The Turn

by Carolina Mac

  Blaine shoved his cell into his pocket and stared mutely out the window.

  “What?” said Farrell. “What did the king of the hill fuckin say to you?”

  “He said to leave it alone. For now.”

  “Must be a reason. He always has a reason.”

  “That’s what pisses me off. He’s always right.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Sunday, September 23rd.

  Blackmore Agency. Austin.

  KOI poked their snouts out of the water to grab the pellets Blaine tossed to them. Flicking their tails, splashing and pushing their pond-mates out of the way, they were a delight to watch. He sat on the end of the carved bench he’d bought for Carm and watched her face. She loved the fish as much as he did, and she’d had very little happiness in her lifetime. The newly landscaped yard was her whole world and she spent every free moment outdoors.

  Blaine stood with his empty cup in his hand and heard his cell ringing on the porch step where he’d left it. He jogged across the plush new sod and grabbed for it. Border Patrol. El Paso. “Blaine Blackmore.”

  “Morning sir, stopped a vehicle on y’all’s want list and we have a woman in custody, a Renee Endicott.”

  “You made me a happy man, sir. How do I find y’all?”

  Blaine put the directions into his phone and hurried into the house to find Farrell. His foster brother was slumped down at the kitchen table drinking coffee.

  “What are you looking so fuckin happy about?”

  “Renee is in custody in El Paso.”

  “Don’t fuckin tell me I’m driving to El Paso on my Sunday off.”

  “Okay, I won’t,” said Blaine, “Get dressed.”

  San Antonio Airport. Charter Office.

  BLAINE returned from the charter office with his pilot in tow. “Sam, this is my brother Farrell Donovan.”

  A tall lanky guy in a Powell Corp. uniform stuck out a big hand and gripped Farrell’s. “Nice to meet y’all. Don’t usually get to fly on a Sunday,” he grinned, “and I never flew a prisoner before. Flying executives all over the map isn’t too exciting. Nice change for me. Good times.”

  Farrell nodded. “Yeah, good times.”

  “Cheer up,” said Blaine as he hoofed it up the rolling stairs. “You’ll like my plane. It’s got a beer fridge.”

  “That I like,” said Farrell as he strode into the plush cabin. Two rows of tan leather seats, some facing forward and some backward with a table between. “Where should I sit?”

  “Pick a spot and I’ll get us a couple of cold ones.”

  “I thought we’d be driving all day in the fuckin heat to pick the bitch up,” said Farrell as he settled into one of the comfy seats. “This was one of your better ideas.”

  Blaine handed him a Shiners. “How often do I have bad ideas?”

  Farrell shook his head. “I lost count.”

  “Ready when you are, Sam,” hollered Blaine.

  El Paso Police Department. Downtown El Paso.

  “APPRECIATE y’all picking us up at the airport,” said Blaine. “Saved getting a rental for an hour.”

  “No problem,” said Officer Garcia, “Always happy to help out the Rangers.” He parked out front. “I’ll park here and have a smoke. It won’t take y’all long to take custody of herself and bring her out.”

  “Thanks,” said Farrell as they hopped out and went inside.

  Blaine checked his phone and said, “I need to speak to Sergeant Martinelli. Blaine Blackmore here to pick up Mrs. Endicott.”

  The desk sergeant grinned. “Could hear that one screeching all the way into next week.” He waggled a finger. “Y’all watch yourselves.”

  “Thanks,” said Farrell without a smile. “We will.”

  It was a couple of minutes before Martinelli appeared from his office in the back of the building. “You boys made good time. Didn’t expect y’all until later in the day.”

  “We flew,” said Blaine. “I’m a bit short on time these days.”

  “You flew. Uh huh.” He pointed down the hall. “Have a seat in my office and we’ll take care of the paperwork while one of the boys brings your girl up here.”

  “I’m glad I alerted border patrol,” said Blaine, “She would have been in Mexico and gone.”

  “Murdered her lawyer is the rumor I heard,” said the Sarge. “Some of them do want killing.”

  “Hey,” said Blaine, “Go easy.”

