by Fay Robinson
“You bastard! That’s why she’d decorated her hat with a wedding theme that morning. She thought she was going to be a bride.”
“The whore thought I’d actually leave my wife for her. Instead, I hit her with a tire iron, stuffed the body in the trunk of her car and pushed it into the water. Nobody knew about that pond but me and Charlie.”
“Charlie Bagwell?”
“We had a nice little sideline going.”
Miss Eileen. Mr. Bagwell. The artifacts. Everything was horribly clear. “Oh, my God! You and he were partners!”
“Poor Mrs. Cahill,” he said with fake sincerity, shoving her toward the end of the pier and close to the dangerous water. “She went out on her pier and somehow stumbled and hit her head. She fell into the river.”
“Please don’t do this.”
He grinned, gesturing at the river. “The water was so turbulent and cold that she couldn’t swim to safety, and her body was swept downstream. Both she and her unborn child were lost. How sad.”
She began to cry, to plead for Grace’s life. “Please, you can’t do this to my baby. None of this involves her. She’s innocent.”
“Quit sniveling,” he ordered. The water swirled around their feet, nearly knocking her over.
“Mr. Bagwell got scared when Terrell came back to town, didn’t he. You killed him, too, because you were afraid he’d go to the police and confess what you two had been doing all these years.”
“Oh, I didn’t kill Charlie. My wife and I were in Atlanta visiting my mother, just like I told the cops.”
“His death was an accident?”
He laughed. “Let’s say he accidentally got himself murdered by a train.”
“But I don’t understand. If you didn’t kill him, who did?”
“That would be—” he turned her head toward the bank where a second man stood with a gun, grinning “—him. Meet my partner.”
“Hello, friend,” Deaton said.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“DAMMIT!” JACK SLAMMED down the receiver of his desk phone, then regretted it when the sound reverberated through his head. Never again would he try to drink away his troubles.
Lucky wasn’t at work and she wasn’t at the cabin. He’d left messages on her cell phone, and she hadn’t called him back. He wanted to talk to her, needed to talk to her, if he was going to keep his sanity.
Work was piled on his desk twenty folders deep, and all he could think about was his wife.
Grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair, he stalked through the division room. “Where the hell is Swain?” he asked Rogers. She stood at the copy machine. “He was supposed to give me a written progress report on his cases.”
Across the room Domingo answered for him. “He’s off, Captain. Personal business.”
“Yeah, that’s right. I remember.” Jack pressed his throbbing temples with one hand. “My head feels like it’s trying to unscrew itself today.”
“I have aspirin,” Rogers said.
“Thanks, I could use a couple.”
He followed her to her desk, where she opened her top drawer. “Here you go.” He shook two tablets into his hand and returned the bottle.
A broom handle minus the broom stood propped against the wall, and he picked it up out of curiosity. The point of a nail stuck out from the end.
“What’s this?”
“Chief rooked me into volunteering for that highway-trash detail tomorrow,” she explained. “I borrowed that so I don’t kill my back bending over. Makes it easy to spear paper, then dump it in the bag.”
Jack momentarily forgot about his headache as he examined the piece of wood and the protruding metal. A nail had been hammered into the end, then the head was clipped off and filed into a point. A double-ended nail. This spike—or a similar one—was what had punctured Charlie Bagwell’s tire and disabled his car.
“You borrowed this from the chief?” he asked, wondering if Rolly had done more than make a few case files disappear.
“Oh, no, that’s not the chief’s. It belongs to Deaton.”
Jack wasn’t so befuddled by his hangover that he lost the significance of that piece of information. His brain began to process and sort, filling in gaps, examining possibilities. He laid out all the pieces:
The crank call that morning to the box factory that had tied Jack up and kept him away from the scene of Charlie Bagwell’s death. Deaton? Probably. And if so, it also explained why the voice was mechanically altered. The dispatcher and fellow officers would have recognized it otherwise.
The screwup with procedure at the train track that Jack suspected had destroyed crucial evidence. Deaton.
