Down the Broken Road

by J. R. Backlund

  The Tacoma burst into the field. Rachel turned off the lights and banked hard to the left. She kicked the brake with both feet, skidding to a stop, then let off it and pushed the shifter into neutral, hoping Stoller hadn’t seen her taillights make the turn.

  In the side-view mirror, she could see that he was just entering the path through the trees. She spun to look through the back window and saw his headlights approaching quickly. In her head, she was working out the timing. It had to be perfect if she was to catch him.

  The F-150 drew near the clearing, and Rachel shifted into reverse.

  “Sorry, Carly.”

  She floored it, launching backward toward the road. The F-150 passed the last few trees and suddenly lurched to a stop, as if Stoller had seen her coming. But he was too late.

  The back of the Tacoma slammed into the front corner of the F-150.

  Rachel turned and searched the passenger seat for the gun, but couldn’t find it. In the jolt of the impact, it had been thrown off. She remembered the .380 on her hip, jumped out, and drew it. She leveled it on Stoller’s back tire and fired twice. Both shots hit the sidewall, and air hissed out.

  Inside the cab, Stoller was fighting the airbag. He forced it aside enough to see out the window and caught sight of Rachel. Their eyes locked. She pointed the gun at him and held it there, wanting to shoot him dead.

  There was no fear in his eyes. He stared at her with cold resolve, a look that sent a shudder through her. She turned and ran back to the Tacoma, hopped in and put it in drive. She punched it, but it rolled forward only a foot before the tires lost traction, trying to drag Stoller’s truck with it.

  “Shit!” She turned on four-wheel drive and tried again.

  The Tacoma broke free with a loud snap as the F-150’s bumper tore off and dropped to the ground. Rachel hit the lights and steered onto the dirt road, speeding toward the highway. She kept checking the rearview, veering into the grass each time. The lights behind her grew dimmer as she made her escape.

  * * *

  Stoller forced his way out of the cab and examined his truck. It would drive once he changed the tire, but there was no sense in rushing. The woman was long gone now.

  He walked back to the barn.

  Martin was sitting up, still holding his leg and groaning in pain. Stoller walked past him and went inside to look around. Gordon was there on the floor, dizzy and confused. He looked like he was coming down from a good high. The lower half of his right leg was pointing the wrong way, like it was dislocated at the knee. He wouldn’t be happy when the drugs wore off.

  Stoller went back outside to talk to Martin.

  “Looks like you boys got your asses handed to you.”

  “Dude,” Martin said through gritted teeth, “my fuckin’ leg, man. Bitch shot me.”

  Stoller had heard it as he was making his way across the field. He had worried that Gordon had lost his cool and shot the woman. But this was worse.

  “You gotta get me to a hospital.”

  Much worse, Stoller thought. “I don’t think I can do that.”

  “What the fuck are you talkin’ about, man?”

  “If I take you to the hospital with a gunshot wound, they’ll call the cops.” He reached around to the small of his back and withdrew a .40-caliber Sig Sauer.

  “Wait! No, don’t!”

  He aimed the gun at Martin’s forehead.

  THIRTY

  The bartender was quick to tell Hughes where he could find the regular who’d ended up wearing the Bud Light. She also gave him a name and a unit number—Austin Buckley, 201. Hughes walked across the street to Buckley’s apartment and knocked on the door.

  Buckley answered and rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me. Another damn cop.”

  He stepped back and let Hughes in, asked his skinny girlfriend to excuse herself to the bedroom, and dropped onto the sofa.

  “My name’s Chad Hughes. I’m a detective with the Siler City Police Department.”

  Buckley picked up a remote control and started flipping through the channels. “What can I do you for, Detective?”

  “I hear you had an interesting encounter today. Mind telling me about it?”

  “Not much to tell, really. A psycho woman went and poured my beer on me. Turns out, she’s a damn murderer, according to y’all.”

