“Yes. That’s one of the reasons I came this far instead of hiring somebody to investigate for me. I wanted to see my big brother.” She raised a hand to discourage comment and added, “I’m not expecting him to be the teenager I remember. Aunt Tessie pointed that out more than once. I’d just like to talk to him, face-to-face. Maybe, after he finds out how much progress I’ve made in his case, he’ll want to hear the details from me.”
“Or be scared to death that you’ll disappear the way your parents did,” Logan offered. “But I will inquire and get back to you. Where are you staying while you’re in town?”
“The Blue Jay Motel.”
“I’d heard there was some trouble over there. Was that about you?”
Shane answered for her. “Yes. But there haven’t been any more problems since I moved in, too.” Grinning wryly, he added, “I have my own room and we’re both in the very front where the lights are bright all night.”
“Kyle’s staying with your mother?”
“Yes. And I like your idea about her and Otis taking him away for a week or so.”
“Assuming that’s long enough.” The pastor rose and offered his hand to shake Shane’s as soon as Jamie pushed back her chair. “May I pray with you before you go?”
Shane wondered if she’d object. To his delight, she grasped both Logan’s hand and his, completing a circle.
Further lifting his spirits and confirming the rightness of their visit, Pastor Malloy offered a simple prayer that was both touching and easy for laymen to comprehend, meaning it was sure to reach Jamie Lynn’s heart.
He could not have asked for more from the detective-turned-pastor, except the phone calls he’d promised to make on their behalf. The sooner they spoke personally with the supposedly crooked defense attorney, the sooner they could move on to the next step and the closer they’d be to a final solution.
That would mean Jamie Lynn would leave, he realized with chagrin. But as long as she went away well and happy, that would have to suffice.
One more conclusion made him begin to smile in spite of knowing how badly he was going to miss her. His late father would have absolutely loved the intelligent, capable, loyal young woman and would have wasted no time telling her so.
That, Shane would do before she left town. As long as he took care to be certain she understood he was speaking on his dad’s behalf rather than expressing a personal opinion, there should be no problem. At least not for Jamie Lynn.
He hoped against hope that he’d be able to carry it off without showing emotion because it was starting to occur to him that her departure was going to leave a void in his life as bottomless as the enormous sinkhole at Grand Gulf Park.
* * *
Fidgeting beside him, Jamie Lynn cast a sidelong glance at Shane as he drove. “Thanks for coming with me to talk to Williford tonight.”
“You had doubts?” He arched an eyebrow.
“Not about you. I am surprised he was so quick to agree to talk to me. How much farther is it?”
“We’re almost there.”
Most of her questions had been asked and answered when Shane had spoken with Pastor Malloy again. It made sense for R.J.’s former defense attorney to offer to meet in a neutral place, since he was apparently frightened of being discovered. And, that being true, he probably knew who was behind the sheriff’s untimely death.
Would that be too painful for Shane to hear? she wondered. Or might he feel relief? Either way, they would soon have their first real chance to learn the truth, and her insides were pitching as if she were clinging to the seat in a rowboat caught in a hurricane.
Approaching a wide, modern bridge, Shane began to slow his pickup. “Remember Lake Norfork? The entrance to the campground and day-use facilities is right across the bridge.”
Jamie clasped her hands in her lap to still them. This meeting was an answer to her prayers, yet she dreaded hearing more about murder. Such things reminded her that no one was truly safe anywhere, not even lawmen, and where there was corruption in the system, justice was a mere fantasy. The concept was unsettling, particularly since her brother was experiencing it firsthand.
Sunset painted the sky a vivid orange, with rays of pink radiating to throw color and shadows over the empty picnic area. An arrow pointing to a boat ramp led them down a side road where a single, dark sedan waited.
Jamie leaned forward and pointed. “There. Parked behind those trees. See it?”
“Yes, barely. That must be him.” Shane let his truck idle and held back.
“Go on.” She was adamant.
“Let’s take our time. If we rush him he may get spooked and drive off.”
“Okay. Then let’s show ourselves so he can see who we are.” Without hesitation, she jerked open the passenger door and jumped to the ground. “Come on.”
Shane killed the engine and joined her. “You are the most cantankerous, foolish...”
“Hush. And smile,” Jamie warned, waving. “We want the man relaxed. Look friendly.”
“I am friendly,” Shane countered. “It’s not his actions that bother me, it’s yours.”
“Nag, nag, nag.” She knew her flippant attitude didn’t fit such a serious situation but couldn’t help herself. It was a matter of resorting to wry humor or collapsing into a useless heap of jangled nerves. She chose humor.
Shane slowly raised both hands to shoulder level, palms toward the partially hidden car. He elbowed her. “Show him we’re not armed.”
“Right. I didn’t think of that.”
They were about five yards away when the driver’s door started to open. A black-clad figure emerged. “That’s far enough. Identify yourselves.”
“I’m Jamie Lynn Henderson,” she called back. “If you’re Max, I came to talk to you.”
“Who’s he?”
