Beyond A Reasonable Doubt

by Linda S. Prather

  “Told you, I ain’t talking.”

  Clifford reached up and grabbed his face, holding it tight as he looked him straight in the eyes. “They all say that, son. But everybody talks. All you’ve got to decide is how much blood you want to lose before you do it.” Clifford smiled and lowered his voice. “Eyes, tongue, fingers, or toes?”

  “Wha-at?”

  “I’m gonna start cutting. Being the nice guy I am, I’ll let you choose where I start.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  The fear in the man’s light-blue eyes pulled at Clifford’s primitive side, that side of human nature that made one more of an animal than a man. He’d buried that side for a long time. An image of Kamela lying in bed, her blond hair spread out on the pillow, flashed through his mind, and he let the knife slide across the intruder’s bare chest again, that time going a little deeper. “You tried to hurt my daughter. If I were crazy, I wouldn’t let you choose. Let’s start with fingers. Travis, bring me a board.”

  Travis picked up a board and approached the chair. “Right or left, sir?”

  “Right.”

  Travis grabbed the right hand and strapped it to the board. “Want me to gag him?”

  Clifford shook his head and, with one fluid motion, chopped off the pinky. A scream filled the room as the chair rocked. “Who sent you here?”

  “I ain’t talking!”

  Clifford swiped at the blood that had sprayed across his chest and grinned. He raised the knife. “Suit yourself.”

  Clifford washed the blood from his hands and dropped the switchblade into a bowl of bleach. He was getting soft. Thirty years before, he would have just finished the guy without a second thought.

  “What do you want me to do with him, sir?” Travis asked.

  “Call the doctor and clean him up. I think there’s a boat leaving for Africa first thing tomorrow morning. Make sure he’s on it.”

  Travis grinned. “Yes, sir.”

  Clifford stepped into the shower to wash the remaining blood from his body. “Once you’re finished with him, Travis, pull a crew together. I want four here at all times, and send two to Jenna James’s house.”

  “What about Elkins, sir? Do you want us to take care of him?”

  His jaw clenched, and he turned the water to cold. “I’ll take care of Elkins. First, I want to know why he’s coming after my daughter.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Jake tossed his sleeping bag into the backseat of the car, climbed in the passenger seat, and buckled up. He yawned loudly. “Man, I’m beat. I hope JJ sleeps late.”

  Harry pulled the car into gear and headed out of town. “You’re getting old, Sherlock. It’s only five a.m.”

  Jake lit a cigarette, took a long drag, and blew it out slowly. “She’s right, you know. We don’t have one damn piece of evidence to go on. We start leaking this story, and we’re all gonna wind up in a box.”

  “We could camp out at one of the reservations for a few days. Lots of places with high ground,” Harry said.

  Jake snorted and rolled down a window. “Rio Grande is the closest, and it’s two and a half hours away. She’ll never go for it.”

  Harry noticed a car parked across the street as soon as he turned onto Monsanto. “We’ve got company.”

  “Drive by slowly,” Jake said.

  Harry did so. “What do you think?”

  Jake slid his gun out of its holster. “Hard to say. They could be waiting for us. Why don’t we ask them?”

  Harry whipped the car around and headed back to the driveway. He parked and cut the engine. Jake opened his door. “You follow me in. At least that way, if they start shooting, one of us is still standing.”

  Harry pulled his gun, opened the door, and climbed out. “You should follow me in, then. You’re the one with a wife.”

  Jake joined him at the rear of the car. “Let’s just do it.”

  They approached the car slowly, guns held ready. “Police. Climb out of the car with your hands in the air,” Jake called out.

  The doors opened, and both men climbed out, hands held high.

  “Shit, Harry, look at the size of those guys,” Jake whispered.

  “What are you guys doing here?” Harry asked, stopping a short distance from the car.

  “Mr. Beaumont asked us to keep an eye on Miss James.”

  “Why would he do that?” Jake asked.

  The huge man shrugged. “We don’t get paid to ask questions. We get paid to do what we’re told. We were told to watch Miss James and make sure nothing happened to her.”

