Down the Broken Road

by J. R. Backlund

  Rachel pointed at her collage. “This? Oh, no, not at all. I know it can seem a bit over-the-top, but it helps me visualize. Helps me relive the scene, so I can better understand what happened.”

  “That’s an interesting process. Mind telling me why I’m here for it? You didn’t say anything about this when you called.”

  Rachel had lured LeMay here with the promise of evidence that would exonerate her son. Proof that he was innocent of Hubbard’s murder. If all went well, she would make good on her word.

  “Do you remember when I first came to your office and I asked you if you thought the person who did this had exhibited uncontrollable rage?”

  “I recall that, yes.”

  “I know it’s not your specialty, Doctor, but I wonder if you think someone in that mental state could use some sort of diminished-capacity defense at a murder trial?”

  “This is a waste of my time.” LeMay turned to leave.

  “You think that kid of yours is just a complete psycho, Pam?”

  That made her stop and turn back. “What did you say?”

  “Just a bad seed, maybe? He gunned down that poor teenage boy in Afghanistan.” She picked up a photo of Hubbard’s body and held it a few inches from LeMay’s face. “Then he comes here and does this to his friend.” Rachel turned the photo around and looked at it. “You must be so proud.”

  “How dare you?”

  “And then he goes up to Wendell with your boyfriend … you really know how to pick ’em, by the way … and together they kill Tyler Larson. Framing his girlfriend in the process. I’m still not entirely sure how they got ahold of Larson’s gun, but after the way your boyfriend broke in and stole mine, it’s no stretch to imagine that they could figure it out. Working together with their buddy, Seth.”

  “None of what you’re saying is true.” Her face was turning red.

  “Come on, Pam. You can let it out. It’s gotta be such a burden taking care of that little waste of humanity. Having to seduce and manipulate a murderer like Colin Stoller just so he could protect your worthless kid.”

  “Stop it,” she growled with gritted teeth. “I’m warning you.”

  “For all the good it did. I wonder where they got the heroin they tried to kill Bryce Parker with?”

  LeMay turned around and closed her eyes. Her hands were balled into fists.

  “I’m sure your son will tell us when the time comes. He’s in such deep shit, he’ll be begging and pleading to keep the needle out of his arm.”

  “Shut up.”

  “You think he’ll go quietly? Sacrifice himself the way Stoller did for you? That whining little shit who can’t manage a hurt knee without Mommy’s help?”

  “Shut up!”

  “You must be so disappointed to have given that little bastard nine months in the womb—”

  LeMay reached down and grabbed a brick, turned, and swung it, aiming for Rachel’s head.

  Rachel stepped back, feeling the air swish by her face as the brick came within an inch of striking her. But LeMay wasn’t finished. She swung again and again. Each time, Rachel moved away from her.

  LeMay’s eyes were wild. She bared her teeth with each attempt. Rachel’s foot stepped down on another brick, and she nearly lost her balance. LeMay, seeing the opportunity, gave another scream and put all of her might into the most powerful swing she could manage. Rachel ducked it and wrapped her arms around LeMay’s waist. She hooked her leg around LeMay’s and drove forward, sending them both to the ground.

  LeMay was on her back with Rachel on top of her. She tried once again to land a blow, but Rachel wrapped her arm and wrenched it straight, threatening to hyperextend it. This time, LeMay’s scream was one of pain.

  Rachel said, “Drop it,” and LeMay complied. Then Rachel stood and kicked the brick away, looked around to make sure there were no more within reach.

  LeMay sat up, holding her arm, and started to cry.

  Standing above her, watching her come to the realization that her world was falling apart, Rachel almost felt sorry for her. She softened her tone as she said, “We’ve been through a lot, you and I. This has taken its toll on all of us. It’s time for the truth to see the light, Doctor. Riley didn’t kill Adam Hubbard, did he?”

  She shook her head.

  Rachel said, “It was you.”

  LeMay’s chest heaved, but she looked like she might be searching for the strength to deny it.

