by Sylvia Nobel
Footsteps coming my way. Pulse galloping erratically, I hastened back to my original spot, lay down and closed my eyes. Heavy steps crunched near my head. Someone was standing over me. It took a herculean effort to keep my breathing shallow and my eyes closed. A kick to my left shoulder sending spasms of pain sizzling through me, but I remained limp. “Stupid bitch is still out.”
I recognized Danny Hinkle’s grating voice. I dared not move a muscle or blink.
“What are we gonna do with her?” It took extraordinary willpower not to react when I recognized the voice of my would-be killer.
“I dunno. I’m sure Darren has a plan. He’ll figure out what to do. He always does.”
I tensed. Darren? Where had I heard that name before?
“What about her shit-for-brains brother?”
“The dude’s of no use to us now. He’s a goner anyway. Come on.”
My heart thundered like a thousand drums pounding in my head. Where was Sean? What had they done with him? Again, I waited, my stomach constricted into a hard, cold ball for their footsteps to fade away and then with no workable plan in mind, I stealthily made my way across the immense chamber only to realize that there were tributary tunnels leading off in all directions. I had no clue as to which one would lead to freedom. I flinched violently when a harsh voice from somewhere to my right boomed, “I’ve had it with you screw-ups!” I ducked behind a stack of boxes and ever so carefully peered around the corner. Inside an alcove, the Hinkles and my stalker stood watching a tall, slender, nice-looking man wearing a white shirt and dark tie, pace back and forth behind a paper-strewn desk. He raked a hand through thick, light-brown hair and turned to face them, his eyes flaming with anger. “You assured me that she was gone!”
“Sorry, Mr. Pomeroy. We chased her clear to the freeway this time, but she keeps coming back,” my stalker complained, glowering.
“I’m out of patience with all of you. I can’t afford any more mistakes.”
“It wouldn’t be a problem if Burton hadn’t interfered,” the younger guy retorted, folding his arms defensively.
“I am surrounded by inferiors!” he railed, throwing his hands up. “So you don’t think her being found strangled would have raised any red flags?”
Following a brief silence, Danny Hinkle helpfully suggested, “Why not have Burton devise another accident? His ideas worked out great for all the other ones.” His pleasant conversational tone chilled me.
“It’s not that simple,” the man fumed, resuming his lion-like pacing behind the desk. “Too many people know she’s been out here asking questions. No one is going to believe another accidental death so soon after those two kids.”
“All anyone will know is she came out here looking for her brother, took a header down one of the shafts and broke her neck,” Danny chimed in, appearing mightily pleased. “Problem solved!”
Hearing them ruthlessly discussing my death in such blasé terms had me close to hyperventilating. More aware than ever of my predicament, I felt like a cat teetering on the edge of its ninth life. Keep it together, I warned myself, trying to control the waves of panic slapping at my sensibilities.
The man stopped pacing and pinned the three men with a glacial stare. “There are a host of reasons why I’m in charge and you’re not,” he said succinctly. “Now get out of my sight, all of you! I need to think.”
I stood stone-still as the three men trooped by and then heard him shout after them, “And tell that spineless brother of mine to get in here!”
As I waited in the shadows with bated breath, the magnitude of his statement slowly sunk in. OMG! Darren Pomeroy was Burton Carr’s stepbrother, the prominent Phoenix attorney and, by his own admission, apparently the head honcho of the illegal drug trafficking operation.
Moments later, Burton Carr strode across the room with a look of steadfast resignation on his face. Involuntarily, I shrank back as far as I could into the shadows, but my slight shift of weight moved one of the boxes. He paused and glanced in my direction. Intense fear clawed at my senses when our eyes locked. I know my heart didn’t really stop, but it sure felt like it. This was it. I was dead.
He ran one forefinger across his mustache and then vertically along his lips in an almost imperceptible movement, then continued towards the makeshift office. It took my panicked brain several seconds to realize he was signaling me to be quiet. A couple of long, deep breaths helped restore a modicum of calm. Positive I’d been granted at least a temporary reprieve, I checked to make sure the other three men weren’t around, and then edged a look around the corner again.
“Sit down! We need to talk,” Darren commanded in a brusque tone, pointing to a white, plastic chair.
“Don’t patronize me. I’m not one of your underlings,” Burton shot back, setting his stance. “And stop undermining me in front of the others.”
“It’s your own fault. That woman is dangerous. Your stupid decision to bring her here has created an unnecessary crisis. So,” he said, rubbing his palms together, “your job tonight will be to arrange an unfortunate accident for Miss O’Dell. A very tragic accident.” He steepled his fingers together and rolled his eyes upward in a cynical display of thoughtful consideration. “What about this option? She slipped and fell into one of the rock crushers.” His self-congratulatory smile was positively diabolical. “Or perhaps she fell down one of the vertical shafts? You’re the expert on death. I’m sure you’ll come up with something creative.”
