“It’s the next turn to the left, Mitchell,” Reightman instructed as she hung up the phone.
Mitchell slowed to make the turn and glanced her way. “Is he alright?”
“He’s pretty shaken up right now. I hope he can hang on until we get there.” She scrolled through her call list and punched the number she needed. “Sheriff Branson, this is Detective Reightman. Any idea how much longer your guys will be?...No, ma’am, but things have changed for the worse. We’re about fifteen or twenty minutes from the location and we are going on to the cabin...Yes, I understand, but I can’t wait any longer...No, ma’am...I will, and I’ll be looking for that backup.” She ended the call and turned to Mitchell. “Pull over at the next place you can find and we’ll get suited up in the vests.”
A few minutes later, they were out of the car and pulling on the protective vests. “Damn, I hate these things,” Reightman complained as she tugged it into place.
“You’d hate taking a bullet more, Detective.”
“You’re right,” she agreed as she checked her weapon. “But I can still bitch about how uncomfortable it is right up until the minute it takes the first hit.”
“I hope it doesn’t come to that.” Mitchell finished fastening the side tabs and checked his own weapon. “Ready?”
“I guess I better be. I’m going to see if I can talk to Jones first. It might not do any good, but I have to try. You focus on trying to keep Toby safe.”
“I’ll do my best. I wish Toby had some protection of his own. He probably didn’t bring his gun with him. There was no reason for him to do that.”
“Probably not,” she grimly agreed as she climbed into the driver’s seat. “I’m not sure how much good it would do him anyway. He’s only had it a few weeks and I bet he’s just barely competent.”
Mitchell settled into the passenger side and gave her a grim, lopsided grin. “You'd lose that bet, Detective. The instructors say he’s a natural talent. He’s actually a very good marksman.” The grin faded when he thought about his friend’s situation. “If he doesn’t have his gun with him, it’s pretty much a moot point.”
Reightman didn’t respond, she just pulled out onto the two lane road and hit the gas.
Toby closed the door behind him and went to his side of the bed and picked up the bag he’d stowed on the floor. Then, glancing out the window to check on the location of the man on the deck, he went into the small bathroom and shut and locked the door. He turned on the shower and opened the bag. He removed his gun case and opened it and checked his pistol, just like he’d been taught. He pulled two large towels out of the bathroom cabinet and rolled the gun into one of them. He stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower. As the hot water ran down his back, he tried to think of what he could do to keep Jones distracted. His head jerked to the door as he heard a small noise, like someone testing the knob.
“You about done in there, Toby? I need to know if I should put on the steaks.”
“Yeah, Bill,” he yelled back once he had the surge of fear under control. “I’ll be out in just a couple of more minutes.” He tilted his face up into the hot spray and thought through everything he knew. “I should have recognized that damned tattoo,” he berated himself. He turned off the water and quickly sluiced the moisture off his body before reaching for the towel. “How could I have missed the connection? I looked at those photographs a million times!” He dried off his body, pulled on his jeans and decided to leave off the sweatshirt. He wasn’t cold anymore, and it wouldn’t provide him any protection. A bare chest might distract Jones into thinking everything was normal, and every second might count before Reightman and Mitchell arrived. He hung his up his towel and quickly brushed his teeth, remembering the excuse he’d used to avoid contact. Then he stuffed the sweatshirt back in his bag, covering the now empty gun case. He picked up the two towels he’d rolled up and tucked them under one arm, and picked up the bag and unlocked and opened the bathroom door.
John Brown was waiting just outside when the door opened. “I thought you were going to wash away. It took you a long time in there.”
“I know, but hot water felt good and it warmed me up. I’m not cold anymore.”
John Brown stepped closer, forcing himself into Toby’s space. “How about that kiss? Now you’ve brushed your teeth.”
“Uh….sure. Just let me put these things down.”
John Brown eyed the bag Toby held and the towels he had under his arm. “Here, let me take those for you.”
Toby hesitated for a split second, then handed him the bag. “You can take this – just put it over by the side of the bed.”
