by Carolina Mac
“The money was never recovered from the armored truck robbery, but that place has been searched. I’m sure of it.”
“Maybe he just wanted to look at the building for old times’ sake,” said Jack.
“Uh huh. I bet. Don’t lose him.”
COLORADO STREET was solidly lined with media vehicles parked on both sides as the funeral procession made its way to the reception at the Governor’s Mansion.
Farrell and Fletcher had come from downtown and were already waiting in the truck for the others to arrive from the cemetery.
“Is this gonna be sad?” asked Fletch. “Like a lot of women crying and shit like that?”
Farrell shrugged. “No clue, buddy. If it is, just drink more beer.”
“Hell, yeah,” said Fletcher and was immediately cheered by the prospect of free beer.
“Here they come,” said Farrell. “Let’s check the trees for snipers, just in case.”
“Do you think someone would try something when there’s like a hundred people here?”
“Lot of cons have a screw loose. They do what they gotta do. Don’t matter if the Pope or George Strait is watching them.”
The limo pulled up to the front door and stopped to let the Governor and her guests out. Blaine and Misty followed her from the car to the front entrance.
“There’s the boss,” said Fletch. “Should we go catch up?”
“We ain’t dressed for it. Maybe we’ll take the outside for now and catch the food when some of the crowd dies down.”
Next came Special Agent Wyman and his team, followed by the funeral car carrying Bartley Churchill. Behind the town car was Blacky’s truck driven by Pablo.
“Fuck that,” said Farrell. “Blacky let Pablo drive his truck.”
“Is that bad?”
“I’d say so. Doesn’t let anybody touch it. Only me.”
IN THE MAIN ballroom, the staff had outdone themselves and laid out an elaborate buffet for all the Governor’s guests. Long tables covered in floor-length linen cloths and accented with antique candelabra and fresh flowers were laden with beautifully garnished dishes, both cold and right out of the oven, sure to please even the most discerning diner.
The architecture of the mansion never ceased to impress Blaine and he spent a moment gazing up at the breathtaking chandelier. Once he noticed the bar set up in the corner of the great room, the chandelier failed to hold his attention. He headed to the bar along with an increasing number of men in designer suits.
Bartley Churchill strode across the room, making a beeline for a libation and coming away with a glass of Texas bourbon on the rocks. Blaine followed close behind Mr. Churchill with Misty on his arm while Cat scurried off to speak to her staff and take charge of her hosting duties.
At the cemetery, Misty had felt a vibe when she touched the coffin, but she hadn’t been afforded the opportunity to explain it in detail.
They squeezed in closer to the bar, so Misty could brush against Bartley Churchill and pick up any positive or negative vibrations he was sending into the universe.
Blaine accepted a Corona and a glass of red wine from the bartender, then steered Misty to a quiet corner of the room.
“Anything, sweetheart?”
“She’s here,” Misty leaned close to Blaine and whispered.
“Who?”
“The woman Sienna Churchill was furious with.”
Blaine wondered how in hell Misty could know this tidbit of information, but he glanced around the cavernous room anyway. He didn’t see anyone he recognized except the Lieutenant Governor, Templeton Stokes. “Can you tell who the woman is?”
“Maybe,” said Misty. “Let’s circulate.”
“I feel weird doing this,” said Blaine.
“Strut your stuff, super cop. Show them what you’ve got.” Misty giggled.
“That made me feel more confident.”
They walked casually around the room, nodding to people who recognized Blaine and acknowledged him only out of politeness. They skirted around knots of guests chatting, eating, drinking and commiserating together.
Governor Campbell was holding court in the far corner of the room near the grand piano, a large glass of wine in her hand. A dozen perfectly groomed men were availing themselves of the opportunity to lobby for what they wanted or thought they needed from the great state of Texas.
Bartley Churchill crossed the room with a fresh drink in his hand and joined the group clustered around the Governor.
Misty whispered to Blaine, “See that couple sitting over there on the loveseat?”
