The Deadliest Sins

by Rick Reed

  “You’ve said two words this whole trip and now you want my life story?” Jack said.

  Battle’s demeanor changed. She crossed her arms and stared out the side window. Jack was saved from further discussion when her phone rang again. It was the Evansville number. She put the phone on speaker and said, “Who’s this?”

  “Yeti,” came the response.

  “What do you want, Yeti?”

  “I’m here,” Jack said before Battle could make another sarcastic remark.

  “Listen, pod’na. The kettle is boiling here. DD is cranked up on high, and I don’t think the lid will stay on the pot much longer.”

  “I think we’re safe to talk, Bigfoot.”

  “Okay. Sanchez called. A St. Louis patrolman found Libby working the street by the warehouse where she was supposedly afraid the killer would find her. She was trying to score drugs. They have her in detox at the same hospital Kim’s in. She confessed to bashing Kim in the head with an iron and stabbing her in the neck. She even cut herself to make it look like there was a struggle. We can rule Cody out of Kim’s attack. You still doing this?” Liddell asked, and Jack could hear the concern in his voice.

  The truth was, Jack was concerned too. But in for a penny, in for a pound. “We’ll be in Arizona by nightfall. If we don’t catch this guy, you’ll be needing a new partner to carry you, Bigfoot.”

  “You want me to call Katie?”

  “Not yet. She’ll call you if she gets worried. She knows I’m working, and I don’t always call.”

  “She doesn’t know you’re with another woman on your way to Arizona to confront a psychotic mass murderer though. Your call, pod’na,” Liddell said. “You there, Lieutenant?”

  “No. I’m running alongside the car to give you two some privacy,” she said.

  “Take care of him, Lieutenant.”

  She punched a button and hung up.

  “I had a partner like that once,” she said to Jack.

  “What happened? You get promoted?”

  “Nah. Divorced. He was my supervisor, and you know how that goes. I’ll never marry another cop. I have enough on my plate taking care of myself. I don’t have the energy or desire to stroke some man’s ego.”

  “Is that your subtle way of telling me you’re single and available?”

  She laughed for the first time since Jack had known her. “In your dreams, Murphy.”

  “Are you rested enough to take over driving?” Jack asked.

  “Yeah. My butt has gone to sleep, but I’m awake. I need to stretch my legs a little.”

  Jack found a clump of scrub trees and pulled off on the dirt shoulder. They got out and stretched. It was a little warmer than Indiana or Missouri, but still cold enough to wear a jacket.

  “How far?” Battle asked.

  “We’ll run out of gas again before we get to Las Cruces, New Mexico. Maybe we can get something to eat at our next stop. It’s about another nine hours to Bisbee according to the GPS on my phone.”

  “Do you have the address of the cemetery?” she asked.

  “Yes. Angelina texted it to me. We’ll put it in the GPS when we get to Bisbee, but I think we should ask directions somewhere in town to see how they are with strangers. For all we know, Coyote is a local hero.”

  Battle punched some icons on her cell phone and said, “Bisbee. Five thousand people, a couple of silver mines, a rock quarry, and maybe electricity and indoor plumbing.”

  “Sounds like a good place to retire,” Jack said.

  “Yeah. I’ll bet the cost of living will save me enough to buy a nice coffin.”

  “Maybe I should drive?”

  “Give me the damn keys,” she said.

  They got back on the road. Jack put his seat back and fell asleep. He slept through a stop in Las Cruces, where she gassed up again, and slept on until she entered Bisbee proper. They’d been on the road an entire day.

  She nudged him awake.

  “You drool,” Battle said.

  “Good morning to you too,” Jack said and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “On the way back home, I’ll tie a towel around your neck,” Battle continued.

  “You can stop now,” Jack said. She was starting to sound like Bigfoot.

  Battle braked the car hard enough to skid.

  “I didn’t mean that literally, Battle,” Jack said, using her name for the first time.

  “I stopped because we’re a block from the cemetery.”

  Jack saw the arched iron gates down the street. One side stood open.