“Shane Colton.” She edged closer to the parked car. “He had to drive me because somebody wrecked my truck.”
“I’m not surprised,” the man replied. “All right. You can come closer.”
When they were face-to-face, Max eyed Shane. “You’re Sam’s son, right?”
“Yes.”
“No wonder you’re mixed up in this.” His eyes kept darting from side to side, then over their shoulders as though he expected an attack at any moment.
“Before I tell you anything,” Max went on, “you have to promise you won’t reveal your source.”
“How can we prove...?” Jamie fell silent when she saw the abject fear in the older man’s expression. He’d obviously lost a lot of weight since the trial photos and had let his hair go gray, but there was no doubt he was the person she sought. Living this close to Serenity, she wondered how he’d managed to keep his identity secret—unless he’d lied and had actually moved much farther away. That would make more sense.
Shane spoke for both of them. “We promise.”
“All right.” The former attorney mopped his brow with a wrinkled handkerchief and cleared his throat. “There were four kids involved in the hit-and-run. Three boys and a girl. One of the boys was my son, Martin.”
“That’s why you took my brother’s case?”
“Yes. When I was first approached, I didn’t know the whole story but I was coerced into representing the defense.” He swallowed hard. “Turned out I was as much a fall guy as Ray was. So was Marty. They’d been brought along for the ride while Alan Abernathy did his father’s dirty work.”
“What about the girl?” Shane asked.
“Bobbi-Sue Randall? She and Alan were an item all through high school. Whatever he did, she helped. Actually, I suspect she egged the boys on more often than not. The way I understand it, she was behind the wheel of one car and Alan was driving the other because Ray and Marty were drunk. The kids had made a false report of a drug deal about to go down
in order to lure Sheriff Colton away from town.”
“So they were all together during the homicide?”
“Essentially, yes.” Max twitched, turned toward the woods. “Did you hear something?”
“No,” Jamie said, although she stifled a shiver. The sun had passed below the horizon and not only was there a chill in the air, the deep shadows had begun to seem alive, as if they willingly masked danger.
Shane agreed with her. “I kept checking behind me all the way from town. We weren’t followed.”
“Okay.” The former attorney drew a shaky breath and began to speak again. “I loved my son and I thought...”
That was all he said. There was a bright white flash in the woods behind him, the crack and whine of a rifle bullet, and the shattering of the car window on the opposite side.
A second shot came moments later.
Shane launched himself at Jamie, landing beside her on the leaf-strewn ground.
The blow knocked all the air from her lungs. Shock kept her wondering what had happened for several seconds before she caught a flicker of memory that was so horrifying, so ghastly, it further robbed her of awareness.
Max’s eyes had widened momentarily, as if he’d been punched. His jaw had gaped. He’d staggered forward.
And then part of his forehead had vanished in a hideous red mist.
* * *
Shane levered a shoulder up just far enough to draw his weapon. One look at Jamie told him she was probably unhurt, although there were drops of blood spattered on them both. Her eyes were glassy, her lips parted. Thankfully, she was breathing hard and strong.
“Are you hit?” he whispered.
She didn’t respond.
He shook her shoulder with his free hand. “Jamie! Answer me. Are you shot?”
Did she shake her head or was he imagining things in the dimness? Anything was possible. Right now, he had more pressing problems.
The way Shane assessed their situation, they had few options. If the shooter thought Max had told them too much, they would be the next targets. If his goal had merely been to silence the source of inside information, they might be spared. There was no way to tell unless they tried to flee and were cut down before they could reach his truck.
The night was humid. Quiet except for the buzzing cadence of locusts and an occasional whip-poor-will call. Park lights came on automatically and cast a sickly yellow pall over everything, including the boat ramp access road.
Shane knew they couldn’t break out in that direction. It was a dead end. He’d have to turn his truck around and go back the way they’d come if they hoped to escape, which might mean carrying Jamie unless he could snap her out of whatever emotional state was holding her mute and immobile.
Listening for approaching footfalls among the dried leaves, he heard nothing. That meant only that whoever was out there knew how to be silent, not that they weren’t sneaking up on the lawyer’s car to deliver a coup de grace.
He pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911. Doing so brought a response and promise of aid but no definite estimated time of arrival.
The closest town with a fire department was Henderson, meaning it shouldn’t take too long for help to reach the area. Nevertheless, Shane kept eyeing his truck and listening. Not only was there no appreciable noise from the nearby overnight campground, he didn’t hear sirens in the distance, either.
Finally, with no further signs of a shooter, he chanced getting to his feet and peering past the lawyer’s car. The original shots had echoed in the rolling hills around the reservoir, confusing him about the direction they had come from. He did recall seeing a flash, however, and searched the distant dimness.
Nothing moved. Nobody shot at him.
“Maybe he left,” Shane muttered.
That notion helped him decide what to do next. Crouching, he grabbed Jamie’s arm and shook it vigorously. She stirred. Blinked rapidly, as if awaking from a nightmare, then tried to pull away.
