by Jon Coon
Gabe’s phone chimed again as they were walking back to the cruiser.
“Jones? This is Wyatt Bodine. We need to talk.”
Gabe stared at the phone in amazement. After nearly killing all five of us Bodine must be certifiable to want to meet face to face. “Okay, when and where?”
“You’re at Peterson’s. I’m almost there. Only you. I don’t like crowds.”
“You’re not going to believe this,” Gabe said to Bob. “That was Wyatt Bodine. He wants a parley, just the two of us.”
“No way. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I can throw that barge,” Bob said.
“I’ve got the radio,” Gabe answered. “I want to hear what he wants. It’s got to be interesting.”
“Okay, I’ll call for backup. Carol can come with me. Let’s get him,” Bob said.
“Good. Thanks.”
“Gabe, are you sure?” Carol asked.
“Nothing to lose. Let’s hear what he’s got to say.”
“There’s plenty to lose. You be careful.” She hugged his arm and kissed his cheek.
Gabe stood on the crutches by his car and watched them leave. Shortly a blue pickup came down the tree-lined drive and parked beside him. Wyatt got out and stood to admire the mansion. “Dad told me about this place, but I’ve never been here. Cool.”
“We know it was you in the crane, Bodine. So before I arrest you, what do you want?”
“I heard Rogers and Janna are dead. Chalk up two more for Conners. You’ll never get him for any of this, Gabe. They’re untouchable. But we can make a deal.”
“After you tried to kill us I’m not sure I’m in a deal-making mood. What do you have in mind?”
“Your leg, did that happen in the river?”
“Yes, now answer my question.” Gabe shifted, uncomfortably.
“I’m sorry you were hurt, but help me and we can end this. You think they’re going to put up their hands and turn themselves in when you say pretty please? They killed your partner, Gabe, and my family too. It’s not going to stop until we stop them. Give me your evidence, and let me make them mad enough to want to shut me up. Then they’ll come after me, not you and your family. And believe me, I want them to come after me. What I’m offering is your only chance.”
“Wyatt, it’s over. We’ve got enough to stop this without more killing. Turn yourself in. We can work something out. Let us do our jobs, and it’s finished.”
“You found Corbitt’s briefcase?” Wyatt took a step back. His face turned to granite.
“Yes,” Gabe said hesitantly, “and everything we need to prove the fraud is there.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not asking anymore. Get me that briefcase and whatever else you’ve got, or you won’t like what happens next.”
Wyatt pulled a Beretta and leveled it at Gabe, “Get me that stuff, Gabe, it’s the only way to take them down. I won’t ask nice again.”
“Put the gun away, Wyatt. Don’t make this worse than it is. It’s not too late for you.” Gabe shook his head in disgust.
Wyatt ignored him and kept the gun on Gabe while he stepped up into the truck. “It’s going to get worse if you don’t help me. I’m sorry, but I’m out of options. Whatever happens next, it’s all on you.” His tires threw dust and gravel as he sped away from the house.
Gabe pulled the phone from his shirt pocket and called Bob. “He wants our evidence. He thinks he can destroy Conners. He pulled a gun and threatened me if we don’t give it to him.”
“And?” Bob said.
“He needs to learn it’s not polite to point guns at cops.”
Bob scoured, “That’s a big ten-four. We’ve got two units in pursuit. We’ll relieve him of that gun and give him a few years to improve his manners and negotiating skills.”
“Good,” Gabe said. “Call me when you’ve got him. I don’t want to spend the rest of the day looking over my shoulder. Tell me where to meet you, and I’ll pick up Carol. We’ve got a busy afternoon.”
1545
The River House Site
The clean-up crew had done an excellent job. Nothing was left of the old cypress camp house. Only the outhouse remained. Gabe got out and opened the back-seat door for Emily and two very happy dogs. Wesson was cautious, sniffing out the changes, but with taunting from Smith, who could now manage a trot, they were soon on the way to the river. “No skunks!” Emily shouted after them. She was sure the bark she got in reply was their promise to behave.
