He took off his hat and coat, hanging them on the rack by the door. No sense in calling the old man this late at night to tell him Minneapolis hadn’t panned out. Leroy could easily postpone the wailing and gnashing of teeth til morning. He eyed his computer, sitting on a desk next to the window. He was itching to check out his latest bit of intel. First, he went to the kitchen cabinet and grabbed a bag of pork rinds. Airplane peanuts and tiny bottles of hooch were no substitute for down home comfort food—and drink. He retrieved a bottle of whiskey, poured a glassful and swallowed it down. Then he poured another and carried it back with him to the computer along with the bag of rinds.
Leroy consulted a note in his shirt pocket. Before he’d left Minnesota, he scribbled down the name of the corporation that had leased the property of his last fake lead. He typed it into the file he was keeping of all the shell companies that he’d encountered on his various jaunts. Then he did an online search to see if he could link this latest find to anything he’d come across before. He smiled to himself. The Minnesota lessee was an offshoot of a corporation that had made it onto his master list.
He thought he’d take a wild stab to see if the parent company owned any properties closer to home. He checked the online real estate tax records for Cook County and the counties nearest to the city proper. What he found made him blink. He checked the name twice. Sure enough, the corporation owned a house in McHenry County. That area would hardly count as suburban. It was mainly still rural. Leroy pulled up a map of the address. It looked to be part of a suburban tract housing development. Then he drilled down to a street level photo.
“Well, I’ll be,” he muttered in surprise. Gulping down the last of his whiskey, he went back to the kitchen to fetch the bottle. After pouring another glass, he set the bottle down on his computer desk and resumed his task. For several minutes, this consisted of nothing more than staring at the image on his computer screen. Leroy was in a brown study over that farmhouse sitting in the middle of a subdivision of raised ranches. It must have been the original homestead when that part of the state was all farmland which meant it was about a hundred years old. What would Mr. Big want with a place like that?
A lightbulb went off above Leroy’s head. Maybe that old farm was a base of operations. It was owned outright by the corporation, not leased. Who knew how many burglars were working for Mr. Big besides the trio? Maybe he was running an entire ring. It wasn’t all that far-fetched. Leroy already knew that little Hannah had wandered into this den of thieves when she went looking for Miss Cassie. What if Mr. Big decided to keep the gal as insurance just in case his own people got into trouble? No doubt, he’d heard what store the preacher set by her. She could be swapped for any one of the trio if the Nephilim ever snagged them.
Leroy scratched his head. This problem was taking a powerful lot of concentration, but he figured it might be worth a brain cramp to climb aboard this particular train of thought. Mr. Big had gone to a heap of trouble to send Leroy everyplace but northern Illinois. Maybe it wasn’t simply to keep the cowboy away from Hannah. Who knew what else might be going on in that old farmhouse out in the middle of nowhere?
The cowboy printed out the address and directions to the place. He yawned and thought about hitting the hay. Not quite yet. He had to plan out his next move, and it was important for him to play it just right so as not to alert his quarry. Bright and early next morning, he’d call Metcalf on his bugged phone to tell him Minneapolis had been a wash. Of course, the stooge in the Twin Cities had given him a bum address to follow up in Buffalo. He’d tell the old man that he’d jump right on that lead. Once he was sure Mr. Big had got the message, Leroy figured he’d be watched til he drove to the airport. He’d park his truck in the long-term lot, enter the terminal and wait a couple of hours. Once he was sure nobody was on his tail, he’d change clothes, go to a rental agency and get a ride. Then he’d check out this farmhouse and see who lived there and what they might be up to.
He considered what to do if he found little Hannah. The gal still posed a threat to him. If he brought her back to Abe safe and sound, there was no telling if she’d keep her mouth shut. If Abe or one of his stooges pushed her hard enough, she might blab about who helped her to escape in the first place. She’d point the finger straight at Daniel, and Leroy’s chances of grabbing all the doodads would go up in smoke. No, there was only one way this missing person’s search was going to end. If Leroy found little Hannah at that farmhouse in the sticks, she wouldn’t make it back to the preacher alive.
Chapter 8—Vanishing Point
Chopper Bowdeen walked out to claim his rental car in the lot at the Melbourne Airport. He stopped himself. Force of habit had almost made him climb into the left front seat. Belatedly reminding himself of