“That’s it. Come on, honey. Get it together.”
He rechecked their getaway path. It seemed clear.
“What...what happened?” she murmured.
“You were in shock. Can you stand?”
“I think so.”
With Shane’s help, she managed to rise, although she swayed against him. “Keep your head down.”
“Why? I...”
Her sharp intake of breath told him she was remembering and he saw her begin to stare at the color spattered and smeared on her hands and clothing.
Shane shouted, “Hey!” and gave her a quick shake to jar her. It worked. Her wide gaze met his, and she seemed to understand enough to listen to him when he ordered, “Run!”
Gun in one hand, her fingers grasped tightly in the other, he lunged forward. One pace. Two. Three. Almost there.
He jerked open the truck door and threw her inside, then circled the rear in a crouch and slid behind the wheel, keeping low.
The engine roared. Its tires throwing up rooster tails of dirt, the truck slewed 180 degrees and was engulfed in a cloud of powdery yellow dust.
Shane straightened the wheels. Floored the gas. His hands were welded to the steering wheel. He clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached. Beads of sweat broke loose and traced his temples.
Jamie started to sit up.
He stopped her with a shout. “Keep your head down.”
“Was Max...? Did he...?”
“Yeah,” Shane shouted. “Max won’t have to worry about being discovered from now on. He’s dead.”
The noises Jamie began to make sounded like a cross between sobs and gagging. He didn’t blame her. If he’d let himself dwell on his last glimpse of the attorney’s face he’d have lost his supper, too.
Crime scene photos were bad, but seeing a victim firsthand was far worse. No wonder his dad had always locked his desk whenever he’d brought those kinds of pictures and evidence home with him. The cruelty and evil Sam saw all around him must have been a terrible burden for any man to bear, particularly a gentle soul like his father.
Yes, a small portion of justice had been meted out tonight. That didn’t make it right. Shane still believed in the judicial system. With the right men at the helm, the guilty would be punished. At least that was the way it was supposed to work.
He grimaced. Right now, he’d be satisfied with mere survival.
FIFTEEN
“Where are we going? What about poor Max?” Jamie was still sniffling but at least Shane had finally allowed her to sit up, brace herself against the tight curves of the mountain road and roll down the window to get some much-needed fresh air.
“To the closest fire station. I hope they’re waiting for a police escort before they respond.”
“What if they’re...? Suppose they...? Oh, dear. They could get hurt!” She knew she was jabbering incomprehensibly. Judging by the way her head was spinning and her thoughts zigzagging all over the place, she figured she’d do well to complete a sentence, let alone a coherent one.
Flashing red and white beacons atop impressive trucks greeted them as Shane wheeled into a wide driveway.
A firefighter, wearing a dirty yellow turnout coat with reflective silver strips and carrying a walkie-talkie type radio, waved him away. “Clear the exit.”
Shane leaned out his truck window. “We just came from the shooting at the campground. I can lead you in.”
“No need. We’ve got it. If you’re a witness you shouldn’t have left.”
“I didn’t want to stick around and become another victim,” Shane told him. “Are the police on scene?”
Jamie could hear a scratchy transmission coming over the radio. Most of the words sounded garbled. “What did he say? Are they there?”
The firefighter nodded. He seemed
to be studying both Shane and her. “You follow my first responders. I’ll be right behind you.”
“Okay.”
Glancing at Shane as he pulled out, Jamie Lynn frowned. “Did he sound funny to you all of a sudden?”
“Yeah. I wonder what else they found when they got to Max. I sure wish we’d had a tape recorder running while we were talking to him.”
“He might not have said a word if we had,” she countered. “At least we know who all was involved in the hit-and-run and which kids were innocent bystanders.”
“We still don’t know for sure who the homicide driver was.”
“No, but we’re making progress.”
Shane huffed. “Oh, yeah. Great progress. We’ve managed to escalate the situation from warnings to murder. Harlan will be thrilled, particularly since we’re out of his jurisdiction.”
“You should call him.”
“I already told him what we were up to tonight. There’s no hurry about the rest. We can fill him in after we get home.”
A shiver skittered up her spine and she felt queasy again. “You told him? I can’t believe it.”
“Why not? He’d have helped if he could.”
“Did he say so?”
“No. I didn’t speak directly to him. Just left a message I figured only he would understand.”
“You said we were going to the lake?”
“No.” Shane was scowling at her. “What’s your point? I trust that man as much as I’d have trusted my own dad.”
“Okay. Suppose you’re right. Unless you plan to blame the preacher, you’re going to have to come up with a leak somewhere. If we weren’t followed, then somebody was lying in wait for us. And for poor Max. His murder was no hunting accident.”
When Shane answered, “I know,” she could tell how upset he was. That made two of them.
* * *
Police cars, green park service trucks and red fire vehicles had clogged the narrow roads at the murder scene, so Shane pulled over. “I don’t suppose it would do me any good to tell you to stay here and wait for me.”
Small Town Justice Page 14
