Rigged

by D P Lyle

  “Maybe he put aside a little here and a little there?” Nicole said. “Planned this for a year or more?”

  “Or he hasn’t paid them yet?” I said.

  “Maybe that’s why they stopped by today,” Pancake said. “Pick up the cash.”

  “Or maybe remind Sean he owed them,” I added.

  Warren sat up straight, twisted her torso one way and then the other as if working out a kink. “I’m sensing all roads lead back to Reed and Whitt. Might be time to have a sit-down with them. Sean, too.”

  “I agree,” Ray said. “If they’re in bed together, maybe we can peel one of them off. Incentivize someone to turn on the others.”

  “How would you do that?” I asked.

  Ray opened one palm. “Pressure comes in an abundance of flavors.”

  Warren nodded. “I have to admit that at first I was skeptical. But I like the way you guys work.”

  Ray smiled. “That feeling goes both ways.”

  CHAPTER 47

  “YOU SURE ABOUT this?” Whitt asked.

  “Don’t really see no other way,” Reed replied.

  “He ain’t going to say nothing. He can’t. He’s in this up to his pecker.”

  “But he didn’t do it,” Reed said. “We did.”

  Whitt didn’t seem to have a reply for that. Reed knew he wouldn’t. How could he? That was the truth of it.

  They had again driven by Sean’s apartment finding it dark and quiet.

  “He’s probably still out at the house,” Reed said. “Probably going to stay the night.”

  “Unless he’s out at a bar somewhere.”

  “Maybe. Let’s just hope he’s home.”

  It was 9:00 p.m. Little traffic, few people on the streets, as they motored through downtown, heading north on Section Street. After leaving the business district behind, Reed pulled into a service station.

  “What’re we doing here?” Whitt asked. “You got a nearly full tank.”

  “Grab the gas can out of the back and fill it up.”

  “Why?”

  “We ain’t going to leave behind no evidence. At his apartment that wouldn’t be too wise, but out there middle of nowhere, no one’ll see nothing until the whole place is ashes.”

  Whitt filled the can, paid, climbed back in the truck.

  Five minutes later, they rolled past Fly Creek Marina, its sparsely lit main building and boat slips barely visible through the trees.

  “Why don’t we turn in there?” Whitt said, pointing to the road that spurred off in that direction. “Drop into Sunset Pointe. Grab something to eat.”

  “Are you insane? We got business to take care of.”

  “I’m hungry.”

  Reed lit a cigarette with a cheap plastic lighter. “You’re just trying to delay this deal.”

  “I’m not either.”

  “We’ll get something later. After we’re done.”

  “It’ll be closed then.”

  “It ain’t the only place in town.”

  They rode quietly for a half mile, then Whitt said, “We should buy a boat sometime.”

  Reed gave him a look. “What on earth for?”

  “You know. Go out in the Gulf. Motor around. Maybe do some fishing.”

  “You ever fished in your life?”

  “No. But I might want to.”

  “I swear, you come up with the dumbest ideas I ever heard of.”

  “Ain’t no dumber than what we’re doing.”

  “Except we don’t have a choice here.”

  Reed turned onto Highway 104 toward Emily’s old house.

  “You sure this is necessary?” Whitt asked. “Maybe we should lean on him harder. Make him see that talking wouldn’t be healthy.”

  “That might convince him to keep it to himself,” Reed said. “Or it might not. He just might get pressured into talking. Offered some deal for giving us up. Who knows? He might even grow a conscience. Get all guilty inside.” He glanced at Whitt. “I’d feel better if none of that was possible.”

  “I know. I just don’t like it.”

  “You willing to bet your life on him shutting his yap? Willing to risk spending your life up in Kilby or some such? Or sitting in the electric chair?”

  “I reckon not.”

  “Me neither.”

  Reed slowed as they rolled past Sean’s home. A corner lamp dimly lit the living room. The flicker of the TV danced against the windows.

  “He’s there,” Reed said. “Watching TV.”

  He continued on, reaching Fletcher’s Farm. Quiet. The couple obviously down for the night. He spun a U-turn.