  “Your friend Angelina called while you slept, princess,” she said. “There’s a third guy involved with Coyote.”

  “What did she say?” Jack asked.

  “There was Hank, Cody, and a guy named Miles that were suspects in the murder case. Miles wasn’t in the field. They never proved he was present when the illegal was killed, but he had a hand in it somehow. He wasn’t forced to resign. He was promoted. She said his name is Miles Lyman. He works in their intelligence unit.”

  “Is he here?” Jack asked.

  “That’s where we’re going after we check the cemetery,” she said.

  * * * *

  Jack took over driving. They didn’t see any activity around or in the cemetery, but it was two o’clock in the morning. Nothing would be going on. He cruised by Miles Lyman’s house to see where it was and to see if Coyote might stop there to say hello to his old friend. Maybe spend the night.

  “We passed this street on our way to the cemetery,” Battle said.

  Miles Lyman lived on the other side of town and just outside the city limits. The house was a one-story adobe with arched walkways and beautifully landscaped bare soil. A pair of ten-foot-tall yucca plants stood on each side of the arched front. Lyman’s house sat on several acres of scrub land, and behind it was a view of the mountains with the moon above like it was dotting an i.

  “Let’s go back to the cemetery,” Jack said. “I don’t want to talk to Lyman yet, or even let him know we are here. Coyote’s had more than enough time to get here. Maybe I was wrong.”

  “You’re not wrong,” Battle said. “You’re driving.”

  Jack headed back to the cemetery.

  * * * *

  As soon as the Crown Vic’s taillights were in the distance, the Dodge Dart pulled out of The Inn at Castle Rock. He’d stopped there to collect his thoughts, and the best way to do that was to write in his new notebook. Luckily, he saw the Crown Vic drive by heading north—toward Miles Lyman’s residence. Ten minutes later it came back south. He couldn’t see who was in the car, but it was Murphy’s car. Murphy was here. But he was alone unless he was with the big partner of his.

  Murphy didn’t have time to talk to Miles, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t called him. Or maybe Miles was coming to meet them. It was time to pay a visit to his old friend.

  Chapter 45

  Coyote had driven past Lyman’s house. The car he’d seen heading into town was a Crown Vic with Indiana plates. Murphy had somehow put it together, and now he was here. Maybe that was good. It had all begun here. It should end here.

  He sat on an adjacent block and watched Lyman’s house between two houses on this block. He didn’t want to sit too long. He’d lived here and knew how alert people were. It was one of the things he missed about home. People out East had gotten complacent. That’s why there were so many murders there as opposed to here.

  He saw the garage door coming up at Lyman’s place. Lyman had a two-car garage, from what he remembered, and lived alone. Lyman was a neat freak. The extra car bay would be empty. He was right. The bay in front of him was empty and Lyman’s car, a Lexus SUV, was in the other bay. Lyman was in the process of getting into the SUV when Coyote pulled in next to him.

  “Hello, Miles,” Coyote said.
/>   “What the hell are you doing at my house, Cody Coyote?” Lyman asked. He was grinning. It was an old joke between them.

  Lyman was taller than Coyote but not by much. He was heavier than when Coyote had last seen him. His face was puffy like an alcoholic, which wasn’t surprising. Betraying your country could do that to a man. Betraying Coyote would do worse.

  “I saw you had a cop here,” Coyote said.

  Lyman’s hands went into his jean pockets for his keys.

  “I was on my way to the store. I just got up. No one’s been here, Cody.”

  “Liquor stores open this time of morning? I don’t remember that. Things must have really changed,” Coyote said.

  “The world has moved on, man. Things are different everywhere. If you don’t mind me saying it, ’cause we’re friends, you should move on too. You’ve made your point. You’ve evened the score.”

  Coyote said nothing.

  Lyman shifted from foot to foot and stopped. “I asked you why you came to my house? If I’m seen with you, it can spell real trouble for you and me both, Cody.”

  “What did you tell that cop from Indiana?” Coyote asked in an even tone. “He was here. I saw him leaving.”

