by Paula Boyd
Me? Prepared? Armed? Shoot someone I shouldn’t? "Um, Jerry, I’m not so sure--"
"Backup’s on the way," he said matter-of-factly. "This is just a precaution. Now, unsnap the holster and slide the pistol out."
Backup was Leroy and that wasn’t much comfort. Rather than dwell on that, I just did what I was told. I held the pistol in my lap, released the safety, pulled back the slide and chambered a round, then flipped the safety back up and re-holstered the pistol. I had practiced flipping the safety off with my thumb so I knew I could do it quickly--or could when there wasn't nothing riding on it, like life and death. "Okay, I’m ready."
We climbed out of the truck and closed the doors, but we did not race for the building.
"He could pick us off from the window if he wanted to," I said, still standing by the car.
"He could have shot us in the car if he’d wanted to."
Good point. "So, what do we do?"
"I don’t see a choice," Jerry said matter-of-factly. "There’s only one way up to that office. We go in the open door."
I sucked in a deep breath and stared the top floor office just above the door. "He’s at the window."
"Yes."
"I can’t see Mother."
"She’s okay, Jolene. We’ll get her out of there."
Yes, we would. Whether Pollock came out alive was a separate issue. I glanced back up at the tall window and saw movement as Pollock put his nose to the window. He waved and ended it with a little kissy pucker. "Did you see what he did? Did you see that? I’m going to kill him. Right now."
"Jolene, stop it. You’re giving him exactly what he wants--a reaction. Don’t," Jerry said as we neared the building. "You've got to keep your head."
Easy for Mr. Trained Sheriff to say. But I knew he was right. Jumping like a trained seal at Pollock's juvenile baiting made me both predictable and ineffective, to say the least. "I can do this," I said, as much to myself as to Jerry as we took the last few steps to the front of the school.
Jerry stopped at the open door, below the window, where Pollock couldn’t see us. He glanced inside and whispered. "You remember the basic layout?"
I nodded.
"What about when we get upstairs?"
Yeah, that part I knew only too well. Pollock's office had been at the very top of the stairs next to the library. I'd had a variety of unpleasant moments--not to mention photographic reminders--to cement those memories. "I'm good."
"Just take it easy, Jolene. Everything Pollock's done points to a need to explain himself. He wants to tell us why he’s doing what he’s doing."
Yeah, killers had emotional need too. "We're walking into some kind of trap, Jerry, and you know it."
"If there was another way, I'd be doing it. He wants something, no doubt about that, and you're the key. It's going to be okay. Leroy will be here in a few minutes."
Jerry's faith in the cavalry--i.e. Leroy Harper--was considerably stronger than mine. "Maybe we should put a note on the door for him. Something like: We’re upstairs with a crazy man--save us, but be sneaky."
Jerry sighed and shook his head. "Stay behind me," he said, stepping through the door.
Even without Pollock lurking upstairs to kill us, walking into my old high school was like walking into my old teenage traumatic history. Having Jerry again beside me made it surreal.
There had been some updating done to the interior, but all in all it looked pretty much as it had in the seventies. A new ramp for wheelchair access had been added just inside the door next to the same old short set of stairs. The heavy doors hadn’t been modified with any automatic openers that I could see, but I supposed they’d sort of complied with the access regulation.
Just to the left was what used to be the district superintendent’s office. The sign now read "Counselor," which was definitely different since all our counseling back then had been done with a large wooden paddle. A few more steps and we were in the center of a wide hallway, brown lockers lining each side as far as you could see. My mind went blank for a second and my heart pounded. The lockers. Yes, I’d been terrified of the double rows of lockers that went up and down the hall as far as you could see. I spent the first few weeks of every year in a state of perpetual anxiety, afraid I wouldn't remember the number of my locker, the combination of the lock or even where the stupid thing was located. I’d had nightmares about it--opening the wrong one, searching and searching for my things, people laughing. Oh, yeah, I was glad to be back here for so many reasons.
