Whether it had worked its way to the forefront of her brain or was still lodged somewhere in her subconscious, the end result was the same.
She knew.
There was no question in Sasquatch’s mind. No amount of hand-wringing and self-recrimination would help. There was only one choice now, only one possibility.
It was time for action.
Tess O’Connell could not be permitted to make use of what she knew. Most of all, she could not be permitted to tell what she knew, not in a newspaper article or anywhere else. She had to be silenced.
Blackmail? Bribery? All interesting possibilities, but Sasquatch knew ultimately they would not be successful. Even if she accepted, there would always be a partly opened door, the possibility that she would change her mind, that she would want more. That she would fall in love or get drunk or get greedy and say too much.
No. No halfway measures would be acceptable. She had to be silenced—and in the only ultimately reliable way.
The fatal way.
Chapter 31
“WHAT’S THE MATTER WITH you? Don’t you have a clue what’s going on out there?”
The sharp tone in Ben’s voice would’ve seemed harsh if he were speaking to an axe murderer. The fact that he was speaking to his trial judge, Judge Tyrone J. Pickens, made it extraordinary.
“This town is in an uproar! Everyone’s taking sides, hissing and cursing. You’ve got demonstrations in the street. Protests, blockades. Two fistfights in the city park. I got beaned by a rock on my way into the courtroom!”
Judge Pickens’s face was twisted up in a knot. His pursed lips were like floodgates, doing everything possible to hold back his rising temper. “Listen here, Mr. Kincaid. I don’t need to be lectured by some whippersnapper who just strolled into town.”
“Evidently you do.”
Pickens was livid. Steam rose from his judicial robes.
“Last night the Green Rage camp was destroyed. And I mean destroyed. Nothing was left. Thousands of dollars of equipment was ruined.”
“Which doesn’t even approach what your friends have cost the logging companies,” Granny noted. She was staying at her table, remaining calm. Of course she could afford to, Ben realized. She didn’t have to be an advocate when she had the judge doing it for her.
“Some members of the Green Rage team were seriously injured last night. Beaten. Even whipped. One of them is still in the hospital.”
“Is this true?” Judge Pickens asked.
“A complaint has been made,” Granny said. “We’re investigating. As to whether it’s true, well, with these people it’s hard to tell.”
“Hard to tell?” Ben’s voice was approaching shrieking level; he tried to calm himself. “Sheriff Allen himself was a witness!”
Granny shrugged. “Like I said, we’re investigating. But as of this time, we have no idea who was behind the alleged attack.”
“Could we please stop playing games for just one minute? We all know perfectly well who was behind the attack. We may not know their names, but we know who it was.”
“Even if that’s true,” Judge Pickens said, “I fail to see the relevance. This is not an environmental tribunal. We’re trying a murder case.”
“We’re going to have jurors, aren’t we?”
Pickens nodded.
“And the jurors are going to come from around here, aren’t they?”
“Yes, of course, but—”
“How can we hope to pretend that the jury can be unbiased and unaffected by all the turmoil? This city is up in arms.”
“It’s not my fault your man is a terrorist. We all pay for the sins of our past.
“It’s not a sin to want your grandchildren to know what a forest looks like,” Ben said. “But it would be a sin to allow George Zakin to be railroaded just because the community is in a stir about eco-terrorists. Regardless of the evidence, the jury will associate him with the turmoil in the community. Even if only subconsciously, they’ll vote guilty in the hope that it will put their anxiety to rest.”
“You’ll have the right to question the jurors during voir dire,” Pickens said. “And I can promise you I won’t allow any irrelevant matters to be brought up during trial.”
“But eco-terrorism is not irrelevant,” Granny said, rising to her feet. “To the contrary, the defendant’s political and environmental beliefs form the basis for … one theory of motive.”
“You see?” Ben said. “You know what she’s saying? She’s saying she has no intention of avoiding those irrelevant matters. Just the opposite. She’s going to fan the flames and milk the controversy for everything it’s worth. She’s going to try to whip the jury into a frenzy, to try to scare them into voting guilty.”
Pickens shook his head. “I will say this only one more time, Mr. Kincaid. I will not permit anyone to make an improper argument in my courtroom. At the same time, I can’t prevent the prosecution from pursuing their theory of motive.”
In other words, Ben thought, you don’t plan to do a damn thing. “Judge, please—this is not right. You’ve got to stop this from happening.”
“What do you expect me to do? Cancel the trial? Set your man free?”
“No. Just move the trial somewhere else. Grant my motion for a change of venue.”
“I’ve already ruled on that motion.”
“I’m urging it again.”
“Mr. Kincaid, once I’ve ruled—”
“Your honor, the circumstances have changed. This town has changed.”
Pickens’s voice rose sharply. “I will not revisit a matter that has already been resolved. I gave your motion my full and complete consideration at the appropriate time. I will not second-guess every decision throughout the course of the trial.”
“Then at least grant me a continuance, your honor. Postpone the trial for a week, maybe two. Give the town some time to cool down.”
“That’s what this is all about, isn’t it, Kincaid? A delay game. You delay the trial by changing the venue, by postponing the start date. Buying your man time.”
