If I Live

by Terri Blackstock

  “I doubt seriously if it’s physically possible for her to do either one of these things. I saw Rollins last night, and he was really drunk. Could hardly walk. I don’t see any way she could have gotten him out of his house in that condition and taken him somewhere to kill him.”

  “Rollins drank a lot,” Jim says. “I always smelled alcohol on his breath. Sometimes he seemed to stagger. I really didn’t have a lot of faith in him to find Cox. It was almost like Gordon Keegan was covering for him, trying to keep him working. That’s part of why I hired you. Rollins didn’t give me a sense of confidence. I like Keegan and felt like he was on top of things. Maybe Rollins just got himself into trouble with somebody. A drug dealer or a bookie or something.”

  That’s a theory I hadn’t expected Jim to come up with, but I don’t reply.

  “We’re glad you’re still on the case, Dylan,” Elise says. “We need you now more than ever. It’s worth every penny.”

  When they write me another check, I feel a surge of remorse. But I quickly shove the guilt back. I’m going to make sure Brent’s killer gets justice. That’s ultimately what they’ve hired me to do. And if they feel deceived after it’s all over, somehow I’ll pay back everything they’ve paid me.

  I’m back in my car when my phone chimes, and I glance at the readout. It’s Chief Gates. I swipe it on. “How ya doing, Chief?”

  “Good, Dylan,” he says. “I have some news for you. It’s about Casey Cox.”

  I step on my brakes and pull over into a random parking lot. My gut hitches into a knot. “What is it?”

  “She was just captured by Memphis PD.”

  I draw in a sharp breath. “She what? Are they sure it’s her?”

  “Positive. Someone saw her at a hotel and called it in. She was disguised, but since her arrest she’s admitted who she is.”

  I’m dumbfounded, and I can’t even speak.

  “You there?”

  I put my car in park. “Yeah. I’m just . . . stunned.” I rub the sweat beads on my upper lip and realize my hand is shaking. I’m glad he can’t see me.

  “There’s something you should know. She’s telling the Memphis detectives that Gordon Keegan and Sy Rollins are the ones who killed Brent Pace, that they also killed her father, that Keegan killed Rollins and burned your building . . . Basically, that Keegan’s Jeffrey Dahmer reincarnated.”

  Good. She’s told them. I want to ask if they believe her, if they’re taking it seriously, if an investigation is under way. Instead, I say, “Really? She said that?”

  “Yeah. She’s claiming she’s got some things in place where this will be released to the press. I just wanted you to know since she may try to convince you of it too.”

  “Okay. Are you going to investigate her claims?”

  He chuckles. “Claims that one of my best detectives is a serial killer? Come on, Dylan.”

  My mind is racing. “I’m just saying, Chief—the press will want to know if you checked it out. In today’s media climate, they’re not going to treat it as a false claim. It’s sensational. It’ll dominate the news cycles for days. Maybe you could question her some more and see what evidence she’s offering.”

  “They said she gave them a thumb drive. They’re e-mailing me the files.”

  “Treat it seriously,” I warn him. “If the press gets the files too, and you have to assume that they will, they’ll expect you to have looked into them. Just see what the evidence is so you can talk about it.”

  “Yeah, I will. Honestly, I don’t know if she’s crazy or if she sincerely believes this.”

  “What matters is what the press will believe, right?” I know that’s not true. The truth really does matter. But I need to keep him at arm’s length, since I don’t know whether he’s in on this whole thing with Keegan. “Let me know when you get that stuff,” I say. “I’d like to know what’s in the files.”

  “Will do,” he says.

  “Have you told Keegan she’s been apprehended?”

  “Not yet. I don’t look forward to telling him what she’s saying. Plus his best friend is dead. His head is bound to be in that case instead of this one.”

  “Any way I can get clearance to go get her?”

  “That’s not a good idea,” Gates says.

  “But like you said, Keegan is distracted. I’m the most available person. You know I can do it.”

  “You’re not on the force.”

  “Then put me on the payroll for a few days.”