“Uh huh. I see them.”
“The woman hasn’t taken her eyes off Mr. Churchill.”
“Can you pick up more if we move closer?”
“I can try,” said Misty. “You introduce yourself, so we can shake hands with them. I’ll do better if I can touch her.”
Blaine grinned. “Not something I’ve ever done—walk up and introduce myself to a stranger—but I’ll do it for you. Hope I don’t sound like an asshole.”
Misty giggled. “You are never an asshole, my darling. I love you greatly.”
Blaine took Misty’s hand and they strode with purpose towards the couple on the loveseat. Without hesitation, Blaine dove in. “Hi, you both look familiar. I’m Blaine Blackmore, and you are?”
The man jumped to his feet and extended his hand. “I’m Ward Ingram, and this is Celia Stone.”
“Nice to meet you both.” Blaine shook hands with Ward and Misty did the same with Celia.
“I’m Misty,” she said quietly and withdrew her hand quickly from Celia’s. To Blaine: “I feel like a coffee. Let’s go see if it’s ready.”
“Let’s do that,” said Blaine.
They strolled back to the buffet table leaving Ward and Celia staring after them. Blaine took up a position next to the coffee service and Misty eyed the generous offering of desserts.
“Was there anything?” asked Blaine as he filled a cup from the silver pot. He picked up the matching silver cream pitcher and wondered about its age.
“That’s her,” said Misty. “Only a quick flash while I held her hand, but she yelled at Mr. Churchill.”
“Any actual words?”
I’m such a non-believer, but I’m trying.
“She told him she was tired of waiting for him to divorce his wife.”
“Did Churchill say anything back?”
“I don’t know.”
“Could you see where they were?”
“Mmm… not much to go on. A glance out the window behind him. If I guessed, I’d say near Lady Bird Lake.”
“Interesting. Great information, sweetheart. We have their names and they sound vaguely familiar. I’ll check and see if they live in the same condo building. The boys might have interviewed them already. Obviously, they’re friends of the Churchills or they wouldn’t be here.”
“Cat might know how friendly they were with the Churchills,” said Misty. “Let’s ask her.”
Blaine turned towards the far corner of the room where the piano was situated and scoped out the large crowd still besieging the Governor. He decided against disturbing her. “Too many people over there. I’ll call her tonight.”
BLAINE and Farrell sat in the kitchen and had a beer after the boys went home for the day. Carm buzzed around in the prep area making dinner and Misty went upstairs to change her clothes and rest.
“What are we gonna do about the two thou that Kamps wants, bro?” asked Farrell.
“If it’s gonna save lives,” said Blaine, “I don’t mind coughing it up, but it would piss me off if we handed it over and got useless information in return.”
“I’m thinking the same thing,” said Farrell. “How far can you trust a lowlife like Kamps?”
“On the other hand, with Palatka in the mix you’ve gotta wonder what the hell will be blazing in the next twenty-four?”
“What’s Ewing Thompson’s agenda?” asked Farrell. “Who does he hate the most?”
“Okay, he hates Austin and he’s gonna show us how much,” said Farrell. “And it’s got something to do with Bud Palatka who walks around with a barbeque lighter in his pocket. What are they gonna do to show us?”
“Add that information to the list of stuff he bought at Home Depot on the way home from Huntsville and it spells trouble. B-o-m-b.”
“How can we stop him?”
“Only one way,” said Blaine. “Arrest him and lock him up.”
“Or…”
“That’s the alternative.”
LOU WAS PISSED at Ewing and wouldn’t give him a ride to the T n T. Not that he cared, but Ewing knew he was being watched and needed to get to the roadhouse to shake the tail. He had plans for the evening and they didn’t include cops on his ass.
The cab didn’t take more than ten minutes to arrive and it was more relaxing than riding with Lou and listening to him rave on about staying away from Mattie. Why should he? Mattie was his and just because she jumped ship when he was in the slam for five years it didn’t change anything. Lou had something that didn’t belong to him and Ewing was taking her back. First chance he got.
