“Well, maybe a few months is long enough to drain a business, especially if it was on the rocks before.”
She shook her head. “It’s got to mean something else.”
Eric’s phone rang in her hand. “It’s Chief Kay. Hello?”
“We got positive IDs from your Colorado people, the cook and the neighbor.”
“It was Randy Pinkerton?”
“That’s the guy. We’re going out to talk with him.”
“Good luck finding him.”
Kay was quiet for a few seconds. “I take it that means you’ve been to see him?”
“Tried. The stupid Chamber guy gave him the heads-up and he took off. Now he’s somewhere in the wind.”
“Leave him up to us now. You’ve done your job—we’re looking at someone other than your brother—not that I was looking at him, mind you.”
“All I ever wanted.” Well, not all. But it would have to be enough.
“We’ll keep you posted as much as we can.” Which would mean once everything was over.
Casey hung up and told Eric what was happening.
“So we can go home?”
“I guess. I’m not sure what else we could do.” She watched the passing scenery, not really seeing the blue sky and the orange leaves. “But I’m not real happy about it.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.”
By the time they arrived back in Marshland it was late, but Casey was too antsy to sleep, or even to go into her room. “Want to go for a walk?”
Eric looked surprised, but agreed, and they started down the street. It was dusk, and the lights were just beginning to glow, casting a yellowish light over the sidewalk and the buildings they passed. The air had cooled to a manageable temperature, but still they went at a leisurely pace.
Without discussing their destination, they headed toward the park. When they got to Elizabeth and Cyrus’ old parking lot, they sat on top of the table and looked out over the grassy area. There were a few folks using the very last of the light on the playground, and maybe the same group of boys running in circles and arguing over a football game.
“It’s almost like they’re still here,” Casey said. “But alive, not dead. It’s hard to believe this is where it all went down.”
Eric didn’t say anything for a while, then replied, “We did our best for them.”
“Yeah, I know.”
The football boys disbanded, heading out in all directions, like an explosion of testosterone. The parents and children went home. The sun set all the way.
“I’m not afraid of Death,” Casey said.
Eric didn’t reply.
“Ever since Reuben and Omar died, it’s like I’m not really here. Not a part of what’s actually going on with other people. I’m sort of half alive, half not, and I don’t really want the half that is. Does that make sense?”
“I guess.” He hesitated. “You wish you were dead, too?”
“I don’t want to die—” Was that true? “—but I feel like I’m half dead already, why not go the rest of the way? What’s the point of being here at all?”
“That does sound sort of like a death wish.”
“Yeah, I suppose it does.”
They sat in silence for a while. The last of the summer’s cicadas sang weakly in the trees, but other than that they heard only the breeze through the dried leaves.
“I hear things,” Casey blurted out. “And I see things.”
“Okay.”
“I’m not crazy.”
“Didn’t say you were.”
She climbed off the bench and swung around to look at him. “It’s Death. It won’t leave me alone. Everywhere I turn, it’s there. It talks to me, it follows me, I can’t…I can’t escape it.”
Eric watched her.
“Death tells me things. Things no one else knows.”
“Like Alicia McManus’ real name. Or what she said when she was dying.”
“Yes.” She inhaled a sob. “Yes.”
He watched her some more, and then he nodded. “Okay.”
She hugged herself, trying to stop shaking, trying to stop whatever was happening. Whatever was taking her farther away from Reuben and Omar. Farther away from the life they had shared. Farther away from everything that surrounded her.
“Hey.” Eric came over and bent his knees to look into her eyes. “Hey, it’s all right. It’s all right.” He held out his hands, like he was approaching a jumpy colt. “I’m here. I’m real. All right? Okay?”
She felt his hands on her arms, then on her back as he pulled her close, holding her, tipping her face down against his shoulder. She wanted to protest. She wanted to hold him. She took a shuddering breath, then another, until she was hyperventilating.
“Shhh,” he whispered. “It’s okay. Shhh. It’s all right.” He held her tighter, resting his head against hers, rubbing her back.
She held her arms tight against her stomach, curling into him, burrowing into his warmth, his smell, his body. “I don’t want…I don’t want…” She shuddered, and he held her even tighter.
They stood there forever. For a second. For as long as it took for her breathing to slow. For her fear to ease. Gradually she relaxed against him until it was no longer her legs holding her up, but his arms, his strength.
When she felt able, she released her hold on herself, and slid her arms around his waist until once again she stood on her own two feet. Because she chose to. Because that was what she wanted. She dropped her arms, and he let go, keeping his arms out, in case she wasn’t ready.
She let out one long, cleansing breath. “Can we go now?”
“Of course.”
Halfway back to the motel, Eric took her hand.
She didn’t pull away.
Chapter Forty-six
“What if his insurance wasn’t good enough?” Casey said. Their motel had just come into view. Her fingers were interlaced with Eric’s, and they walked slowly, their arms against each other, shoulders touching.
“You mean a high deductible?”
“Or they’d reached the limit, maybe.”
“Could be. But why would that make him sell his business?”
