On dry land, he followed her example of kicking off his shoes. His relatively clean feet gleamed next to his mud-splattered ankles and legs.
When he looked up, an older man wearing faded cammos approached. He walked with a slight limp, and his face had been blackened with mud. Two pit bull mongrels lurked at the man’s heels. Wyatt’s hand crept toward his gun, but Laurie Ann kept the shotgun aimed at the ground. He took a deep breath. This must be her friend.
“I heard the motor stop.” The man nodded at her gun. “You expecting trouble?”
“I am. But I need to find Ray Spivey and Frankie Miles. You seen them over here?”
The man’s pale blue eyes narrowed. “What’s this all about?”
“Spivey and Miles went to ground after James Brown was killed. I need to talk to them about their friend. Will you help me, Remy?”
Remy pointed to Wyatt. “Who’s this?”
“An arson investigator from Atlanta. I vouch for him.”
“He’s one of us?”
“He is.”
Wyatt felt Remy’s questioning gaze all the way through to his bones. With a shrug of his shoulders, Remy gestured toward a shack in the woods. “They’ve been here for days now. ’Bout to drive me crazy.”
“How’d they end up at your place?” Laurie Ann asked.
“Someone gave them a ride to the island in the dead of night. I found ’em in the mud on one of my patrols, and they begged me to keep ’em hidden. Said somebody wanted ’em dead.”
Laurie Ann swallowed loudly. “Someone does. Lester. He tried to kill me, too. Have you seen him?”
“Haven’t seen the man. But he’s been on my watch list for years. Always knew he was turned wrong.”
“You were right about someone on the mainland having bad mojo. I wish I’d talked to you six months ago about the trouble you saw coming. I might have been better prepared.”
“Don’t worry about it. Folks been doubting me ever since I came here.”
“Not me or my dad. I should have trusted you about Lester.”
Remy didn’t seem to be a threat. More like someone with a wartime stress disorder. Given the guy’s advanced age, the war could have been any of those in the last thirty years. Regardless, given his need to patrol and blend into the foliage, Remy was wired differently, but he seemed to care about Laurie Ann. That was good enough for now.
Birds sang in the thick canopy of oak trees. There was a fresh sea breeze. Not a trace of smoke in the air. So why did he feel on edge? Was it the Glock pressing against his spine? Was it Laurie Ann’s certainty that Lester would catch up with them?
“Come on then,” Remy said. “Don’t stand out here in the open, drawing attention. Let’s get you folks inside before trouble comes along. No point in helping the enemy.”
Remy turned, his dogs pivoting with him. The man might be off his rocker talking about bad mojo, but he could make a fortune training dogs.
“I figured they had to be over here,” Laurie Ann whispered to him.
“You were right.”
“Gut instinct.” Pride rang in her voice. “I missed the boat on Lester, but I’m not washed up yet.”
Remy stopped short and raised his hand. Laurie Ann and Wyatt halted. The dogs’ ears went up, their noses at full quiver. Wyatt’s breathing sounded loud in his ears. He strained to hear, but he heard nothing and smelled nothing.
Remy lowered his hand, and the group proceeded to a vine-covered log cabin. Should he stay outside since he was muddy? Laurie Ann strode up the steps and into the place without breaking stride, shotgun held high. He followed.
Inside the dimly lighted space, two thin Caucasian men played cards. Poker from the looks of things. They stood, hands held high.
“I’ve been looking all over for you guys,” Laurie Ann said.
“We didn’t want to be found. Not by the law. Not by nobody.” The trembling man who answered was missing his two front teeth. He wore faded jeans and a tan shirt. Curly hair fringed his ears, where it flourished in wild abandon, giving him a clown-like appearance.
“I know about Lester, Ray,” Laurie Ann said in a soothing tone. “But I need to know what you know.”
“You won’t haul us in?”
That shaky question came from the man in a torn gray T-shirt. If the other man was Ray Spivey, this one was Frankie Miles. His voice sounded like someone had poured glass shards down his throat at one point. Like his companion, he also wore old jeans, and his feet were bare.