The cases of artifact theft the department had worked in the past couple of years, but never solved. Deaton.
And Deaton had volunteered to go to Bagwell’s house that morning, where he’d probably emptied the shed of artifacts he and Bagwell had stolen…or made sure he hadn’t left evidence of his earlier burglary.
“Damn! I’m an idiot! The truth was in front of me all the time.”
He told Rogers to bag the broom handle, that it might be evidence in a murder case, and asked Domingo to pull all the artifact thefts Deaton had investigated for the past five years.
“Murder, sir?” Rogers asked.
Domingo rose from his chair and came over. “What’s this about?”
“I want you to get on the phone and find Deaton,” he told Rogers. “Don’t say anything about a murder. Tell him only that I want him back in the office. If he asks what’s going on, tell him you don’t know.”
“Yes, sir, but I still don’t understand.”
He started to explain when a uniformed officer came in, holding Ray by the upper arm. “Captain, this man was causing a stink out at the desk. Says he has to talk to you immediately. He insists it’s an emergency.”
“Get the hell out of here, Ray. I don’t have time to deal with you right now.”
He’d only seen his father once since that morning he’d caught him following Lucky. Jack had gone by the car wash and reminded him he wasn’t welcome in town.
“You listen to me, boy.” Ray jerked out of the officer’s grasp. “You better find time. It’s Lucky I’m here about. She may have gotten herself in a pack of trouble, and I ain’t leavin’ here until you hear what I’ve got to say.”
The officer asked if Jack wanted the man removed from the building.
“Hold on. What are you talking about, Ray? What about Lucky?”
“She’s been investigatin’ behind your back, talkin’ to that aufisic…that man with the brain problem, and she thinks she’s figured out where the body of the Eileen woman is stashed.”
“Eileen Olenick?”
“That’s the name. But she done stirred herself up a hornet’s nest over it. I think somebody was out to her place last night watchin’ her and sneakin’ about. And just now, two men in a black truck followed her from the drugstore.” He handed him a piece of paper with a license number on it. “Didn’t know the one drivin’, but I recognized the other. That Deaton fella who’s supposed to be a friend of hers.”
“Oh, hell!”
“Never liked the looks of him. Smiles too much.”
Jack handed the paper to Domingo. Although he was pretty sure he already knew who the owner of the truck was, he told Domingo to run the tag, anyway.
“Ray, you’re right. She’s in danger. Do you know where she was headed?”
“To her house.”
“Rogers, follow us in your car and arrange for backup. Come on, Ray. You’re riding with me. You have some explaining to do.”
“NO, DEATON…not you.” Lucky wept, the betrayal more than she could bear. “Why?”
“I couldn’t let old Charlie mess up a good thing. He’d gotten scared, with Terrell back in town, started whining and wanting out of the partnership. I simply obliged him.”
“But you were only a child when Miss Eileen disappeared. You couldn’t have been involved in her de
ath or the thefts from that far back.”
“I wasn’t. I didn’t even know until a couple of years ago, when the chief asked me to assist in a case, that anyone could make money from Indian relics. When I found out Paul and Charlie were responsible, I cut myself in for a third of the action. Now with Charlie out of the way, that percentage has gone up a whole heap.”
“But you’re a police officer.”
“A poorly paid one.”
“A few pots and implements aren’t worth someone’s life!”
He shrugged, not seeming to care what he’d done. “A guy’s got to make a living.”
She felt damp suddenly and realized her water had broken. Another contraction started and she tried to grab her stomach, but Hightower jerked her upright.
“Please don’t do this, Deaton. We’ve been friends all our lives.”
“Sorry, Lucky. I like you. I really do.” He clucked his tongue. “If only you hadn’t told me about your visit to Terrell and how you thought you could communicate with him…”
“You can’t believe you’ll get away with this.”
“Already have. That husband of yours thinks he’s some hotshot investigator, but he hasn’t got a clue about what’s been going on. I’ve been screwing things up right under his nose, and he doesn’t even suspect.”
