by Carolina Mac
Interstate 35 southbound north of Waco.
JESSE picked up his cell and smiled when he saw Marnie’s number. “She has the results,” he said to Tyler. “Hey, sweetheart, tell me the good news.”
“Jesse, I’m in the ditch.”
Jesse felt the air leave his lungs. “Where?”
“Almost home.”
“I’m more than an hour away from you. Can you call 911?”
“No.”
“Marnie. Marnie, answer me.”
“Jesus, Christ.” Jesse scrolled to Sheriff Cumberland’s private number and called. “Rafe, this is Jesse.”
“Hey, nice to hear from you. What’s up?”
“My wife is in the ditch somewhere between Giddings and home and I’m north of Waco. Can you help her?”
“Sure thing. I’ve probably got a squad not far from her.”
“Call me back, Rafe.”
“Copy that.”
Noon.
Highway seventy-seven.
MARNIE opened her eyes when she heard tapping on the window beside her head. A police officer in a tan uniform opened her door.
“We’re here to help you, ma’am.”
She tried to take some deep breaths while the paramedics helped her out from under the airbag. “I’m pregnant and I’m worried about the baby.” She didn’t mean to cry but couldn’t help herself.
“Relax and we’ll get you on a stretcher and get you checked out at the hospital.”
“Thank you.”
“Get her purse,” said one of the officers, “and put it in the ambulance with her.”
A big officer leaned down as they were putting her into the back of the ambulance. “I’m Sheriff Cumberland, ma’am. Jesse called me. I’ll let him know where you’ll be.”
“Thank you, and would you tell him I’m okay.”
“Uh huh. I’ll do that.”
12:15 p.m.
South of Waco.
TYLER drove over the limit and Jesse was frantic in the passenger seat as he waited for Rafe to get to Marnie and call him back. He wanted a smoke right that minute worse than any time since he’d given up cigarettes. When his cell rang he was expecting it, but it startled him anyway. “Rafe, you get her?”
“I think she might have passed out when the airbag hit her, Jesse. She looked okay, but pale. Very pale.”
“She’s pregnant, Rafe. Where did they take her?”
“Giddings, to the hospital. She said to tell you she was okay.”
Jesse blew out a breath. “Wait and see.”
“I’ll have the Mustang towed to our impound yard behind the station. She’s got a dent in the fender and a couple of scratches in the paint but not too bad. You can pick it up when you get a chance.”
“I shouldn’t be more than an hour. Thanks for the helping hand. I owe you.”
“Nope. Not true. I’ll always owe you.”
1:00 p.m.
The Blackmore Agency. Austin.
AFTER lunch, Blaine hunkered down in his office trying to connect one of Congressman Flaherty’s emails to Arlie Theriault and he couldn’t find one—not even to anyone in the same office. The lie he told to Theriault was just that—a lie, if he couldn’t prove it.
What did Dan Flaherty find out about Theriault? There has to be something. Were there emails on a different laptop? Where was it? The lab was thorough, and they didn’t find another one anywhere. If Flaherty was trying to nail Theriault with something, he wouldn’t hide the emails—he was going to blow the whistle on the guy. Maybe he hid the information on a flash drive somewhere. But where? Sue searched the house and didn’t find it.
All he had was Misty, and she was never wrong. She had seen Theriault’s face in her vision with a lot of money. He grabbed for his cell hoping she’d had success with some of the other items Jesse had collected. The visions took a lot out of her and she had to rest between sessions.
“Hey, Beb. Did you connect the guy I saw?” asked Misty when she answered.
“I’m trying to do it,” said Blaine, “but no luck finding any supporting evidence.”
“I tried Dan’s watch again and got nothing,” said Misty. “I’ve been busy with customers and kind of forgot about the tie that was in the package. Let me try the tie and call you right back.”
“Thanks,” said Blaine. “I need help on this one.”
I hope she gets something else.
Next on his list was Theriault’s finances. If the killer was hired, he wouldn’t have capped a Congressman on the cheap. Blaine needed to find a money trail to the hitter.