“I don’t know. It just feels like there’s something there. What would you do? Your wife is dying. Your insurance won’t cover it, you can’t afford to keep—”
“Wait.” He pulled her to a stop. “Say that again.”
“You can’t afford to keep paying—”
“No. You said what if your insurance won’t cover it.”
“Yeah?”
“What if it’s not because of your deductible. Or even that it’s expensive. What if it’s because the treatment you want isn’t covered by any insurance. What if it’s—”
“—off the boards entirely.” Her heart raced. “Your wife has untreatable pancreatic cancer. You’re freaking out. You’ll do anything. Including sell your so-far profitable business.”
“But why?”
It was beginning to click. “Because the people buying your business are going to pay you more than you could ever get by doing legitimate work. They’re going to hire you on to make it look like you’re doing legitimate work, but they’re really going to pay you to make them something that not just anybody could make. Something illegal.”
“You think Zeke and Dan Pinkerton knew?”
“No. I think Randy found this master woodworker, and they were impressed their little brother was finally doing something right, so they hired Cyrus. Randy just used him for his own purposes.”
“But then Cyrus’ wife died. He didn’t want to make a smuggling boat anymore. He didn’t want to be a criminal. He had a daughter. He was a good guy. They kept hounding him, but he was stalling, so they began threatening. That’s why he wouldn’t live with his brother and his family, and why he tried to get Elizabeth to live with them, even if he wouldn’t. Not because of pride. Because he wanted them to be safe. Then finally, when they realized he wasn’t going to build it, they came looki
ng for the blueprints, and he wouldn’t give them up. So they killed him.”
“No.” Casey wasn’t convinced. “They wouldn’t kill him if they didn’t have the blueprints. They would get those first.”
“Unless they assumed they were in the car. Where else would he keep them? He didn’t have a house. And if they weren’t there they would look in his brother’s house. They could manage that with no one knowing. Betsy didn’t have the blueprints until a few months later, after the school remembered Elizabeth’s gym locker, and what grown man is going to think to look there?”
“Okay. But why kill him then? Unless something else happened. Something they weren’t expecting.”
“Like?”
“His daughter showed up. She would have thrown off the whole thing. His priority would completely shift. Who cared about the blueprints or the stupid houseboat when his daughter was suddenly in danger?”
“But she lived.”
“She ran.”
“She would leave him?”
“If he told her to. Maybe. She was only fourteen. Might still listen to her dad.”
Eric began walking again, holding Casey’s hand more loosely now, swinging their arms as they talked. “But why would they let her go in the first place?”
Casey considered, and one more thing fell into place. “Because they hadn’t killed Cyrus yet. All they wanted was the blueprints. They probably didn’t even have the gun out yet. Another reason Elizabeth might have obeyed her dad. She didn’t think he was in any real danger. And she might have been mad that he was dealing with the creepy guys in the first place. But then it got out of hand. She heard the gunshot, and she went back.”
“But why? Why kill him? It doesn’t make any sense. They would want the blueprints, and we know they didn’t have them.”
“Who’s that?” Casey stopped Eric, then shook her hand free. Someone was waiting for them in the dim light of the parking lot, leaning against their rental car. “Stay here.”
Eric gave a little laugh. “I don’t think so.”
Casey shook her head. “Fine. He hasn’t seen us yet. I’ll go around the other way.”
“He’s not hiding. I don’t think it’s anyone to be afraid of. He’s waiting for us right out in the open.”
Okay. So he was probably right. But she was going to be ready, anyway.
They walked closer, Casey darting her eyes back and forth, waiting for more shadowy figures to emerge. But no one did, and they arrived at the man unmolested.
“Wayne?” she said.
He looked at her with eyes of darkness. “Yes, it’s me. And I think it’s time I told you what really happened that night.”
Chapter Forty-seven
“I went to the park to see Liz.”
They were sitting in Eric’s room. He’d started some coffee in the little two-cupper, and sat on the bed. Wayne perched on the edge of the office chair, and Casey stood by the door. She wanted plenty of space in case she’d need it, plus she wasn’t exactly comfortable being close to both the bed and Eric.
“We often met there at night. We’d sit at the picnic table at look at the stars, talk about school, talk about her dad. But that night I could see other people there, and I could hear them talking. Men. They sounded mad, and I was worried for Liz, so I snuck up as close as I could. It was too dark to really see, and their backs were to me, but I could hear in Cyrus’ voice that he was scared. Somebody was in the car, I could see him in the dome light, and I saw his face. It was that awful guy Liz couldn’t stand. Knowing it was him, I could recognize the other two, the ones I’d seen before, the ones in that picture you have. I didn’t know what to do, whether I should call the cops or what, but I didn’t want to get Cyrus in trouble. I tried to get closer so I could see better, but I stepped on a stick, and it snapped. They all spun around, but they couldn’t see me because I was behind a tree, in the dark.
“Cyrus yelled—” His breath hitched. “He yelled for me to get out of there, to run, but he thought I was Liz. One of the men started toward me, so I took off. I ran as hard as I could and hid—growing up here you know where to hide—and he hadn’t found me, but he was close. Cyrus was still yelling, and then…and then the gun went off, and I heard the man after me swear and take off back to the rest of them. A car came flying by me, and I stayed there until I was sure it was gone, and then I…” He let out a sob. “I ran away. God help me, I ran. I knew if they found me, if they knew I’d seen them…” He shook his head. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks, and he dropped his face into his hands and wept.