“You want me to take the towels too?
“No need. I thought I’d carry them out to the hot tub so we’d have them later. I’ll take them out now and then I can come in and help you get things together for dinner.”
Good idea, Toby. But I want that kiss first.” John Brown waited as Toby made up his mind. He finally stepped a little closer and leaned in and gave him a kiss, but it didn’t hold any of Toby’s normal fire. “Maybe we won’t even make it through dinner,” John Brown thought bleakly as Toby pulled away.
“I’ll just take these out and I’ll be right back,” Toby told him before walking out the back door.
John Brown tossed the Toby’s bag on the bed and went to the kitchen to season the steaks. He placed them on a plate and added salt and pepper, liking the way the shiny red, bloody meat looked against the dull finish of the pottery platter. He figured he might as well cook them, even if Toby didn’t get to enjoy dinner. “It’s a shame,” John Brown commiserated with himself, thinking about their last kiss, “but, I guess I didn’t really love him, after all. I wonder if he really cared about me.” He pulled out some lettuce and a couple of tomatoes to fix a simple salad. “Still, I’m glad I didn’t kill him the night I shot Jackson, and I’m glad I didn’t kill him our first weekend together. If nothing else, we had some fun, and he taught me some things I’d never have tried on my own.” His knife sliced through the flesh of the ripe tomato and he wondered what else he should prepare. “I probably should get the tarp back out since it’ll be easier to carry him to the grave in the woods if he’s wrapped up. I’m going to have to dig the hole out again, and I hope the dirt is not too packed. It took forever to get my hands clean last time. And, I guess I can throw a couple of pieces of thick toast on the grill to go with the salad and streaks.” He opened the cabinet to get out the bread, and heard the sound of tires on gravel. “Someone’s probably lost and needs directions,” he decided, and rinsed off his hands.
John Brown went to the front window to check, and swore when he recognized the two people in the car. “Dammit!” He dug the phone out of his pocket and scanned the recent calls. His expression grew stormy when he recognized the last number dialed. “You’ve been busy, Toby!” He shoved the phone back in his pocket and pulled the gun from behind his back and then locked the front door.
“Well, at least we know he’s home, Mitchell,” Reightman commented cynically when she saw Jones briefly appear in the window. “I wonder if Toby’s in there with him.”
Mitchell turned to her with worried eyes. “I don’t know where else he could be. His car’s right there, so he must be inside. What do you want to do now?”
Reightman unbuckled her seatbelt. “I think I’ll go on up to the door and see if he’ll let me inside. Go on around the back and make sure he doesn’t come out that way. We need to keep him here until our reinforcements arrive.”
Mitchell unbuckled his own seatbelt and opened the car door. “How long before they’ll show up, Detective?”
“I don’t know, but I’m praying it won’t be long. Just try to keep your cool, and if he starts shooting, try to keep out of the line of fire. “
She got out of the car and unholstered her gun. Mitchell followed suit. She watched as he started around the side of the house to
make his way to the back of the cabin. When he was out of sight, she took a deep breath and marched up to the door, gun in hand. She gave two sharp raps on the door. “Come on, Jones, open up! I know you’re in there.” She tried the knob and found it was locked. “Jones,” she called. “Why don’t we have a little talk about things?”
John Brown hurried out to the deck and found Toby sitting on the edge of the hot tub with his head in his hands. “Toby?” he yelled. “You need to get in here. Now!”
Toby looked up at the angry shout, and immediately spotted the gun in the man’s hands. He stood and dropped one of the towels. He quickly unrolled the other and took the gun he’d hidden inside into his hands, holding it steady with a double-handed grip. “I don’t think so, Detective Jones, or whatever the fuck your real name is! I think I’ll stay right here.”
John Brown noticed the tremor in Toby’s voice and he knew he was scared, but the gun in his hands never wavered. “What’s that you have in your hand, Toby?”
“What the hell does it look like?”