  “How we going to do this?” Whitt asked.

  “I figure we’ll park along that little old dirt road near his place. That way if anyone happens to drive by, they won’t see my truck sitting there.”

  “Then what?”

  “We knock on the door,” Reed said. “Say we need to talk a bit more. Once inside, I’ll distract him. You shoot him in the head.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because I did the other two. This one’s on you.”

  Whitt said nothing.

  “Then we dump the gas and burn the place down. Clean and simple.”

  CHAPTER 48

  “THANKS FOR THE grub,” Warren said. “Not often I get to eat the fancy stuff.”

  “Our pleasure,” Ray said.

  She patted her stomach. “I’ll need to spend a little extra time at the gym tomorrow.”

  I held one of the Grand Hotel’s massive front doors open for everyone and we exited. The clear night held a slight chill, a breeze sliding off Mobile Bay. We walked up the tree-lined drive to where Warren had parked.

  Warren took out a wad of keys. Jangling as she located the one to her black and white SUV. “Looks like we have a plan worked out. A chat with Sean and then Reed and Whitt.”

  “Might I suggest something?” Ray asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Let us take a run at Reed and Whitt.”

  Warren looked at him but said nothing.

  “We can speak their language.”

  Pancake grunted, said, “Loud and clear.”

  “And not run the risk of police intimidation,” Ray added.

  “But that’s the fun part of the job.” Warren smiled. “But I see the wisdom in what you’re saying.” She raised an eyebrow. “Just don’t go overboard.”

  Now, Ray smiled. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “Yeah, right.” She nudged Pancake with an elbow. “With this guy around I suspect the intimidation factor alone will be enough.”

  “Me?” Pancake said. Mock shock on his face. “I’m a teddy bear. Ray’s much more dangerous.”

  That was actually true. Pancake could tear you up, maybe even bring down an entire building, but Ray? Ray had been trained by the best of the best. I don’t think even he knew his full capabilities.

  Warren’s phone buzzed. She answered, walking a few steps away.

  What I heard was, “What?” and “You’re kidding?” and “I’m on the way.”

  She disconnected the call and turned back toward us.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “That was Burt Moody. Sean’s house is on fire.”

  “We’ll follow you,” Ray said.

  Warren hesitated briefly, then nodded. “Okay, but I’m going to light it up. Try to keep up.”

  I looked at Nicole. She smiled. Like the big bad wolf.

  With the ease and efficiency of a Formula 1 driver, Nicole followed Warren as we bounced over to Highway 98/Greene Road and turned north. This would bypass downtown, make the trip up to Sean’s faster. And attract less attention. Nicole hung on Warren’s bumper. A little too close for me. I knew better than to say anything. Rather, I held on and mentally uttered a few prayers. Pancake and Ray did their best to keep up, the headlights from Pancake’s truck gyrating behind us.

  When we squeezed a left turn onto Highway 104, I could smell smoke. Engine, brakes, tires? No, this was
the acrid odor of burning wood.

  Emily’s place—I still considered it hers for some reason—came into view. Two firetrucks sat in the front yard. Thick sprays of water arched over the remains of the structure from two hoses wrestled into position by a pair of firemen. The flames had been beaten down. Smoke curled skyward from where the left front corner of the roof had collapsed, leaving a defect, and from the two front windows that appeared to have shattered. Though blackened, the walls still stood.

  Moody, hands shoved in his pockets, loitered next to who I recognized as Carl Fletcher, watching us as we climbed from our vehicles. We walked that way.

  “Burt.” Warren nodded to Moody, then to Fletcher. “Carl? What brings you here?”

  “Carl discovered the fire,” Moody said.

  Fletcher gave a quick head nod. “I smelled the smoke. I guess the wind was just right to push it down toward my place.”

  He pointed to the smoldering remains of the home. Indeed, the smoke trailed to the east, toward Fletcher’s Farm.

  “Seemed strong so I knew it was nearby,” Fletcher continued. “Walked out on my porch and saw the glow beyond the trees.” He scratched an ear. “Didn’t know what it was so I slipped on some clothes and drove over. Found the house in flames. Called nine-one-one.”