  “Well, we’re still trying to figure that out. Can I ask you why she did it? Pour the beer on you, I mean.”

  “I don’t know.” He settled on a fishing show and dropped the remote on the coffee table, sat back and put his feet up. “I guess she was trying to get me outside, away from everyone, so she could grill me.”

  “Grill you about what?”

  “About some shit that happened in Afghanistan.”

  “Afghanistan,” Hughes said, scratching his chin. He sat down in the love seat and leaned in with his elbows on his knees. “You were in the military?”

  Buckley nodded, keeping his eyes on the screen. “Army.”

  “Okay. So what happened in Afghanistan that she was so curious about?”

  The look on Buckley’s face said he was tired of telling the story. “We was in this village looking for weapons, and some of our guys got shot at. So they killed the shooter, and it turned out to be a damn teenager.”

  “I’m sure that happens a lot over there.”

  “Damn straight, it does.”

  “Then what was so special about this time?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The man on the TV was holding a large wriggling bass by the mouth. He raised it up to the camera, struggling to maintain his grip.

  Buckley said, “Damn, I need to catch me one of them.”

  Hughes reached over, grabbed the remote, and turned the TV off. “It occurs to me that I might not have your undivided attention.”

  “Hey, come on, man.”

  “Listen to me,” he said, raising his voice, “one of my friends was killed yesterday. She was a good cop and an even better mother. Now she’s dead, and I need to know why. So how about you take a break from the goddamn TV for a minute and tell me what the hell’s going on.”

  “All right, man,” Buckley said, putting his hands up. “Take it easy.” He stood and went to the kitchen, grabbed a cigarette and a lighter, and came back. He lit up and took a puff. “Look, I wasn’t there right when it happened, so I don’t know what’s true and what’s not.”

  Hughes motioned with his hand, encouraging him to continue. “Go on.”

  “You hear things, you know. Guys talkin’ shit and whatnot. Some of the fellas in the platoon said they heard the kid was unarmed when they shot him. Just out in the field, mindin’ his own business. Some even said he was out there kickin’ a soccer ball. They said Sergeant Stoller found the AK and the grenade hidden under a blanket next to a mud hut. Then they saw the kid out there and came up with this idea to just shoot his ass and plant the weapons on him.”

  “Why shoot an innocent kid?”

  Buckley shrugged. “For fun, I guess.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  Rachel spotted an abandoned gas station ten miles outside Monroe and parked behind it. With the engine and the lights turned off, the darkness consumed everything. Only her breath disturbed the silence. Her heart raced, and her hands shook as she tried to wrap her mind around what she had been through.

  There wasn’t just one killer; there were three.

  Luckily, there had been some discord between them. Apparently, Gordon and Stoller weren’t seeing eye to eye. Had all three of them worked together to abduct her, she never would have made it out alive.

  She turned on the overhead light and searched for Gordon’s gun. It was lying on the floorboard on the passenger side. She picked it up and slid it under the driver’s seat. Her iPhone was in the cup holder, but she had lost the prepaid. It was still at the barn.

  She turned the phone on and called Braddock. When he answered, she was almost afraid to tell him what had happened, fearful that he would be furious with her
for attempting a break-in. For getting in the Charger with Gordon, which, in hindsight, was beyond stupid. But most of all, for not talking to Braddock about her plan beforehand.

  It took some effort, but she finally got it out. He was speechless for a minute. Then he asked, “Are you somewhere safe?”

  “Yes.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “All right. I’m on my way there now. I left as soon as you sent me that text. I’ve got about an hour and a half left till I’m there. Stay put.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  It felt good to know that he would be there soon. She relaxed a little, turned off the light, and stepped out of the cab. She went around to the back and lit up the flashlight app on her phone to inspect the damage.

  The bumper and the tailgate were crushed into a wide V. The end of the bed was rippled, and the taillights were broken on one side. If a cop had gotten behind her, she would’ve been pulled over.

