Eyes in the Sky

by Debbie Burke

  Tawny tried to stand but her legs refused to work. Shock paralyzed her. And fear for Tillman’s fate.

  Prison. Oh God.

  The judge came around the desk and pressed her shoulders. “Why don’t you sit here for a little while and pull yourself together?” A gentle pat then Eve left.

  As soon as the door clicked shut, Tawny’s tears flowed. She laid her head on her arms on Eve’s desk and wept for the man she loved.

  For his children who would have to visit him in prison.

  For the grandchild Mimi was carrying whom he might never hold in his arms.

  And she wept for herself. For the emptiness that she knew lay ahead of her. The loss was different from Dwight’s death but would still leave her hollowed out inside, and achingly alone.

  She didn’t blame Tillman. Steve had piled betrayal upon betrayal on him—theft from the partnership, the years-long affair with Rochelle, and, finally, the seduction of his daughter. With his volatile temperament, he couldn’t help but explode and wreak vengeance.

  The ring of her cell made her jump. Lou, the P.I. She blew her nose and cleared her throat before answering.

  “Hi, Tawny, I got the information you needed.” He sounded upbeat.

  She struggled to remember what he was referring to. “Sorry, what?”

  “Deer Lodge. Frank Grand and Crooked Neck Jimsen were incarcerated there at the same time. They were cellmates. Not only that, they were married. Not the usual prison fuck-buddies, but actually married by a minister.”

  Tawny almost blurted, so what? Instead she bit her lip. Lou was only trying to help. Except none of that made any difference now. “OK, thanks.”

  “You all right? You sound funny.”

  “Yeah, fine. Bye.”

  She went in search of a restroom and found one at the end of the hall. A glance in the mirror showed puffy, bloodshot eyes and deep lines of strain bracketing her mouth. She splashed cold water on her face and dried it with stiff paper towels. Another check in the mirror showed no improvement.

  There was nothing left she could do.

  It was over.

  She started toward the elevator. In a library room off the hall, she spotted Eve, reading a thick law book. The judge looked up from her work, gray brows crinkled.

  Tawny gripped the door frame, still unsteady. “Tillman’s children. What’s going to happen to them?”

  Eve rose and moved toward her. “Family Court will determine if Rochelle gets them back. Under these circumstances, I expect the judge will find in her favor. But I’ll file a motion asking for court supervision over her.” She pressed her lips together. “Tawny, I shouldn’t have told you about Tillman’s plea. Please don’t say anything. I’m still trying to work out details. I’ll do the best I can for him.”

  Tawny glimpsed pain in the woman’s wise gray eyes. “Thank you, Your Honor.”

  “I told you, call me Eve.”

  “I know. Your Honor.”

  A small smile touched the judge’s lips.

  In the exterior hallway, Tawny thumbed the elevator button. A moment later, the door opened and she stepped inside. Although it was empty, the stench of pungent sweat lingered in the stuffy little compartment. Someone who needed a shower had ridden it a short time ago.

  She got out at street level. In front of the building, she paused, uncertain where to go next. If she returned to Tillman’s office, Esther would notice her red eyes and press for details. She didn’t feel up to fending off questions.

  The Northern was a half-mile farther. She could go to the suite and cry more.

  Or she could walk, her go-to exercise when she was troubled.

  She headed along Broadway, pushing her leaden feet faster with each step, trying to outrun the depression that dragged her down.

  Would the children be safe with Rochelle? If Mimi decided to have the baby, the grandchild would be a constant reminder to Rochelle of Steve’s betrayal. Her jealousy worried Tawny.

  She continued until Broadway dead-ended at the medical complex where Fausto was still hospitalized. Damn, she should have told Detective Bettencourt about the cut brake lines on Fausto’s truck.

  Tillman believed the kidnappers might have been responsible. That made sense. He meant to pass along the information but then all hell broke loose. As far as she knew, no one had actually investigated, since it appeared to be an accident. She dreaded talking to Bettencourt so instead she called Eve and left a voicemail, asking her to relay the message about Fausto’s cut brake lines.

