Tony Wolf/Tim Buckthorn - 02 - Broken Shield

by J. D. Rhoades

  “For the moment,” she said. “How’s it going, really?”

  “Lofton’ll be starting at first light,” he said. “If I can get him sobered up.”

  “What?”

  “We got rained out last night. Ended up in some bar in a strip mall somewhere in this god-forsaken ‘burb.”

  “This is serious, Sean,” Patience said. “Maybe it’s time for you to cut our losses.”

  “When we get rid of the evidence,” Donovan said. “Then I get rid of Lofton. And you do what you have to do.”

  “Gal?” the weak croak came from the living room. “Where you at, gal?”

  “Coming, hon,” she called back. “I’ve got to get back to work, baby,” she whispered into the phone.

  “Me, too,” he said.

  “I miss you. I can’t wait till we’re together again.” She made her voice low and smoky with supposed passion. “I can’t wait to feel your hands on me. I can’t wait to feel you…inside me.”

  “I can’t wait for that, either,” he said.

  “Bye.” She closed the line and took a deep breath. The time was getting close. She could feel it. With Lofton gone and Monroe dead, Donovan would have a clear shot at running the whole operation. And she had a clear shot at running Donovan. Or did she? She gnawed at her lip uncertainly. Would he get tired of her? Find someone younger? She knew she was still attractive and young enough, but a man who’d assumed the kind of clout Lamp Monroe wielded might decide to trade up to a newer model. She needed something, some iron handle on Donovan.

  “Gal?” the querulous voice came again.

  “I have a name, damn it,” she muttered. “On the way, hon,” she called out. She took a deep breath and put her worries away for the moment. She had work to do, and something would come up. It always did.

  __________

  “Bartlett, Tennessee?” Wolf said. “Where’s that?”

  They were crowded into the department’s communications center—Wolf, Dushane, and Buckthorn—looking at one of the bank of computer screens that formed a broad semicircular wall around the crescent-shaped dispatch desk. Monica, the dispatcher, had put the Facebook page with the message on it onto the screen.

  “Suburb of Chattanooga,” Monica said. She reached out and clicked the mouse. The Facebook page disappeared, to be replaced by a Google Map. “Place was a little country crossroads fifteen years ago. Now it’s got a population a little over 5,000. Mostly commuters.” She clicked, typed, then clicked again. A website came up with a banner for a local TV station. TORNADOES SMASH INTO AREA, a headline blazed. Monica clicked on a picture and a video began playing, a blonde female reporter earnestly describing the damage caused by a pair of tornadoes that had touched down near Bartlett.

  “So who’s our contact?”

  “Retired Presbyterian minister,” Monica said. “Insomniac, from the sound of it. My kind of guy. Up all night surfing the ‘net, saw the page, recognized a couple of people he knew. Their house got blown down. He called them, they messaged us, then called. Wanted to know how they get their pictures back.”

  “Anyone else from the area see anything that ended up here?” Dushane said.

  Monica shook her head. “Just this guy and his family. The Nutters.”

  “Nice name,” Dushane said.

  “So we know some of the debris comes from this place,” Buckthorn said. “Does that mean it all came from there?”

  “Maybe not,” Dushane said. “My source at NOAA said it could be a mix from all along the storm track. But it’s more likely that our pic came from the same area.”

  “Okay,” Buckthorn said. “Chattanooga. That’s which office?”

  “Knoxville,” Dushane said. “I’ll call them.”

  “Great. Now all we have to do is get there.” He grimaced. “It’d be a good time to have a plane.”

  “The Bureau can get us one,” Dushane offered.

  “That’ll take a while.”

  “I can get us a plane,” Buckthorn said.

  Wolf looked surprised. “You can?”

  “Us?” Dushane said.

  “Yeah. I think.”

  “You got an airport around here?” Dushane said.

  “No. Private plane. Private airstrip.”

  “Who do you know with a plane?” Wolf asked.

  “My brother-in-law.”

  “And he’d fly us to Chattanooga?” Dushane said.

  “Probably. Or if this Bartlett place has an airport, he can get us right there.”

  “Okay,” Wolf said. “Thanks. Think you can arrange it?”