  “Oh, fuck. You one of them?”

  Blaine nodded. “Passed the bar but haven’t had much time to dick around with it.”

  There was a clanking of chains in the hall and then the door opened. A uniformed officer shoved Renee into the office. “Here you go, Sarge. She’s ready to transport.”

  Renee twisted and turned and tried to kick the officer holding her arm. “You fucking bastards let me go. I haven’t done anything and I’m gonna sue the asses off every single one of y’all.”

  “Sit down, Renee,” said Blaine, “and shut up. You are under arrest for the murder of Larry Appleton and I’m taking you back to Austin.”

  The uniform pushed her into a chair, gave a wave and closed the office door, glad to be rid of her.

  “I won’t shut up. I have rights. I want a lawyer and you can’t stop me from having one.”

  Farrell glanced over at her, her face screwed up in rage, her hands shackled to the chains on her ankles. “You killed your lawyer, Missy. Dead meat in the fuckin morgue. He ain’t gonna help you.”

  Sergeant Martinelli smiled. “Here’s the paperwork I need signed. Says I turned Mrs. Endicott over to Ranger Blackmore and Deputy Donovan.”

  Blaine signed, and received a copy that he folded and put in his briefcase.

  “Y’all will want this,” Martinelli produced a gun, from his desk drawer, bagged and labeled. “This is the weapon found in the glove box of Mrs. Endicott’s rental.”

  Blaine smiled. “This gets better and better. I owe you, sir.” He stood and shook hands with Martinelli. “Pleasure to meet you. If you’re in Austin, give me a call and I’ll buy you a steak.”

  “I’ll remember that, sir, and hold you to it.”

  “That’s not my gun,” Renee yelled. Her voice was beginning to give out from all her hollering, but she kept it up. She bitched and screamed all the way down the hallway, across the lobby and out to the squad car.

  Blaine noticed the color in Farrell’s face and figured his brother was about to blow a fuse.

  Garcia butted out his smoke, opened the back door of the cruiser and secured Renee in the back, so her movement was limited.

  Farrell reluctantly got in beside her.

  El Paso Airport. Charter Terminal.

  BLAINE left Renee in the squad car with Farrell while he found Sam in the pilot’s lounge and told him they were ready to return to San Antonio.

  Once the plane was checked and the flight plan filed, they were in the air.

  Blaine escorted Renee to the seat farthest away from where he and Farrell had chosen to sit. She screamed and kicked at him as he struggled to attach her shackles to a metal ring on the side of the seat.

  “Your father had a heart attack because of you, Renee. He couldn’t take any more of your shit and he collapsed.”

  “You liar. You goddam cops will say anything.”

  Blaine shrugged. “Too bad you won’t be able to visit him in intensive care.”

  After hearing about her father, her screaming mellowed into a more tolerable combination of sobbing and cursing.

  San Antonio Airport.

  RENEE was cried out and screamed out by the time the boys loaded her into the back seat of Farrell’s truck. She flopped over sideways and slept the whole way from San Antonio to Austin, not even waking up when Farrell did a drive-through for burgers and coffee.

  “Never been so glad to hear a woman shut up in my whole fuckin life,” Farrell whispered.

  Ranger Headquarters. Austin.

  “HOW in hell did they know we were bringing
her back this afternoon?” Blaine was astonished at the number of media vehicles waiting across the street from DPS.

  “Maybe something else is going on that we don’t know about,” said Farrell.

  “Could be, but I doubt it.”

  Farrell parked in front of the building, and as they hauled Renee out of the back of the truck, reporters and camera men swooped in flashing pictures and filming clips for the news.

  Renee began screaming obscenities, shaking her chained hands at them and making faces and the media people lapped it up.

  “Got a word for us, Mr. B.?” one of them hollered.

  Blaine made a circular motion above his head that meant later, then he held the door open with his good arm and let Farrell tow the Harpy inside.

  On his way home for the day, the Chief met them in the hallway when he heard the ruckus. “Shove her in room three and lock her down.”