Eric’s voice was gentle. Gentler than Casey could ever be. “You didn’t tell the police what happened?”
“How could I? If I told, the men would know I was there. They would come after me, too.”
“But Liz disappeared.”
“I know. I know she did. But I also knew she wasn’t there when it happened. I knew she was alive.” He wiped his nose. “I waited for her to come back. I thought she would at least call. Or write. Or something.”
Casey looked at the man. He was broken. But she didn’t care.
“She was there, Wayne.”
“What?”
“She was there, probably hiding because her dad told her to. She saw him get shot. She held him as he died.’
“But—”
“You let your best friend run for her life. You knew the men heard you and thought she was there. You knew she was the one they would go after. And you didn’t do anything.”
His head shot up. “You think I don’t realize that? You think I don’t regret that night every minute of my life? If I could go back and change it, I would. I would do the right thing. I would save her. I would save Cyrus. I would change it all.” He wiped his face with both hands. “But I can’t. I can’t save Cyrus, and God knows now I can’t save Liz, either. I wanted to.” He deflated, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I wanted to.”
Casey took a step toward him, but Eric got in-between them. “We got the story, Case. We got it now. He’ll tell the cops. With what we’ve learned it will help, right? They’ll get them.”
She hated his soothing voice. She hated that he was standing between her and a good beat down.
She hated that he was right.
She spun and opened the door, then looked back to see Eric bending over Wayne, his hand on his back.
“You’ll make sure he goes to the cops?”
“I’ll take him right now.”
“No,” a voice said. “I don’t think you will.”
Chapter Forty-eight
Randy Pinkerton stood several feet outside the door. Casey swung the door shut, but a booted foot stopped it. The door pushed open, knocking her backward, but she righted herself and waited for the man to come forward.
Les Danvers, the second man in that long-ago photo, stepped into the door. He was middle-aged now, mostly gray, and paunchy. His eyes were wide-set and bloodshot, and his nose had those tiny little spider veins all over it. He hadn’t aged well.
“How cute,” he said. “If it isn’t the little lady who was looking for us in Whitley. Just stay calm, sweetheart, and nobody gets hurt.”
Casey threw a front kick into the guy’s crotch, and he froze for a moment of pained surprise before slowly crumpling to the floor. Before he hit, Casey followed up with a side kick to the chin, and his upper body shot backward, blocking the door.
“Hey!” Randy Pinkerton leapt over Danvers, fists up. He looked better than Danvers, still in shape, his hair thinning but still with some color, and his eyes clear.
“Get back,” Casey ordered Eric.
“But—”
“Get the hell back!”
She heard the office chair spin and hoped that meant he had grabbed Wayne and gotten him out of the way, too. She glanced quickly to the side and saw the empty chair. She shoved it back as Pinkerton approached, shuffling forward in baby steps. There was nothing for her to use as a weapon. The only things close to hand were the TV remote, be
d linens, and the chair, which would be more of a hindrance than anything. It would have to be hands and feet.
“Come on,” Pinkerton said, “let’s talk this out.”
“You killed an innocent woman.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I think you do.”
He smirked. “Technically, I didn’t kill anybody. He did.”
Marcus Flatt stepped over the still-moaning Les Danvers and stood behind Randy Pinkerton. His entrance brought a chill to the room, and Wayne let out a moan as anguished as Danvers’. Flatt’s expression was like his name, as flat as a night lake, and the look in his eyes just as dark. His arms hung loose at his sides, and he stood with his legs shoulder-width apart. A quick study of his clothes gave Casey no indication that he was carrying a gun, but she couldn’t be absolutely sure.
She held up her hands, as if in surrender. “We can be civilized here, can’t we? We all have things to trade.”
Pinkerton smiled. “I’m not surprised to hear you say that. Marcus often brings out the cooperation in people. Shall we talk, then?”
Casey took a step forward and held out her hand. “Truce. For now.”
Flatt’s eyes widened in the split second it took Pinkerton to take Casey’s hand. Casey yanked Pinkerton forward and spun him around, twisting his arm behind his back so he wouldn’t even think of moving. He gasped, and his head arched back over Casey’s shoulder, his pelvis thrust forward as he tried to escape the pain. It wasn’t working.
“Get out, Marcus,” Casey said.
Flatt smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Casey was reminded of the man called Bone, whom she had killed only weeks before. This deadly killer type was cropping up way too often, and she was growing weary of it.
“I think I’ll stick around,” Flatt said.
His voice sent shivers up Casey’s spine.
“Marc,” Pinkerton gasped.
“Quiet, now. I’m negotiating.”
Pinkerton wiggled, and Casey yanked his arm up higher. He let out a shriek.
Marcus shook his head. “What happened to negotiating?”
Dying Echo: A Grim Reaper Mystery (Grim Reaper Series) Page 27
