Campbell said, “How many do you need to keep me in here? Do you imagine I’ll try to make a run for it?”
“Don’t know. Hadn’t expected to be excavating a corpse out of a basement wall, Mr. Campbell, so who knows what the hell else the night holds?”
30
On the front porch, Matt did some deep knee bends and stretched his arms out. He felt tight and coiled and needed something to loosen those parts of him. He debated sending one of his deputies out to get coffee. He thought it may have violated an unknown precedent or protocol to make a pot from Campbell’s kitchen. He would have made it himself, though. He was okay with coffee from Campbell’s house so long as it came on his terms.
Jackie Hall scratched at his head and stared at the swirling kaleidoscope of lights in the driveway. State police. Sheriff’s department. The medical examiner’s van pulled in behind the others. He took a deep, heavy breath and noticed Crash had stepped off the porch, onto the front lawn’s deep green grass.
“You’re sure it’s Miller’s daughter and the McCoy boy behind the home invasions and the explosion at the flower shop?” Jackie said.
“About as sure as you can be about anything, circumstances such as this,” Matt said.
“What do you think happens, we take Campbell in?”
“The way the universe works, he’ll probably die before he ever sees trial for the laundry list of charges stacking up against him. An orange jumpsuit will be the last suit of clothes he ever wears. His wife is going to die. We can write off arresting Carlton because he’s never going to wake up.”
“And what about the Miller girl and the McCoy boy?”
“On that, I’m fucking clueless. Seems like they figured they could get money out of these guys. Somehow she figured out shit no one else did for twenty years. Maybe she thought she was owed her father’s share.” He shook his head. “Kids don’t realize life is a zero-sum game. No matter how we play it, the score’s the same in the end.”
“You that much of a pessimist, Sheriff?”
“People call it pessimism when they don’t want to admit the facts. Everyone loses in this one.”
“I don’t call it losing when we close the books on something like this.”
“Book’s not closed yet. We still have to find Micki Miller and Billy McCoy. Besides, I’m curious still how they put together what the Feds couldn’t.”
Crash came back up onto the porch. “We could go ahead and call the news. Give them a heads-up early in the game. There’s not going to be bigger news than finding a two-decade-old corpse tied to a series of previously unsolved bank robberies. Everyone in town will talk it up.”
Matt gave a nod of understanding. “Which means Micki and Billy will hear about it.”
“Same songbook, boss.”
“Flush them out that way?” Jackie said.
“It’ll push them to realize they don’t have any other plays left,” Matt said. “I’ll call up the Herald-Tribune editor, tell him what’s happening. That pushes the story out early, and let the dominos fall from there.”
Crash exchanged glances with the two men. “Anyone else got a better idea?”
“I got nothing,” Matt said.
“Snake eyes here,” Jackie said.
Crash smiled. “Jesus but I fucking love being the smartest person in the room.”
“We’re outside, Crash.”
“Let me have this moment, Matt.”
By 9 a.m., it was the buzz of Serenity. When the lunchtime rush hit O’Dell’s, the courthouse office workers were all talking about it. The Clarksburg stations picked it up off the Herald-Tribune website and sent out broadcast vans and reporters to do live remotes outside the courthouse. It was the biggest small-market news to hit since the National Brotherhood stir-up. When the news outlets called the sheriff’s department and the state police, all they got was “No comment” and “This is part of an ongoing investigation, and we’ll release information as it becomes available.”
Matt went home and went to bed. Rachel was gone by the time he got there. The bed had been made, of course, because that was who Rachel was, and he almost felt bad for disturbing it. Everything had been tucked and settled perfectly.
He ran his shower as hot as he could stand until his skin felt ready to blister and peel. He scrubbed and rinsed and scrubbed again, working to pull off the sticky sweet smell of decay from the basement. Afterward, he pulled the covers aside and climbed in naked and—in spite of the coffee and pizza rolls rolling around inside his system—fell asleep as his head hit the pillow.