  There’s silence as he seems to think it over. Then he sighs. “Maybe that’s the best idea. All right. I’ll draw up the paperwork. Come by the office.”

  I hang up, so relieved I can hardly breathe. But it frustrates me that Gates isn’t even considering Casey’s claims. Then again, I could be just jumping to conclusions. Of course he wouldn’t immediately trust the claims of a woman he thinks is a killer. And the fact that he took my advice and is sending me instead of Keegan looks good for his innocence.

  How will Keegan react? He won’t want me to transport her. He’ll want to do it himself. He’s not knee-deep in grief, as he wants people to believe. And he can’t let Casey keep talking. She might make sense.

  I’d better get to Memphis as fast as I can. Driving’s too slow. I call the airport’s charter service and learn there’s a corporate plane departing for Nashville in an hour. They tell me I can hitch a ride and they’ll drop me off in Memphis. They charge me twice what I’ve had to pay before, but to protect Casey’s life I’ll pay whatever it takes. I book it and pray that we depart on time, before Keegan has the chance to beat me there.

  Before going to the airport, I stop by the police department to sign payroll paperwork and get quickly sworn in. It’s not how I wanted to come to work here, and the chief lets me know not to count on this. It’s just temporary.

  All I need is one day to get Casey.

  24

  KEEGAN

  I make sure my mourning for my good buddy Sy Rollins looks authentic, and that lots of my colleagues see my grief. When Chief Gates comes up to my office personally, I expect him to give me a hug, like I’m inconsolable. He stops short of that, and instead just pats my shoulder.

  “You doing all right?”

  “Sure, Chief. You didn’t have to come up here to check on me. I’m doing fine.”

  “You could take some time off, you know. You’ve had quite a blow.”

  I look down at the floor, as though I’m on the verge of crying like a little girl. “No way,” I say. “I have work to do. I’m not taking off.”

  He seems moved by my determination. “Can we sit down?” he asks.

  “Sure.” I gesture toward the chair across from my desk, and he slides it back a bit and lowers himself into it. I sit down in my rolling chair and cross my legs. My foot is more jittery than I’d like, but I hide it under my desk. “What’s up, Chief?”

  “Keegan, I’ve got some news,” he says in a low voice. I lean in so I can hear him. “I just got a call from the Memphis Police Department.”

  “Oh yeah? About what?”

  “Casey Cox is in custody.”

  My heart screeches. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Nope. Someone saw her in a hotel and called it in.”

  I get to my feet and look around my desk for my phone, then realize it’s in my pocket. “I’ll head out right now.”

  “No, no,” he says. “I’m sending Roberts to transport her. I want you to stay here. You have the funeral and everything.”

  I feel the heat rising to my face, my ears. “Chief, this is big. It’s my case. Sy would want me to finish what we started. I have to get her!” He just stares at me, and my mind flits around, trying to hit on a solid thought. “Are they sure it’s her? Not just some crackpot trying to get their fifteen minutes?”

  “It’s her. They sent us her mug shot. She looks just like herself except her hair is dark, but we knew that. Fingerprints match. It’s her.”

  I wonder if she’s talked, wha
t she’s said, if she’s poisoned my well just yet. “Has she confessed?”

  “No,” he says, and he looks away as if he doesn’t want to tell me quite everything. My gut twists, and I know with certainty that she has mentioned my name. I have to get there as soon as I can.

  “She’s just denying her involvement. Gordon, Roberts is already on his way.”

  I want to knock something over. “Are you kidding me? She’s an escape artist. She’s escaped from him before! Are you seriously telling me that you trust him with her? A guy who’s not even on the force?”

  “I hired him.”

  “You what?” I’m sweating now, but I hope he doesn’t notice. “Look, Chief, I’ve been working on Rollins’s case, and something has come to my attention that I haven’t told you yet. I was waiting until I had more, but if you’re sending Dylan, you need to know.”

  He frowns, deep lines gashing into his forehead. “Know what?”

  “The last person to see Sy alive was Dylan Roberts. He drove him home from a bar. I’m not saying he killed him . . . or maybe I am. We just don’t know. But it at least has to be considered.”