  Farrell attached her to the table then backed out of the room. “I need a coffee. I’m almost fuckin deaf,” he growled as he headed for the lunchroom.

  “I take it your trip to El Paso wasn’t that pleasant?” asked the Chief.

  “She never shut up,” said Blaine. “I have a headache.”

  “Do you want someone else to question her?”

  “Nope. I’ll do it, then I’ll book her and get out of here.” He had his hand on the door knob when his cell rang on his belt. “Judge Campbell, nice to hear from you.”

  “I’ve been following along in the paper and I know how busy y’all have been. Before I go full blast into the end of my campaign, I want to have a meeting with you.”

  Blaine checked his watch. “It can’t be today. I’m just going into an interrogation.”

  “No, I was thinking dinner tomorrow night.”

  “Sure. Where and when?”

  “I’ll make a reservation at Harpo’s for seven-thirty.”

  “That’s fine, I’ll see you there.”

  Farrell returned from the lunchroom with his Styrofoam cup in hand. “I called Mary and we’re having dinner tonight.”

  “Good, that’s a start. You go on home and get ready. Send Jack in an hour to pick me up.”

  Farrell nodded and left.

  Blaine sat down opposite Renee Endicott and looked her over. Skinny as a stick and butt-ugly. She had less than zero going for her.

  “Don’t look at me,” she snarled.

  Blaine set the recorder on the corner of the desk and turned it on. “This is an interview with Renee Endicott,” he gave the date and case number.

  “I’m not giving an interview to you or anybody else. I want a lawyer and I’m not saying a goddam word until I get one.”

  Blaine read her the Miranda and had her sign it.

  “I know my rights. I’m innocent and y’all will never prove otherwise.”

  “Okay,” said Blaine. Exhaustion was overtaking his body. He needed food, sleep and his meds. “Let’s get you booked and then you can have your phone call.”

  “I want a phone call right now.”

  Blaine shook his head. “Not the way it works, Mrs. Endicott.”

  “Fuck you, punk, I want to see somebody higher up the ladder.”

  Blaine smiled. “There is nobody higher than me, Renee. I’m head of Violent Crime in this state. You’re starting at the top.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Blaine opened the door and called for a deputy to take Renee to booking and get her started. Once she was on her way he checked a message he had missed. Annie.

  “Jesse decided to stay at Quantrall for now with Charity. I need to see you and Farrell. I need my boys to come home.”

  “I’m on my way, Mom. Love you.”

  Blaine called Farrell. “Hey, bro, Jesse didn’t come home to Coulter-Ross. Mom needs us.”

  “Fuck, she must be so sad. I’ll turn around and pick you up in fifteen.”

  “Thanks. What about Mary?”

  “She’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”

  Coulter-Ross Ranch. La Grange.

  ANNIE’S gray eyes were red-rimmed from crying when she hugged Blaine and Farrell in the foyer. “Did you get her?”

  “Yep, she’s in booking right now. I’ll talk to her tomorrow after she gets a lawyer.”

  “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important.”

  “Course not,” said Farrell. He took her by the hand and led her to the granite island in the kitchen. “Nothing I’d rather do than toss a few with my beautiful Mom.”

  “How long is Jesse staying at his own ranch?” asked Blaine after he chugged the first half of his Corona.

  “It sounded indefinite,” said Annie, “and I thought… never mind what I thought. I was wrong. He wasn’t happy here.”

  “He wants to be with you, Mom,” said Farrell, “but Quantrall has a life of its own, and Jesse is the wheel master.”

  “True. He has customers, and Ty can’t ready the horses like Jesse can.”

  Annie slumped on her stool and leaned on the island. “I thought he was settling in. I feel so stupid.”

  “Nope, Jesse is stuck between two loves, you and his ranch,” said Farrell, “Not a goddam thing he can do, and neither can you.”

  Blaine smiled at Annie, “But there is something you can do right this minute, Mom.”

  “What sweetheart. You name it.”

  “You can make us some food. Me and Farrell are about to keel over.”

  Annie giggled and walked to the fridge.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Monday, September 24th.