  “When the detectives zeroed in on Kyle Strickland, they never bothered to figure out where Adam got the Percocet from. Addicts can always find dealers. But, despite what you might see in movies, most deals are done in people’s houses, not on street corners or outside convenience stores. That is, unless Adam’s supplier didn’t want to be seen at his house. And you sure didn’t want him coming to your house. Right, Doctor?”

  She shook her head.

  Rachel knelt down next to her. “There’s no need to deny it anymore. I had the lab run prints on the bottle. They found yours on there with Adam’s. Your mobile number also pinged on a nearby cell tower during the time he was killed.”

  LeMay put her face in her hands and wept.

  “You don’t bring your cell phone when you’re planning to commit a murder. And you don’t handle something that you’re going to give to the victim with your bare hands. That tells me this wasn’t premeditated. But you have to fill in the missing pieces, Doctor. It’s not enough for me to guess. If you didn’t plan to kill him, tell me what happened.”

  She sniffed hard and patted her eyes with the back of her hand. Then she took a breath, hugged her knees, and said, “Riley found out Adam was talking to the reporter about what they had done in Afghanistan. He had left the treatment program, so I called him and asked him to come in. I told him he needed to fill out some insurance paperwork or he was going to have to pay for part of his treatment. He had no idea how it worked, so he agreed. When I saw him, I could tell he was using again. He wouldn’t talk to me about the shooting. He tried to leave, so I offered to get him some pills in exchange for his time. I told him I just wanted to talk.”

  “And you two agreed to meet here, so you could give him the pills?”

  She looked toward the back of the store. Tears streamed, and she said, “Yes. I suggested it. He had Kyle drive him because he was already high. He had taken a bunch before coming here. I think he was trying to fight the anxiety. He took too much, though. I almost didn’t give him the ones I had brought for him.”

  “But you did?”

  She nodded.

  Rachel said, “Okay, you gave him the pills; then what happened?”

  “I tried to reason with him. I tried to convince him to leave it alone. It was war. Bad things happen in wartime.”

  “How did he take that?”

  “He started yelling at me. He said I didn’t know what I was talking about. That I had never been over there. I had never seen what it was really like. He said it was worse than I could ever imagine, but that was still no excuse for what Riley had done. He said he couldn’t sleep at night. He couldn’t get by without the pills. He was racked with guilt, and it was all Riley’s fault.”

  “Did that make you angry?”

  “It did. A little.” She looked up at Rachel, childlike denial in her eyes. “But I didn’t hurt him then. Not for that.”

  “So what happened next?”

  “I offered to give him money. I tried to buy his silence.”

  “But he didn’t like that, did he?”

  She sniffed and shook her head. “He hit me.”

  “What did you do?”

  She looked at the ground, then at her hands. “I picked up a brick, and I hit him back. And I kept hitting him. Over and over again. I couldn’t control it, I just…”

  She put her hands back to her face and lay down on her side, shaking and sobbing.

  Rachel raised her right arm in the air, extended her index finger, and moved her hand in a wide circle. The signal called the detective and the p
air of deputies from their hiding places. The two SBI agents from the Technical Services Unit, who were observing and recording from behind a broken window in the mill, began packing up their camera and parabolic mic equipment.

  Rachel bent down and whispered to LeMay, “I know there’s a lot more to what you did, Doctor. I could see it when I watched the sense of purpose go out of Colin Stoller’s eyes, right before he walked out in front of that firing squad. Riley told you that Larson was trying to kick-start the investigation against your son and his friends, so you went to work on Colin right then. You turned him into your own personal weapon of mass destruction, didn’t you? You sent him after Larson and Bryce Parker and Ashley Ramirez.”

  LeMay was no longer sobbing. She lay perfectly still, her hands a pillow to shield her from the mud.

  “And me,” Rachel said. “I can’t prove it, but you and I both know. All of this is because of you.”

  The detective and the deputies arrived to handcuff LeMay and escort her to a patrol car. As they lifted her to her feet, she didn’t utter a word in protest or defiance. She walked quietly with her head down, her eyes staring blankly at the ground in front of her. And Rachel followed her, every step of the way.