  On impulse, she entered the hospital and took the elevator to visit Fausto. In the hallway, she spotted Consuelo leaving his room. The woman glanced up and a smile lit her face. “Señora! Good to see you.” She hugged Tawny. “Doctor gives us good news today. Tomorrow Fausto go to rehab center. They make him strong and help him walk again.”

  “That is good news.” Tawny hoped she sounded more cheerful than she felt.

  “He’s asleep. I go home now, must pack his clothes to take to rehab. They say much work is ahead but Fausto, he always works hard. He will get better.”

  “I’m sure he will.”

  Consuelo peered up at Tawny. “Señora, you sad? Are los niños OK?”

  “Yes, they’re all—” She pressed the back of her hand against her mouth. She couldn’t lie to this woman who’d cared for Tillman’s children since they were babies. “No, they aren’t OK. Rochelle got very angry and beat Mimi and Judah. They’re staying with the rabbi for now.”

  Consuelo’s mouth firmed. “Señora Rochelle, she have temper, very bad. I worry for a long time.”

  “Has she ever hurt the children before?”

  “I do not think so. But I worry. She’s like—how you say—bomb? Waiting to go boom.” She grasped Tawny’s scraped arm, making her flinch. “Very bad luck for police to arrest Señor Tillman. Every day I pray for him. He’s a very smart man, good abogado, lawyer. You don’t worry. He will be free soon.”

  No, he wouldn’t. But Consuelo’s faith touched Tawny.

  “When the children come home,” the woman went on, “I will take care of them. Therapists will work with Fausto in rehab.” She shrugged. “Not so much for me to do. I can stay with them.”

  Tawny’s heart swelled with gratitude. “Gracías.”

  “I must go now.” Consuelo pulled her toward the elevator. “You look tired. You need rest, OK?”

  When they got on the elevator, a rank sweaty odor hung in the air. Consuelo’s nose wrinkled.

  Tawny’s concern reverted to Tillman. Did his jail cell smell like this?

  On the first floor, Tawny and Consuelo hugged and said goodbye.

  The sun had set but Tawny still felt too restless to return to the Northern. She crossed 27th Street to Dehler Park where Tillman had reminisced about his boyhood dreams of a baseball career. She gazed through the gate at the far fence where he’d knocked his legendary home run. On the donor’s wall, her fingertip traced the plaque with Judah’s name and birthdate. She leaned her forehead against the cool stone.

  A light breeze carried the smell of sweat. The same rancid odor she’d noticed in both elevators she’d ridden. She whirled.

  In the shadowy dusk, a man stood a few feet from her, his face hidden. Narrow shoulders, wide hips.

  “What do you want?” She clutched her tote bag tightly.

  The man stepped closer. “Money, lady.”

  “I’ll give you my wallet.” She slipped a hand into her bag. Damn, the sheriff still had her revolver when she needed it now to protect herself.

  “No, I mean real money. The money I’m owed.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t you remember me, lady?” A distant streetlight caught his features—the homely, pock-marked face with the wide jaw that Arielle had sketched.

  The missing kidnapper. Frank Grand.

  His hands hid deep in the pockets of a dark hoody. Was he armed?

  He flicked greasy hair that hung over one side of his face. “You shot me. Hur
t like hell. But…” His voice cracked. “You made Alvin blind.” A strangled sob. “Blind!”

  Alvin. Grand’s prison mate. And husband. “I didn’t kill him. I swear.”

  Grand straightened his rounded shoulders. “It was that smartass punk, Zepruder. He sent some gangster to get rid of both of us. I got away but the dude shot Alvin, killed him.” During the last words, a tremor shook Grand’s voice. He gulped a breath. “Zepruder owes me but he’s dead and can’t pay. But your boyfriend can. And I’ve got something he’ll be real happy to fork out big bucks for.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “How much does he keep in that safe behind his law books?”

  Tawny chewed her lip. Think! Stall! “I don’t know about any safe.”

  “Found it when I was working on the alarm system. So how much is in there?”

  “What are you selling?”

  “The video card out of my drone camera. Weeks of surveillance I did for Zepruder.”

  “Why is that worth anything?”

  “Because it’ll get your boyfriend out of jail.”

  “How?”

  “It proves he didn’t kill Zepruder.”

