The Dead of Winter (The Jacob Lomax Mysteries Book 3)

by Michael Allegretto

“One for all and all for one. You avoid arrest, and he picks up ten thousand dollars.”

  “How did … ?”

  “I went through Early’s books.”

  Rivers laughed. “Jesus, he wrote it down?”

  “Anonymous donor,” I said. “Why did you kill Early?”

  His smile faded. “Because a month or so after Thomas’s death, he called me, demanding more money. Blackmail, pure and simple. He said if I didn’t pay he’d have my son’s body exhumed and prove that he’d died of a broken neck. So I did what I had to do.”

  “Then you went looking for Stephanie.”

  “Actually, no. To tell you the truth, I’d pretty much forgotten about her until the day she stormed into her father’s shop. She was yelling about people going to prison before she even saw me. And when she did see me, well, she got scared, and so did I.”

  “So you put a bomb in her car.”

  He nodded.

  “Why did you choose that method? If you don’t mind my asking.”

  “For one thing, I already had what I needed. You see, when Quinteras sold me the stuff last year, it was a package deal. An M-16 with clips, a couple of mines, some grenades … You know, the usual stuff your average high school gang member might carry in his car. And it seemed like the surest way to get her. And the safest, for me. With Bellano’s alleged ties to the mob, the cops would assume the bomb was meant for him. No one would look toward me.”

  “Don’t be too sure about that.”

  “Oh, I’m sure. It would’ve worked, too, if Stephanie hadn’t run away. Everyone, including Joe, assumed she’d be back home in a day or so. It was just his bad luck that she stayed away and he tried to use her car.”

  We rode in silence for a few miles. The last of the suburb’s buildings were falling behind us. Ahead lay blackness.

  “I assume you planted the mine in Mitch Overholser’s trunk.”

  “That was too good an opportunity to pass up. When one of my newsroom buddies told me he’d been arrested, I got to his house as fast as I could. My guess is he’ll do time for Bellano’s murder. That is, if things work out tonight.”

  “What things?”

  “Can’t you guess?”

  “Look, Rivers, you might as well just give it up. You’re finished, anyway.”

  “No, I’m not.” He believed it.

  It was nearly midnight when we got to Wray.

  A gibbous moon rose before us. Its sickly light fell on the snowfields and the scattering of dark structures. For the past few hours I’d been trying to work my hands free from the plastic restraint. All I’d managed to do was rub my wrists raw. So now I just sat strapped to the seat and watched the desolate scenery slide by.

  Rivers stopped at a gas station—the same one I’d used to find Christine Smith’s house. He got the tank filled. He also got directions to the Church of the Penitent.

  Forty minutes later we were on the dirt road that led to the commune and Stephanie Bellano.

  Rivers drove past the gate before he saw it. He backed up, then turned into the drive and stopped before the gate. It was padlocked shut. Far beyond it stood buildings, dark and isolated in the midst of fields of snow. I could see a few warm yellow lights in the main house. Late-night prayer meeting.

  “How many people are in there?” Rivers asked me.

  “Maybe ten.”

  “Okay, then, here it is. Either you help me get Stephanie out of there with no hassles, or I’ll go in alone and kill all ten of them. Eleven, counting you. And don’t think for a minute that I can’t take them all. You should see the goodies I’ve got in the trunk.”

  I said nothing.

  “I’d rather not do it that way, though,” he said. “Too messy. And too difficult to explain. That’s why I want your help. Think of it as saving nine lives.”

  “What happens to me and Stephanie? Assuming I can get her out of there.”

  “Well, what I had in mind was a fiery car crash in which you two perish and I am miraculously thrown free. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you’re both unconscious first. I’m not a sadist, you know. In any case, all you have to decide between is two people dead or eleven people dead.”

  As sick as it was, his point was valid.

  “How do you know Stephanie’s going to walk out with me?”

  “That’s your problem,” he said. “Tell them her mother is dying or her father was resurrected from the dead or whatever you have to. But you decide right now.”

  Some decision. “Okay.”