“You help me, and I won’t haul you in today. You’re probably safer here with Remy and the dogs anyway.”
The men exchanged a glance and lowered their hands.
“I can’t talk with that gun pointed at me,” Spivey said.
“Get this straight. You run, and I’ll drop you in your tracks. Hear me?” she said.
“I ain’t going nowhere. Neither is Frankie. Lester’s crazy.”
Laurie Ann nodded and lowered her weapon. “Talk to me.”
Spivey nodded at Wyatt. “Who’s the fella with you, Miss Law and Order?”
Wyatt cleared his throat. “My name’s Wyatt North. I’m an arson investigator from Atlanta. I’m looking for a serial arsonist.”
“Tell me what you know about Lester,” Laurie Ann prompted. “Tell me about James Brown and Lester.”
“Lester took us on some of his trips,” Spivey said. “We been all over the state. Seen the red clay of the hill country, seen wildcats and more. He knows all kinds of backwoods places.”
“Why did you go?” Laurie Ann asked.
“To help him find workers. He’d drop us off at local bars. We was to get a man or two that knew the area to help Lester with his furniture unloading. While they helped him, Lester put us out at the campsite with a bottle of good stuff. James used to go with us sometimes.”
“And then what?” Wyatt asked.
“Don’t say anything else, motor mouth,” Miles said. “We could go to jail if you keep blabbing.”
“Did you help Lester with his other business?” Laurie Ann prompted.
Miles turned to his friend, his arm twitching. “She already knows about the scrapping. James said we shoulda told her weeks ago. If we’d listened to him, James would still be alive. Now he’s dead. We shoulda told her then.”
“Do you know something about James Brown’s death?” Laurie Ann asked. “What was he doing out at Pirate’s Cove?”
The two men exchanged glances. Ray Spivey spoke in his gravel-shot voice. “Lester found the three of us drinking in front of the laundrymat. He said he had a local job. Me and Frankie, we weren’t gonna rip anyone off in Mossy Bog. We said no. James said yes.”
“What was the job?” Wyatt asked.
“Scrapping. He said he knowed of a place that had old pipes. Said it had been abandoned a long time and nobody cared. Said he’d scouted it out, like that made it right. Everybody knows you don’t crap in your own crib, but Lester didn’t care. Brown neither. They was in it for the score. We told Brown he could drink our hooch, but he said he didn’t want to keep owing us. Said he needed to pay his own way.” Spivey’s eyes clouded. “He got killed because he wanted to buy our next bottle of booze.”
“Who killed him?” Laurie Ann asked.
The room quieted. Not even the dogs stirred. Wyatt’s heart pulsed in his ear, the sound of blood so loud he couldn’t hear a thing. Was it possible? Was he on the verge of nailing Bobby’s killer?
“Lester killed him,” Miles said in hushed tones. “Lester didn’t like it if he was wrong about a place. We’d seen him lose it a time or two when we was on the road. He’d start walking through a place and shouting how this wasn’t right, how the world owed him.”
“We saw him take a hammer and bash a man on the head once,” Spivey added.
“Where?” Wyatt’s throat tightened.
“The place where the nuthouse is. Milledgeville.”
“Who?” Wyatt asked, knowing the answer.
“Warren somebody.
Met him at the pool hall.”
Wyatt met Laurie Ann’s eyes and nodded. “Warren Felk. He was Lester’s second victim. He was found in a house fire in Milledgeville. He had an impact wound on his skull. The coroner speculated that a hammer had struck the blow.”
“Did you know about the fire?”
The men exchanged glances again. “We didn’t know nothing about no fires. We helped Lester find worker bees to offload his furniture. He offered them double their money if they helped him locate scrap metal to sell and if they used their pickups to sell it. That’s all we know.”
“Why did you hide?” he asked.
“You believe in haints?” Miles asked, his jaw hanging slack and revealing the hole where his teeth had once been.
Wyatt looked to Laurie Ann for clarification.
“Ghosts,” she said.
