by Joel B Reed
Kruger gave me a sardonic smile. “I see. I won’t ask before when. Well, then, while we’re sharing secrets, I crossed paths with one of their agents a few months ago. I made it a point to find out everything I could. They’re good. Did they recruit you?”
I didn’t even try to hide my surprise. Kruger laughed. “They did me. I don’t know how they did it, but they found I was nosing around and came to me. I think McKee could sell ice to Eskimos. Did you meet Dill?”
I answered carefully. “Don’t be surprised if you run into him tomorrow.” It was my turn to be the inquisitor. “You turned them down?”
Kruger shook his head. “Not really. There was some advanced training coming up at the Bureau I wanted. So I passed for the moment, but I left the door open. The last couple of weeks I’ve been thinking about giving them a call.”
I outlined what I wanted to do the next day, searching for the bullets, and asked Kruger if he wanted to join me. “Does a dog have fleas?” he replied in his best imitation of rural Arkansan. I agreed it did, and we set a time for getting together the next morning. When I took off to finish my walk, Kruger was back with his own thoughts and smiling the way he had when I came in. I laughed to myself. That must’ve been some date.
* * *
November came in with a beautiful morning the following day. I was up early and walking by sunrise, wondering how I had managed to miss Halloween the day before. There were the usual decorations in the stores and on some of the houses in Nashville, but I was out too too late to run into any ghosties, ghoulies, or long legged beasties, and I slept through the things that go bump in the night. I did notice a number of egg shells scattered here and there, but I was thinking about the case and didn’t put it together. So much for the great sleuth. Nellie tells me I do that all the time.
I was feeling pretty good that morning. There’s nothing like zeroing in on a suspect to change the whole tone of an investigation. At this point, it was just a matter of gathering evidence, and we knew where to look. Once we had that, my part of the case was over. Someone else could do the dirty work of bringing our suspect in and I could get back to driving Nellie crazy hanging around the house and getting underfoot.
Kruger and I had an early breakfast. He was still mellow from his visit to Little Rock, and I was looking forward to getting home soon. John Tanner came in and joined us, and when Louise wasn’t hanging around, I told him who we had for a suspect. He was surprised to hear Posey was still alive and agreed to let us have James Mason for a couple of more days.
When we got to Oak Grove, I parked in the church lot and Kruger and I walked over to the blacksmith shop. No one seemed to be around, but when we went to the back of the building, Willie Dill appeared out of nowhere, dressed in full camouflage. He was carrying a shotgun and had an automatic pistol holstered at his waist. He greeted us both.
“It was a quiet night,” he told us. “There was no sign of our suspect.”
“When does your team arrive?” I asked.
“They got here two hours ago,” Dill answered. “They’re out scouting to see what they can find.”
I told him what I had in mind for retrieving the bullets. “Robert is going to be out before long. Why don’t I keep him with me this morning? I’ll stay where there’s plenty of cover.”
“He’s out supervising our team,” Dill said. At my look of alarm, he told me not to worry. “He’s with two of the very best.”
“What about James Mason?” I asked. Dill told me Mason was taking a nap in Luther Adam’s place. He was headed that way soon himself.
Kruger headed for the community center, and I went into the blacksmith shop. I spread out a sheet of white canvas in front of the knot hole and took out a small tripod and attached a laser pointer to the top. I moved back far enough so that only the tip of my imaginary rifle protruded through the knot hole. From where I lay, I could see Kruger standing toward the end of the porch, and I spoke to him through the small communicators we brought along. I asked him to move about two feet to his right, and when he was in place, I told him to shield his eyes. Then I set the tripod so the laser focused directly on the middle of his throat.
When I asked Kruger to move aside, I saw that the laser pointed to almost the dead center high in a large tree several yards behind the community center. I found myself getting excited. We had a chance to find the bullets. I radioed Kruger and gave him the news.