  Blackmore Agency. Austin.

  BLAINE was sleeping the sleep of the dead when his cell rang. Bleary eyed he tried to read the name on the screen. Linda Moffatt.

  “Mrs. Moffatt.” His voice came out all rough and gravelly from too many smokes the night before. “What can I do for you?”

  “I need Renee.” She was sobbing out the words. “Bill died early this morning and I need my daughter.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Moffatt. I’ll see if I can arrange a visit for you later today.”

  “When will she be coming home?”

  “She won’t be, Mrs. Moffatt. A judge doesn’t grant bail too often for murder charges.”

  “But she didn’t kill anybody.” More sobbing.

  “I’ll call you with a time, Mrs. Moffatt.

  Ranger Headquarters. Austin.

  BLAINE had Renee brought up from the holding cells in the basement to one of the interrogation rooms, so her mother could see her for five minutes and give her the news about her father’s death.

  He met Mrs. Moffatt in the lobby and escorted the woman down the hallway. She was still stooped forward from her back injury and shuffling along with one hand on the wall for support.

  “In here, Mrs. Moffatt.” Blaine opened the door to the tiny room and pointed to the table. “Please sit down on the chair.”

  Linda Moffatt looked at him with contempt. “Could we have a little privacy please?”

  “No, I’m afraid that’s not possible. Everything you say will be recorded, Mrs. Moffatt. This isn’t a luncheon at the Country Club. Your daughter has been arrested for murder.”

  “Ludicrous,” she said, then turned her attention to her daughter. “How are you, Renee?”

  “How does it look, Mother? I’m a mess and I’m in trouble.”

  “I came here to tell you some terrible news, dear.” Linda pulled a tissue out of her pocket and wiped her eyes. “Daddy died this morning. His heart just gave out.”

  “No,” Renee screamed and tried to jump up. The shackles clanked against the metal table and jerked her down. Sobbing, Renee laid her head on the table.

  “What day do you want the funeral, dear?”

  Glassy-eyed, Renee looked across the table. “Why would it matter to me, Mother? I won’t be going.”

  “I’m sure they’ll let you go to your father’s funeral, as soon as you clear up this mistake.”

  Renee was about to say s
omething, then looked at Blaine and kept her mouth shut.

  “Renee has to go back to her cell now, Mrs. Moffatt. I’ll see you to the lobby.”

  “I’m not finished talking to my daughter.”

  Blaine stuck his head into the corridor and beckoned for a deputy. “Take Mrs. Endicott back to holding.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. B.”

  Harpo’s Fine Dining. Austin.

  BLAINE stepped into the vestibule of the elegant restaurant and could barely see the hostess or the lectern she stood behind. The lighting was ambient to the point of being negligible.

  “I’m joining Judge Campbell,” he said, and the hostess nodded.

  “Come with me, Mr. Blackmore. I’ll show you to your table.”

  Judge Campbell sat alone in a secluded corner almost invisible behind a potted palm. A glimpse of the auburn hair was all Blaine saw as he turned the corner and took the chair opposite her.

  “I’m a bit late, sorry,” he said. “Not my usual style.”

  The judge smiled. “But you do have a lot of style, sweetie. The entire city knows what you’re all about.”

  A tall waiter came by, introduced himself and scurried off to get Blaine a Corona. Judge Campbell had a bottle of wine on the go, and the waiter refilled her glass while he was in the area.

  The Judge tapped the closed menu next to her right hand. “The fish is good here.”

  “The only fish I eat is what I catch in the Colorado at home. My Mom cooks it for me with home fries.”

  “Annie Powell cooks?”

  “Fantastic cook,” said Blaine with a grin.

  “You always smile when you talk about your mother. I find that interesting.”

  Blaine shrugged. “Can’t help that, can I?”

  The waiter returned with Blaine’s beer and took their dinner order.

  “What I want to talk to you about is kind of a ‘what if’ situation.”

  “Okay,” said Blaine, “this conversation is hinging on the outcome of the election?”

  “More or less. Yes, it is.”