He’d been haunted by Bobby’s memory for years. “There’s a lot we don’t understand about life and death.”
“We all got ghosts.” Remy said from the doorway.
Wyatt startled at the unexpected voice behind him. He’d forgotten about their cammo-clad host. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”
“Can’t fool me,” Remy said. “You’re here because somebody from the other side won’t let you alone.”
The veteran’s insight surprised him. He took a long look at the older man, noting the grim set of his mouth, the starch in his spine, and the flint in his eyes.
“We all got something riding us, boy,” Remy continued. “It’s part of being human.”
Wyatt’s face tightened. “You a shrink?”
“Naw. But I’ve seen my share of them. Out here, nobody cares about the past, but it’s stuck to us, just the same.”
Wyatt released a slow breath. He wasn’t being psychoanalyzed or judged. These people accepted him as he was, scars and ghosts and all.
Imagine that.
“This discussion has veered off track,” Laurie Ann said. “This isn’t about North. We need information about James Brown’s death. Do either of you have proof Lester did it?”
“Last time we saw James, he was in Lester’s truck going down the road,” Miles said. “Three hours later he was dead. That’s proof enough for me.”
“Me, too,” Spivey said.
Laurie Ann shot Wyatt a terse look. “Not what we were looking for, but a start.”
“Speak for yourself. Their testimony puts Lester at Warren Felk’s murder. We have enough for an arrest that will stick. Lester’s travel records put him in Rome at the time when my partner died. We know Lester’s M.O. He uses these guys to enlist cheap, disposable labor. He gets his furniture delivery done and then the local talent guides him to sites for scrapping. That’s why tracking him from the scrap metal side was so hard. Those scrap dealers don’t have any connection to Lester. It was the locals and these two that set up the scrap deals.”
Bright red color flamed Laurie Ann’s neck and face. “Are you trying to make my case for me?”
“No. I’m pointing out the pattern here. Lester found a loophole, and he exploited it. We’ve got to put him out of commission.”
“Bring him to the island,” Remy said. “I’ll take care of him.”
“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that,” Laurie Ann said. “Meanwhile, keep watch over these two. We want them for official questioning later.”
Wyatt wanted to take them now. “Are you sure that’s the right course of action?”
“Are you questioning my decision?” she countered, her back stiffening.
A smart man knew which battles to fight. These two weren’t going anywhere anytime soon. “We’ll do it your way.”
“Good.”
“Be careful on the way home,” Remy said as he vacated the doorway. “The air don’t feel right.”
Wyatt followed Laurie Ann back to the boat, stopping at the marsh’s edge to don his muddy shoes. Remy’s words reverberated uneasily in his head.
The air didn’t feel right.
His senses heightened.
Was Lester watching them now?
Chapter 49
As the boat sped across the sound, Laurie Ann gathered her thoughts. In fifteen minutes, they’d be winding through the tidal creeks approaching the mainland. Where would Lester make his stand?
Would she have to shoot him?
She’d pulled her weapon in the line of duty before, but she’d never had to put a bullet in anyone. Especially not someone she knew. Someone she grew up with. Someone who taught her how to bait her fishing line.
A shudder ripped through her, chilling her marrow to the same icy temperature as her thoughts. If anyone had told her a week ago that there’d be a manhunt for her cousin, she’d have said the person was deluded.
She’d resisted the truth for days, wanting to believe in her kinship with Lester, wanting to believe that no one in her line would set fires and kill people. She thought Wyatt was wrong about Lester being the arsonist.
Her blind loyalty had nearly gotten them killed.
Lester wasn’t who she thought he was. He was an enigma. A puzzle she couldn’t solve until she talked to him. If that involved a bullet, so be it.
Could she actually see Lester’s familiar face through the gun sight, take aim, and pull the trigger? The thought of killing anyone repelled her, but she’d taken an oath to serve and protect. Her cousin was a threat, plain and simple.
Cops neutralized threats.
As long as she remembered that, she’d be okay.