Overwhelmed with a staggering sense of danger, I knew I should be running for my life, but could not pull myself away from the drama unfolding before me. Eyes ablaze with hatred, Burton set his jaw and stated quietly, “It’s over, Darren. No more killing.”
Darren placed both palms on the desk and leaned forward, his expression deadly. “It’s a little late in the game for you to suddenly grow a pair.”
“She was nice to me,” he said, ignoring the insult. “She showed me a little respect, which is something you’ve never done.”
His stepbrother’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You simpering weasel. Don’t ever think that you can defy me, or I’ll make sure everyone knows what you did.”
“You don’t scare me anymore. I’m at peace with myself now.”
“Tell that to the judge and see how far it gets you,” came his mocking rejoinder. “I can hear you pleading now. Your honor, I didn’t physically kill those innocent people, someone else actually carried out the deed. All I did was devise the methods to make it look like an accident. You think any jury is going to believe that? Especially when they find out you murdered your poor, dear mother.”
Burton glared at him. “She begged me to help end her misery and I found a way to do it humanely.” He shook his head sadly, continuing in a placid tone, “You are cruel and coldhearted. You don’t possess an ounce of decency. Gabriel shared that information in confidence and you betrayed it. You’ve tortured me with it for three years, but not anymore.”
“You’ve been well-paid, little brother.”
As I stood listening to Burton’s calm narration, the strangest feeling flowed over me. My mind raced back to last Friday night. I was almost a hundred percent sure these were the two men I’d overhead arguing in the parking lot of the Rattlesnake Saloon. The leaden apprehension in my gut convinced me that I was hearing more than an exchange of words. He wanted me to overhear this conversation. I was witnessing his confession.
“We’re not brothers and I’m finished doing your dirty work.”
“You’re finished all right,” Darren jeered. “You won’t last a week in prison.”
Burton shoved both hands in his coat pockets. “I will never go to prison.” His words had a ring of serene finality about them. “But you will.” I inhaled a startled breath when he pulled his service revolver from his pocket and aimed it squarely at Darren, who at first appeared taken aback before his lips curled in
sardonic amusement.
“You pasty-faced momma’s boy. You don’t have the guts to look me in the eye and…” The remainder of his sentence was aborted when Burton fired three times, aiming his shots strategically. One shot to the right shoulder, one shot to each thigh. Screaming with astonished rage, Darren collapsed to the floor writhing in pain. When the Hinkles and my stalker raced into the big room, Burton turned and fired in their direction. They scattered like frightened cats. Then he calmly emptied the remaining bullets into his hand and laid the gun on the desk. Ignoring the stream of expletives pouring from Darren’s lips, he announced softly, “The sheriff is on his way. Rot in hell.” With a smile of supreme satisfaction, he turned, made brief eye contact with me, and then vanished into the tunnel.
CHAPTER
33
The powerful snowstorm blew itself out by Friday morning, but the firestorm of controversy in regards to the astonishing discovery of the clandestine drug lab was just heating up. Because the investigation was in its infancy and the justice system tends to move at a snail’s pace, I knew it would be months and perhaps years before all the salacious details of the extraordinary story would come to light.
Burton’s Carr’s body wasn’t discovered until late Thursday afternoon and only then because of Daisy Dorcett’s annoying persistence. True to her compulsive nature, she’d been out walking in the storm the previous evening photographing snowflakes when she’d seen his truck heading up the mountain towards the closed Forest Service road. She’d hurried home to tell Darcy, who had at first blown her off, but after hearing the news the next morning, began to take her sister seriously and reported it to the sheriff. She’d also told him that three years earlier, Daisy had tried to tell her that Burton Carr had killed his mother but she’d dismissed it as nonsense.
After fleeing the Thunderbolt Mine, Burton Carr had returned to the abandoned fire tower where he’d spent his happiest days as a child and taken his own life. Apparently carefully planned in advance, he’d mixed up a cocktail of lethal drugs and gone to sleep. He’d left behind a detailed suicide note confessing his limited, but deadly involvement and implicated his stepbrother as the ringleader of the sophisticated, synthetic drug manufacturing and distribution operation. He’d also provided the names of the other minions and saved incriminating documents and photos. The vexing question of the missing cell phones was also answered when authorities found them hidden in a metal box that acted as a Faraday cage, blocking the electromagnetic waves and thereby making it impossible for the phones to be tracked.
The Hinkles, my stalker, his accomplice, Jack Loomis, four of the truck drivers and a number of employees at the processing plants in Mesa and Tempe were apprehended. Within hours, the revelation was the top story on every Phoenix radio and television station, major Internet news site and social media. Darren Pomeroy remained hospitalized in stable condition but refused to speak with detectives after retaining counsel. His uncle, Dr. Gabriel Gartiner, surrendered without incident and was cooperating with the authorities, most likely in hopes of wrangling a reduced sentence. But, as happens all too often in cases where the perpetrators take themselves out, it’s difficult to fully reconstruct the whole picture or to ever know their true motivation for committing the crime. Instead, everyone is left to speculate unless confessions or additional physical evidence is obtained. I thought about all of these things as I struggled to cobble together the most disturbing and convoluted story of my career based on facts emerging over the past forty-eight hours.
