First Drop tcfs-4

by Zoe Sharp

  “Leave it, Trey,” I said quietly, too numb even to feel embarrassment at his outburst. The boy glared between us, his mouth tight and an ugly mottled pink splashed across his cheekbones. After a moment he sighed gustily and turned away, letting his arms flop. Harriet gently put her arm across his narrow shoulders and steered him back towards the kitchen.

  Andrew Till wasn’t being deliberately cruel, I knew. He wasn’t trying to hurt or provoke me. Dealing with death on a regular basis gives you a tinge of black humour that it’s sometimes difficult to shake. You grow a thicker skin and laugh it off, or you let the weight of old bones bury you alive in ghosts and nightmares.

  I got to my feet, still clutching the flowered bag. Till rose, also. His face, which had started to show a hint of pity, sympathy even, turned wary and his eyes went professionally cool and flat again.

  “You and I both know who’s responsible, don’t we?” I said.

  “No, but I sure know who you think is responsible.”

  It wasn’t much, but at least it showed that he recognised someone else had played a part in all this. It wasn’t solely down to me. A tiny blade of hope began to form, to take an edge from dullness.

  “So what are you planning on doing about it?” I demanded.

  “We are pursuing a number of leads at this time,” he said, suddenly coming over all official-speak. “We aren’t discounting any theories. It will be thoroughly investigated, Charlie. You have my word on that.”

  It was something in his voice that tipped me off.

  “Tell me,” I said, conversational, “how long have I got before your SWAT team arrives?”

  Walt looked resigned, I saw, almost a little disappointed. Harriet just stood and gaped disbelievingly. Till almost smiled. His eyes shifted slightly to the face of the clock on the far wall of the living room. “‘Bout ten minutes,” he said easily. “Maybe a little less.”

  “In that case I’m afraid you’re going to have to shoot me to keep me here,” I said. “I’m not staying to be arrested while you let Sean’s killers walk. If you won’t find them, I will.”

  I turned my back and took a step towards the door out onto the back lawn, the one we’d come in by.

  “Hold it right there, missy!” the FBI agent’s voice rapped out. “Don’t make me do this.”

  I turned back and found he’d finally completed that fast draw and brought his pistol out and up and level in a textbook double-handed Weaver stance. From where I was standing the sizeable opening in the end of the barrel looked like the deck gun of a frigate.

  “Andrew, don’t you dare!”

  Outrage deepened Harriet’s voice so that, to begin with, I thought it was Walt who’d made the protest, but it wasn’t.

  “Aunt Harriet, please, get out of the way,” Till said, the anguish clear in his voice as the old woman stepped, stubborn and determined, into his line of fire. “You know I have to take her in.”

  “I know you do, dear,” Harriet said, facing him steadily, “but just not today.”

  Trey edged round her carefully and joined me by the door.

  “Stay here,” I told him quickly, pleading, one eye still on the FBI agent’s gun. He’d lowered it now, but was still ready if he got his chance. “You’ll be safe here. Special Agent Till will protect you.” Better than I can. Better than I will for what I have to do now.

  Trey cocked me a sideways glance. “No way, man,” he said. “That’s your job.”

  I looked up, taking in Walt and Harriet and Andrew Till in a fast sweep. I shrugged helplessly. “I’m sorry,” I said to nobody in particular and pushed open the outside door.

  ***

  We moved up the beach at a hurried jog, trying to put some distance between ourselves and the house. I stumbled along, forcing my limbs into an uneven rhythm. Ahead of me I could see the pier near the Boardwalk and the stepped sides of the Adam’s Mark hotel opposite the Ocean Center where the car show was taking place. It seemed a long way away, partly shrouded by the morning heat haze, but it became my target. If we could reach there, the bustle and the crowds, we would have sanctuary.

  I didn’t look back, didn’t want to see if yet another group of men with guns was chasing us. I didn’t know if Harriet would hold sway over her nephew, would persuade him to let us run, but somehow I doubted it. Not for long, at any rate.