  Lyman just stood, hands in pockets, silent.

  “You betrayed me once, Miles, and I had to resign. You’re part of the reason for what I’m doing now. You helped create this situation. Tell me the truth about the detective, and I’ll leave.”

  “Honest to God, Cody. No cop from Indiana or anywhere else has been here. And I haven’t talked to anyone on the phone about you. As far as most people are concerned, I don’t know you anymore. I guess I don’t know you anymore. You’ve become someone else. Please—friend to friend—you’ve got to stop this. There’s already talk at the office that Homeland Security is sniffing around for a mole.”

  “Asking about me?” Coyote asked.

  “No. No. I swear... I don’t know... Maybe.” He took the keys from his pocket. “Maybe they’re asking about me. No one’s coming to me directly, but I’m hearing things. You know how it is.”

  Coyote did know. Rumors were like breathing to cops. Most were bullshit, but there was always a tad of truth that started them. He’d been doing this for a while. Of course DHS was sniffing around. Soon they would be sniffing around Miles if they weren’t already.

  Lyman must have come to the same conclusion. His hands came out of his pockets, and he grabbed at Coyote and caught part of his jacket. Coyote slammed the heel of his hand under Lyman’s chin, popping his head backward, and with his other hand struck Lyman in the throat.

  Lyman staggered back, holding his throat and trying to breathe. Coyote struck him in the nose with the heel of his hand and then slapped his palms against Lyman’s ears with all his strength. Lyman’s eyes bulged, and his hands came up to protect his face, but Coyote brought his left palm into the side of Lyman’s throat. The blow shut off the flow of blood from the heart to the brain, and Lyman’s legs turned to rubber and he went down to his knees.

  Coyote stepped behind him, drew the bayonet and, using both hands, shoved it through the top of Lyman’s skull.

  Coyote stood on Lyman’s throat, wrenched the bayonet loose, and wiped the blade clean on Lyman’s face and shirt collar. He felt good.

  He patted Lyman’s clothes down and found his cell phone. He took Lyman’s 9mm semi-automatic handgun from the hand-tooled belt holster Lyman had been so proud of. The coward had never used the gun on anything but targets, but he wanted people to think he was John Wayne. Coyote shoved the gun in the back of his own jeans.

  The door to the SUV was still open, and Coyote hit the garage remote to open the door. He got in the Dart and backed into the driveway. Lyman’s body was visible next to the open door of the SUV. That was good.

  Coyote punched in the number for the Bisbee Police dispatcher. The call was answered, “Bisbee Police Department. What is your emergency?”

  “A guy’s been shot here. I think the gunman is still in the garage. Hurry.” Coyote hung up. He knew once the dispatcher found the address, the whole of the Bisbee Police Department would respond. He pitched the cell phone in the driveway and backed onto the street.

  On the way to the Evergreen Cemetery where his wife and daughter were buried, he was passed by two police cruisers traveling at a high rate of speed. They didn’t give his car a second look; after all, the gunman was still in the garage.

  Now he knew for sure that Murphy had found his journal and had figured out where he was going. Lyman hadn’t lied about not getting a visit from Murphy. It didn’t matter. Coyote was relaxed. He didn’t even need the damn journal anymore. It was fitting it would end where it began. Evergreen Cemetery. He could finally be at peace. See his family one more time.

  Chapter 46

  Jack drove past the cemetery and around its perimeter. Evergreen Cemetery wasn’t large, it was monstrous. The gates to the cemetery entrance were a twelve-foot-tall arch made of wrought-iron bars. A five-foot wall of stacked quarry stones surrounded the cemetery as far as the eye could see. Jack had spotted two entrances, a main entrance and one in the very back that was used by workers. The grounds were so spacious it would be impossible to watch both entrances. They’d have to find Coté’s wife’s and daughter’s graves.

  Jack drove around the outside perimeter of the cemetery again and slowed about a hundred feet from the main entrance on Old Douglas Street. He parked between two cars that resembled the Crown Vic. He backed up against the front bumper of the car behind to hide the Indiana plates.