Carol gave Gabe the plans for the new house. He cut saplings and made stakes. Then got out two rolls of yellow police tape, a hundred-foot cloth measuring tape, and a compass. It took an hour.
When they were done the house was laid out in yellow, including the interior walls. As Emily stepped off the dimensions of her room, bath, and walk-in closet, she protested, “I’m not sure the closet’s big enough, Mom. I’m going to have lots of clothes.”
“It will be fine, honey. If you have that many clothes, we’ll get you a storage pod. Have you decided where you’re going to put the RV?” she asked Gabe.
“Yeah, I’m thinking the little knoll by the river, just past the cemetery. We put it under roof in a pull through, add a deck, a permanent awning, and it will last for years.”
“High water?” she worried.
“It’s on wheels,” he countered.
“Right,” she agreed. “Let’s go check it out. Em, are you coming?”
“I’m going to stay and make sure this is right,” Emily said, perplexed as she stood in her closet with the house plans in hand.
The spot Gabe had chosen was high ground with a great view. He measured the RV space then spray-painted a road with as few trees sacrificed as possible.
They sat on the grass where the new deck would be, enjoying the view. “Put the barn there,” Carol said, pointing to a slight rise in the meadow. “Fence from there to there, down to there . . . Oh, Gabe, it will be perfect. Well almost perfect. Perfect until . . .”
“And you are sure we can afford this?” he asked again.
“God bless you, Charlie Evans, for taking out that insurance,” she said.
“I guess so. Thank you, Charlie.”
The day was slipping past. Golden light and low shadows crept along the sleepy river. Their solace was suddenly shattered by the dogs’ fierce barking and then a gunshot.
Gabe dropped the crutches and ran, as best he could, back to the house plot. Both dogs met him on the trail. Carol pulled up short behind him as he checked the dogs for wounds. Not this time.
“Emily!” Carol screamed, and they bolted back up the trail.
CHAPTER 39
Breathless when they made the clearing, Carol continued screaming for Emily. Gabe got his Remington 12 gauge from the car, but when the dogs dropped at his feet, giving up their search, he knew Emily was gone.
He called his office for help, and within minutes Bob landed in the clearing, followed by two patrol cars. Police dogs joined the search but shortly agreed with Smith and Wesson: Emily was gone. It was dark now and cooling. Carol kept close to Gabe and fought back her tears as the patrol cars left, leaving Bob and the pilot.
“I’ve called the FBI team,” he told Gabe. “They asked us to wait here until they arrive.”
Gabe’s phone rang just as the Fed’s Suburban entered the clearing.
“I’ve got her,” Wyatt said. His voice was flat, all business. “Look, I’m sorry, but I warned you. I don’t want to hurt her. Just do what I asked, and bring me everything you’ve got on McFarland. Once it goes public, I want twenty-four hours. Don’t get stupid. I’ll call again with instructions.”
“There’s no way you walk away from—” Too late, Gabe’s cell phone went silent. His first inclination was to throw the phone into orbit, but he settled for slamming his palm on the hood of the cruiser. However his rage quickly abated when Carol took his arm and leaned against his chest, waiting. “How bad is it?” she asked.
Gabe looked down at her and said, “Wyatt�
�s got her. I don’t think he’ll hurt her, but he wants the McFarland files and twenty-four hours to get out of the country.”
“He can’t possibly think he can get away with this,” Bob said.
“He must have some kind of plan. He wants revenge for his dad and his sister,” Gabe said. “But he’s not obsessed about that enough to go down for it. There must be something else. Something big.”
“Well then we need to find it,” Bob responded.
Carol gave Bob a frown. “First let’s find Emily, and then I don’t care what he does.” She turned to Gabe, “Give me back that shotgun.” Gabe handed it to her.
“Wyatt said it was all Peterson, Rogers, and Mitchell Conners,” Gabe said. “One way or another, Conners is involved. It’s time we talked.”
“I’m going with you,” Carol said.
Gabe looked at Bob.
“I’m not saying no to an enraged Texan with a 12 gauge,” Bob answered. “Let’s go.”