“I’ll work on his bank stuff until Misty calls me back.” He picked up his mug and headed to the kitchen for a refill.
1:15 p.m.
9 Saint Gillian Street. New Orleans. Louisiana.
MISTY ended her call from Blaine and hurried from the kitchen to the front parlor. “Where’s that FedEx package, Angelique? Blaine wants me to try one of the other items. He’s stuck on the case.”
Angelique put down her dust cloth. “It’s in the drawer in the sideboard, Madam. I’ll get it for you.”
Misty sat on the red velvet loveseat and dumped the contents on the coffee table when Angelique handed it to her. “I guess I’ll try the tie. I’ve tried the wallet and the watch already.”
“What’s that?” Angelique pointed to the gold tie clip.
“That’s a tie clip with the Texas flag on it. It’s kind of tiny to hold much of his energy. I’ll see what the tie does.”
“I’ll get some water.” Angelique left the room and Misty made herself comfortable on the sofa.
She took the folded tie in her hands and held it close to her. Misty closed her eyes and waited for something to happen and when it did she began to tremble. She remained frozen in that position for several minutes watching the pictures flash through her mind.
When she opened her eyes, Angelique was there waiting with the glass of water in her hand. Misty took several sips and waited until her head cleared. Sometimes after a vision she was overcome by dizziness and weakness and often fainted. Angelique believed Misty’s power would be stronger with the help of others. Something to think about.
When she made sense of what she’d seen, she jotted down a few notes on her pad before calling Blaine back.
1:45 p.m.
Giddings Hospital. Texas.
JESSE’S heart pounded as he rushed through the emergency doors into the hospital looking for Marnie. He inquired at the desk and was told his wife was resting comfortably in examination room three.
“Thank you,” said Jesse, and hurried down the hallway with Tyler right behind him. He opened the door of room three and Marnie smiled at him.
“Hi, Jesse. Sorry I scared you.” A stray tear trickled down her face. I made a dent in my car. I’m so sad.”
Jesse held her close to him. “Don’t worry about your car, sweetheart. A body shop can fix that. As long as you and the baby are all right, that’s what matters.”
“I’m fine and the baby is fine. It was a silly accident because I opened the door and tried to puke on the road while I was driving.”
“Oh,” said Jesse, “is that what happened?” His face broke into a smile. “Come on. Let’s go home.”
2:00 p.m.
The Blackmore Agency. Austin.
BLAINE was digging deep into Theriault’s financial accounts when Misty called back. “Anything else, sweetheart? I’m hoping for some kind of minor miracle.”
“How about a major one?” Misty giggled.
“I’ll take a major one. For sure.”
“I tried his tie, and this is what I saw,” said Misty. “Maybe you can figure out what it means.”
“Okay, I’ll try. Give me the pictures you saw in your head.”
“The man in the sketch is at the Alamo. He’s outside waiting under one of the old trees. You know the ones with the curvy branches where all the tourists get their pictures taken.”
“I know the one,” said Blaine.
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That’s the tree in Annie and Dave Powell’s wedding picture.
“The man in the sketch is holding a fat envelope.”
Blaine made notes while Misty described what she saw. “Okay, that says San Antonio to me.”
“In another flash I saw a biker wearing a sombrero. He parked in front of a house.”
“Sombrero? A Bandido?”
“No idea, but it looked funny. I only saw him from the back. He gets off the bike and now he has the envelope in his hand.”
“Theriault used a biker for the hit and gave him an envelope. That’s beautiful, babe. Anything else you can think of?”
“I saw the house number. Forty-five.”
Blaine wrote it down. “Okay, number forty-five but we don’t know the street.”
“No, I don’t know the street, but I saw the tag on the back of the bike, and I wrote it down.”
Blaine hollered out loud he was so happy. “Fuckin fantastic. Read it to me, sweetheart.”
2:00 p.m.
Southeast Austin.