  Trey ran alongside me with an easy stride I hadn’t expected for such a gawky kid. I’d thought him too much of a computer nerd to have any flair for athletics. Somehow the two were mutually exclusive.

  He kept cocking sideways glances in my direction as we went but I didn’t look at him. I just kept running, my eyes on the soft sand in front of my next stride. It was the only way I could see past the wailing that was going on inside my head.

  The heat crushed down onto me, weighting my limbs, making me punch-drunk. Eventually, when we’d covered the best part of a mile, Trey dropped back to a jog, gasping. I vaguely registered him falling away but momentarily couldn’t work out what it meant. There was a pause, then he caught me up again, staggering now.

  “Hey Charlie,” he protested, breathless and pained. “Hey c’mon Charlie, slow down.”

  Still I ignored him, my only focus on putting one foot in front of the other. It didn’t immediately register that he’d grabbed hold of my arm until I swung, half off balance. I looked round, almost surprised to see him clinging on there.

  For a moment I failed to recognise his face. He was a stranger to me. His mouth was moving but I couldn’t hear the words. Then the noises of the beach suddenly rushed in and regained their natural volume.

  “Charlie, c’mon man, snap out of it!” Trey shouted. There was something in his voice that it took me a moment to place. Then it clicked – panic.

  The identification of Trey’s fear acted as a catalyst. I shook myself, tried to break free of the all-consuming grief that was paralysing my mind. As I surfaced my stride faltered, as though I was diverting energy from my limbs to control my emotions.

  I stumbled, going down on my knees in the hot sand. Trey dropped next to me, his skinny fingers still clamped round my upper arm. In the warm gust of breeze from the sea I realised there was a wetness on my cheeks, that the tears were circling my mouth to drip unheeded from my chin.

  For a moment Trey seemed utterly lost. He let go of my arm, put a tentative hand on my shoulder instead and gave me a little shake.

  “C’mon, don’t go all girlie on me, Charlie,” he said, and that scornful teenage note was back with a vengeance. Before I could respond, he hit me again, caustic. “They said you were just somebody’s girlfriend. Looks like they were right, huh?”

  It was the tone rather than the words that cut through and began to bite. I looked up, dazed, expecting to see bitterness and contempt on his face. Instead all I saw was a scared kid who was doing the only thing he could think of to shock me out of my stupor.

  It worked.

  Slowly, my head began to clear, like feeling your ears pop as the plane makes its final approach. My hands steadied and my legs seemed to come back under my own control. I got to my feet, brushing away the sand that still clung to the sweat-soaked knees of my silk trousers. Trey stepped back, hands hanging by his sides now, watching me.

  We were nearly as far down the beach as the Boardwalk but I couldn’t quite remember how we’d got there. All I could feel was my own raging thirst and the fact that any exposed areas of skin had started to burn. I needed to get out of the sun. Find a bolt-hole. Somewhere I could regroup and take stock.

  Somewhere I could try and come up with a plan to get us out of this mess.

  “So, like, what do we do now?” Trey asked. He was panting a little, too. Not just me who was feeling the burden of the heat, then.

  I smiled at him. Not a full-blown, reassuring, this-will-all-be-OK kind of a smile but not a bad fake, given the circumstances.

  “We need some cover,” I said firmly, gesturing to my reddened arms when we both knew I was really referrin
g to the FBI. “Do your ears feel up to another tour of the show?”

  I saw his shoulders come down a fraction with a relief he tried not to let show too much. He shrugged, going for nonchalant, going for cool. “Whatever,” he said airily.

  I guessed that was the nearest to enthusiasm I was going to get from him.

  ***

  Inside the Spring Break Nationals it wasn’t any quieter than it had been the last time we were there on Friday. In fact, I realised that it had probably just been warming up and now, late morning on Sunday, it was building towards its climax.

  Most of the exhibitors’ booths had acquired a new attraction today, it seemed. Pretty girls wearing not much more than their underwear were signing posters of themselves for queues of adoring, if slightly hungover, teens. The girls all wore exactly the same shade of tan, like they’d been sprayed out of a bottle.