  Tawny’s stomach dropped. Could it be true? Did he have proof that would clear Tillman? “How do I know you’re not shaking me down?”

  “Dammit, lady, I’m not looking to jam anybody up. Alvin’s dead and I just want enough money to get the hell out of Billings.” Desperation pitched his voice higher.

  She took a deep breath. “OK, say I can get you some cash. What will you give me?”

  “Video of Zepruder getting killed.”

  Chapter 24 –The Trap Springs

  On Tillman’s home computer, Tawny looked up the date of her first appointment with him, over a year ago.

  The day they met. A date she didn’t remember yet he had. The date he’d set as the combination on his safe.

  She’d hated him at first sight—rude, abrupt, arrogant. They’d argued. She almost walked out of their meeting because he made her so angry. Yet he immediately zeroed in on the true source of her problems and warned her about danger she didn’t want to believe.

  He’d saved her from prison and had given her a job when she was broke and desperate. Although grateful, she’d still disliked his demanding, impatient manner. Months passed before she finally saw through the bluster into the goodness hidden in his heart.

  How did he know on the day they met that they would wind up together?

  She removed several law volumes with embossed gold lettering from his bookshelf, revealing the wall safe. With trembling fingers, she dialed in the combination.

  Was she doing the right thing? Tillman always said never pay a blackmailer. Yet if $25,000 would prove his innocence, how could that be wrong?

  Neat stacks of hundred dollar bills secured with rubber bands sat inside the safe. One by one, she removed them, placing them in a small canvas satchel she’d found in his closet. Then she locked the safe and replaced the law books.

  She picked up a canister of bear spray from his dresser and slipped it into the pouch of her hoody.

  Carrying the bag, she climbed the stairs to his garage where she’d parked the Mercedes. As she backed out and pushed the button to lower the door, she caught sight of Rochelle, bathed in the front porch light, watching her.

  Was Rochelle the killer? Grand had refused to tell Tawny what was on the video except that it captured Steve Zepruder’s death and cleared Tillman.

  In darkness, Tawny drove out the long driveway, through the security gate, onto Highway 3 then turned down Zimmerman Trail. As she wound through the curves, past the scene of Fausto’s accident, she caught a glimpse of headlights following at a distance. She wondered if Frank Grand was tailing her now as he apparently had been doing to Tillman for weeks.

  The man wanted to get out of Billings as fast as possible. They’d set up a meeting location at South Park near an entrance to I-90 to exchange the cash for the video card.

  She drove through city streets toward the interstate, her anxiety growing. Was she handing over $25,000 of Tillman’s money for nothing? She had no proof that video even existed. Frank Grand was a criminal who’d carried out Steve Zepruder’s dirty work. Most likely she was crazy to trust him. Had he played her?

  She thought back on the attempted kidnapping. Of the two men, only Crooked Neck was armed. He’d roughly shoved her and the kids around. His past record included violence.

  Yet Grand didn’t seem as thuggish. According to the P.I.’s report, he was a geek who used technology rather than force. In fact, during their struggle, Grand had almost seemed bumbling. Rather than retrieve the rifle that Crooked Neck had dropped, he’d fled, pulling along his blinded partner.

  Grand seemed like a reluctant participant in Steve Zepruder’s plans and sounded genuinely grief-stricken over Crooked Neck’s death. Or maybe Tawny was rationalizing as she grasped at desperate straws to help Tillman.

  In busy downtown traffic at night, she couldn’t tell if she was being tailed but her intuition said yes. Traffic thinned by the time she turned off South Broadway at 6th Avenue South to the public park that Grand had described. No one appeared to follow her.

  At nine p.m., the picnic pavilions and playground were empty and silent. She pulled to the curb and turned off the headlights.

  The canvas satchel of cash sat in the passenger seat. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she watched the rearview and side mirrors of the Mercedes.

  Ten fidgety minutes passed, while she waited alone in a deserted park with a bag of money. Grand had acted anxious and eager to get out of town. Why wasn’t he here?

  Around the corner, through trees, she caught sight of a car moving slowly without lights. It disappeared briefly from sight. When she spotted it again, she realized it was circling the block. Grand?