John Brown aka Bill Jones was shocked by Toby’s possession of a gun and even more so by the fact he even appeared to know how to hold it properly. He noted the angry, frantic tone in the man’s voice, and decided that even if Toby wasn’t a good shot, it was best to be careful. People were hurt by guns all the time. He took a couple of cautious steps toward him, and tried to reason with him. “You need to put it down, Toby. You’ll hurt yourself if you’re not careful.”
Toby shook his head and bared his teeth. “I’m not about to put this gun down, and don’t worry – I know how to use it. If you take one more step in my direction, I’ll prove it.
Before he could reconcile himself with this new reality, John Brown heard movement from the side of the house. He wondered which one of the unwelcomed guests it was. “You have a couple of visitors, Toby. You should have told me you invited them.”
“They were already on their way. Detective Reightman figured everything out before I did. I guess all of your secrets are out now.”
John Brown shrugged. “Nothing good lasts forever, Toby. What tipped you off?”
“The badge in your bag. And the fact the phone you handed me to use was once my phone. The one I lost on the night Geri was murdered.”
John Brown laughed at the irony, and remembered what Helliman had told him the night he put a bullet through his head. If he could create a little doubt, he might just get out of this with his skin intact. Good thing he had money sitting in the bank. “That phone could have belonged to anyone, Toby. What possible reason could you have for thinking it was yours?”
“The scratch on the back – in the exact place mine was scratched – is a pretty good hint. And it makes sense. Just like that damned tattoo on your shoulder. It showed up quite well in the pictures Geri left for me. I was just so wrapped up in you and how wonderful things seemed that I didn’t put the pieces together. I should have known it was all too good to be true!”
John Brown was comforted to know Toby had been truly interested in him, at least if he understood what wrapped up meant. But he was confused by the rest of the statement. “What pictures?”
“Oh come off it, Jones! You were one of the staring attractions. You have to be familiar with the photographs since you’ve been working the murder cases, or at least, convincing everyone that’s what you were doing.”
John Brown’s eyes widened, surprised by this new information. The day just kept getting better. “Reightman didn’t share everything with me, Toby. I never saw all of the photos, and I never knew he took pictures of me.” John Brown didn’t want Toby to be unreasonably jealous of his little rub and tug with Guzman, so he tried to reassure him. “I was only with him once.”
“You know what? It doesn’t matter! I’m done believing anything you say. But I do have one question for you. Why, Jones?”
John Brown was disappointed by the predictability of the question. For some reason, that was always the first thing people asked him when they realized they were going to die. “That’s not a very original question, Toby. I thought you’d do better than that. But, if you put down the gun, I’ll think about giving you an answer.”
“Put down your weapon, Jones!” Mitchell shouted as he rounded the corner.
John Brown narrowed his eyes at the interruption and fired once. Toby saw Mitchell hit the ground and roll.
Reightman also heard the shot. She stepped back and fired twice at the lock and pushed with her shoulder. Frustrated when it didn’t budge, she stepped back and kicked the door open. She felt something tear in her knee – the same knee she’d injured the night Sam had been killed. Furious, she shoved the door open, and entered the cabin. The room was empty, but she could see out into the back of the property from the windows flanking the fireplace. “I guess he has his gun after all,” she groaned when she saw Toby holding a weapon in his hand.
Reightman hobbled to the door, gasping at the sharp pain, and limped out onto the deck, taking aim. “Jones, drop the gun!”
A cold smile of pleasure formed on Jones’ mouth. “Well hello, partner! I wondered what was taking you so long! I was starting to get worried. Congratulations – I see you finally figured things out.”
Reightman took in the scene, noting Toby’s resolute demeanor and the confused, manic look in Jones’ eyes. She didn’t see Mitchell, and wondered if Jones had already taken him out. She pushed down her fear, and took a step closer, biting her lip to keep from moaning at the pain in her knee. She did her best to keep her voice level as she responded. “It took me a while, but the pieces finally came together.”