The engine sputtered. The automatic transfer to the other tank must have malfunctioned. “No problem,” Laurie Ann said. “I’ll manually switch to the other gas tank.”
She rose to perform the task but Wyatt was quicker. “I’ll do it.”
Gentle waves slapped the stalled speedboat. Burnished light mirrored on the water, giving the appearance of shimmering flames. A trio of dolphins surfaced near the distant marsh, rounding up fish for supper.
Normal things.
As if the world wasn’t aware there was a dangerous man on the loose.
Wyatt returned to the driver’s seat and hit the throttle. The engine sputtered. Annoyed, Laurie Ann rose from her seat. “You have to goose it a little.”
“I did that.”
Undeterred, she squatted beside the tank and squeezed the pressure bulb. “Try it now.”
The engine coughed and sputtered. “That shouldn’t be.” Her lips pressed together. She hoisted the tank, expecting it to be heavy. It came up off the boat deck. “I thought Harding’s guys gassed up the boat.”
“They did. I double-checked. Both tanks were full at the dock.”
She scanned the horizon around the boat. Clear in every direction. But spiders of dread crawled across her thoughts. “This one isn’t full now.”
Their eyes met. “Lester,” they said.
Laurie Ann handed him an oar. “Paddle for all you’re worth. With this strong ebb tide, we’ll be swept out to sea soon. I’ll call Harding for help.”
Wyatt straddled the bow, oar in hand. “Where am I going?”
“Aim for the sunset. We need to reach the marsh. If we drop anchor here in the open water to wait for help, Lester will pick us off like fish in a barrel. At least in the marsh we’ll have cover.”
Sloan Harding was not pleased when she reached him on her cell phone. “I expected you back twenty minutes ago, Dinterman.”
She hoped he was as good at personal protection as she’d heard. “We ran out of gas and had to start paddling. The spare tank was empty.”
“I filled both tanks myself. Something you’re not telling me?”
“We’re out of gas,” she repeated, feeling ghostly fingers trail over the nape of her neck. What happened to the fuel? Had Harding made a mistake filling the tanks? Worse, had Lester drained the spare tank last night?
Calm. She had to stay calm. “I’m telling you our status. We need a rescue, fast.”
“Got your vest on?”
The darn vest was hea
vy and hot. But she’d promised to wear it. “I do.”
“Good. We’re on our way.”
Laurie Ann re-sealed her phone in a wet bag before pocketing it again and picking up the spare oar. She alternated paddling on each side of the boat, ignoring the twinges in her sprained ankle. After a few minutes of paddling, she realized they were losing ground.
This wasn’t working. “This tide’s wicked strong. Save your strength. We have to drop anchor until the tide turns.”
Wyatt paddled deeper. “We’re too vulnerable out here in the open.”
“No one’s in sight. Harding’s crew will get out here in less than an hour. We have weapons if Lester approaches.”
“A lot can happen in thirty minutes. I don’t trust your cousin.”
“That makes two of us, but we have to be smart about this.”
“All right. You’ve convinced me.” Wyatt looked around the bow of the boat. “Where is the anchor?”
Laurie Ann kept paddling, unwilling to give up any more ground than she absolutely had to. “It’s in the forward cubby.”
Wyatt opened the compartment and dragged out the pronged anchor. “How deep is it here? Is there enough line?”
The wind blew loose strands of hair across her face. She tucked the errant wisps behind her ears. “Not sure of the depth, but Daddy has about thirty feet of rope, plus the chain at the end should be enough.”
A strong odor of gasoline reached her nostrils. They were out of gas. Where was it coming from?
“You smell gas?” she asked.
“Yeah. The anchor compartment reeks of it.” He hauled out a bit more rope and sniffed. “The line is saturated with gasoline.”
“That’s odd.” It was more than odd. It was downright impossible for fuel to flow uphill to the elevated forward compartment. Wyatt gathered a handful of line and prepared to toss the anchor over the side.
Had someone poured the gas in there?
Lester! He’d been onboard the boat. That explained the lack of gas in the tank. That explained the gas in the forward compartment.
Hot Water Page 20