Right now, he was too fuckin busy to be worrying about sex or taking back his woman. He’d worry about it after the job was done. He pulled out the burner cell and called Palatka from the back seat of the cab.
“You at the roadhouse yet?”
“Waiting for you. Why didn’t you come with Lou?”
“Wouldn’t bring me.”
“You piss him off?”
“Uh huh.”
“Hurry up.”
What a sicko. That guy can’t wait to light a match.
BLAINE CALLED Jack before going upstairs to bed. “Who’s on Thompson tonight?”
“Rick and Andy.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“Something happening?”
“Maybe. I don’t know for sure. I want them to be extra careful.”
“I’ll call them right now.”
“Thanks.” He ended the call and tried Cat.
“Hey, sweetie, just thinking about you.”
“Good or bad?”
“Always good.”
“Lie.”
“The day went well, at least my part of it,” she said. “Everyone thanked me for helping Bart, and I had a lot of compliments on the buffet.” She lowered her voice and asked, “Did Misty pull anything from the galaxy?”
“Don’t make fun of her, Cat. She has a gift we don’t have, and she tries to help me.”
“I’m not much of a believer in the occult.”
“Me neither, but this is what she got. Mrs. Churchill was angry because her husband was cheating on her.”
“Don’t believe it.”
“You don’t have to, just listen.”
“Okay, sorry. Go on.”
“Mrs. Churchill was mad because she found out about the other woman...”
“And of course, Misty knows who this mysterious mistress was, doesn’t she?”
“She says its Celia Stone.”
“Bullshit.”
“How well do you know Ms. Stone?”
“I’ve had dinner at Sienna’s a few times when Celia’s been there with Ward. They live together and seem happy.”
“I looked into it and they live in the same building—next door, in fact according to Farrell’s notes. On the second interviews, Farrell had some iffy vibes from Ward and Lil researched him. He’s in financial trouble.”
“I’ll believe that because it’s documented, but I don’t believe Bart was having an affair with Celia. He’s not that type of man.”
BUD SHONE a penlight on the lock while Ewing picked it. They opened the back door without a sound and were inside in seconds.
“This way,” Ewing whispered and opened the door to a flight of stairs. He shone a light ahead of them as they ran down a narrow set of stairs leading to the basement. At the bottom of the stairs, Ewing turned right and opened a wooden door into a storage room behind the furnace. “Help me with this.” He took one end of a pile of old two by fours and waited for Bud to grab hold of the other end. “Move it out about two feet.”
With the lumber away from the wall, Ewing dropped to his knees and pried a rusty drain cover off with a screwdriver. The drain released a stench of rot that almost gagged him, but he persevered. He lay flat on his belly and stuck his arm down the narrow opening until he felt the hook at the end of the chain. He pulled the chain up high enough that he could stand up, then hand over hand, pulled up the stainless steel cylinder that the chain was attached to.
Bud nodded as he held the light. “Smart idea. Never would have thought of it.”
“Go do your thing and meet me outside.”
Bud grinned and headed up the stairs.
BLAINE’S cell rang, and Misty sat bolt upright beside him.
“What’s happening?” she asked.
Blaine groped in the dark on the nightstand, found the phone and checked the screen. “It’s Rick,” he said. “Go back to sleep, Mist.” To Rick: “Yeah, what’s up?”
“We lost him at the roadhouse.”
“How, for crissake?” Blaine twisted around, and his bare feet hit the cold floor. “How could you lose him?”
Silence.
“He knew you were on him and he wanted you lose you. He’s doing something. Goddammit, Rick.”
“We’ve got the scanner on, boss. We’ll pick him up right away.”
“People will be dead by then. The question is, how many?”
Jesus Christ I might as well get dressed.
CHAPTER SIX
Wednesday. March 11th.