  Buckthorn looked at his watch. “Yeah. They should be up.” He looked up at the picture taped to the wall. The girl’s frightened eyes looked back at him. If anyone’s going to help that girl, Mrs. Underhill had said, the Lord means for it to be you. “One condition.”

  “You get to go along,” Wolf said.

  Buckthorn nodded.

  “No,” Dushane said. “No way.”

  “Not your decision, L.D.,” Wolf said. “Okay. We’ll call you a consultant.”

  Buckthorn smiled slightly. “Thanks.”

  “Boss…” Dushane began.

  He looked pointedly at her. “Don’t you have some phone calls to make, L.D.?”

  “Yes, boss,” she said. She was muttering to herself as she walked away.

  “I’ve got some calls to make myself,” Buckthorn said.

  __________

  “You’re going where?” Janine said.

  “Bartlett, Tennessee,” Buckthorn replied. He was sitting behind his desk, his phone receiver in one hand. Janine was standing in the doorway. “It’s just for a day or so.”

  “What in the world for?”

  “We think that’s where the pictures and letters came from. Including the one of the kidnapped girl.”

  “That’s not our case, Tim,” she said. “It’s Agent Wolf’s.”

  “I want to see how this plays out,” Buckthorn said.

  “That man’s nothing but trouble. And I don’t much care for his partner, either. She’s got a smart mouth.”

  Buckthorn grinned. “Pot, meet kettle.”

  “Hmph. And how are we supposed to run things with you gone?”

  “Duane can handle it.”

  “Duane’s too young.”

  “He’s the best deputy we have. All the other guys look up to him. Why is this such a problem for you, Janine?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I just have a feeling this isn’t going to turn out well.”

  “It’ll be fine, Janine.”

  “You tell Sheriff Stark about this?”

  “No. And you’re not going to, either.”

  “If this is such a great idea, why won’t you tell the Sheriff about it? He is your boss, you know.”

  “And I’m yours.” He regretted the words as soon as he’d said them, even before he saw the wounded look cross her face.

  “Well. I guess you told me,” she said. She turned and walked out.

  “Janine,” he said to the empty doorway. But she was gone. He started to get up, but his sister picked up the phone on the other end of the line. “Hello?”

  “Loretta. It’s Tim.”

  “Hey, stranger!” his sister said. “Where you been hidin’ out?”

  “You know. Working.”

  “That’s our Tim. When you gonna come out and see the boys? They’ve been askin’ after you.”

  Buckthorn felt a quick pang of guilt. “Soon,” he said. “Look, is Brubaker around? I need to ask a favor.”

  “Wow. That’s a switch.”

  “Don’t start, Loretta.”

  “I’m not startin’ a thing, hon. It’s just you never wanted his help before. Even when he offered it.”

  “Can we not do this now? I’ve got kind of a situation here.”

  “You okay, Tim?”

  He could almost see her, standing in her immaculate kitchen, a line of worry between her perfectly plucked and shaped eyebrows. “Yeah. I
’m fine, sis. Really. But there’s…there’s an investigation going on, and I need to see if we can use Bru’s plane.”

  “Sure, hon. He’s in his office.” She raised her voice, the sound muffled by a hand over the receiver. “BRU! PHONE! IT’S TIM!” Her voice returned to normal as she came back on the line. “Let’s get together soon, Tim. We can cook out. Bru got a new gas grill.”

  “That’d be good.” There was a click on the line and Brubaker Starnes’ voice replaced Loretta’s. “Tim! How you doin’, hoss?”

  Something about Bru’s constant hail-fellow-well-met demeanor always made Buckthorn wary. Loretta had scolded him more than once for his standoffishness. “He’s just a happy guy,” she’d said. “It’s why I married him. Lord knows I was tired of feelin’ bad all the time.” It was the closest she ever came to acknowledging the situation with their mother.

  There was no denying that Brubaker Starnes adored his wife and their two boys. But Tim knew too much about the people he’d destroyed on his way to becoming Gibson County’s richest man to ever trust him. He knew deep in his heart that if it advanced the cause of Brubaker Starnes, that hand slapping his back might have a knife in it one day. And his brother-in-law wouldn’t lose a night’s sleep.