“Your honor, that’s not—”
“Well, I won’t be a party to it. This murder trial will begin Monday morning, as scheduled. And that’s the end of it.”
“Your honor, please!”
Pickens pointed his gavel at Ben. “Kincaid, I’ve already ruled.”
“But—”
“Kincaid, if I hear one more word out of you, I’ll have you locked up!”
Ben bit down on his lip.
“I’ve put up with you as long as I have because I know you’re from out of town. Maybe it’s considered acceptable to treat the court in this contemptuous manner where you come from, but I will not tolerate it. Understand me?”
Ben slowly nodded, smoldering.
“Now I expect you to be in this courtroom ready to try your case Monday morning at nine sharp. And no more bellyaching, whining, or trying to get out of it. Got it?”
Ben wanted to say something, but thought better of it. He could see the sergeant at arms edging closer, just waiting for Judge Pickens to give him the nod. “Got it. Your honor.”
“Good. I’m glad we understand each other. You need anything, Granny?”
“Not at all,” she said, smiling. “The prosecution is ready to proceed.”
“I’m glad to hear someone is.” He banged his gavel. “This pretrial hearing is ended.”
Everyone in the courtroom who wasn’t already standing rose, and barely a second later, Pickens had disappeared into chambers.
Granny offered Ben a smile. “Smooth work with the judge,” she said. “I think you’re really starting to grow on him.”
Ben gathered his things and left.
Ben hadn’t been on the street for five minutes before he stumbled across trouble. There was a crowd gathering off Garfield, not far from Bunyan’s. About forty people were huddled together in two distinct groups. He couldn’t make out any of the many voices he heard, but he could tell the voices were
loud. And angry.
As he approached, he saw Deirdre and Doc and Molly and two other Green Rage team members. He was glad to see they were all right. Apparently they had been at the camp when the strike team arrived to destroy it. They’d had to flee, before they became victims like the others.
Most of the onlookers, the ones in the larger group, were loggers, or so Ben guessed. A few appeared to be mere spectators, locals probably, passersby attracted by the noise and conflict. But Ben noticed that all of them were standing behind the loggers. Green Rage stood alone.
“I want to know who did it!” Deirdre was screaming. “And I want to know now!
The response was loud and confused. There was no designated speaker for the loggers; several spoke at once. Ben managed to pick up some pieces. “Don’t know what you’re talking about” and “Go back where you came from.” Another voice rang out from the back: “Not like your people ain’t destroyed our stuff!”
“That’s different. This was scientific equipment. It couldn’t have been used to hurt anyone or anything.”
“Tell it to someone who cares!” the voice in the rear shouted.
“Three of my friends have been hurt,” Deirdre said. “One of them is in the hospital. He’s been whipped! Do you understand what I’m saying? Whipped!”
More scattered, simultaneous responses. “Don’t know nothin’ ’bout it” and “Probably deserved it.” The crowd became louder and jeering. Several people shot unkind epithets in Deirdre’s direction, most relating to her appearance or making sexual innuendos.
“And he wasn’t the only one!” Molly added. “A woman was whipped last night. A bunch of tough lumberjacks against a defenseless woman! Now I want to know which one of you he-men had to prove your stud status by whipping a woman.”
The crowd became more subdued. Apparently this bit of information was not yet common knowledge.
“We will not be frightened off!” Deirdre cried. “We will not let you destroy the forest!”
That brought the crowd back to life again. The shouting rose to a fever pitch. Fists were clenched. The two groups moved closer together.
Ben cut his way through the ranks, trying to intercede. “Deirdre, what are you doing? You’re not a rabble-rouser.”
“They destroyed my gear,” Deirdre said, a catch in her throat. “They almost killed my—Rick. I have to do something.”
“But this isn’t accomplishing anything.”
The corner of her lips turned slightly. “You might be surprised.”
“All this is doing is stirring up more unrest. Now let’s stop it.”
Deirdre glanced over Ben’s shoulder. “Well, perhaps you’re right.”
“I know I am.” He turned to face the loggers. “That’s it, folks. Show’s over. Go home.”
Grumbling and swearing, the crowd dispersed. A moment later, Deirdre said good-bye and started moving away with her Green Rage companions.
Three of the loggers had been driving pickups. Almost simultaneously, the pickups roared to life, shot into drive, lurched out of the parking lot …
And crashed. One after the other, the chassis dropped out from the bottoms of the trucks and crashed skidding onto the pavement, sparks flying.
The crowd, barely dispersed, began to regroup.
“Look!”
“What the—”
“What happened?”
What happened was immediately apparent. During the heated argument, chains had been tied to the rear axles of each of the three trucks. The other ends had been tied to a nearby lamppost. As soon as the trucks shot out of the lot and drove the length of the chain, the chain went taut and jerked the chassis out from under each truck.
Each of the three loggers jumped out of the cabs of their trucks, spewing anger and confusion.
“It was all a distraction!” someone in the crowd yelled. “The blond bitch held our attention while the others chained the pickups!”
“Where are they?” one of the loggers yelled.
“There they are!” a small boy shouted, pointing down Garfield. “They’re getting away!”