  * * *

  After LeMay was loaded up, Rachel went into Sharkie’s and picked out a Monster Energy for the road. The kid with the pencil-thin facial hair was there behind the register. He had seen the patrol cars arrive, and the deputies get out and walk around to the back.

  “You seen them cops?” he asked. “I wonder what they’re doin’ back there.”

  Rachel smiled, paid him, and left.

  Her Camry was parked on the road, two blocks down in front of a large warehouse. Jensen was standing by it. As she approached, he clapped and said, “Bravo, Rachel. I’m quite impressed.”

  She cracked the can, drew a mouthful, and leaned against the car. “I’m tired.”

  “Hey, I don’t blame ya. That was quite a show. And quite a bluff, too, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

  “Not at all.”

  “You think we’ll actually get her number from the cell tower dump?”

  “I guess that depends.”

  “And the fingerprint?”

  She shrugged. “Hard to say. He had the bottle in his pocket, so it might’ve been wiped clean.”

  “Right, yeah…” He thought for a few seconds. “Of course, now this means we can’t charge Gordon with anything. I hope the Army doesn’t drag its feet too long.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about that,” she said.

  * * *

  Across town, Vance got the building manager to quietly unlock the door to Gordon’s apartment. Then he asked the man to step aside as he and two civilian CID special agents rushed inside. They found Gordon in his bed, a half-eaten bag of M&M’s in his hand.

  “What the fuck is this?” he yelled.

  Legally, the civilians had to perform the apprehension, the CID’s term for an arrest. They introduced themselves as they pushed Gordon onto his side and pulled his arms behind his back, handcuffing his wrists.

  Vance watched with a grin of satisfaction.

  When they spun Gordon around to sit on the edge of the bed, he said, “Dammit, this is bullshit. Can’t you see I’m injured?” He looked over at Vance, who was dressed in uniform. “You just going to let them drag me out of here like this?”

  “Don’t worry, Riley. We got a wheelchair for you right outside.”

  “Yeah, but you don’t mind them getting all rough with me. I guess it’s too much to ask for a little respect for a fellow soldier, huh?”

  Vance walked over and grabbed a fistful of Gordon’s shirt and pushed him back onto the bed. “You listen to me, you sorry son of a bitch. You are no soldier. And you never were. PFC Adam Hubbard was a soldier. Sergeant First Class Tyler Larson was a soldier.” He let go of him and stepped away in disgust, like he’d been holding a bag full of excrement. “You’re a coward and a murderer. And when we’re through with you, you’ll be a prisoner for the rest of your life.”

  * * *

  “I know you’ve heard this before,” Jensen said, “but there’s always a spot open for ya. We’d love to have ya back.”

  “I appreciate that, Mike,” she said, “but I kinda like working for myself.”

  “Fair enough, I suppose. What’ll you do now?”

  She finished her can, opened the car door, and tossed it in. “I’ve got a few people I need to see. Then … who knows? Maybe I’ll spend some time in the mountains. Decide if I’m still cut out for this line of work.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  She climbed in and started the engine. “Was good to see you again, Mike. You take care of yourself.”

  She shut the door.

  As the Camry pulled away, Jensen said, “I don’t think this job’s done with you quite yet, Rachel Carver.”

  FORTY-EIGHT

  Dunn called Rachel to tell her that the DA was dropping the charges against Strickland and the judge had ordered his release.

  “Thanks to you,” he said, “he’ll be home soon.”

  “Team effort,” she said.

  “Yeah, well, anytime you feel like donating your services, you feel free to give me a call. And next time you stop into Monroe, lunch is on me. Hell, let’s make it a dinner.”

  After they hung up, Rachel spent the rest of the evening going through all the alcohol in her apartment. In various stages of intoxication, she called her mother, Carly, and Braddock. They were all good conversations. Each of them congratulated her and told her how grateful they were that she was done with this ordeal.