  “Hey, Bru,” Buckthorn said. “I need kind of a big favor.”

  “Sure, Tim,” Bru said. “What can I do for you?”

  “I need to get me and two other people to a little town in Tennessee. A place called Bartlett. It’s near Chattanooga.”

  “How soon?”

  “Immediately.”

  “Huh,” Bru said. “So you want me to fly you?”

  Buckthorn took a deep breath. “Yeah. It’s important.”

  “This a police thing?”

  “Yeah. The FBI’s involved.”

  “The FBI? Good God, Tim, what have you got yourself mixed up in?” Despite the words, Buckthorn heard interest in Bru’s voice.

  “I can explain when I get there. Can you do it?”

  ”Sure. I had a couple things planned, but nothin’ I can’t reschedule. You comin’ out right now?”

  “Yeah. We need to go ASAP.”

  “Awright. I’ll need to gas up and check the weather. We’ll go VFR, so I don’t have to file a flight plan.”

  Buckthorn had no idea what that meant. “Whatever’s quickest,” he said. “Thanks, Bru. I owe you one.”

  “I know.” Brubaker hung up. Buckthorn knew he meant it. He was in his brother-in-law’s debt now, and he didn’t like it a bit. But the thought of the girl’s face drove him on.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “This is a bad idea, boss,” Dushane said.

  “Maybe,” said Wolf. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I agree with what you said earlier. He’s a good cop. But he’s not one of us.”

  “He’s the one who found the picture. It’s as much his case as ours.”

  “No. It isn’t. It really isn’t.” She looked at him skeptically. “What’s really going on here, Tony?”

  “Maybe I feel like I owe the guy.”

  “Owe him what? Sheriff Tim’s big adventure?”

  “I just…” they were interrupted as Buckthorn re-entered the conference room.”It’s all set,” he said. “I can drive us to the house.”

  “This isn’t going to be some kind of crop duster, is it?” Dushane said.

  “No,” Buckthorn said. “Twin engine. I think it’s a…Beechcraft? That sound right?”

  “Sure,” Wolf said.

  “Those are pretty upscale,” Dushane observed. “Your brother-in-law must be loaded.”

  “Yeah,” Buckthorn said. “Pretty much.” His face got that “I don’t want to talk about it” look that Dushane was starting to recognize. “Let’s go,” he said.

  They left Pine Lake in Buckthorn’s cruiser, stopping by the motel so each of the agents could pack a small overnight bag . The next stop was Buckthorn’s small house, where he threw a change of clothes and some toiletries into an old gym bag before setting off for the Starnes house.

  Outside of town, the landscape turned to gently rolling hills. Here and there, rough fences marked off farms where cows looked up with mild interest as they passed by. Some of the farms looked as if they were going to ruin, the fences sagging, the empty fields overgrown. From time to time they passed new-looking developments, single-family homes on tiny lots. The developments had names like Woodridge and Deerefield Farms, and the fences enclosing them were newer and looked recently painted. “Bru…my brother-in-law…built most of these,” Buckthorn said.

  “Now I get how he can afford the plane,” Dushane said.

  Five miles outside of town, Buckthorn turned off the road onto a clay driveway that passed between two large stone posts on either side of the entrance. The driveway quickly passed into a stand of pine trees that lined the road. As they came out of the trees, Dushane spotted the house.

  “Wow,” she said.

  The Starnes house was a sprawling structure of redwood and glass that would have looked more at home in the Hollywood hills than the North Carolina Piedmont. It spread across a low rise, surrounded by trees on three sides. On the fourth, the land sloped gently down to a wide field with knee-high grass waving gently in the morning breeze. A long strip of concrete ran the length of the field, with a two-engine plane sitting at one end, in front of a metal hangar. Dushane could see a tall man walking beside the aircraft, looking it over, bending down from time to time to look at the undercarriage. The man spotted the car and waved. Buckthorn stopped the car next to the house. He didn’t get out immediately, but instead sat behind the wheel for a moment. Dushane was about to ask him if he was going to get out, but he took a deep breath like someone about to pull out a splinter and opened the door.