I blinked away my adolescent anxieties and looked at the place for what it really was--a small school. Very small compared to the mega-schools my own children were forced to endure. At the time, however, this place had been very large and very scary. A wistful moment swept over me. Yes, there had been bad times here, but for the most part, I’d had a very sheltered and idyllic school life--one my kids had never known and few would ever know again.
"It’s clear, Jolene," Jerry said, breaking into my thoughts. "I’ll go up the stairs first. Stay to the side behind me."
I nodded and followed him across the foyer. The wide staircase went up halfway to a landing then turned back on itself. At the top of the stairs you could turn left into the library or go straight into the principal’s office. Pollock’s old office--where he was holed up now, where I’d started off my senior year as his office assistant and would-be play thing, if he'd had his way. That thought, along with the fact that my mother was up there right now in a worse situation, made me want to skip the foreplay, race on up the stairs and shoot the bastard. "Fine," I muttered.
Jerry and I walked up the stairs, scanning behind us, below us and at the overlook above. When we reached the top of the stairs, we stayed to the side, out of direct line of sight of the office doors. The outer office looked unoccupied but the second door stood open, giving us a partial view of the old principal’s office. I hadn’t gotten a real good look, but I’d seen a heavy wood desk positioned in front of the window, facing the door--the same way it had been for the fateful photo shoot.
The library doors directly to the left were closed, but Jerry made a quick check of them anyway then worked his way to the outer office door. After a few seconds and a wave of his hand, I followed. I was just stepping up beside Jerry when Pollock appeared in front of us.
"Just like old times, huh?" He laughed at his own wit, then leaned a hand on the doorframe and grinned. "They sure fucked up the offices though."
I was stunned. Yeah, his language had definitely slapped me across the face, but it was actually seeing him that was the real hit.
He looked even older than he had in the picture with Red White. Oh, no doubt about his identity, but the years had drawn heavy lines across his face, and his hair had thinned and turned snow white. He was still, however, a snappy dresser. He stood maybe five-seven and wore a navy blue sport coat with a white knit shirt beneath, dark denim jeans, black sport loafers, flashy gold watch and ring, and that same old "I’m hot stuff" attitude.
"You’re staring, Jolene," Pollock said, chuckling a little. "I may look like shit, honey, but you look better than ever." He winked. "Knew you would."
Breathe, Jolene, breathe. "Where’s my mother?"
Pollock ignored me and extended his hand to Jerry. "Good to see you, Sheriff Parker."
Jerry nodded, but did not reach to shake hands, and when I looked closer, I saw why. He had his gun pointed at Pollock’s chest. "Where’s Miz Jackson?"
Pollock dropped his arm and his pretense. "In here. Nothing to get worked up over."
Oh, I begged to differ. Abducting my mother was more than plenty to get me worked up over. And if he’d even so much as threatened to hurt her, he was a dead man.
We all filed through the outer room and into the main office. Pollock strutted to the front of the desk, but Jerry and I stopped just inside the doorway.
My first glimpse of Lucille was from the back, her back ramrod stiff and her pink head bobbing from side to side.
Loud warning bells clanged about the time I noticed the loops of rope behind the chair. He’d tied her up! I glanced over to be sure that Jerry still had Pollock in his sights then ran to my mother. "You sorry son of a--"
"Now, now, Jolene," Pollock said. "There’s no need for that. I’m the one who spouts foul language, not you. I am a son of a bitch though. You got that one right."
I knelt beside the chair to assess the situation. Was she hurt?
Mother’s feet were loose to tap on the floor--and were doing so energetically--but her hands were tied at the wrist with nylon cord--a red and white braid rather than yellow, for whatever that was worth.
I gave her a quick smile and started working the knots of cord loose. There might have been some moisture in her eyes, but I didn’t look long enough to know for sure. It wouldn’t have helped my composure any to know my mother was crying.
"Here you go, sweetheart," Pollock said, tapping me on the shoulder.
I jerked around and saw a pocket knife, almost identical to the one found near Russell Clements. "But do us all a favor and wait a few minutes. I really wanted to talk to you two without being interrupted." He winked again. "Lucille will forgive me."