BLAINE didn’t realize he’d lain his head down until his phone woke him again. It was still in his hand. “Lieutenant Lopez. Que pasa?”
“Arson. Four dead. A dozen homeless.”
“Tell me why it belongs to me?”
I’m so tired, I can’t fuckin think.
“It’s the work of Bud Palatka and Farrell had called the arson squad and put a watch on him.”
“How do you know it was Bud?”
“Dead at the back door. Small caliber in his brain.”
“It’s that fucking Ewing Thompson.”
“Tell me you didn’t say those words.”
“I better wake Calhoun up.”
“Will I see you shortly?”
“I’ll bring coffee.”
“You the man, Blacky.”
Blaine dressed in the clothes he’d tossed on a chair, then woke Farrell. Downstairs in the kitchen, he brewed a pot of coffee while he waited for his foster brother to wake up enough to pull some clothes on. Neither one of them had a chance for enough sleep.
He checked his watch and it was ten after four. He grit his teeth and pressed the Chief’s contact number. On the fourth ring, Calhoun woke up and answered.
“Am I gonna like this?”
“No sir. Thompson just torched his former address.”
“How many dead?”
“Four, including Bud Palatka.”
“The asshole had Palatka handle the torch then he killed him.”
“You nailed it.”
“I’ll be up at six. Call me then with what you’ve got.”
FARRELL CLUMPED down the stairs in his cowboy boots, an unlit cigarette between his lips and a sleepy scowl on his face. “Goddam junkers. I’m so pissed at them right now, I might take a swing at the four of them.”
“Fix a coffee in one of the travelers and let’s go. It’s done, and we can’t change it.”
“We can’t change it, but we can damn well let them know it was their fuckin fault.”
“I’m sure they feel bad enough. They’re out there searching for Thompson right now. Rick and Andy haven’t slept.”
“Hope the fuckers never sleep again.” Farrell fixed his
coffee, raided the Sub-Zero and left the kitchen with a slice of pecan pie in his hand.
“Phone Mary and have her meet us there,” said Blaine as he backed out the gate onto the street.
“Soon as I finish my pie.” Farrell shoved the last bite into his mouth and pulled his cell out of his pocket. “She’s a light sleeper,” he said as he waited for her to answer.
“Something wrong, honey?” she sounded sleepy.
“So fuckin wrong you couldn’t believe it. Blacky wants you to meet us at this address. Bring what’s his name.”
“A photographer?”
“Uh huh. We’ll be there in ten.”
“I’ll call Raj and tell him to hurry.”
Farrell spoke to Blacky across the console. “We should get an APB out on Thompson. The guy’s a fuckin maniac.”
“Did it while I was waiting for you to get dressed.”
“Think it will do any good?”
“I’d bet against it. He’s smart and he’s been dodging the cops for a lot of years.”
“He got caught a couple times.” Farrell lit up a smoke. “When I see him, he won’t be drawing breath long.”
THE STREET was barricaded at both ends and the uniforms had to move sawhorses for Blaine to drive through. Media vans were clustered close to the barricades and reporters on foot shouted questions at the truck. Blaine kept the windows up, so he couldn’t hear them.
Fire trucks owned the middle of the block and Blaine parked well back of the closest one. He could feel the heat inside the truck.
“Feel that?” asked Farrell. “A fuckin inferno.”
The fourplex was gone. A couple of half walls stood for the moment and firefighters continued to pour gallons of water on them, but it was inevitable.
The victims had been moved to the front lawn of a rooming house two properties away. The Medical Examiner and two assistants were kneeling on the grass near the bodies.
“Run back and wait for Mary at the corner, bro. They won’t let her in.”
Holding tight to his coffee, Farrell nodded. “She should be here soon.”
Residents who’d been awakened by the sirens and the noise and activity on their street lined the opposite sidewalk watching the firemen and police personnel doing their jobs. They pushed and shoved each other trying for better spots to make videos on their fuckin phones.