  Harry glanced at the house, his gaze falling on the rolled-up carpet. A light was still shining from the upstairs hallway. “How long have you been here?”

  “We got here at four. Miss James dragged the carpet out about four thirty. It’s been quiet since then.”

  Jake stifled a yawn and motioned for Harry to follow him back to the house, calling over his shoulder, “Keep up the good work. Appreciate it if you’d make sure nobody disturbs us before noon.”

  The two goons didn’t answer, but Jake didn’t care. All he wanted was to toss his sleeping bag on the floor, crawl in, and sleep for twelve hours. “Do we need to take turns keeping a lookout?”

  Harry turned to watch as the men climbed back into their car. “I don’t think so. If something gets past those guys, we’re not gonna be able to stop it.”

  Harry woke to the sounds of running water and hushed sobs. Sunlight was filtering through the windows, and he glanced toward the stairs. Steam was filling the upstairs hallway—another scalding shower. The late-night hours always got to victims—the times when they were alone, reliving the horror of having everything taken from them. Tossing aside the bedroll, he pulled on his pants and walked up the stairs just as the water was turned off. He knew what he was going to find on the other side of that door, and it broke his heart. He knocked softly. “Jenna, I’m coming in.”

  “Wait. I’ll be out in just a minute.”

  He heard water splashing and knew she was washing her face, pulling the pieces back together. Another minute, and the door opened. “What?”

  “We need to talk.”

  She nodded and led him across the hall to her bedroom. She sat down on the bed, head lowered, hands clasped in front, on her lap. Even that didn’t stop the trembling.

  He sat down beside her. “Still beating yourself up over Andrews?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “Nightmares?”

  She nodded.

  “How many rape cases have you prosecuted, Jenna?”

  She sniffled and wiped her nose on the robe sleeve. “Hundreds. Hundreds of women I badgered and made repeat their horror over and over and o—” Her voice broke on a sob.

  Harry placed an arm around her gently. “And why did you do that, Jenna?”

  “Because I didn’t know. I didn’t know what it was like. I just... I didn’t know.”

  Harry lifted her face, making her look at him. “That’s not true. You did it because you did know. You knew the one thing every one of them had lost, the only thing they couldn’t get back unless they faced their attacker and made him pay for his crimes. You gave every one of those women back her power, Jenna. When they left that courtroom they weren’t powerless anymore. They weren’t victims anymore. They could stand up straight and tall and defend themselves.”

  He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “I’m going to go make a pot of coffee and start breakfast. Think about what I said, and when you’re ready to reclaim your power, come down and join me. We’ll take the day off, forget about the Elkinses and Dades of the world. There’s a movie out I’ve been wanting to see.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Marcus woke to the sound of the doorbell followed by heavy pounding. He glanced at the bedside clock. Damn it. Nine a.m.

  Pulling on a silk robe, he glanced longingly at the long-legged redhead. She’d been good, but he’d been tired that morning and had looked forward to explori
ng other delights she had to offer. In fact, he’d planned on spending the entire day in bed.

  The doorbell rang again, and he padded out of the bedroom and across the living room. “Hold on, damn it. I’m coming.”

  He jerked open the door, swallowing the curse words on the tip of his tongue. “Mr. Beaumont?”

  “We need to talk.”

  Marcus opened the door wider. “Come on in. I’ll fix a pot of coffee.” He led the way to the kitchen, his mind racing. Few people in the world scared him, but Clifford Beaumont was on the top of the list. “Regular or decaf?”

  “Skip the coffee, Marcus. Sit down.”

  Marcus pulled out a chair and sat. “You’re upset.”

  Clifford loomed over him, huge hands clenched into fists. “Somebody tried to break into my house this morning, his intent to hurt my daughter. I know who did it, but I don’t know why. You know anything about that?”

  Marcus found he couldn’t take his eyes off those fists. He’d seen the damage they could do. Even when not clenched, they were lethal weapons, huge hands that could wrap around a man’s neck and snap it with the barest of twists. His voice stammered. “You know me better than that. I would never move on your family.”