  “See anybody?” Warren asked.

  “No. I got as close as I could, while I waited for the fire crew to get here. Tried to see if anyone was in there. It was burning pretty hot. Yelled a few times. Didn’t get any response.”

  Warren scanned the area. She pointed toward the metallic gray Chevy sedan near the garage. “Isn’t that Sean’s car?”

  “It is,” I said.

  Warren turned toward the ashes. “You suppose he’s in there?”

  “God, I hope not,” Nicole said.

  Warren gave a wave to one of the firemen. He was near the truck closest to the smoke, talking with a younger-looking guy. The man acknowledged her wave and headed our way. Warren introduced us to the fire chief, Rory Fleetwood.

  “Looks like we managed to save a good deal of it,” Fleetwood said. “Thanks to Carl.” He nodded toward Fletcher. “Not that it’ll be habitable anytime soon. Probably not ever.”

  “Anyone been inside yet?” Warren asked.

  “Nope. Been too hot.”

  “That’s Sean Patterson’s car,” she said, pointing in that direction.

  Fleetwood looked at her. “I didn’t think anyone lived here. Not since … not since the murders.”

  “Apparently he’s been prepping it to sell. Guess he could be here this late. Maybe even stay over some nights.”

  Fleetwood sighed. “We got it mostly under control. Should be able to go look around soon.”

  It was another thirty minutes before Fleetwood slipped on his hard hat, and he and another fireman disappeared through the damaged front door. We waited. Not long.

  The grim look on Fleetwood’s face as he waved us over from his perch on the front porch was evident even in the dark.

  “We’ve got two bodies,” he said.

  “Two?” I asked.

  “They’re actually pretty well preserved.”

  That was a surprise, given the fact that everything else seemed blackened.

  “One is Sean Patterson. The other guy I don’t know.” He looked at Warren. “Pretty obvious they both were shot.”

  Warren took in a deep breath and puffed it out. “When can I go in and take a look?”

  “Now. My guys say the floor is sound and the walls are amazingly stable.” He pointed to one of the front windows. “Looks to me like these front windows popped late in the whole deal. The guy who started this wasn’t smart enough to open the windows. Feed the fire. So it burned a lot slower than it could have.”

  “So this is definitely arson?” Warren asked.

  “Oh yeah. Started in the living room where the bodies are. Fire seemed to move toward the back of the house where there was an open window. Helped preserve the bodies. Arson? You bet. You’ll smell the gasoline as soon as you get inside.”

  We moved through the door.

  “Just watch your step,” Fleetwood said, following us.

  The inside smelled of charred wood, and yes, gasoline. The sofa was charred but still upright. As was the coffee table before it. Two bodies lay beyond, toward the dining room. Both were charred, but neither severely damaged. That made no sense to me, but then I’m not an expert in charred bodies. Barbecued ribs is about as close as I get. But Chief Fleetwood was correct. They were damaged, but definitely recognizable.

  Sean Patterson lay on his back. Clothes burned to black threads, flesh charred. A single entry wound clearly visible through the singed hair on the left side of his head.

  The other body lay chest down, face twisted toward me. Reavis Whitt. No doubt.

  CHAPTER 49

  “WHAT’S THE PLAN?” Ray asked Warren.

  “Knock on his door,” she said. “See if he’s home and what he has to say.”

  The finding of Reavis Whitt’s body along with Sean Patterson’s in the relic of Emily’s old house pointed the finger directly at Jack Reed. He and Whitt were partners in crime and both knew Sean. Nicole and I had seen that firsthand. Just hours earlier. So, when the first name that came out of Warren’s mouth was Jack Reed, it seemed logical.

  Did this mean Reed was in some cabal with Whitt and Sean? A murder for hire? And now Reed was getting rid of all the witnesses? That was Ray’s take. Warren’s, too.

  We were parked at the far end of the Evergreen Apartments lot, a good hundred and fifty feet from Reed’s apartment. Pancake had already determined that Reed lived in the apartment Nicole and I had seen him and Whitt enter earlier. Whitt two doors down.