  Rivers shut off the engine and pulled out the keys. Then he climbed out of the car. He opened the trunk, got out a tire iron, and used it on the padlock. It took him a while to break the lock. When he’d done it, he swung open the gate, put away the tire iron, and slammed the trunk closed. Then he opened my door and undid the seat belt.

  “Get behind the wheel.”

  I scooted over. He got my Magnum from the glove box, then climbed in the backseat and closed the door.

  “What can we expect when we drive up there?” he asked.

  “Anger and resentment.”

  “Do they have firearms?”

  “I doubt it.” Here we were, chatting like old army buddies. “When I was here before, they threatened me with hand tools.”

  “Lucky for them. Okay, now when we get to the main house, you start honking the horn until people come out. If one of them is Stephanie, fine. You get out and grab her and we leave. Otherwise, you send one of them back inside for Stephanie. Make sure there’s someone outside with you at all times. One false move and you and whoever’s with you die immediately. Then I go inside and finish off the rest. Is that clear enough?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Once Stephanie’s in the car, the three of us will drive quietly away.”

  “Sounds easy enough.”

  “It had better be easy, Lomax, or I’ll be the only one leaving here alive. Lean forward.”

  When I did, he cut the plastic restraint with a pocket knife. I rubbed my wrists. Then he poked the gun muzzle in my back and handed me the keys.

  “Let’s go.”

  I drove through the ruts in the snow toward the buildings.

  Before we even reached the house, more lights came on. Reverend Lacey came out the side door wearing a bathrobe over his pajama pants. He squinted against the glare of our headlights. Two more men came out behind him—the same two who’d confronted me before. The tall bearded one was carrying his trusty ax.

  I shut off the engine.

  “Do it,” Rivers said, nudging me with the M-16. “And remember, this can take out the four of you in about three seconds.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind.”

  I climbed out of the car, quietly slipping the keys from the ignition. When I slammed the door, I glanced back and saw that Rivers had opened his window half an inch. The better to hear. And no one could quite see in.

  “Get right back in that car and get out of here!” Lacey shouted at me from ten feet away. “You’re trespassing, and I won’t stand for it!” Lacey’s face was red, even in the cold glare of the headlights.

  “Just shut up and listen,” I said loudly enough for everyone, including Rivers, to hear. “We’ve come for Stephanie Bellano, and we won’t leave here without her. My associate in the car is ready to call the sheriff if you don’t cooperate.”

  “We’ve been through this before!” Lacey shouted.

  “Not like this we haven’t,” I said, and moved right up until we stood toe to toe. When I spoke again, it was for his ears only. “The man in the car murdered Stephanie’s father. Right now he’s pointing an automatic weapon at us.”

  “What?”

  “Look at me, Reverend, not at the car. Listen, you’ve got to believe this or we’re all dead. Look at me, Lacey. Reverend. He’s the man Stephanie is hiding from. He’s a murderer, and he wants to take Stephanie. He’s prepared to kill us all.”

  Lacey searched my face. Then he glanced at the car.

&nb
sp; “If this is a trick of some kind …”

  “Goddammit, Lacey.”

  His eyes held mine for a heartbeat.

  “What … happens now?” he asked.

  “The place where you hid Stephanie, is it in the house?”

  He paused. “Yes.”

  “Is there room for all of you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, have these two get everyone there fast.”

  Lacey turned to the two young men and told them to take everyone to the room in the canning cellar. They left us and went into the house. I looked at the blacked-out windows of the BMW and gave Rivers a thumbs-up sign. I hoped it relaxed him, if only slightly.

  “What about us?” Lacey asked me.

  “How long will it take everybody to hide?”

  “A few minutes.”

  “We’ll give them one,” I said, then told him what to do.

  When our minute was up, we both faced the open door.

  “It’s all right, Stephanie, you can come out.” Lacey spoke loudly to the empty doorway, as if someone were standing just inside, out of sight of Rivers. “Come out here now.”