I snatched the knife. "You tied my mother to a chair and put a gag in her mouth! So you could talk to us? Are you nuts?"
He leaned his head back and laughed, exposing straight white teeth. "Yeah, some say I am. Wouldn’t have done it if she’d have just shut up. Kind of got backed into a corner on that one."
Yeah, I bet. I pulled out a blade and began hacking away at the cord near her wrists. That didn’t work so well, so I used the tip of the blade to pry at a one of the knots. It seemed to be loosening fairly easy, but there were about fifteen to go. And, yes, I realize I could have un-gagged her and I could have been hurrying a little more. But I knew as well as anybody what was going to happen once she was loose. And it would not be pretty.
"Consider yourself under arrest, Mr. Pollock," Jerry said, stepping closer to me and Mother.
"Too much paperwork," I said, picking away at the rope. "Why don’t I just rip out his kidneys, stuff them in his ears and then dump him in the lake? No one will ever know."
Pollock cackled like a hoarse hyena. He kept it up until he’d laughed himself into a coughing fit. After he regained control, he leaned a hip on the edge of the desk, propped his forearm on this thigh and swung his leg in an arrogant cocky pose I remembered only too well. "That’s what I always liked about you, Jolene. Passion!" He laughed again. "And what a tease you were. The verbal foreplay was fun for a while, wasn’t it? I think you even liked me touching you. Got the old blood to pumping, didn’t it? Sure did mine."
He had to die. No two ways about it. And I wouldn’t need the pistol on my hip either. Nope, I’d do it with my bare hands. And furthermore, I’d enjoy it. Yes, I saw a justifiable homicide in my immediate future.
He grinned, a wild light in his eyes. "Always stood just a little closer than I needed to, didn’t I? A nudge of my hips that might or might not have been intentional, a finger along your rib cage that made you suck in your breath…" He shook his head, still grinning. "What an arrogant prick I was. Ah, but the memories..."
I sat there in the floor, in shock, staring at him, appalled at his confessions, yet mesmerized by them all the same. Jerry and Mother must have been experiencing the same sort of dazed disbelief because no one said a word--except Pollock.
"In retrospect, the kiss was a bad decision," he said, shaking his head. "But seeing you sitting right there, in my chair." He turned and nodded behind the desk. "Beauty, youth, passion, desire for power, even your smile, it all came together and, well, I honestly forgot anyone else was around. By the time I realized what I was doing, it was already too late." He graced us with a generous and twinkling smile. "I did manage to stop myself with only a little peck. Pretty good save, if you ask me."
I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. Too many thoughts--most of them intensely evil and ultimately homicidal--collided in my head all at once.
"I was a kid, you pervert," I spat. "Furthermore, I remember things a little differently." I had so much to say, so many statements to refute, so many vile names to call him, but where to start? "Why Rhonda?" I said, frowning as the words slipped out.
"Rhonda?"
I frowned. Had I said that? And why? Of all the things running through my head, why ask him about Rhonda Davenport? I knew why. Because as bad as he’d been to me, he’d been much worse to Rhonda and it had literally ruined her life. "Why?"
"She was there and needy." He shrugged. "These things happen."
My nostrils flared and a flush of anger swept through me as I came out of my stupor. As ridiculous as it might be, what he did to Rhonda--and how he felt about it--angered me more than what he’d done to me. At least he admitted being attracted to me. He hadn’t said a word about that with Rhonda, just that she was there and needy. And exactly what did that mean? The slimy, disgusting bastard…
Mother had apparently come out of her shock and was mumbling against her gag. I turned so I could keep an eye on Pollock and began working on the rope again. The sooner we got out of there the better.
"You knew Rhonda was carrying your child," Jerry said evenly. "And paid Calvin Holt to take her away."
"No on both counts," Pollock said, shaking his head and still perched on the edge of the desk. "Didn’t know a thing about her being pregnant until Nadine brought it up during the divorce. Don’t know anything about the Holt boy."