31
Rachel came home to find her husband naked and snoring in bed, and she undressed and slid in next to him, nuzzling as close to him as she could. She worked not to think what it would be like for this to be gone. Her marriage to the attorney hadn’t been like this. There’d been nothing sweet or comfortable in it. She was never certain what she had seen in him except that he was there, present and interested and offered an attention to her Matt wasn’t offering. Which led to a guilt she carried more than she cared to admit, either to herself or to Matt.
There had been Matt—a good man, yes, but always working, never letting go of those years he’d spent in the army, regimented and conditioned by that life. And, if she was honest with herself, a sheriff’s salary, plus his military retirement—even in Parker County—didn’t give her a life she wanted.
Christ. She hated that. The shame of choosing someone else, someone lesser. She tried not to dwell on time lost, on the ticking clock inside of Matt gnawing away at the minutes and hours they had. He was probably convinced she ignored the problem, the reality of it all—of the cancer—because she didn’t want to talk about it for so long. Actually, the thoughts about it had consumed her, and now when she tried to get him to talk about the cancer, he refused. Like he was protecting her, keeping her safe. Another Matt trait that drove her insane.
All that happened was she kept reminding herself that she would wake up one day, on a day like this, and he wouldn’t be there. Not an unfamiliar experience, sure. But it was knowing that the next morning, he wouldn’t be there, either. Or any other mornings. The bed would be big and empty, and the pillowcases wouldn’t smell like his drugstore aftershave, and she would reach out for him for all of those future mornings and keep on reaching and reaching for something that would never be there again.
Matt woke up around six. Rachel stared at him, naked, smiling. Without a word, she kissed him, her hand slipping underneath the sheets and grabbing him, teasing him until he was ready, and she rolled him onto his back and climbed on top of him. She did all the work, feeling him, all of him, his rough hands against her smooth skin, holding on to her, subtly trying to shift control.
She resisted his efforts to slow her down, to steady her. She leaned forward and pushed the flats of her hands on his chest and forced him deeper into her. Her eyes locked on him, a sly little smile on her face. He couldn’t help but smile himself, and when he reached up to kiss her, she pushed him back down and laid a finger across his lips and said, “No.”
He lost himself in this moment, as he did with all his moments with Rachel, in this rapture he wanted to make last forever. Not out of pride, out of boasting, out of something to show off, but because he hated the thought of letting her go.
When they finished, sore and sweaty and the sheets soaked, Matt stared upward at the ceiling and blinked.
“Goddamn,” he said.
She leaned over and stretched her arm across his chest. “Gonna live?”
“Yes.” He pulled her closer. “I am.”
He cooked steaks on the grill, along with potatoes and corn. It was early in the season, but he didn’t care. Matt fired up the grill in January with snow on the ground simply because he wanted to. A charcoal grill. Always charcoal, never gas.
After eating, as they drank their tea, he told her about Campbell and what had happened, with the sun moving deeper in the sky and making beautiful everything the violet light to
uched.
“What about the kids? They started all of this?” she said.
“That’s how it looks,” Matt said. “We’re hoping since there’s no one left to pay them now, they’ll turn themselves in.”
“All of this was for nothing but money?”
“Money or revenge or both. I find that in life, those are often motivating factors whenever someone chooses to do something ugly.”
“How did she know her father was involved? Or that Campbell and the others were part of the robberies?”
“That’s the question I’ll ask when I catch her.” He set his glass aside and looked out across the yard. “She’s seventeen. The boyfriend’s not much older. All of this damage and chaos, and neither one of them old enough to know what the hell they’re doing.”
“People older than them have done more.”
“They have, but they had the years of life wearing them down, making them angry and bitter. If you’re this way at that age, there’s not much in the world that’ll make it better for you. That’s the thing with the world is that you can’t act like it’s supposed to be fair or right, and I get the sense what these two were looking for was a way to right a wrong, to make things fair. That whole thing about two wrongs trying to equal a right.”