  When she was halfway through her Maker’s Mark, she called Braddock for a second time and told him she just wanted to hear his voice. They talked for a while longer, about other cases and local politics and what was on TV. Rachel couldn’t be certain, but it felt like they were on the phone for a couple of hours. When he started yawning after every other word, she let him go to bed.

  At midnight, she poured her last drink and thought about what she would do when she woke the next morning. Or rather, how she would do it. One thing remained before she could say that she was finished with the Larson case for good. She was prepared to do it alone, but she hoped she wouldn’t have to.

  She picked up her phone and called Penter. After the voicemail greeting and the beep, she said, “Hey … it’s Rachel. Sorry to call you so late. I just wanted you to know that I’m going to see Lillian Bailey tomorrow morning. I’ll probably be there at eight … maybe nine. I don’t know why I’m telling you, but … if you wanted to meet me there … anyway, have a good night.”

  She finished her drink, set her alarm, and went to bed. In the morning, she took a shower and made coffee. She sat at her kitchen table, staring into space while she drank it. There was no word from Penter. She thought about calling him again, but decided against it. Maybe this was just something she needed to do on her own.

  She poured a fresh cup into a travel mug and loaded up in the Camry. Fifteen minutes later, she turned into the Blackstone Estates mobile-home park and eased into a spot in the guest lot between the sales and leasing office and the community mailboxes. She turned the engine off and wiped her hands on her jeans. She felt shaky from the adrenaline and caffeine and realized the extra cup of coffee had been a bad idea.

  She stepped out, and Penter was there, standing on the sidewalk and looking at her with a warning in his eyes. As she walked over, he said, “You’re sure you want to do this?”

  His voice carried a note of concern, something that went beyond his fear of the legal ramifications of what she was about to do.

  “I’m sure,” she said.

  “All right, then. Let’s go.”

  Until that instant, she had only expected him to try to talk her out of it.

  “You’re going with me?”

  “Yeah, but we’d better hurry before I change my mind.”

  She reached out and touched his arm. It felt good
to be this close to him again.

  They started walking. Penter said, “By the way, I heard from our mutual Army friend today. He says Gordon’s talking. He’s trying to lay everything on Stoller, but they’re picking him apart. Mixed in with the BS, though, was one thing we think is probably true. He said Stoller shot and killed Seth Martin instead of taking him to the hospital for his gunshot wound. Gordon doesn’t know where the body is, but he’s sure it happened on his property.”

  “Damn,” she said, thinking of her last moments with Stoller. “I guess that makes sense. Can’t say I’m all that sorry to hear it.”

  “I wouldn’t be either, if I were you.”

  Lillian Bailey’s single-wide was set back from the sidewalk by a narrow strip of grass. The home itself was white with brown streaks descending the walls where rain had chased the dust and pollen off the roof. There was a concrete patio off to one side. It held a handful of toys and a stroller covered with a black trash bag. Rachel climbed the wood steps and knocked on the door. A moment later, Bailey’s voice called out, “Come on in.”

  Rachel had never seen the inside. She opened the door timidly and said, “Mrs. Bailey?”

  “Come on in, I said. I ain’t gettin’ up. My feet hurt.”

  Rachel glanced back at Penter and then stepped inside. He came up behind her and closed the door.

  Bailey was near the far wall, seated in a blue rocker with one foot on a vinyl ottoman. In front of her, Brandon Bailey played with a set of Tonka trucks on the floor. Rachel saw the boy and had to close her eyes for a moment, had to force out the memory of carrying him outside, away from his dying mother.

  “Well, what do you all want?” Bailey asked.

  Rachel couldn’t speak. Couldn’t find the right words to get her started. Penter stepped forward.

  “Mrs. Bailey, my name is Ross Penter. I’m an assistant director with the State Bureau of Investigation. We’ve come to talk to you about your daughter’s case.”

  “Hmph. As far as I know, I ain’t supposed to be talkin’ to nobody from the SBI. That come straight from my lawyer.”