John Brown shook his head in sad resignation. “I worried about that, but I think this must just be fate, Reightman. Just when I find something wonderful, it falls apart. It’s the story of my life. I don’t know why this happened. I tried so hard to muddy the trail and confuse things, and I know I did a good job. I always do a good job.”
She didn’t understand what he was talking about, and didn’t like the way he sounded. She could tell he was on the edge of some sort of breakdown. All she knew was she needed to keep him talking as long as possible. “Really, Jones? What was it you did so well? Tell me, so I understand where I messed up?”
“You didn’t mess up, Reightman. There was no way for you to know your new partner was involved. If you’d had Sam around, you’d have figured things out much sooner. I do regret killing Sam Jackson. He…was a mistake.”
She briefly closed her eyes in pain, both from her knee and the reminder of Jackson’s death, but she couldn’t allow the hurt to linger. “I regret that you killed Sam, too. He was a good man, and a smart cop. But, Jones, I know it was a mistake. This can end right now. Put down the gun, let Mitchell and me take you in, and we can get you some help.”
She saw him think over her words, and an almost wistful, hopeful expression flashed through his eyes. But Jones shook his head. “You and I both know better than that. There isn’t any help for me now. And I hate to tell you, but I think I winged young Officer Mitchell, so I don’t think he’d be much help anymore. You know, I liked him, as long as he stayed away from Toby. That was part of the reason I made sure he was removed from the picture.”
“What do you mean?”
“I didn’t like it when they were together, so I convinced Kelly to reassign him. It just took a few hints that Toby was turning Mitchell into a little faggot, and Kelly was happy to pull him off. I didn’t bother to let him know Mitchell was sucking cock long before Toby Bailey came along. After all, I promised you I wouldn’t say anything about Mitchell’s orientation. Kelly hates you now Reightman – ever since you backed him into a corner. He was the perfect man to help me, even if he didn’t know what he was doing at the time.” Jones laughed joyfully at his own cleverness, and then studied Reightman as she swayed and tried to keep her balance. “Reightman, you’re looking a little wobbly over there. I’m worried about you. You know, I think you might have bit of
f more than you can chew, and you can’t bring me in by yourself. You should have brought more backup.” Jones suddenly moved his gun to his opposite hand and feinted to the right. He turned and fired a shot. Reightman felt the bullet strike her chest and she reeled from the impact, falling to the wooden deck and landing on the same injured knee. She saw Jones raise his gun again and take aim, but before he could fire, a shot rang out from the other side of the deck. Jones’s gun hand jerked as the bullet hit, and he dropped the gun. But before it could hit the deck, Jones grabbed it in his other hand. He turned and fired two shots in the direction of his shooter.
Reightman heard Mitchell call out in sudden pain, and then, it was quiet.
“I guess I was wrong about Mitchell. He got off a pretty good shot,” Jones said with true admiration, although he winced at the pain from his torn and bleeding hand. “It just wasn’t good enough. I think I got him good that time, so he’s probably done. If not, I’ll finish him off later. Like I said,” he shrugged, causing his now useless hand to swing at his side, “you should have brought back-up. You should pay attention to your partner, Reightman.”
“Backup is on the way, Jones. This isn’t going to end well for you unless you put the gun down and surrender.”
Jones laughed again and slung the blood from his wounded hand onto the wooden deck. “It’s not going to end well for me, anyway you look at it. But it’s going to end badly for you, too.”
He raised the gun again, but before he could fire, Toby called out to him. “Jones, you never did answer my question.”
Bill Jones lowered his hand a few inches at the sound of the man’s voice. He recognized it as the same voice he’d become accustomed to hearing when they were together, and doing such wonderful things to each other. It was the same voice which had urged him on, and sometimes begged him for release they strained together on the bed. Images of those moments ran through his mind and he shook his head, desperate to clear them away. Bill Jones couldn’t respond, so John Brown answered for him. “Why did I do it, you mean? Why did I kill all of those people? It’s very simple. It was just my job.”
Hard Job: Reightman & Bailey Book Two Page 31