Rachel reached over and set her hand on top of his. “You’ll get them.”
Matt twisted his hand around and let his fingers spider about Rachel’s hand, and he savored the soft warmth of his wife’s touch.
32
The phone rang as they got ready for bed.
Rachel stared at the device as it buzzed on the bedside. The night had been quiet, and it had made her ponder what life might be like once Matt wasn’t the sheriff anymore. After the cancer, and finding themselves starting over again. A real new beginning, away from Parker County.
Matt sat on the edge of the bed as he reached for the phone. Rachel touched his shoulder.
“Deal with it in the morning,” she said.
“It’s the office,” he said. “If they’re calling me this late—”
“They always call this late. It’s Crash or the office or the state police or—”
Matt answered the phone. It was Will Mitchell, who worked night dispatch.
“Sheriff, I’m sorry to be calling you but—”
“It’s fine, Will. What’s up?”
“Iris Warner’s been calling all evening, said she needed to talk to you. I tried to give her your cell number—where it’s on your business cards, I know you don’t mind—but she said she wanted to speak to you directly. In my mind, there’s nothing more direct than her calling your cell phone, though. Unless she wants to send you a singing telegram.”
Matt knew he had given Iris a business card. It felt odd she hadn’t simply called him. His phone had sat silent all night. Not even a text from Crash, checking in on him. He had appreciated the break.
Matt said thanks and ended the call and sat up in bed, swinging his feet over onto the floor.
“Where are you going?” Rachel said.
He walked to the closet and shuffled through his clothing. “Something’s weird, and I can’t put my finger on what it is. I’m going to head out and check on it.”
“That’s the absolute vaguest thing I’ve ever heard in my life, Matthew Simms.”
Matt pulled a sheriff’s department polo shirt over his head, tucking the tail into his blue jeans. He reached up onto a shelf and brought out a lock box, tapped the code into the keypad to open it, and removed a 9 mm pistol and holster.
“It won’t take long,” he said. He snapped the pistol and holster to his belt. “It’s the Campbell thing, that’s all.”
“Did they find the two kids?”
“No. I suspect the kids found something, though.”
Matt pulled his car out of the garage and onto the street, Rachel watching him through the living room window. Even in the darkness he could see her face, or he imagined he could—coiled frustration she wore like a mask.
At a stoplight, he called Iris’s phone. When she answered, her voice sounded taut and nervous but struggling to seem natural and relaxed.
“Sheriff?” she said.
“Ms. Warner. Understand you’ve been trying to get in touch with me.”
“Yes. I need to get in contact with my father.”
“Well, he’s at the North Central Regional Jail in Sutton. You’ll have to call and set up an appointment for visitation.”
“This is urgent, Sheriff. I have to speak with him now.”
Matt was ten minutes from Warner’s hotel in Serenity. Moving his eyes back and forth from the road to his phone, he switched to the texting app, found Crash’s number, and moved his thumb across the keyboard.
Meet me at the Wiltshire. Now.
To Iris, he said, “Everything okay, Ms. Warner?”
“Yes. But I’ve been seeing all of this on the news, and I had no idea about any of it”—Iris’s voice strained to stress the last part—“and this matter is urgent. You know how much I care about my father, Sheriff.”
“I’m well aware of your feelings for your father, Ms. Warner.”
The messaging app on Matt’s phone beeped.
Crash: What’s up?
Matt: Something with Iris Warner. I’ll explain there. Park down the street. Don’t bring a cruiser.
He paused and wondered if he needed to tell her to carry a gun. He didn’t. She would anyway.
Iris said, “Is there anything you can do for me, Sheriff?”
“I’ll see what I can make happen.”
“Thank you, Sheriff.”
The line went dead, and Matt cast the phone into the passenger seat.