Only minutes before Marshall, Duane and reinforcements from the Yavapai County Sheriff’s office stormed in, I’d finally located Sean lying in a narrow, dank passageway, cold and unresponsive. Anguished tears blurred my vision as I frantically checked for a pulse. I massaged his arms and legs to increase circulation and sent up a prayer of eternal thanks when he jerked and moaned weakly. After wrapping him in the blanket that Burton Carr had kindly provided for me, I stayed with him until help arrived. He and Darren Pomeroy were transported to the Maricopa County Hospital in Phoenix by ambulance because high winds and low visibility prevented a helicopter landing. By the time I’d finished giving my statement to Marshall, officials from the DEA Task Force rolled in. Tally came rushing in amid the myriad of flashing lights, his dark brown eyes reflecting deep concern. When I hadn’t shown up for dinner, he’d phoned Marshall, only to find out he’d already been called to the area. “What the hell happened here?” Tally demanded, surveying my disheveled appearance. Following a brief rundown of the disturbing situation, he lectured me on my penchant for getting myself in trouble and then spirited me away for medical attention.
The six inches of accumulated snow in the mountains, coupled with driving rain and fog in the lower desert regions, created hazardous driving conditions on all the roads, making the trip to Castle Valley much longer than expected. The painkillers Burton had forced down my throat were wearing off and I felt like I’d been run over by one of the gravel trucks. Since my cell phone was still lying somewhere on the snowy hillside, I used Tally’s to let my parents know that I was all right. After hearing some of the harrowing details, both of them were understandably upset. My mother admonished me for my over-the-top heroics, babbling something about the ‘Wild West’ but when I told her about Sean, she fell silent.
“He was in real danger,” I stated firmly. “I didn’t have much choice.” I made a second phone call to Ginger, explained the circumstances and asked if she could drive my parents to Phoenix to be with Sean.
“I knew it! I knew you’d get to the bottom of it. Now, don’t you fret, girlfriend!” she exclaimed excitedly. “I am on this.”
With the exception of bruises on my throat, a knot on my head and confirmation of my broken arm, Dr. Garcia pronounced me in excellent physical shape. But he also gravely added the caveat that I was damn lucky to be alive. I couldn’t have agreed more.
Later that night, after a meal and hot shower, Tally enfolded me in his arms and held me for the longest time. “Good God, Kendall, that was a close call. I’m glad you had the presence of mind to use your weapons training.” He pulled back and cupped my face in his hands, his eyes probing deep into my psyche. “No question in my mind that you are one amazingly gutsy lady, but I don’t think I’m going to let you out of my sight for awhile.”
I had to acknowledge to myself that the ordeal had shaken me more than I cared to admit, even though I thought I’d made every attempt to do things right this time. I’d told everyone where I was going, fulfilled my promise to Tally by informing law enforcement, had my .38 for protection and still, I’d gotten myself into a precarious predicament. Was it worth the sky-high adrenalin rush? Perhaps it really was time to reevaluate my priorities. A Pulitzer Prize awarded posthumously wasn’t exactly what I’d had in mind.
My dad phoned the following morning to tell me that Sean was expected to make a full recovery. They’d had a serious heart-to-heart talk with him, and he had agreed to consider rehab. After having experienced what would be my one and only psychedelic trip, I had a new insight on why he’d been drawn into that lifestyle. Why not feel that good all the time? “All we can do is pray he actually does it,” I told my dad. “There is no guarantee rehab will be successful unless he truly wants to get sober and stay sober.”
“I agree. But he was pretty upset when I told him the high price you paid to rescue him. I think that may have been a factor in him agreeing to do it.”
Ruefully, I looked down at my left arm encased in the pink cast. “Yeah, that was a little bigger enterprise than the run-of-the-mill meth lab I was expecting to find. But I went with my instincts just like you always told me.”
My dad was quiet for extended seconds before saying gruffly, “I’m really proud of you, Pumpkin. If it hadn’t been for this damned foot, I’d have been there with you.”
“Mom’s not too happy about my decision to tackle it alone and neither is Tally.”
“Let’s not dwell on that. You were doing your job, you got through it, got your story and kiddo, you’ve got more courage than most men I’ve met during my lifetime.” It was heartening that the two most important men in my life had the same thought. “Thanks, Dad,” I replied, my throat closing with emotion. It was a somber moment so I lightened it with, “We’ll be quite a pair with our matching casts at the party tomorrow night.”