As I was getting up, I almost bumped into a thin man who was squatting right beside me, watching every move I made. “Good morning, Doctor,” he said, enjoying my surprise. “I’m Alex Redbone. Sam McKee sends his regards. I’m here with Willie Dill.”
“I didn’t hear you come in!” I told him as I scrambled to my feet. There didn’t seem to be any threat, so I took my hand off the butt of my automatic where it had dropped automatically.
“No, I didn’t either,” he assured me, nodding solemnly, showing me his empty hands. “It’s an old Indian trick my uncle taught me.” His face might be solemn but his eyes were filled with humor. “Then I taught it to Martha.” He pointed. I turned to see a young woman standing directly behind where I lay. Right behind her I could see Robert. He was grinning from ear to ear. “Let me introduce Martha Johnston.”
Martha Johnston was dark and petite and looked much younger than her years. I would later learn she had three children, one of them a man grown. I would also learn she was one of the best shots in the nation. At the moment, I was struck by the intense vitality that seemed to surround her like a magnetic field. It was this bright vitality that made her beautiful, stunning in that terrible and wonderful way of guardian angels. Only a fool would mess with Martha, and then, only once.
The angel smiled, transforming herself into a self-conscious young girl. “I hope we didn’t give you too much of a shock, Doctor Phillips. Alex is incorrigible.”
“Please,” I told them. “Call me Jazz. Doctor Phillips sounds like a brand of prosthetic equipment.”
“You’re saying you can be truss-ted,” Redbone observed, and Martha rolled her eyes. Robert looked puzzled.
“As I said, Alex is incorrigible,” Martha told me. “I hope you have a high tolerance for puns.”
“A pun is its own reword,” I assured her, shamelessly stealing a line from Kruger, though I expect it was not original with him. “What did you find?”
Redbone was immediately all business. “Someone was here last night,” he said. “We found one clear track back of the church and another not so good one behind the old man’s shack. They were about size ten medium running shoes, and I would guess it was someone about five nine and a hundred and fifty pounds. It looked like he was trying to hide his tracks by brushing them out, but he missed those two.”
“Do you think he spotted Dill or Mason?” I asked.
“I don’t think so. He didn’t come anywhere near where they were hidden. I think he was doing reconnaissance, maybe for an attack tonight.” He frowned. “We followed his tracks back to the road. There’s a clearing he parked in a half mile south of here, and he headed south when he drove out. The tracks looked like passenger car tires. Assuming it our man, we may have gotten lucky.”
Redbone took a plastic bag out of his pocket. The contents looked like wet coffee grounds. “These guys never learn,” he said. “Dipping is bad enough, but he let down when he got in the truck. This was fresh when we got there, still slightly warm. He must have spit it out a half hour before we got there.”
I took the bag of snuff. “Good work. We can pull his DNA up from this and know for sure. I suppose you covered your tracks?”
Redbone nodded. “Unlike him, we were working in the light. I don’t think anyone can tell we were on his track. Assuming he parks there again, he won’t know we were there.” Then he looked thoughtful. “Unless he’s very subtle and was watching us all the time. The spit could be a challenge.”
I thought about this. “That could be good news and bad news, too. He may be breaking down, and if so,
we stand a better chance of catching him. On the other hand, that would make him even more dangerous.”
Redbone nodded. “We better talk to Robert’s parents. I think we need to put someone inside tonight.” Robert was shaking his head, but Redbone insisted. “No, Robert. This man is out to kill you because you saw him, just like he did with Luther Adams. I think Willie needs to introduce Martha to your folks.”
Martha gave him a sharp look, but Redbone did not respond directly to her. He spoke to Robert. “Martha is the best personal guard we have, and I think your parents might be more comfortable with a woman in the house than with a strange man.”
Kruger called on the radio to ask where I was. I told him I would join him in a couple of minutes. To tell the truth, I was very happy to delegate the work of talking to the McNutts to Willie Dill. “Why doesn’t Robert help me while you’re talking to them?” I asked.