Crash parked her pickup—one of the ugliest vehicles Matt had seen in a life filled with views of the various atrocities committed against the vehicular gods—three blocks down from the Wiltshire. He pulled up behind her and met her on the sidewalk. She wore a WVU T-shirt and blue jeans and a .45 clipped to her belt.
He told her about the phone call. “Now I’m thinking maybe Micki Miller and Billy McCoy found Iris Warner, and they’re holding her in her hotel room.”
“You got all of that from one phone call?”
“Iris doesn’t need to come to me to get in contact with her father. Besides, she could have called me herself at any point. Her making me call her was supposed to mean something. To convey an urgency.”
“Should we call Jackie Hall?”
Matt shook his head. “Jackie’ll want to bring in a SWAT-type unit, and it’ll raise ruckus and fuss before there’s an opportunity to act. If they’re in there, Miller and McCoy—”
“Key is if,” Crash said.
“If they’re in there, they have a tendency toward staggering acts of violence. They see something that seems off, they won’t have a problem doing something stupid.”
“So we’re doing something stupid in their stead?”
“I suppose we are.”
“Is every boss like you?”
“How many bosses have you had in your life?”
“Other than working at Walmart in college? Just you.”
“Damn. I hadn’t realized what a high bar I was setting for everyone else to have to clear.”
“You keep thinking that. I’m gonna get my vest out of the truck.”
“You keep your body armor in your personal vehicle?”
“No, I keep the vest I bought in my personal vehicle. The one the county issued me, that’s in the cruiser.” She smiled. “I like to be prepared.”
33
The lobby was empty. This late at night, Matt expected it to be. Truth be told, he hoped for it. The fewer people who saw them, the better.
A guy snored in a chair inside the lobby entrance. “Passed out” was the better term. Matt could smell him from five feet away, a combination of alcohol sweats and filth. He sprawled out across a threadbare green chair, wearing grease-stained Dickies and a T-shirt that read “Fuck Me, I’m Irish.” A small yello
w puddle encircled the floor around his right foot.
The guy working the front desk stared at Matt and Crash with wide-eyed concern as they crossed the lobby floor, Matt resting his hand on his gun and Crash dressed in body armor that doubled her size, holding a pump-action shotgun at her side.
The clerk was retirement age, with a ring of white hair wrapped around a liver-spotted skull. He wore a faded blue dress shirt and a stained tie and a business-like facade that felt overdone for the surroundings. He nodded toward Matt as Matt smiled at him and checked his name badge. Walt.
“Sheriff,” the clerk said. “What can I help you with this evening?”
“You’ve got a guest on the sixth floor, room 612. Is there anyone on either side of her, Walt?”
Walt adjusted the wire-rimmed glasses on his face and leaned over the counter closer to Matt. “What’s this about, Sheriff? What’s Ms. Warner done?”
“Ms. Warner’s not done anything. But there could be something wrong and we need to know there’s not anyone in those rooms.”
Walt turned his attention to a computer behind the counter and tapped on the keyboard. “Rooms 610 and 614 are both vacant.” He swung his gaze back to Matt. His eyes moved over to Crash and the shotgun. “I’m sorry, Sheriff, but what exactly is going on here that requires you coming in armed?” He emphasized the last word.
Matt brought his phone out of his pocket and flipped through it. “How long have you been on duty tonight?”
“Since about six. Why?”
Matt spun his phone around and showed Walt a photo of Micki. “This girl look familiar to you? Have you seen her tonight?”
“Not that I can recall, no.”
Matt slid his thumb across the screen and brought up a photo of Billy. “What about him?”
Walt focused on the picture as though struggling to recall a terrible wrong from the past. “I think I saw him come in earlier this evening. He stuck out somewhat, since he’s young and we don’t get many young people coming through here.” He rubbed at his chin. “The girl from that first picture, she might have been with him. He came in with someone. They walked in, went straight to the elevator, and that was that.”
The Righteous Path: A Parker County Novel (The Parker County Novels Book 1) Page 17