  Carly was going to be devastated. She would understand, of course, but that wouldn’t make the Tacoma any easier to look at. Between this and the sheriff’s office Tahoe she had destroyed a few months earlier, the citizens of Lowry County would never trust her with one of their vehicles again.

  She climbed into the bed and lay back, putting her feet up on the lip of the bent tailgate. The adrenaline was gone, taking her energy with it. She was exhausted, but there was no chance she would be able to sleep. So she lay there, waiting for Braddock to arrive, gazing into the starless night.

  * * *

  Braddock called earlier than she had expected. Or perhaps time had gotten away from her as she lay in the back of the truck, feeling like she had been immersed in some kind of sensory-deprivation chamber. The ringing came impossibly loud, jarring her away from her dazed meditation.

  She sat up and answered. He was getting close. She gave him directions to the gas station, then hung up and climbed out of the bed. He pulled up a few minutes later.

  “I think you’ve just about used up all of your lives, young lady,” he said, hugging her.

  He wanted to hear the story again, this time with more detail. She told him everything. Leaning against the side of the Tacoma, he took it all in, trying not to look too devastated about the fact that he’d nearly lost her.

  She finished, and he said, “We should call it in. Have the locals raid the place. They probably rushed to the hospital, but your phone could still be there. Maybe even the heroin.”

  “They could make up any story they wanted to explain it all,” she said. “It would be my word against theirs. And I’m a suspect in a homicide investigation. We just don’t know enough yet. We’ve got to figure out what this is all about. What they’re trying to hide.”

  “Hmph.” He thought for a moment. “It’s gotta be the drugs. Maybe Larson and Hubbard were in on it, and the others decided to cut them out.”

  “Maybe.” She thought about Gulani, and a surge of anger came over her. “There’s definitely some connection to the therapist. He spends his days counseling addicts. Maybe he’s helping them find customers. Or dealers. Either way, he sent Gordon after me. And just when I was starting to warm up to the guy. Kinda hurts my feelings, to be honest.”

  “I want to break his freakin’ neck.”

  “Answers first,” she said. “We can break his neck later.”

  “When do you want to go after him?”

  She wanted to go right then, but she was still feeling shaky. She needed food and rest, though she didn’t know if she’d be able to eat, and sleep seemed like an impossibility. But she had to try. “First thing in the morning. I don’t want to go off half-cocked and risk running into Stoller again. He’s probably pretty sore with me for wrecking his truck. Let’s find some place to hole up for the night and come up with a plan of attack.”

  “Roger that. I saw a hotel on the highway a few miles—”

  Rachel’s phone rang. She checked the screen, then held it up to show Braddock. He gave her a look that asked what she was going to do.

  She answered.

  “Hello, Detective Hughes.”

  “Miss Carver,” he said, sounding surprised that she had answered. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you all day.”

  “Sorry about that. I’ve been a little busy.”

  “So I’ve heard. I met a friend of yours this evening.”

  “Yeah? Who would that be?”

  “Austin Buckley. He told me an interesting story, though I don’t know quite what to make of it. Any chance you’d be willing to come in and clear it up for me?”

  “I’m still trying to figure it out for myself.”

  “Well, you and I still need to meet, regardless. Face-to-face. How about you come to the station in Siler City and talk to me about what happened yesterday?”

  “Not yet,” she said. “But you have my word, when this is all over, I’ll come see you.”

  “You’re in a lot of trouble, Miss Carver. And you’re not doing yourself any favors by avoiding me. This will all go a lot easier if we can sit down together and sort this out.”

  “Take care, Detective.”

  She ended the call and turned off her phone.

  Braddock said, “I’m surprised you answered that. Unless he’s a complete idiot, he’s gonna track you here.”

  “I can’t hide from him forever. Besides, I think I might have an idea.”