  Beaumont leaned in close, his breath hot. “My hands have been clean for a long time, Marcus. But they’re about to get dirty. Real dirty.”

  Marcus started babbling. “It’s Elkins. His wife cut him off, left everything she had to the younger son. He wants him dead, and he knows Kamela’s pregnant with Jordan’s child. Both the Elkinses are crazy. Hell, the son just raped Jenna James. I’m gonna take care of it. All I need is a few days. I’ll take care of it, Mr. Beaumont. I promise.”

  “When?”

  Marcus swallowed hard as those hands wrapped around the front of his robe. He felt the warm trickle of his bladder letting go. “A week. No more than a week.”

  Beaumont shook him. “When was Jenna James raped?”

  “Last night.”

  Beaumont let go of him, wiping his hands on his jeans. “You got one week. If Elkins is still alive, you won’t be.”

  He stalked toward the living room but stopped just inside the kitchen doorway. “Anything else happens to Jenna James, I’ll come back and kill you myself.”

  Marcus wiped the sweat from his brow, his eyes following the stiff back as it stomped through his living room and out the front door. He glanced down at the small puddle beneath his chair. “Damn you, Elkins. This is your fault.”

  He stood up, the trickle of hot liquid running down his leg a reminder he had work to do, and if he wanted to live, he’d do it fast. He could have Beaumont killed, but that wouldn’t save him. Beaumont’s followers were loyal to the death. One of them would find him and kill him. He’d suffer less by putting a bullet through his own head.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Jenna took her time getting ready, rummaging until she found a clean pair of jeans and an old Young Guns T-shirt. She studied her face in a mirror. Makeup had helped. She still had dark circles under her eyes, but only the most perceptive would realize she’d been to hell and was still trying to climb her way out. Harry would notice, of course. He was that kind of guy.

  She brushed her hair, disgusted with the curls but not wanting to take the time to straighten it. She might go down before the final battle was fought in the courtroom, but she was going to go down fighting. And she was going to face her attacker in a courtroom—maybe not for the rape he’d committed, but for crimes that would put him away much longer. Harry was right; a day off would allow them to recoup, clear their minds, and start fresh that night. She grabbed tennis shoes before closing the bedroom door behind her and making her way to the kitchen.

  Harry and Jake were talking in hushed tones, which ended abruptly when she entered the kitchen. She glanced from one to the other, noting the worried lines creasing Harry’s forehead. “What’s wrong?”

  Jake removed the pan he’d been holding from the stove top. “You’re out of bacon.”

  “Don’t lie to me. Harry?” She kept her eyes trained on his face.

  “We got a call from Loki. The undertaker and his girlfriend were found this morning. Both had been tortured before they died and their place trashed. If he had anything, he probably gave it up.”

  Jenna pulled out a chair and sat down. “Coffee, please.”

  Harry poured her a cup and passed it over. “What are you thinking?”

  “That we need to start pushing now, before they kill off the rest of them. There’s the pilot, the maid, and however many staff were at the farm in Kentucky.”

  Harry refilled his cup and sat down across from her. “We need a day to tighten security around here. If you can write down what you want released, we can plan it for Monday. We can’t get much done on the weekend.”

  “I think we should go out for breakfast.” Jake pulled out a chair and flopped down at the table. “I’m starving.”

  A knock at the door had them all scrambling.

  Jake reached for his gun. “I’ll get it.” He walked to the door.

  One of the first things they needed to do was get a peephole installed in both doors.

  Clicking open the locks, he opened the door, gun held at chest height. He recognized Clifford Beaumont and lowered the gun but blocked the doorway. “Sorry about that, Mr. Beaumont. What can we do for you?”

  “I’d like a word with Miss James if she’s up to it.”

  Jenna came out of the kitchen. “Please, come in.” She waved a hand at the empty living room. “I haven’t had time to refurnish, but if you’d like to join us in the kitchen, we have a fresh pot of coffee.”

  “Coffee sounds good.”

  Jenna didn’t miss Mr. Beaumont’s quick scan of her face and body. Somebody had told him. She waited until he was seated and sat down across from him. Jake and Harry took up positions on both sides of the room. “Thank you for the men outside. I feel much safer with them there.”