  The car pulled behind the Mercedes. In the dimness, she made out a gray Crown Vic, like the one that had tailed Tillman and her.

  When the driver’s door opened, no dome light came on. A dark, pear-shaped form got out and approached her window. Grand.

  She lowered it and immediately his body odor filled the SUV, almost gagging her. She heard the rumbling idle of the Ford’s engine, still running. Her right hand stayed hidden, tucked in the hoody pouch, gripping the bear spray.

  He bent down to peer in the window. “Show me the money.”

  With her left hand, she reached over to open the flap of the satchel, revealing the rubber-banded stacks of cash. “Give me the video card.”

  He fumbled in the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out a baggie containing a tiny wafer like the one from Judah’s drone. She took it from him and stashed it in her hoody pocket. When she lifted the satchel, pain burned her still-raw palms. She pushed the bag through the open window.

  He grabbed it and hurried back to his car.

  A second later, the Ford roared past her and sped down the street. She squinted to see the license tag but couldn’t read it in the dark. A block away, he turned on his headlights and veered around a corner, heading toward the interstate.

  Tawny started the engine, turning the blower on high to clear the stink that hung inside. She fingered the tiny disk and prayed it was worth the $25,000 she’d just handed to a criminal.

  A block away, on the cross street where Grand had turned, red and blue lights suddenly flashed on and two police cruisers sped in pursuit of the Ford.

  A truck without lights appeared from the shadows and pulled up behind her.

  Heart jolting in her chest, she clutched the bear spray.

  A man got out and moved toward her.

  She recognized Edward, the security guard who’d been with Judah at school. Relief flushed through her.

  “Mrs. Lindholm, are you all right?”

  “Yes, but what are you doing here?”

  He leaned an arm on the roof of the SUV and peered inside. “Judge Landes was concerned about you and called me after you left her. I’ve been t
ailing you ever since.”

  “Did you see the man approach me at Dehler Park?”

  He nodded. “I was close by. If he’d shown aggression, I’d have come out but you looked like you were handling him. He followed you from Judge Landes’ office. When I ran his tag number, it came up in the name of Frank Grand, the man you thought was the second kidnapper. I called the judge and she advised me to tell the detectives working the case.” He jerked his chin toward the street where the blue and red lights had raced past. “The cops should have him in custody by now.”

  Oncoming high beams blinded Tawny. A car veered in front of the Mercedes and braked. Lights glared through the windshield, making her squint.

  Detective Bettencourt got out and strode over, practically elbowing Edward aside. “Mrs. Lindholm, give me what Grand just gave you.”

  How did he know?

  Her brain raced. What would Tillman do? Demand a search warrant? Refuse? Hand it over?

  She needed help. If she couldn’t ask Tillman, she’d go for the next best thing. She pulled out her cell. “I’m making a phone call.” She raised the window, blocking the two men outside, and tapped Eve’s number.

  The judge answered, her tone sharp and angry. “What the hell have you been doing, Tawny?”

  She spoke quietly, hoping the detective couldn’t overhear. “Your Honor, please listen. I believe I have evidence that will save Tillman. Steve Zepruder hired Frank Grand to surveil Tillman and carry out the kidnapping to extort money from him. Grand was shooting video with his drone that recorded Steve’s murder. I have the card from the camera. I haven’t seen the video yet but Grand swears it clears Tillman. Detective Bettencourt is demanding I turn it over to him. What should I do?”

  Silent seconds ticked by. Tawny shielded her eyes from the blazing high beams. A headache crept over her forehead.

  “All right,” Eve finally said. “Hold onto the card but go to the sheriff’s department with the detective. I’ll meet you there in twenty minutes. Put Bettencourt on the phone.”

  Tawny had to trust the judge would protect her. She lowered the window and offered the cell to Bettencourt. “Judge Landes wants to speak to you.”

  The detective’s brows wrinkled, first perplexed, then dubious, as if he didn’t believe Tawny. “Hello?” He listened for several seconds, posture straightening, then answered, “Yes, Your Honor.” He handed the phone back. “Follow me to the department, Mrs. Lindholm.” He hesitated, mouth sour, then added, “Please.” He returned to his car and immediately turned down the brilliant high beams.