  “Tim!” a voice came from the house. A woman came out a side door. She was tall, slender, with dark hair. She was dressed in perfectly creased designer jeans and a white silk blouse. She ran up to Buckthorn with a girlish squeal and threw her arms around him, pressing her cheek to his. He grinned and hugged her back. It was the most relaxed Dushane had seen him, and she marveled at the transformation in him when he smiled. “It’s so good to see you,” the woman said. She broke the hug and looked at Wolf and Dushane getting out of the car. “You’ll have to excuse me, y’all,” she said. “I haven’t seen this one in seems like forever.”

  “It’s been, like, a month,” Buckthorn protested.

  “Like I said.” She held out a hand. “I’m Loretta Starnes,” she said with a wide smile.

  Dushane took the hand, noting the perfectly coiffed dark hair and the wide, dark brown eyes. “Special Agent Leila Dushane. This is my partner, Special Agent Tony Wolf.”

  “Leila. What a pretty name,” Loretta said. Dushane was usually wary of compliments, but the woman seemed sincere, and her good humor was so infectious, she couldn’t help but smile back. “Thanks.”

  “Y’all want to come in for a glass of ice tea?” Loretta said.

  “Thanks, Ma’am,” Wolf replied, “but we need to get moving.”

  “Right,” Loretta said. “Some kind of mysterious police business.” She made air quotes with crooked fingers on the last two words.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Dushane said. “We appreciate the loan of the plane.”

  “Ain’t my plane, hon,” Loretta said with a grimace. “That’s Brubaker’s toy. And if you’re brave enough to go up in that little bitty thing, believe me, you are welcome to it.”

  The side door burst open again and two young boys came pelting out. “Uncle Tim!” one yelled. He looked to be about ten years old, the other one a year younger. They had the same light blond hair and their mother’s dark eyes. They barreled into Buckthorn’s legs, yelling. He laughed and scooped the younger one up, the smile on his face getting even bigger. The boys both began talking at once, with their mother adding her voice into the cacophony, scolding them to let their uncle be.

  A tall, lean
man in khaki pants and a polo shirt walked up. Dushane recognized the man who had been tending to the plane. He had the kind of tan that comes from years of working and playing outdoors, and his thick hair was silver-gray.

  “Daddy!” one of the boys said. “Uncle Tim says y’all are going in the plane. Can we come? Can we? Please?”

  “Sorry, guys,” the man said. “This is business.”

  “Awwwwwww…” the two boys said in unison. The man nodded at Buckthorn. “Tim.”

  Buckthorn nodded back. “Bru.” He turned to introduce the man, but he’d already stepped forward and extended a hand to Wolf. “Brubaker Starnes,” he said. “My friends call me Bru.”

  “Tony Wolf,” Wolf said, taking the hand and giving it a quick, firm shake.

  Starnes turned to Dushane. “And who might this little lady be?” he asked, his eyes running up and down her body appraisingly.

  I might be the one that’s going to put a boot up your ass if you call me ‘little lady’ again, she thought, but she smiled a tight professional smile and extended her hand. “Special Agent Leila Dushane.”

  “Leila,” he said, taking the hand. “Like the song.”

  Strike two, you smarmy fuck, Dushane thought. Over the years, she had come to truly detest Derek and the Dominos’ classic rock song “Layla,” not because she thought it was a bad song, but because every douchebag she ever met thought it would impress her if they mentioned it. God knows why. Some, especially the drunk ones, even tried to sing it to her.

  “Different spelling,” she said, never letting the smile drop. “Thanks a lot for playing chauffeur.”

  He’d been holding on to her hand just a beat too long, but now he let it drop. “I’ve got the plane gassed up,” he said, clearly nettled at the word “chauffeur”.

  “Let’s get going, then,” Wolf said. Starnes turned and walked away without another word. Wolf gave Dushane a warning glance. She looked back at him with exaggerated innocence. He shook his head.

  They fell in behind him, Buckthorn pausing a moment to give his sister and nephews a last hug before jogging to catch up. He fell in beside Starnes as they walked to the plane.

  It was a Beechcraft King Air, sleek and fast-looking, with round porthole windows. Inside, the passenger compartment was lush, with comfortable leather seats. Buckthorn clambered up to the copilot’s seat while Dushane and Wolf took their places in the back. Buckthorn and Starnes took the front.