  I had to link my arm through Trey’s to stop him tripping over his tongue. When he realised he’d been caught ogling he dropped his gaze to the carpeting and kept it there unwaveringly. Until the next scantily-clad lovely, at any rate.

  When my eyes and ears had had enough punishment we ventured back out into the heat. I let Trey lead me in apparently aimless fashion up and down the rows of cars on display, with no real clue what I was supposed to be looking at.

  To be honest, half my brain was taken up with scanning the people around us, checking not so much for uniforms this time, but for the ones with the watchful eyes and ready hands. Looking for the ones who were looking for us.

  It was with a jolt, then, that my eye ran across two faces I recognised but had never expected to see here.

  Aimee and Xander.

  For a moment I made no moves, did nothing to alert either them or Trey. My first thoughts were suspicious ones. Xander had claimed he was grounded for years. I’d assumed the same went for Aimee. So what were they doing out at all? Were they here as bait for us? If so, who was pulling their strings?

  Every nasty scenario I could think of flashed through my head, including that the two were somehow connected to Whitmarsh or Oakley man. No, it was much more likely that they’d been drafted in by the Feds to betray us.

  Almost as soon as my doubts arrived I dismissed them, but still I couldn’t bring myself to make contact. Xander and Aimee and Scott had thought of Trey as their friend. They’d trusted him – trusted me, more to the point – and had paid a high price for that friendship. Too high a price? Scott was still in hospital. He might not walk again. Even if they were completely on the level I doubted that they’d really want to see either of us right now. Besides, coming hard on top of the morning I’d had already I didn’t think I could face another showdown.

  Then Aimee turned and caught sight of us, and it was out of my hands.

  She gave a whoop and ran across the short distance that separated us, scooping Trey up into a bear hug so fierce I thought his skinny ribs would crack.

  I realised then that Xander was watching me and something about the tension in him told me he knew I’d spotted them first. Spotted them and done nothing about it. As he moved across to join us the nod of greeting he gave me was cautious, to say the least.

  “So how did you get out?” I tried but couldn’t keep the touch of cynicism in my voice. “Dig a tunnel?”

  Xander didn’t react to the faint jibe. “Once Mom and Dad got over being angry and being scared they kinda realised it wasn’t our fault Scott was caught up in a, like, random drive-by,” he said, with little apparent irony in his tone.

  “Mine even thought we’d acted kinda brave and responsible, y’know, under the circumstances,” Aimee put in, releasing Trey so he could catch his breath.

  “So here you are,” I said, cool.

  “Yeah, here we are,” Xander said, matching me, his eyes a little narrowed.

  Aimee flicked her eyes over the three of us. “How you doin’, girl?” she asked, studying me with her head on one side. “You hanging in there OK?”

  “Just about,” I said, breaking my gaze away from Xander’s to glance at her.

  “Anybody thirsty?” Trey asked suddenly, his voice a touch high. “Let’s go ‘cross the street and grab a bunch of sodas, yeah?”

  For a moment none of us gave any sign of having heard him, then Xander blinked a couple of times. “Sure,” he said, raising a smile. “Good idea. Why not?”

  We walked out of the show area and crossed over the road, dodging the backed-up traffic that was already snarling the main drag. As we went I noticed Trey casting anxious looks at each of us and realised that he’d just been trying to keep the peace. We were the only things so far he’d been able to rely on. He couldn’t afford us to be at one another’s throats. Not when I’d cracked up on him once this morning already.

  We went to the same little diner where we’d been eating when Henry’s fateful phone call had arrived. It was only after we’d sat down at one of the round outside tables that the significance of that seemed to occur to him. He shuffled for a moment, looking awkward, but the waitress arrived to take our order and the moment passed.

  I hutched my chair sideways until I was mostly in the shade of the umbrella over our table. Even so I could feel the heat radiating from my burnt arms like I was sitting next to a furnace.

  “You should, like, put something on that, y’know,” Aimee said, nodding to them. “It’s real bad to let yourself burn like that.”