  “No, it doesn’t. Roberts had an attempt on his own life last night. His apartment burned down.”

  “So maybe he killed Sy when he took him home, before that happened. Or maybe he thought Sy tossed the grenade and he went to confront him. I don’t know, Chief, and that’s why I haven’t told you before now. I need to dig further. But if you’re sending him to pick up a known murderer who has evaded capture for months now, and has even escaped miraculously from him, you need to know that this is an issue. It’s very possible that he had something to do with Sy’s death.”

  The chief just stares at me, then he gets to his feet and rakes his fingers through his hair. I note the confusion in his eyes, as if he doesn’t know which way to turn. I just need to push harder.

  “Call Dylan Roberts off. Let me go.”

  “But I’ve already let Memphis know he’s the one coming.”

  “Call them back. You gotta let me do this, Chief.”

  He looks even older now than he did moments ago. “She claims you’re the killer. She says she has evidence against you. She has this whole story about your part in all these murders.”

  “What?” I say, acting shocked. “Come on. They gotta be laughing that off. It’s ludicrous. We’re not going to let a known killer call the shots, are we?”

  He slides his hands into his trouser pockets, and I can tell I’ve really confused him. So I double down. “Chief, she’s a con artist and a killer, and Dylan may be involved in Sy’s death. I have reason to believe that he’s been helping her all this time. That he let her walk away in Shady Grove. We’re wasting time here, Chief. You gotta let me go. I have a buddy with a plane, and I can get him to fly me over. I can have her back here tonight. Then we can sort all this out.”

  He finally lets out a hard sigh. “All right, Gordon,” he says. “I’ll make some phone calls. I’ll call Roberts off.”

  “Tell the Memphis PD I’m not really the bogeyman.”

  He gives me a weak smile.

  “Don’t worry, Chief. Once all her crimes come out, nobody is going to believe she’s innocent.” I grab my jacket, shrug it on as Gates leaves the room.

  As I walk out, someone says, “Where you going?”

  I turn back with a Cheshire cat grin. “I’m going to get me a cute little homicidal maniac,” I say, and I march out and down the stairs.

  25

  KEEGAN

  I cut corners on my preflight checklist, something a pilot is never supposed to do. But I’ve got to get my plane to Memphis to pick up Cox before Dylan gets there. Takeoff takes too long, but I have to wait for the air traffic controller to give me clearance to take the runway.

  When I’m finally airborne, I try to decide what I’ll do once I get her. I have no intention of bringing her back, on my plane or otherwise. I’ll rent a car when I get there, take her from the Memphis jail as if I’m transporting her back, and then do what I have to do to silence her. She can’t ever make it back to Shreveport to tell her story in person.

  The details of my plan hang me up. Will her death fulfill the prophecies she’s made to the Memphis PD?

  There are ways around that. I’ll make it look like I had to shoot her during an escape attempt. I just have to make sure there are no witnesses and no evidence. Drew Peterson stayed out of prison for years until he made some mistakes. I won’t make mistakes. If somehow the media gets wind of her statement in Memphis and starts digging like a dog with a bone, I can stall— like getting a lawyer who can make sure they don’t interview me.

  I don’t want it to go that far. If it does, people will doubt me, and my life will go south.

  This line of thinking makes me wonder if I’ve handled everything right. I go back over the ways I hid the evidence after killing Rollins. I couldn’t have missed anything, could I? What if they detect my DNA? My shaved head minimizes the possibility of a hair being left behind, but there’s always the hair on my arms, or sweat, or oil from my skin . . . I covered all my footprints, but I could have missed something because it was dark. What if there’s a fiber from what I was wearing? I should have burned everything I was wearing that night.

  Panic rises in me, but I quash it. No. I’ve come this far out of sheer intellect and caution, and I can keep going. The lights below me fade into the darkness of acres and acres of woods and crops, and I hit the Mississippi River and go north, following its path, traveling low.

