was still the presence of the dog to consider.

He turned back towards the countertop and looked at the folders. He pulled one of his prepaid cell phones from the pocket of his coat and flipped it open. The camera on the phone took a low megapixel image but it would have to do. He snapped several photos of the DOJ applications and bundled them into an email. Pressing the "send" button, he waited as the service connected and uploaded the pictures. When it was done, he laid the phone on the countertop as he looked around the room for something he could break it with. He didn't want anyone being able to turn it on and find out what he'd sent and where it had gone. Seeing nothing that he could use he picked the device up in both hands and snapped it in half at the joint between the receiver and the LED display. Crossing the room to the door that led back into the saw mill, he opened it and peered out. No one had tried to enter the building after him yet. He stepped onto the catwalk and threw the LED part of the phone as hard as he could across the building. Taking the back off the remaining piece he removed the battery and the SIM card and repeated the process of throwing them as far as he could before finally dropping the receiver through the holes in the floor of the catwalk and listening as it clattered onto the cement floor below and shattered. Hopefully the pieces wouldn't be found and if they were, he was hopeful that they were beyond any kind of use.

"Attention," the amplified voice of the Sheriff said again. “This is your second and final warning. Come out now or we are prepared to come in after you."

The voice echoed over the small valley that the saw mill sat in and Declan turned back towards the interior of the break room. He knew there were only two ways he was going to get out of the building, in a body bag or by giving up and allowing himself to be arrested. He unzipped his coat and slid it off, laying it on the floor at his feet. He released the magazine in his Glock pistol as he removed it from the holster on his belt and laid them both on the counter side by side. The last thing he wanted to happen was for an antsy deputy to pull the trigger nervously upon seeing that he was carrying a gun. He stepped towards the door and unlocked it before pulling it open and allowing it to bang against the wall. "I'm comin' out," he yelled as he raised his hands and stepped onto the porch.

The sunlight temporarily blinded him as the cool spring air touched his sweaty face. With his hands raised up past his shoulders he walked fully out to the edge of the porch and looked towards the grouping of police cruisers at the top of the hill. He felt his chest tighten as he noticed that a new face had joined the group. Seth Castellano now stood beside the sheriff, his Glock .22 service pistol raised over the top of the cruiser's door.

"Turn around slowly and stand with your back to us!" the sheriff announced over the bullhorn. Declan took a deep breath and slowly obeyed. He didn't like the idea of turning his back on Castellano when he had a gun aimed, but he didn't have any other choice. He listened closely as the sound of men in uniforms moved into position at the bottom of the steps. Moments later two deputies with their weapons drawn moved cautiously up the steps and confronted him.

"Turn around and stand still," one of them barked in a southern dialect. Declan turned around again and waited until the man reached for his hands and pulled them down one at a time behind his back where a pair of handcuffs were snapped over his wrists.

"C'mon," the deputy said, as he tugged backwards on the cuffs. Declan allowed himself to be guided to the stairs and walked to the gravel lot below. As he and the two deputies reached the bottom, the sheriff and Castellano walked towards them as one of the police cruisers was moved down the hill and pulled sideways to a stop where they could load him inside.

With his dark red tie blowing in the slight breeze, Castellano leaned in close as the deputy pushed Declan towards the rear door of the cruiser, now being held open. "Thanks for the help," he whispered in a snide tone as Declan felt a hand placed on top of his head to push him into the car. He closed his eyes as he entered the vehicle, his hands uncomfortable between his back and the edge of the seat. Slowly the car pulled forward and he opened his eyes again to look forward as the car moved up the hill. How was he going to get out of this?