LUKE and Fletcher were hunkered down in the surveillance unit in a Home Depot parking lot two blocks away from the Cobra’s clubhouse.
“Jeeze, Lukey, the boss is yelling so loud it’s hurting my ears.” Fletch jerked off his headset, flicked the sound to speaker and turned it down.”
“What kind of assholes have I got working for me?”
“Sorry, boss. Didn’t mean to get my ass arrested.”
“How many guys are fuckin shot? They ain’t no good to me. We were rolling good until that fuckin Donovan messes us up. Why in hell is he riding at night on his Harley? Joey said a woman was riding with him. Find out who she is. We gotta take Dead-Eye out and get back on track.”
“How we gonna do that, boss?
“Leave that to me. I’m working on a plan.”
Luke whipped out his cell and called. “Hey, boss. Me and Fletch are on the Cobra clubhouse.”
“Yeah, Lukey. What’s up with the snakes?”
“Talking about taking Farrell out so they can get back to business.”
“Shit. Okay. We’ll be extra careful and put everybody on alert. Good work. Thanks.”
“Something else.”
“Uh huh. Lay it on me,” said Blaine.
“Deleon wants to know who the woman was riding with Farrell. He told his men to find out.”
“Fuck that,” said Blaine. “They can’t find that out, but good to know what they’re thinking.”
“You want us to stay on Deleon if he leaves the club?”
“Yeah, you better. If he goes home, you got ears there.”
“Copy that, boss.”
3:00 p.m.
The Blackmore Agency. Austin.
FARRELL was up and dressed and ready for the night run. He poured himself a coffee from the never ending pot and Carm set about making him waffles and bacon to get his day started. While his breakfast cooked, he strolled down the hall into Blacky’s office and sat down in front of the desk.
“I was waiting for you to get up,” said Blacky. “We have to go to San Antone.”
“Tell me why.”
“Misty had another go at Flaherty’s stuff we sent her, and she saw Theriault at the Alamo with an envelope. Then she saw a biker with the envelope, and she saw the tag on the back of the Harley.”
“The guy who iced the Congressman was a biker?”
“Lots of them hire themselves out as a side hustle,” said Blacky. “Commonplace.”
“Who’s the guy?”
“Jason Goodall. Nice thick jacket. Been around for a while. He lives in Jefferson Heights in San Antone.”
“Fuckin Aces, Misty.” Farrell raised his coffee mug. “You should send her something nice, bro. Nice and expensive.”
Blaine chuckled. “I should. We owe her.”
Farrell stood up and stretched. “Let’s go get him.”
“Rob is in Lil’s office. The two of them are working on the missing girls from yesterday. We’ll take him and Carlos if he’s awake.”
“I’ll call him, and we can pick him up on the way.”
“No. I’ll call him, while you eat your waffles.”
“Deal.”
BLAINE picked up his cell to call Carlos and a Texas star came on the screen with the big number one in the center. “Chief, what can I do for you?”
“Checking your progress on the Congressman. We need evidence against Theriault, and we need it soon. His lawyer buzzed in here mad as a hornet and shouting out threats against the state. The arraignment is tomorrow morning, so you haven’t got much time.”
“Working on it now, Chief. Going to San Antone to bring in the hitter that Theriault used. As soon as we link them, we can grab Theriault again and charge him with the murder.”
“You know who the hitter is? Fantastic. Say something to the media after we’ve got him locked up and get them off my back.”
“I’ll be able to say we’ve made arrests,” said Blaine, “without lying.”
“Phone me at home with the good news when you get back here. I’ll be waiting.”
“Copy that, Chief.”
Next he called Carlos. “You up?”
4:45 p.m.
Jefferson Heights. San Antonio.
A big Harley Fat Bob was parked close to the house with a heavy chain attaching it to the sagging chain link fence. The house was small, like the rest of the frame bungalows on the street, most crying out for a coat of paint and an hour of weed removal from patchy front lawns.
“Carlos and Farrell take the back,” said Blaine as he parked across the end of the short driveway. “For chrissake don’t kill him, Farrell. We need him to talk. Got ears on?”