  I work through my answers to the things Cox has already told them. The things about her dad should be easy enough. I can make the case that it was a twelve-year-old girl who was emotionally traumatized and trying to find anyone but her father to blame for his death. I’ll keep talking up the mother’s mental illness and how it must have been passed on to the daughter.

  But what else does she know? What if she suggested to the Memphis cops that I’m Sy’s killer? She can’t know since she wasn’t there, so I’ll tell them I was with J.J. Parker that night, watching the taped USC championship game, and that he and I were awake until well past 4:00 a.m., at which point he sacked out on my couch and I went to bed. He owes me, J.J. does. I know where his bodies are buried too, since I hired him to bury them—and I know where he spent his cash. Gail will know it’s a lie, but my wife knows not to cross me.

  But what if it’s not enough? The thought plagues me. What if I kill her and then discover that I’ve forgotten something? I play with the thought of keeping Cox alive and actually bringing her back. Of putting her in my plane, handcuffed and shackled. Then I fantasize about opening the plane’s door and shoving her out. No, that would never work, because her body would be found. That’s the key, I think. Her body can never be found. Yes! People have to think she’s still hiding.

  Maybe I could even set up another Casey Cox homicide, with her possessions, hair, and DNA at the scene. Adding to her kill list would distract everyone from me.

  I’ve been flying mostly over forest, but now I see a cleared space, no trees, a long, long way from any houses, and then it dawns on me. I need to find a place like that. A cleared place where I can kill her and then start a bonfire to burn her body without risking starting a forest fire, which would draw all the wrong kinds of attention. Then I can claim she escaped and that she’s still out there somewhere. As long as they never find the body, I’ll be okay.

  I can’t help laughing out loud. The thing I’ve got going for me is that, once she’s out of the way, even though she spun her story to the Memphis PD, everyone will want to believe me instead of her. And then when I get back, I’ll find Dylan Roberts and finish him off too.

  The turncoat is not going to turn on me.

  26

  DYLAN

  My flight is delayed for forty-five minutes, and each second that ticks by is like a sledgehammer through my temple. Keegan will be on his way to Memphis soon with or without Gates’s blessing. I watch out the wind
ow for a Cessna taking off, but I haven’t seen one.

  When we’re finally on our way, the smell of alcohol drifts through the plush plane as the three record executives being transported to Nashville celebrate some deal they just signed with a recording artist who lives in the area. They live large, which is why they have a King Air to fly them. Since it’s a jet, I pray it’ll get there faster than Keegan’s Cessna.

  I close my eyes, feigning sleep, and cover Casey in prayer. I try to believe that God is on top of this, that he will protect Casey from Keegan, that he hasn’t brought us this far just to turn his back on us now.

  But God’s ways have never been my ways. Brent is dead, Keegan is still walking free, and Casey is sitting in jail. If only I had a minute of FaceTime with God to get clear marching orders.

  Before we make our final descent into Memphis, I call the fixed base operator there and ask if my rental car has been delivered. The man at the desk tells me Hertz has just delivered two.

  “What do you mean two?” I ask him.

  “One for you and one for another guy from Shreveport who just landed in a Cessna.”

  I close my eyes. I can’t believe this. Somehow Keegan beat me here. My mind races.

  I’m still the one sent to bring Casey back, and the Memphis police know that. They’re not likely to turn Casey over to Keegan. Then again, he’s slyer than a fox, and he’s persuasive.

  “What are the two cars?” I ask.

  “Want to make sure you get the best one?” the guy asks with a chuckle. “Looks like there’s a silver Enclave and a black Tahoe. Your name’s on the Enclave.”

  So Keegan’s getting a black Tahoe. “Okay, that’s fine,” I say. “Just do me a favor, would you? Don’t mention to the other guy that I’m coming in. He’s my colleague, and we’ve got a competition going on. I’m trying to win.”

  “Will do,” he says cheerily.

  I click off my phone and think. Maybe I could flatten a tire on the Tahoe if it’s still there when I get to the office. That would slow him down. But I would have to get there before he claims his car, and the plane is taking its migraine-inducing time to get to the tarmac.