Jerry said, "If I’d known what all you--"
"Nothing you could have done, kid." Pollock waved his hand in dismissal. "That girl was so screwed up she made me seem normal. Believe it or not, I actually got involved with her because I felt sorry for her. What a bastard, huh?"
I pulled apart the last knot, then unwound the cord from around Mother and tossed it aside. Hoping she didn’t leap from the chair and knock me down, I stood and walked around behind her to remove the cloth gag. The knots were small and tight so I had no choice but to use Pollock’s pocket knife. "Notice nobody’s arguing with you, Willie," I said. "I think we all agree you are indeed the scum of the earth."
"Well, that's why I'm here--to find her and make it up to her. She still live around here?"
I glanced at Pollock, trying to see if he was serious. He looked sincere, but it's hard to tell with pathological liars.
"Rhonda lived in Redwater Falls. Or did, until she was murdered, probably sometime Sunday," Jerry said. "She was killed after Calvin Holt and before Red White."
Pollock stopped swinging his leg and hopped off the desk, the creases in his face deepening. "Red? Dead? Somebody killed Red? He's dead? Are you sure?"
"Red White of Abilene," Jerry confirmed. "Drove an old white Ford truck."
"Best friend you ever had," I added, quoting the words on the photo from the box. "I got the box--and the pictures."
Pollock stared for a moment, his jaw hanging open. "He drove up Friday morning to check out the addresses I’d given him, just to make sure they were all current." He turned his back to us and faced the window. "We were supposed to meet tonight at the hotel."
Either he was an exceptionally good actor or he really hadn't known about the murders.
"All of them. Dead." He turned back toward us. "Damn, but this sounds bad. What’s going on here?"
Jerry gave him the encapsulated version while I removed Mother’s gag. To my great surprise, Mother did not make a dive for Pollock, nor did she screech at the top of her lungs. She rubbed her mouth vigorously, then said, "You certainly took your good old sweet time about getting here, and you surely didn’t get in any hurry with those ropes either." She drew another ragged breath, shot to her feet and squared her shoulders. "I’ve had enough of this mess," she announced. "I’m going home."
Pollock grabbed a key ring off the desk and held it out. "Here, Lucille, take the Caddy. I’m really sorry about tying you up. Another bad decision, I’m afraid."
Luci
lle did not hesitate. She marched over to him, gave him a double dose of the evil eye, balled her fist up and punched him in the gut. As he doubled over, she snatched the keys from his hand and marched out the door.
I was not the least bit shocked at my mother’s behavior. I was, however, highly grateful that she did not have her purse--and the Glock--with her, otherwise, I feared the temptation would have been entirely too much for her and she would have either shot or bludgeoned him to death. Personally, I was good with it either way.
While Pollock moaned and hacked, I motioned to Jerry that I was going to escort Mother to the car. She had a few seconds’ head start on me so this was not nearly as easy as it sounded. The woman speedwalks the mall for fun. So, yes, the forty-year-old was having a heck of a time catching up with the seventy-year-old.
By the time I made it to Pollock’s car, she had adjusted the seat and started the engine. I said a few words, which I intended to be both apologetic and comforting. She did not reply, just buckled her seat belt, slammed the car door shut and peeled out of the parking lot.
"Like it was all my fault, Mother!" I called--okay, yelled--after her. I needed to let off a little steam anyway.
Continuing on in the same vein, I stomped back up to the school, muttering all the way, and feeling about thirteen years old.
I was just about to walk sullenly--typical middle school behavior, I might add--through the door when I heard a siren. I spun around and saw two Bowman County sheriff’s vehicles screeching to a stop beside Jerry’s car. The Harper men had arrived to save the day--about twenty minutes too late. I took a deep breath and marched right back out to the parking lot to update the delinquent deputies.
It took about three words, specifically "Lucille went home," to make the elder Harper disappear, but his son hung around for a more detailed accounting of what we’d found in the school. I gave it to him, but it only made him look more confused.