“You’re wrong. He’ll figure it out. And if you kill me and his child, I guarantee there’s nowhere on earth you’ll be able to hide from him.”
“Well, then, maybe I’ll just kill him, too.”
“No!”
He walked down the pier and took Hightower’s place. He grabbed her by the hair, nearly pulling it out by the roots. “Time to go in the water, sweet cakes.”
“Deaton, please! My baby!”
“Ah, now, Lucky, don’t be a girl.”
JACK DROVE THE ROADS like a maniac, sirens blaring, searing the blacktop and fishtailing through the gummy mud of the unpaved roads. The cabin was less than five miles from the police station, but he feared they might already be too late.
Ray sat in the passenger seat, clutching the dash with one hand and Jack’s cell phone with the other, trying to reach Lucky. Rogers followed in her car.
“Keep calling,” Jack ordered his father. “Try the house.” He barked out the number.
“Nothin’,” Ray said. “I’m gettin’ machines.”
Dispatch said that three patrol units were on their way for backup and that the sheriff’s department had also been alerted. Domingo had run the tag of the black truck, the operator said, and it belonged to ranger Paul Hightower.
“Is that good or bad?” Ray asked.
“Bad. Very bad.”
As they raced ahead, Ray quickly filled him in on what Lucky had told him that day, including the details of her visit to Terrell Wade. Jack wondered what Lucky and Ray were doing having lunch, but that could wait until later.
“Dammit!” he yelled in frustration. “She should have come to me.”
“She was going to. Told me she’d lay it all out for you this afternoon, but wanted to get that picture first.”
“I mean earlier. She has no idea what she’s gotten herself into. They’ll kill her!”
SIRENS IN THE DISTANCE made Deaton hesitate.
“Cops!” Hightower yelled. “Let’s get outta here.” He took off toward the drive.
“Come back!” Deaton screamed at him.
“It’s Jack,” Lucky told him, praying it was and not some fire truck headed in another direction. “You’d better run, too.”
“Shut up!” He jerked her hard by the hair, nearly making her lose her balance.
“He outsmarted you. If you give up now, you might get life in prison, but kill me and you’ll go to the electric chair. He’ll see to it.”
“I said shut up!”
He raised the gun to strike her, his face contorted with rage at being thwarted, but this time Lucky wasn’t going to be so easily subdued. She grabbed his hand with both of hers and fought for her life and her child’s.
AT THE LAST CURVE before the driveway branched off, Jack saw a black truck backed into a power line right-of-way in the woods. He got on the radio. “Rogers. Black truck coming up on your right. Stop and check it out. Remember Deaton is a suspect in a murder. Consider him armed and dangerous.” He turned to Ray. “We’re almost there. I want you to stay in the car and keep your head down. Is that clear?”
“No way.” As in every squad and unmarked car, a pump shotgun stood mounted against the seat. Ray pulled it out. “This will do.”
“Like hell it will!” Jack took it away and snapped it back in the brackets. “You’re a convicted felon. You can’t be running around with a gun.”
“I ain’t stayin’ in the car if my sweet pea’s in trouble.”
“Dammit it, Ray! I can’t help her if I have to worry about you getting hurt.”
“You ain’t never worried about me before, so don’t start now.”
Jack swore again. There was so much between them that he couldn’t forget—or completely forgive—but Ray was wrong if he thought Jack had never cared. “Back seat,” he snapped. “Black box. Inside it are several stun guns.”
“Well, now you’re talkin’!” Ray reached over and grabbed the box.
Jack was certain Deaton had used such a device to immobilize Charlie Bagwell, thus the paired marks on Bagwell’s neck.
“Get the one with the orange handle,” he told Ray. “You don’t have to be close enough to press the muzzle against the body. It shoots from a distance and uses tethers to fire the charge. The voltage will keep a man down for thirty minutes or more.”
“Gotcha,” Ray said, pulling it out.