“Get ’em!”
All at once, every logger in sight gave out a yell and started charging down the street. The Green Rage group heard the noise and started running. Ben only hoped they had the Jeep nearby, but he didn’t see it. The loggers were moving much faster than the Ragers. At that rate, they’d catch up in minutes.
And then Magic Valley would have a full-fledged riot on its hands.
Ben swore silently. He didn’t approve of this Green Rage stunt any more than he had the previous ones. But he didn’t want to see Deirdre and the others massacred, and that’s what would happen if this mob caught up with them.
Ben’s first instinct was to run after them, to try to help. But he knew he couldn’t do much to even the odds. They needed some serious assistance. The law enforcement kind.
Much as it pained him, Ben turned the other direction and raced toward Sheriff Allen’s office at the courthouse. He just hoped someone was in.
And he just hoped they could get back before it was too late.
Chapter 32
“WHAT THE HELL IS THAT racket?”
Tess pushed the drapes to the side and peered outside. There was a major commotion on the street, but it wasn’t close enough that she could see anything.
Every time Tess heard a noise from the street, she jumped three feet. And in the last few minutes, there had been a lot of noises.
Stay calm, girl, she told herself, as if that might actually do some good. You’ve been in tighter scrapes than this. Did you panic when the police caught you going through Madonna’s luggage? Did you turn to jelly when Sean Penn took a shot at you? Of course not. You’re a grown-up and a journalist—a journalist with a hell of a story to tell.
If she could only live long enough to tell it.
She had retraced all her steps, all her thoughts, all her conversations in her mind. Everything she had seen or heard since she first came to this backwater burg. And she had convinced herself she knew who killed Dwayne Gardiner. The killer had made a fatal error.
The only problem was that she was certain the killer would soon recognize the error, too. And as soon as that happened, the killer would be trying to remedy the mistake.
And the only way to remedy the mistake was to eliminate one Tess O’Connell.
She threw all her clothes and belongings haphazardly into her small suitcase. The clothes would be a mess when she arrived home—if she arrived home—but at the moment, fashion gaffes were the least of her concerns. She grabbed the bag, crossed the room in three giant steps, and flung open the door.
An instant after she opened it, she heard the sound of another door closing. It wasn’t a loud sound. It almost wasn’t there at all; it was more like a whisper, a soft whooshing of air. But she had heard it. At least she thought she had.
Why would someone close his door the instant she opened hers? Unless someone was watching her. Someone who didn’t want to be seen.
She bit down on her knuckle. That was the problem with paranoia—it wasn’t always unjustified. But when you were the paranoid one, it was impossible to know which concerns were ridiculous and which concerns might get your head blown off.
Well, she couldn’t spend the rest of her life in her room—not if she wanted to get this story in print. She didn’t even have a fax machine here. And she wasn’t going to give up this Pulitzer sure-bet.
She took a deep breath and plunged into the hallway. So far, so good—no one jumped out of a hidey-hole with machine guns blazing. She walked rapidly down the corridor, dragging her suitcase behind her. She was glad she’d learned to pack light; she didn’t need anything weighing her down.
She paced the full length of the corridor, then took a right turn and made a beeline for the elevator bank. When she reached the elevators, she slowed. Her footsteps stopped.
But someone else’s didn’t. Not right away, that is. She stopped, and then a he
artbeat later, so did someone else. Almost perfectly in step with her. But not quite.
Tess felt an icy grip at the base of her spine. Someone was following her. And there was only one person who would have a motive to do that—
To hell with the elevators. She ducked into the adjoining stairwell and raced down the stairs, baggage bumping every step behind her. A few years before, when she had been determined to lose the unwanted and unneeded extra ten pounds she wore around her waist, she had started walking the stairs every day during lunch hour. Since the LA. skyscraper she worked in had over forty floors, it was pretty strenuous exercise. Once up and down and she was usually bushed.
She just hoped she had retained some of those skills. Magic Valley wasn’t LA.; it was only five flights down. But at the moment, five flights seemed like an endless expanse.
She had almost made it to the fourth floor when she heard a pneumatic release of air. Someone else had opened the door. Someone else was in the stairwell.
She was not alone.
She tossed aside the suitcase. What did she need with a lot of clothes and underarm deodorant anyway? She had her money in her purse. What she needed was to make it to her rental car. Alive.
She was in a full-out run now, no holds barred. She raced down the stairs as fast as she could without falling, taking the steps two at a time whenever possible. She was making good time now—the third floor, the second …
But she could still hear the footsteps behind her, and they were moving just as fast. Whoever was chasing her seemed determined not to let her escape.
Tess hit the ground floor running. She thought about hailing the bell captain, trying to get help. But what if he wasn’t at his station, what if she didn’t make it in time? It all seemed too risky, in her panicked state. She didn’t want to be trapped in this hotel a second longer. She wanted to be in her car, leaving the whole town in her dust.
She crossed the lobby quickly and headed for the parking garage. The hotel had valet parking, but the valet wasn’t there. Just as well—she could do it faster herself. She snatched her keys from the pegboard at the valet station, then barreled into the parking garage scanning for space number twenty-two.
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