I checked the laser again before we left the blacksmith shop. It was holding steady, and Robert and I walked around the store and across to the community center. I was careful to keep myself between him and the woods, and we crossed the road without incident. I called Kruger to meet me at the back and told him how I wanted to do the search.
Redbone joined us a moment later and waited in the woods with Robert while Kruger and I spotted our tree. When we joined them, I saw Redbone had changed sweatshirts with Robert, and the youngster was wearing a dark cap. He saw my look and nodded. The two of them were about the same size, and Alex was wearing body armor.
The tree the laser pointed to was a large pine, and the first limbs were at least fifteen feet above us. I asked Robert if his dad had a ladder when he grinned and pointed behind me. I turned around to see Alex Redbone grab the first limb and haul himself over it. A couple of minutes later, I heard him tell us he had spotted the laser.
Two minutes later, he was on the ground pointing to another tree deeper into the woods. “I found a mark where the bullet grazed a branch,” he told us. “It may have hit that one.” Ten minutes later, he was standing on the ground again, handing me a plastic bag containing a small bullet. It was bright and unmarked except for the tiny grooves left by the rifle barrel. More to the point, I could see it was a .223.
Kruger shook his head. “How in the world did you do that?” he asked.
“My grandfather was half squirrel,” Alex told him solemnly.
“I believe it,” I told him. “How did you know where to look?”
Redbone shrugged. “I don’t know. I just did.” Then he grinned. Reaching in his pocket, he brought out another bullet, one just like the first. “It’s an old Indian trick!” Kruger couldn’t figure out why the rest of us were laughing.
We went back to the community center and stood in the deep shade cast by a large gum tree behind it, talking about what to do next. Then I heard a soft pop and Redbone fell to the ground. I threw myself at Robert, knocking him down and pinning him to the ground beneath me. My automatic was in my hand, and I raised it straight up, firing three quick shots. I saw Kruger crouched behind the gum tree, his pistol pointing toward the woods.
For a moment there was silence. Then gunshots broke out on the other side of the woods, near the road. My ears were still ringing from my own shots, but I could hear someone crashing through the woods, and at least one other person in pursuit. Grabbing Robert by the shirt, I hauled him into the community center. “Are you hit?” I asked, looking over him anxiously.
“No,” he said. His face had lost all color. “Is he dead?”
I turned to look for Redbone, but he was coming through the door holding his side. “No such luck,” he groaned, falling into a chair. He was having trouble breathing.
“Watch the front door,” I told Robert. I helped Redbone to the floor and stripped off his jacket and shirt. His body armor was badly torn, and I could see blood seeping through. When I peeled back the armor, there was a shallow gash in his side, and I could see a massive bruise forming. I told him what I saw.
“It feels like I have broken ribs,” he told me. “The bastard must’ve been using hunting bullets. I was lucky.”
I glanced at his wound again and saw something else. “Hold still,” I said. Taking out a pair of tweezers, I reached into the wound and pulled out a small metal mushroom. I held it up so he could see it.
“Hey, I found another bullet,” Redbone quipped, managing a faint smile. He poked his little finger through a hole in the jacket he had been wearing. “I’m sorry, Robert. I seem to have ruined your jacket.”
“Cool!” said Robert, taking the jacket and looking at the hole.
“Robert,” I said to him sternly. “Whoever did this was trying to kill you.”
“I know,” he said, shrugging off my concern. “He missed.”
I looked at Redbone, who shrugged. “I think your dad may look at it a bit differently.”
“You not gonna tell him!” Robert protested.
“I have to, Robert,” I said. “He’s your dad. He needs to know so he can protect you.”
Robert was saved from any reply by the front door opening. I had my gun up and leveled before I saw it was Robert senior. “What in the hell is going on?” he demanded.
“The man who killed Luther Adams just took a shot at Robert,” I told him. “Alex here took the bullet. He was wearing Robert’s jacket.”
McNutt looked at Redbone’s wound and at the jacket. Robert had his little finger through the hole. “Why did he do that?” McNutt demanded.