“Don’t play hero. Watch your back. And, Ray, after this is over, the two of us need to settle some things.”
“Glad to oblige.”
Jack swallowed hard. Despite everything, he still had feelings for the old coot. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Ray looked at him in surprise, then grinned. “Me, too. Kinda like old times, ain’t it? Me and you. Partners again.”
“Don’t press your luck, old man.”
Ray chuckled. “I hear you, son.”
Jack took the turn without slowing, nearly hitting a tree, and barreled down the quarter-mile driveway. At the end he slid to a stop behind Lucky’s truck, hitting Hightower, who bounced off the hood, rolled to his feet and kept running toward the road. Jack could hear the sirens of the approaching backup vehicles.
“I got this one!” Ray yelled as they both jumped out.
Ray flew one way and Jack the other. As Jack rounded the corner of the cabin, he saw Lucky struggling with Deaton on the pier. Terror nearly stopped his heart. He raced forward with his gun drawn. Deaton hit Lucky hard in the face, and Jack roared with rage. “Leave her alone!”
“Stop!” Deaton yelled as Jack reached the pier. He had no choice but to obey.
Deaton now had his forearm around Lucky’s throat and his gun to her side. She coughed and gasped for air as he pressed against her windpipe. Her eyes were wide with fright. Blood ran from her lips.
“I’ll kill her!” Deaton screamed at him. “I swear it!” He forced her to the edge. Holding on to her only by the back of her sweatshirt, he let her hang precariously over the dangerous water.
The sirens of the arriving backup units drew closer. Behind him Jack could hear doors slamming and radios squawking, could hear the other officers approaching. But his eyes were riveted on the two people in front of him.
“You’re a smart guy,” Jack said slowly, trying to express calm. “You know how these things always go down.”
“Yeah,” Deaton said, and Jack didn’t like the look in his eyes.
“Let her go.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
Deaton fired. And let Lucky fall into the river.
THIS TIME IT WASN’T a dream and the water wasn’t blue; it was the color of cocoa. But unlike cocoa, it was so icy that Lucky could barely feel her arms and
legs. The only warm place was on her right side, where the pain seared her like a hot poker.
Instead of floating like in Terrell’s painting, she was carried along by the swift current, forced to go where the water dictated. Her only thought: survival. If she couldn’t save herself, then Grace was lost. She had to stay conscious long enough to be found, and will herself not to think about the damage the bullet might have done to her child.
Something bumped up against her. She reached out and clung to it with every bit of strength she had left.
BEFORE DEATON COULD FIRE again, Jack was on him. The horrifying sound of the gunshot, the sight of Lucky’s body falling into the water, robbed him of reason. Out of control, he hit Deaton again and again with his fists until the man lay limp on the pier.
Four officers rushed forward to pull him off. When he tried to dive into the water after Lucky, they held him down, shouting that he’d only be risking his own life. But he didn’t care. Without her, he was a dead man, anyway.
Rogers had arrived to command. “Captain, listen to me!” she yelled. He still lay prostrate, his arms and legs pinned by the men. Rogers was beside him on her knees. “We need you to get control of yourself. She may still be alive. Do you understand? Help me coordinate a search.”
The words penetrated his rage. Alive. Search. Rogers was right. He had to keep hoping.
“Let me up!” He struggled against those who held him.
“Can you be calm?” Rogers asked. “You’re not helping this way.”
“Yes,” he said, ceasing to resist. “Tell them to let me go.”
Rogers had Deaton removed first, out of Jack’s reach, and placed in a squad car. “Okay, release him.”
Jack stood, trying desperately to clear his head and think what to do. “Lucky’s boat,” he said, glancing around for it. He cursed as he saw it on the trailer, up on the ramp. She’d probably asked Cal to put it there, to keep her boat safe from the floodwaters.
“Too small, Captain. I’ve called the water-rescue squad. Help me coordinate a ground search of the bank. She may have made it to shore.”
“Good idea.” Thank God someone had remained sane.