  And we both dove for the door, Lacey hitting the floor first, with me right behind, scrambling like boot-camp recruits under live automatic-weapons fire, which splintered the door frame, smashed apart cupboard doors, and exploded crockery on the kitchen counter. Lacey made it to the basement door on all fours, went through, and shut it behind him. I ran through the kitchen and risked a look out the window.

  Rivers was out of the BMW. Its windshield was shattered. He was slamming another clip in the M-16. I ran through several rooms to the far side of the house, opened a window, and dropped down into the snow.

  I didn’t know what Rivers would do. He might set fire to the house and wait for people to come out. Or he might go in shooting.

  I stayed below window level and moved around the house. I peeked around the corner. The BMW was about twenty yards away. The trunk was closed, so Rivers didn’t have another key. And he’d probably decided he couldn’t shoot it open, since the gas tank was back there. On the other hand, he may have already taken out what he needed.

  I held my breath and listened.

  Except for the cows lowing in the barn, there was no sound.

  I ran in a crouch to the car, yanked open the passenger door, and looked inside for my Magnum. No surprise, it wasn’t there.

  I glanced toward the house and pictured Rivers moving through it room by room. Soon he’d tire of his sport and torch the place. I used the keys to unlock the trunk.

  It looked empty.

  I pulled away the panel that hid the spare tire. Jammed in with the tire was a small army-green canvas sack. Inside were two fragmentation grenades. I pulled the sack from the trunk and looked toward the house just as Rivers appeared in a window. He saw me and swung around his weapon. I dove toward the side of the car. The side windows exploded, showering me with pebbles of glass.

  It was death to stay in the open. But where to run? I scanned the buildings. Barn. Chapel. Greenhouse. Chicken coop. Garage. I had in my sack exactly two chances to get Rivers. If I missed …

  Think positive, Lomax. Pray, if necessary.

  I got in a three-point stance, then sprinted for the chapel.

  Rivers didn’t fire. Was he out of ammunition? Doubtful. I’d probably caught him climbing through the window or heading for the door.

  I made it to the chapel and slammed the door behind me. It was the only way in. Or out. The only other opening was the window, high above the pulpit. It let in feeble moonlight. I hurried up the aisle between the rows of high-backed wooden benches, stepped up on the small stage, then crouched behind the heavy wooden pulpit. I took the grenades out of the sack. They were smooth and cold and heavy.

  I waited.

  The door creaked open.

  Silence.

  Then a wild blast of steel ripped through the air. One slug slammed into the heavy pulpit and knocked a fist-sized chunk of wood off the corner.

  The sound of the muzzle blast hung in the darkness for a long moment.

  The lights clicked on. I blinked against their brightness. Then I squeezed the handle of one grenade. I pulled the pin.

  When I peeked over the pulpit, I saw Rivers coming forward, carefully looking down the rows of pews. Then he saw me and brought his weapon to bear. I lobbed the grenade toward him as high as I could, high up near the peaked roof of the church, high enough to go beyond him to the bottom of the open door. Rivers saw it, fired a wild burst at me, then backpedaled frantically—directly in line with the falling grenade. He saw his mistake and dove toward the corner of the room. Which was where I hurled the second grenade as hard as I could, then dropped behind the pulpit just as the first one exploded. It threw shrapnel into the wooden pulpit. There was a scream. But it was cut short by the second blast.

  I peeked around the pulpit.

  Rivers was not in sight.

  I stood and went down the aisle. The air smelled of cordite. I saw an ugly red smear in the rear corner of the church. I walked over to it.

  Rivers lay on the floor beneath the smear. His shoulders and head were propped against the wall. His clothes were shredded and covered with blood. The M-16 lay at his feet. So did his right arm. His eyes were open, but he wasn’t looking at anything.

  Not in this world, anyway.

  CHAPTER 29

  I BRUSHED BROKEN GLASS from the front seat of Rivers’s car. Then I used the phone to call the county sheriff’s office. They said they were on their way.

  I walked into the house and down the basement steps. The basement was empty except for shelves of preserves. They lined the walls. I hollered for Reverend Lacey and his flock to come out of hiding.