  * * *

  Hughes was on the edge of Fayetteville, heading back to Siler City. He wheeled his unmarked Crown Victoria into a shopping center and called Morrison, who was still at the office.

  “I got her.”

  “What do you mean?” Morrison asked.

  “I called her, and she actually answered her phone.”

  “Seriously? I figured she was too smart to even turn it on.”

  “So did I. I guess it never hurts to try.”

  There were the sounds of mouse clicks and typing on a keyboard. “I’m putting her number into the carrier search website … hang on … she uses AT&T.”

  “Perfect. Mind calling them for me?”

  “I’m on it,” she said. “I’ll call you back in a few.”

  Morrison would be able to get the phone’s GPS location from the service provider. They charged a fee for the information, but it would happen quickly. The state of North Carolina didn’t even require that she get a warrant before asking.

  A half hour had passed when Morrison called back. “She’s in Union County. Just outside Monroe.”

  “That’s a couple hours away,” Hughes said, starting the engine. “I’ll probably have to stay the night there.”

  “Want me to book you a hotel?”

  “Nah, I’ll take care of that. But if you don’t mind, I’d love it if you could call over to the Union County Sheriff’s Office and let them know I’m on the way. See if they can send a deputy or two to hold her until I get there.”

  “You got it. Good hunting, Chad.”

  * * *

  Rachel left the Tacoma at the abandoned gas station and rode with Braddock. They stopped at a Walmart, and Braddock went inside to buy Rachel some clothes and toiletries while she waited in the Explorer. When he got back, they picked up cheeseburgers from McDonald’s and drove to a nearby Holiday Inn, where they got a room with two queen beds.

  Once they were settled in and had finished eating, Rachel took a long shower. Braddock scanned the local channels for any news about her but didn’t find anything. She came out of the bathroom wearing the sweat pants and an oversized T-shirt he had intended as makeshift pajamas. The shirt was sky blue, and the front was covered with a picture of Dale Earnhardt Jr.’s race car. She pointed at it and said, “Seriously?”

  He laughed.

  She eased herself onto the bed and lay back, staring at the ceiling. “I think I know how to kill two birds with one stone.”

  Braddock turned the volume down on the TV. “Let’s hear it.”

  “Hughes is chasing me aroun
d the state. He was in Fayetteville today, talking to Buckley. He won’t be content with calling the locals and telling them I’m here. He’s coming for me himself.”

  “All right. So how does that help us?”

  “I think I’m going to let him do some of our work for us.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  Stoller decided it was a bad idea to leave Martin’s body lying around while he changed the tire on his truck. He needed to get rid of it quickly in case the woman decided to go to the cops. He didn’t think she would, given her circumstances, but he couldn’t be sure.

  He went into the barn and tore the blanket off the bed. Got a flashlight from a drawer and left his phone on the counter. Then he went outside and wrapped up the body and loaded it into the trunk of Gordon’s Charger. He threw a shovel in and went back to check on Gordon.

  “I gotta borrow your car, Flash.”

  Gordon turned his head in Stoller’s direction but looked right through him.

  “All right, then,” Stoller said. “Take it easy. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

  He hopped into the Charger and drove to a remote spot on the other end of town. He saw the gated entrance and sped past it, slowing once he found the best spot to traverse the swale beyond the shoulder. He left the road and dropped down, then turned up and climbed a gentle rise, stopping at the edge of a pine grove. With no light from above, he couldn’t see through to the other side of it, but he knew what was there.

  A large plantation house stood in the center of a sprawling field. The Union County Historic Preservation Commission had designated the property a protected site. They had also spent a good bit of money landscaping the grounds. The work had been completed just a few days earlier.

  Stoller popped the trunk, pulled Martin out, and hefted him onto his shoulder. He grabbed the shovel and started his march through the woods. Emerging on the other side, he needed his flashlight to orient himself. He set Martin down on the ground and started pulling up pieces of the freshly laid sod. When he had exposed a large enough area, he started digging.