  I’d been doing a lot of things lately that were real bad for me.

  “I know,” I said. She shut up.

  The drinks arrived, full to the brim with ice, and I settled for leaning my arms against the sides of the tall red plastic glass instead. It wasn’t scientific, but it was certainly soothing.

  To begin with the kids were stiff and uncomfortable with each other but gradually they began to loosen up a little and to chat. I didn’t join in, just let the conversation flow over and around me. I kept my gaze sweeping over the surrounding area, looking for trouble.

  It took about ten minutes before I found it.

  One moment my eye had skimmed across the far pavement outside the front of the Ocean Center and it was empty of any threat. On the return pass, however, there was a man standing there.

  He stood easily, relaxed, with his thumbs hooked into his pockets, waiting. Waiting for me to spot him and make my move.

  I came to my feet automatically, clutching my bag.

  “Wait here,” I said to Trey, clipped, without shifting my eyes from my target. He followed my gaze and let out a gasp, half rising in his seat. I put a hand on his shoulder and eased him back down again.

  “Don’t worry,” I said, trying a small smile. “If he was out to get us we wouldn’t have seen him coming.” And I hoped that it was true.

  I walked down the couple of steps from the diner and threaded my way through the cars waiting for the next green light at the junction. Not that there would be any gaps for them to pull out into, even when they got the signal.

  The man stood still and watched me come to him.

  When I reached the pavement I stopped and made a show of glancing around.

  “So where’s the heavy mob, Walt?”

  “No heavy mob,” Walt said simply. “No SWAT team. Just me.”

  He was wearing the same battered Panama hat I’d first seen him in, and now he regarded me gravely from under its brim. I stuck my own hands in my pockets, aware of the tensely frozen audience on the other side of the street.

  “Oh really?” I said, not trying to keep the doubt out of my voice.

  Walt smiled a little, the action crinkling his eyes until all I could see were pinpoints of a gunmetal grey beneath his washed-out brows. “Let’s just say that Harriet and I kinda persuaded young Andrew to call off his dogs until he’d had time to check out your story some.”

  “And?”

  He nodded slowly. “And so far, it checks out.”

  “So, why are you here?”

  I didn’t bother to ask how he’d found us.
I didn’t really need to. That first morning Trey and I had eaten breakfast with the old couple, the kid had been full of the Spring Break Nationals, shooting his mouth off about the event. I remembered thinking at the time that Walt had paid unusual attention to him. Now I realised it was probably from habit of half a lifetime spent in criminal investigation. Never overlook the smallest fact. You never know when it’s going to come in useful.

  Like now, for instance.

  Walt didn’t answer straight away, his eye apparently caught by a huge drophead Chevy Impala with metalflake paint and gold wire wheels that was being driven by a kid who didn’t look old enough to buy cigarettes. Walt shook his head and turned back to me.

  “I called that young feller you mentioned – John MacMillan,” he said. Only someone of Walt’s years could get away with referring to a policeman as senior as Detective Superintendent MacMillan as “that young feller”.

  I started to nod, then paused as a thought struck me. “On a Sunday?”

  “Oh, you mention multiple homicide and kidnapping and it tends to kinda get folks’ attention,” Walt said softly. “Even on a Sunday.”

  “Yes, when you put it like that, I suppose it does,” I said, my own voice wry. “So, what did he say?”

  Walt took his time about replying, giving me a thorough scrutiny. It took effort to stand calm and casual in the face of it.

  “He said you’d damned near gotten yourself killed on a coupla occasions since he’d first met you,” Walt said, still watching me minutely. “Said you’d just about laid down your life to protect the people who were important to you.”

  His eyes flicked away from me briefly then, shifting to the little group at the diner across the street and to one face in particular. I didn’t have to follow his gaze to know which of them he was looking at.

  I felt my chin come up and tried not to make it a challenge. “MacMillan say anything else?” I asked, neutral.

  “Yeah,” Walt returned lazily, swinging his attention back to me. “He said you had good instincts and as how I should probably trust them.”

  “And is that what you’re going to do?”