  “I wish I’d sent them sooner.”

  She met his gaze. “Who told you?”

  “Marcus Dade.”

  Jenna lowered her head, seeking composure. He’d just confirmed Dade was the one who had bugged her house, and if he wasn’t the one who had called Harry, he’d had someone do it. “I’ll be fine in time, Mr. Beaumont. I am worried about Jordan. Have you heard from him?”

  “I talked with the doctor this morning. His fever is down. I’m moving him to my house as soon as he’s well enough to travel.” Clifford glanced at Harry. “I’d like that cup of coffee, son, if it isn’t too much trouble.”

  Harry poured him a cup and set it down on the table, immediately assuming his position across the room.

  Clifford took a sip of coffee and glanced from Jake to Harry. “Be a whole lot easier to talk if you boys would join us at the table.” He waited until Jake and Harry refilled their cups and sat down.

  Clifford took a huge gulp of coffee and placed his cup on the table. “So, what are your plans and how can I help?”

  Jake leaned forward on the table. “You said Dade told you about Jenna. I’m not so sure we need your help.”

  Clifford picked up his coffee, took a sip, and eyed Jake over the rim. “You’re young, so I’ll forgive your insolence. But if you want to grow older, you probably need my help. Dade won’t be bothering Jenna anymore. In fact, he’ll be doing everything he can to make sure nothing happens to her.” He smiled and shrugged. “The same doesn’t apply to you two.”

  Jake placed his hands on the table and pushed himself up. “Is that a threat, Mr. Beaumont?”

  Clifford’s smiled widened. “Son, I stopped making threats a long time ago.” He glanced at Jenna. “I’m here to help you—any way I can. You tell me what you need, and you’ve got it.”

  “Harry, what do you think?” Jenna asked.

  “I say we lay it out on the table. Mr. Beaumont can probably get us into places we wouldn’t be able to go otherwise.” Harry glanced at Jake and motioned for h
im to sit back down. “And maybe he can keep us alive a little longer.”

  Jenna nodded and filled Beaumont in on their plans, including the death of the undertaker and his girlfriend. “We were going to contact major newspapers Monday with the story of Mrs. Elkins actually dying in Kentucky. But after what happened to the undertaker, we really need to find that pilot and his family, if he has one, before Elkins sends someone to shut him up.”

  Clifford wrapped his huge hands around the coffee cup and stared into its dark contents. “That plan is only good if you want to bury a lot of people.”

  “I suppose you’ve got a better idea?” Jake asked.

  Clifford smiled. “It just so happens I do. We seek an arrest warrant against both Elkinses: one for murder, one as an accomplice and tampering with evidence.” He lifted his head and met Jake’s gaze. “Jenna secures this based upon an affidavit of probable cause, and you arrest them both.”

  “Bullshit,” Jake said, rising to make another pot of coffee. “We don’t have a body. We don’t have any evidence. They’ll laugh us out of court.”

  Clifford turned to Jenna. “You have an informant and enough circumstantial evidence to get this started. You don’t have to have a body to get a conviction, and you could type the affidavit of probable cause for them based on what Jordan told you and what you know yourself, couldn’t you?”

  “I could, but we’d never get a judge to sign a warrant against Elkins, and even if we did, Dade would get them released before their seat even has time to warm up,” Jenna said.

  “Of course he will. All you’re doing is buying time and taking the heat off the people who otherwise are going to start filling body bags. Once the indictment makes the news, Elkins can’t touch any of you without adding more suspicion. During the arraignment, you provide a list of people you feel are in danger. Once that’s in the record, Elkins won’t be able to touch anyone without being the prime suspect. Even if it’s an accident and he’s totally innocent, he’ll still look guilty. As to a judge to sign the arrest warrant, I think Judge Clinton owes me a favor,” Clifford said. He pulled a pen from his shirt pocket, picked up a napkin, and jotted down a number. “That’s his personal line. I’ll call him when I leave and make sure he’s expecting your call.”