  “He’ll be armed,” Pancake said.

  Warren nodded. “He sells drugs. Meth and guns go hand in hand. So, I suspect he is.”

  “Maybe with the murder weapon,” Ray said.

  “That’d be nice.”

  It would? Personally, I’d prefer it if he wasn’t armed. Sure, finding the proverbial smoking gun would be helpful, even solve the entire case, but I envisioned the smoke twisting up from a muzzle pointed in our direction.

  Warren pulled her service weapon. A Glock nine. She ejected the clip, slammed it back in place, reseated it at her hip.

  “Here’s how it’ll go. Burt and I’ll make contact. You guys lay back. If this doesn’t go well, I don’t want any citizens involved.”

  “We’ll provide backup though,” Ray said.

  “I won’t say no to that.”

  We passed Whitt’s place, dark, and neared Reed’s apartment. No light through the curtained window, no sound. Warren and Moody flanked the door. Ray and Pancake to one side, each with a weapon hanging at their sides. Nicole and I stood near a tree, twenty feet away, and out of the line of fire. Nicole wasn’t happy with that. Said she would Krav Maga the dude if he made a false move. I told her that the line between bravery and stupidity was thin. She punched my ribs. Hard.

  No answer to Warren’s knock. She rapped the doorframe louder, said, “Police department. Mr. Reed, if you’re in there, make yourself known.”

  Silence. Then movement, light pushed against the drapes. The door cracked open. Reed. Rubbing one eye with a balled fist.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “Need to ask a couple of questions.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Early,” Warren said. “Or late. Depends on your perspective.”

  He looked at Moody, then seemed to notice Ray and Pancake, finally Nicole and me. “What’s this about?”

  “Maybe we should talk inside.”

  He hesitated, debating, then stepped back. We all entered.

  Reed examined each of us, finally resting his gaze on Chief Warren. “So, what is this? A party?”

  “Something like that,” Warren said. When Reed lowered his gaze to the floor, avoiding eye contact, Warren said, “Look at me.” His head came up. “Where’ve
you been the last few hours?”

  “Here. Asleep.”

  “What time did you go to bed?”

  “Early. Eight or thereabouts.”

  “That does sound early,” she said. “Guy like you. Seems to me most of your business would take place in the dark of night.”

  “What does that—” He caught himself, changed directions. “I ain’t been sleeping well lately. I was tired. Trying to catch up on my beauty sleep.” He smiled.

  “Sounds like a guilty conscience to me,” Pancake said.

  Reed’s smile evaporated. “Who the hell are you?”

  “One of the backup singers.”

  That seemed to confuse him. Questions behind his eyes, brow knitted. What I didn’t see was any hint of fatigue. Or that he had been asleep. No redness to his eyes, no puffiness, no excessive blinking, hair revealing no disarray. As if he almost expected us and had worked out his story.

  “Where’s your buddy Reavis Whitt?” Warren asked.

  “Not my week to keep up with him.”

  “Listen, Jack, you can be an ass, and I can make this very difficult. Or you can answer my questions and maybe, just maybe, we’ll go away.”

  “My guess is that this time of night he’s sleeping, too,” Reed nodded toward one wall. “He lives just down the way.”

  “I know. But that isn’t where he is.”

  “Then you know more than I do.”

  “When did you last see him?” Warren asked.

  “This afternoon.”

  “Where?”

  “We had some business to take care of. We were all over.”

  “Maybe Garnet’s Furniture? Down by the pier?”

  He stared at her.

  “Maybe out at Sean Patterson’s place?”

  “I told you, I’ve been here. Asleep.”

  “Interesting that you’d go there,” Warren said. “I was talking about earlier today.”

  Lines of worry dug into Reed’s face. That look you get when you screw up. Like when your mom catches you in a lie. Of course, this was worse than that. By a mile.

  Warren continued. “Did you and Reavis drop by and see Sean earlier? This afternoon?”

  “Why would we?”

  She took a step toward him, capturing his attention. I imagined her gym-pumped arms and balled fists looked like sledgehammers about now.