  A section of shelving slowly swung out from one wall. Behind it was a small room with more shelves. It was packed with parishioners.

  “It’s safe now,” I said. “But don’t go in the chapel.”

  They filed out and tentatively climbed the stairs. Lacey came last. He ushered out a young girl. She wore a drab cotton dress and a faded sweater. Her eyes were wide and dark, and her hair was long and black.

  “Stephanie Bellano?”

  “Yes,” she said in a clear, quiet voice.

  “I’m afraid I’ve come with bad news. Your father is dead.”

  Lacey and I walked her up the stairs to the kitchen. One of the women already had a kettle going for tea. I sat beside Stephanie at the long wooden table.

  “My father,” she said. “How did … ?”

  “A few days after you ran away, he was murdered by Gary Rivers.” I briefly filled her in on the events of the past two weeks. She took it much better than I thought she would. Perhaps the time she’d spent in the commune had strengthened her. Or maybe she’d been pretty strong to begin with.

  “How is my mother?”

  “She’s worried about you,” I said.

  “If I’d have known, I would have left sooner.” She glanced at Lacey, then at me. “When you were here before … ?”

  “Yes?”

  “Did you tell Reverend Lacey about my father?”

  “Yes.”

  She looked at Lacey.

  Lacey looked doleful.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I probably should have told you, but I was thinking of your welfare. I knew you’d want to leave right away. But I also knew there was danger present. And at that point I didn’t trust anyone. Not even Mr. Lomax. I thought it would be best for you to stay here a while longer. If I was wrong, I apologize.”

  She smiled and touched his sleeve.

  “Thank you,” she said. She turned to me. “I want to go home now.”

  So did I. But we had to wait for the cops.

  In the following days, Ramón Quinteras, under advisement from counsel, confessed to the burglary of the armory. He also admitted selling part of the take to Gary Rivers.

  Mrs. Gary Rivers had a severe nervous breakdown. It wasn’t clear whe
ther this was precipitated by the death of her husband or the questioning by the police. In any event, she confessed to knowledge of her son’s wrongful death. Due to the circumstances and to her present mental condition, the district attorney decided not to file charges against her.

  The murder charge against Mitch Overholser was dropped. However, he still had to stand up for his part in the destruction of Bellano’s records. He was expected to get off easy.

  Fat Paulie got off easy, too. A few days before Christmas he plea-bargained down from “operating a gambling business” to “operating a wagering business without paying a special occupational tax.” He paid a nominal fine, and they let him go.

  The same would not be said for Johnny Toes Burke. As soon as he recovered from his gunshot wound, the Denver DA planned to drag him over broken glass for attempting to extort money from the widow Bellano.

  As for Angela, she rejoiced in Stephanie’s return. And just before Christmas, too. Of course, Stephanie had a few depressing things to confess, but I figured they were both strong enough to handle it.

  I even thought about making their Christmas a little brighter by returning the unused portion of the five thousand dollars Joseph had given me. It was the season, you know. Besides, I didn’t need the money. Oh, I could use the money. But I didn’t need it. Then again, I thought, neither did Angela Bellano; Joseph had left her quite comfortable.

  I wrote out the check, anyway.

  I mailed it to Reverend Lacey, care of the Church of the Penitent. Merry Christmas. Besides, he’d need to buy paint for the chapel walls.

  Then I began making plans for my Christmas.

  They were limited, if not nil. For the past few years I’d spent Christmas day with Sophia and Vaz. We would exchange small gifts and then go caroling with Sophia’s church group. Well, they’d carol. Vaz and I would stand in the back and sort of hum. Then, in the afternoon, the three of us would go back to their apartment. Some of the other tenants in the grand old house would join us, and we’d all feast on stuffed goose, cranberries, homemade bread, and so on.

  But this year the Botvinnovs were Christmasing in sunny Phoenix. I considered flying down there.

  Then I got a call from Angela Bellano.

  “I’m having Christmas dinner at my house,” she said. “Lots of people, lots of food. I’d like you to come.”