2305
The Conners Estate
The Conners home was a gated mini-mansion on several manicured acres, overlooking a private lake. Gabe leaned out the truck window, repeatedly pushing the gate’s call button until getting an answer.
“Do you know what time it is?” Conners growled.
“State police. Open up,” Gabe replied, just as gruffly.
“I’m calling my attorney.”
“Call your grandmother, for all I care. Open the gate. My daughter’s been kidnapped. I want answers.”
“Your daughter?” Carol asked as the gate swung open.
“Maybe I should have said goddaughter.”
“I don’t think Charlie would mind. Daughter works just fine.”
They parked on the cobblestone drive and marched to the door. Conners was waiting in his silk pajamas and bathrobe. He led them into a formal living room the size of a basketball court.
“I had nothing to do with any kidnapping,” Conners began.
“But you know who did,” Bob answered. “Why would Wyatt Bodine want to destroy your company and kill you?”
Conners was silent.
“He took Emily because he wants the evidence we’ve got against you and your company. We know about the fraud and the killings, now start talking, or I’m going to give you to Bodine.”
“You can’t threaten me . . .” Conners snarled.
Conners’s wife stepped into the room wearing a floor-length frilly robe and looking twenty years younger than her spouse. She crossed the room and stood by Carol. Mary Conners put her hand on Carol’s shoulder and said quietly, “What have you done, Mitchell? You and Jewels Peterson, I heard you on the phone.”
“Shut up, Mary; you don’t know—”
“What’s going on?” Catherine Conners came in wearing a snug T-shirt and what looked like men’s boxers.
“Nothing you need to worry about,” her father snapped. “Put on some clothes or go back to bed.”
“Did you have anything to do with Bo’s death or those other murders?” Mary asked, glaring at her husband. When she raised her hand from behind the robe, she was holding a shiny five shot Ruger.
“Mom, what are you—”
“Getting answers, like we should have done a long time ago.”
Conners shook his head, “I had nothing to do with any of it. It was all Wyatt Bodine. He killed Bo, and he tried to kill you,” he said looking at Gabe and Carol, “that night on the river.”
“What does Wyatt have to do with this?” Catherine asked.
“You know Wyatt Bodine?” Bob asked.
“We grew up together. He’s not a killer.”
“Shut up, Catherine,” Conners snapped. “You don’t know anything.”
“What about Wilson Corbitt and Nancy Bodine?” Gabe pushed. “I suppose you’re going to tell us Wyatt killed them too?”
“I had nothing to do with that. I don’t know anything about it,” Conners said and tried backing away. Gabe swung forward on the crutches, closing the gap between them, getting seriously in his face.
“What did Corbitt have?” Gabe demanded. “Bo and Peterson were skimming millions, and you didn’t have a clue? Don’t think a jury’s going to buy that one.”
“They could have been rigging bids, maybe Corbitt knew,” Conners answered hesitantly.
“What? Rigging bids? I don’t believe it!” Catherine said.
“Shut up, Catherine, I told you to put on some clothes.”
“Okay, they were rigging bids. Then what went wrong?” Gabe continued.
“We built the bridges to the specs Peterson gave us, and that’s all.”
“It’s over, Conners. Unless you want to be criminally liable for every accident that happens on those bridges you need to start talking,” Gabe growled.
“Tell him, Mitchell, or you and I are done. Rigging bids is one thing. Killing innocents is totally different. Start talking.” Mary leveled the gun at him and waited.
“All right. All right. We never meant to hurt anyone. The bridges Peterson designed needed two or three times the maintenance of a normal bridge. The bridges looked the same, and all bridges need repair sooner or later, but these bridges were a gold mine in repair contracts. If there were problems, blame the river and flood water washing out the footings and piers. It was perfect. As long as the repairs were completed when needed it all worked.”
“But—” Gabe pushed.
“Rogers wasn’t doing the inspections. He was turning in false reports. The state didn’t know how bad the damage was until it was too late.”
“You knew this was going on?” Catherine said. “You knew it could have ruined us, and you didn’t stop it?” She dropped into a chair glaring at her father in disbelief.
“No, I didn’t know about the bogus reports. It wasn’t our job to do those inspections.”