Farrell chuckled.
“Let’s do it.” Blaine moved slowly towards the front, giving Farrell and Carlos time to get around the house and locate the back entrance.
“Ready,” Farrell said in Blaine’s ear.
Blaine stood on the concrete slab at the front door and knocked. “Police, Mr. Goodall. Open the door.”
They waited and there was no sound from inside.
“Want me to try the bell?” asked Rob.
“Sure. Go ahead.”
Rob pressed the bell and got the same result. “Maybe he’s sleeping.”
Blaine was thinking about kicking the door in when Farrell hollered in his ear.
“Coming out the back.”
THE back deck consisted of two sheets of chipboard nailed to three or four two by sixes standing on their ends. No sliding doors or garden doors, just a single door with a wooden screen on the outside.
Farrell could hear Blacky knocking at the front and he and Carlos stood quietly and listened for any sound of activity inside. Then they heard the doorbell ring a couple of times and still nothing.
The knob squeaked when it turned, and they heard Goodall opening the door. Farrell flattened himself against the house on one side, and Carlos took the other. Both drew their weapons and waited for him to come out.
Jason Goodall came blasting out the back door with a Glock in his hand, ready to fire. Carlos grabbed him from his side of the door because Farrell had the open screen door in his face on the other side.
“Drop it,” hollered Farrell as he slammed the screen shut.
Goodall wrenched away from Carlos and wheeled the gun in Farrell’s direction. Farrell fired from close range and shot Goodall in the forearm. The gun flew out of his hand and blood fountained out of the wound.
With one punch to the side of the head, Carlos knocked Goodall down onto the chipboard and by then Blaine and Rob had run around from the front of the house.
“You’re under arrest for the murder of Congressman Dan Flaherty,” said Blaine. “Let’s go.”
“I’m fuckin bleeding to death, you asswipe cops.” Goodall clutched his arm, blood seeping out between his fingers, his face contorted in pain. “I need a hospital.”
“Is that what you need?” Blaine hollered in his face. “Bag
the gun. Rob stay here with Carlos and hold the scene until the lab gets here. Farrell, check inside for more weapons and drugs and bag it all. I’ll run this jerk to the closest clinic.”
“We’re on it, boss.”
8:00 p.m.
I-35 Northbound.
WITH the scene in the hands of the lab and Goodall secured in the back of the truck, his arm bandaged at the local clinic, Blaine called Chief Calhoun at home. “Got him, sir. On our way back to Austin.”
“Good work,” said the Chief. “He still breathing? It’s a goddam wonder Donovan didn’t kill him.”
Blaine smirked. “Yes, sir.”
“Think of what you’re going to say to the media in the morning, son.”
“Copy that, sir.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Wednesday, January 18th.
12:30 a.m.
Grady’s Irish Pub. Austin.
Night Shift.
FARRELL ordered hot coffee for the boys instead of a pitcher of beer. It was a damned cold night to be patrolling the city on the bikes. They should have brought the trucks.
Billy shivered on the other side of the table as he raised the mug to his lips. “Hope it doesn’t fuckin snow again.”
“Been a damned cold January,” said Cody, “for Texas.”
Mick drank his coffee and said nothing. Farrell watched him and could tell he was antsy without Annie beside him.
Wonder how long he’ll stick it out without Mom?
Didn’t take long to find out.
“I ain’t coming at night no more,” said Mick. “Not getting enough sleep and too busy in the garage.”
Cody and Billy turned and stared at him like he was from Mars.
“I need you, Mick,” said Farrell.
Mick drank his coffee and said nothing else.
They were on their third round of coffee when Kamps came in wearing only a light jacket. He plopped down beside Farrell and rubbed his big hands together. “Fucking Alaska out there.”
“We’re drinking coffee,” said Farrell, “instead of beer.”
“Uh huh. I’ll go for that.”
“Want food?”
“You guys eating?”
“Nope.”