“We think Robert may have seen Smiley Jones’ killer,” I told him. “So did Luther Adams.”
“No, why was he wearing my son’s jacket?” McNutt corrected.
“We thought there was an outside chance this might happen,” I replied. “I thought it was a good idea while we were outside.”
“It turns out we were right,” Redbone added.
For a moment I thought McNutt would hit me. “You get back to the house, son,” he told Robert in a quiet, angry voice. “I need to talk to these men.”
“Wait!” I said. “It’s not safe for him to go outside just yet. The killer may still be out there.” Redbone nodded.
“Why wasn’t I told about this?” McNutt demanded.
“That’s my fault,” came a voice from the doorway. It was Willie Dill. “We didn’t know there was a definite threat.” Martha Johnston came in the door right after him. She was carrying a Uzi.
“Who the hell are you!” McNutt snarled.
Dill did an impressive federal flip. The case was FBI, and the badge was gold. “My name is Willie Dill. We are federal agents. This is Agent Johnston, and this is Agent Redbone.”
McNutt took the identification folder and looked at it carefully. “All right. Let’s assume who you say you are. Who’s trying to shoot my son?”
“We don’t know for sure,” Dill told him. “We think it’s this man— Edward Posey.” He showed McNutt a photo.
“He looks like Smiley Jones,” McNutt said.
“It’s his son,” Dill told him.
“His son?” McNutt said. “His son killed him?”
“It’s a long story,” Dill said. “Dr. Phillips can fill you in. Right now I’m concerned about the safety of your son. This Posey is bad news.”
“I’d like to get my hands on him,” Robert McNutt said softly. “Take a shot at a child of mine!”
“We need to talk about protective custody,” Dill responded. “How long has it been since you had a family vacation?”
Robert McNutt looked at Dill like he had gone crazy. “We can’t be taking a vacation,” he said. “We’ve got a store to run. Robert has school.”
“Robert can’t go to school until we catch Posey,” Dill insisted. “I don’t want to get pushy, buy he’s a material witness. We can put him in protective custody if you don’t cooperate. I don’t want him killed like he nearly was today.”
McNutt didn’t like it, but he saw the sense of what Dill was saying. “You take Robert and his mama,” he said. �
�I’ll stay here and run the store. She can make sure he keeps up his lessons.”
“You take his mama where?” a new voice sounded from the front door. It was Robert’s mother. “What’s going on here?”
It took a few minutes to sort out, but when Dora McNutt found out her son was in danger, she insisted on closing the store. “You’re crazy, Robert McNutt!” she told her husband. “The man’s offering us an expense-paid family vacation, and you’re not taking it? What’s the matter with you? We haven’t had a family vacation since we got here! Where will we be going?” she asked Dill.
“I had a family ranch in Wyoming in mind,” Dill told her. “We use it as a safe place sometimes. Martha’s husband runs the ranch, and it’s quite nice this time of year. We could send you somewhere else, too, I suppose, but it wouldn’t be nearly as comfortable.”
“We’ll be ready in an hour,” Dora replied. This precipitated an argument with her husband, but she cut it off. “We’re the only store in town, and it won’t hurt business a bit. Clara can run the place until we get back, and I don’t care if she steals us blind.”
McNutt tried to put up a good fight, but two hours later the three of them were in the car and headed to Little Rock with Redbone and Martha Johnston. I hated to see Robert go, but he was excited. Even Robert senior was showing some excitement by the time they left. He smiled when he hung a “gone fishing” sign in the store window.
When they were gone, Dill suggested we head into Nashville for a belated lunch. “I’m too pumped to sleep,” he told me. “Why don’t you drive if you don’t mind?” I agreed, and Dill was out like a light before we were three miles down the road. I took my time getting to Nashville.
* * *
That afternoon I headed for Little Rock. I phoned Weaver to let him know I was bringing him some fresh bullets, and he told me he would stay late at the lab to run ballistics. He hoped to have the DNA from the cigarette butts ready, as well as fingerprint results from the lottery ticket.