“And how did you find out what was going on?” Gabe demanded.
“Bo came to me and confessed. After the accidents, we realized we had to destroy the original plans. If they were discovered in an investigation, we’d have been ruined.”
“You arranged the fires?” Gabe asked.
“Yeah, Overstreet, Peterson, they had as much to lose as we did.”
“You’re unbelievable!” Catherine shrieked.
“Go on,” Gabe said to Conners, trying to ignore Catherine.
“Wyatt came back after he heard your diver died. He went to see his dad, and Bo told him what was going on. Wyatt assumed Bo was responsible for Corbitt’s and Nancy’s deaths. That’s why Wyatt killed him. He was devoted to his sister.”
“Bo killed Nancy? Wyatt killed his dad? That’s all lies. What are you doing?” Catherine said. She jumped to her feet, glaring at her father with contempt.
“Look, that’s it. Wyatt’s a killer,” he shouted at her.
“He is not!” she retorted. The look she gave her father made Gabe glad she wasn’t the one holding the pretty little Ruger.
From learning to read faces in his poker playing days, Gabe bet Conners was lying through his teeth. But then in the midst of lies—a fragment of truth. “If he’s got your daughter, you need to worry.”
“Do you have any idea where Wyatt would hide? Say a hunting or fishing camp off the beaten track?”
“No. Bo was a golfer. He didn’t hunt or fish,” Conners said. He moved again, Gabe countered and kept him from getting breathing room.
“How about Wyatt?”
“Wait. Bo had a houseboat. He used it as a party barge.”
“I remember the picture in his office. Where’s it docked?” Gabe asked.
“The marina at Cypress Knoll Country Club. Check there.”
“I never should have trusted you, Mitchell,” Mary said. “You’ve ruined us. Now we’re going to lose everything. Get out of my house.” She still had the Ruger leveled at Conners. Catherine stood by her mother in rock-solid defiance.
“Mary, I swear I didn’t know. They can’t prove anything.”
“Don’t shoot
him,” Carol said and reached over to Mary’s arm. “The price would be too high.”
Mary lowered the Ruger and handed it to Carol. “Take this. I know the price, but if I keep it, I’m probably going to shoot him anyway.”
“Mary, I swear. I didn’t know,” Conners repeated. “What about us? I love you. Tell me you don’t believe any of this.”
“What I believe is that I regret ever having seen your sorry face. Now get out.” She stormed out of the room, leaving Catherine to carry on the battle.
“You’re not going to hang this on Wyatt, Dad,” Catherine said. “None of it.” She rose from the chair and followed her mother.
“I’m putting you in protective custody until we sort this out,” Bob said. “My officers are on the way. I’d be looking for a good attorney if I were you, and,” Bob paused with a dry smile, “I wouldn’t worry too much about another place to live. I think the state will take care of that for at least the next twenty years.”
“I’ll go,” Conners sneared, “but I’ll be out before dawn. Have you forgotten who I am?”
CHAPTER 40
0415
Cypress Knoll Country Club
Bob was on his cell phone to dispatch. “Get someone in to open boating registrations and find a houseboat registered to Brandt Bodine. It’s an emergency. I need it now. And get me an address for Cypress Knoll Country Club. Thanks.”
Bob stayed to wait for the uniformed patrol to take Conners. Before walking to the cruiser, Carol took Gabe’s hand, looked him hard in the eyes, and said, “Gabe, you pray harder than you’ve ever prayed for anything in your life.”
He kissed her and answered, “My mother told me once, ‘Every breath is a prayer.’ I’m already there. Let’s go find her.”
Bob’s phone rang with the marina address and the promise they would have the boat registration soon. Bob passed the information to Gabe, who headed straight to the cruiser with Carol and hit his blue lights. They were flying by the time they hit the highway. Thirty minutes down the road, Gabe’s phone rang.
Bob said, “It’s a sixty-footer, Bo’s Baby, twin diesel inboards. Coast Guard certified.”
“Bob, bring the briefcase and the files from Peterson’s. We can’t take a chance with Emily’s life.”