  “I think we should do another drive-by of this Lyman guy’s house,” Battle said.

  “It’s early yet.”

  “Think about it, Jack. Coyote killed an ex-Border Patrol officer in St. Louis. His ex-partner. What if some of the drivers in the other states were ex-law enforcement? Maybe that’s why he’s targeting certain trucks? Maybe he’s killing dirty cops? Regardless, we need to talk to Lyman. We’re just assuming he’s giving information to Coyote. Maybe he’s not? Maybe he’s a target?”

  “And maybe he’s working with Coyote, and when he asks why we’re there, we just say we drove from St. Louis to see how he’s doing? We can’t go after him until we get Coyote, and I don’t want to scare Coyote off.”

  “So, let me go in alone. I promise he won’t warn anyone,” she said.

  Jack said, “You don’t have any authority here at all. I’m on shaky ground as far as jurisdiction, but I lie better than you. We’re not talking to Lyman yet, and that’s that.”

  “We stay here and watch the cemetery.”

  It was still dark out. Battle checked her phone. “The sun comes up here at about seven thirty. That’s a couple of hours. You watch, I’m going to try and shut my eyes if you quit talking me into a coma.”

  Jack said nothing. She was obviously pissed off, but at least she’d stopped arguing. In Arizona it was cold at night and extremely hot during the day. The temperature since they arrived had already risen twenty or more degrees. It was hot enough Jack had to open the windows. They sat quietly, neither one wanting to talk. What was the point. Either Coyote was there, or he wasn’t and Jack had wasted a career on a hunch.

  Jack was just about to start the car and turn the air conditioning on when a huge truck came rumbling down the street and its headlights washed over the inside of the Crown Vic. Battle ducked down, but it was too late to hide from anyone. The truck didn’t slow as it passed them and pulled into the cemetery through the front gates. Another truck came from the same direction and pulled into the cemetery following the first one.

  Jack saw the first one was a vault truck. The kind that carried the concrete container to hold the casket in the ground. The second truck was pulling a trailer with a back hoe. They drove several hundred feet and pulled off to the side. Two men got out of the vault truck and helped a third man unload the backhoe.
r />   “Another death in paradise,” Battle said. “I’ve never seen a grave being dug. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to be doing this instead of trying to find Coyote.”

  The backhoe operator started the diesel engine and began excavating a fresh grave. None of them had seemed to notice the Crown Vic.

  “Nothing’s moving here except the grave diggers,” Battle said.

  “And what are you going to do at Lyman’s?”

  “You don’t trust me?”

  “No. I don’t trust you. You’re obsessed with taking Coyote out. I can understand that, and I want him as bad as you do. He killed a cop and a nun, and he tried to kill a nine-year-old boy. Twice. But he needs to go to prison for the rest of his miserable life.”

  “There’s a lot of desert around here, Jack. A piece of scum like him won’t be missed,” Battle said.

  “And what if he kills one of us?”

  “You don’t want your ex to be an ex-widow?” Battle said.

  “You’re not helping, Lieutenant.”

  “Why did you bring me along if we’re after different outcomes? You want to bring him to justice. I want to bring him to Jesus. My way is cheaper and more permanent.”

  “I brought you along because you’re committed to catching this guy just as much as I am. We both are hanging our asses out here, but I’m not going to throw my life away. You can either work with me or I can take you to the bus station and buy you a one-way ticket back to St. Louis. Your choice.”

  Battle crossed her arms and watched out the side window. Jack concentrated on the cemetery. The only movement came from the crew.

  Headlights suddenly illuminated the inside of the car, and Jack saw a police car had come down the street and was sitting twenty feet away. Its bar lights came on, and the takedown lights fixed on Jack and Battle.

  Jack adjusted the Glock .45 on his belt. It had been digging into his side for hours. “I’ll do the talking,” Jack said.

  “Whatever,” Battle said, but she was taking her badge case out of her pocket.