“Loretta ran to a neighbor’s house, covered in blood. They called the cops. Mom got locked up overnight, and she went into rehab the next day.” Buckthorn’s voice had gone flat and dead. “She walked out 10 days later, after she got done detoxing. They called my uncle to come get her. Before he got there, she walked into the highway, directly in front of an eighteen wheeler.” Buckthorn was trembling. His voice shook, but his eyes stayed dry. “I should have stopped her,” he said. “I should have been there.”
Dushane threw her arms around him. “No. No. It wasn’t your fault, Tim. It wasn’t.”
“I keep telling myself that,” he said. “Someday I may actually believe it.”
“Your sister,” Dushane said. “She looked fine when I saw her.”
“She had a bunch of plastic surgery,” Buckthorn said. “When she got engaged to Bru Starnes, he paid for a bunch more. What’s left of the scar, she can cover with makeup. Mostly. You have to be looking for it. But it’s there.”
“Is that why you became a cop?”
“Probably. I didn’t know it at the time, though. I came home to look after my sister, and I needed a job. My uncle knew Sheriff Wheeler—he was in office at the time, before Stark—and he got me on.”
“And after a few years at it, your sister doesn’t need looking after any more. She’s got a family of her own. So now you look after a whole county.”
“I guess.”
“Yeah. But who looks after you?”
He shook his head. “I don’t need looking after.”
She blew a raspberry. “Bullshit.” She propped herself back up on her elbow. “What do you want, Tim?”
He thought the answer over. The silence lay between them. As he opened his mouth to answer, a knock came at the door. “Tim?” a voice said.
“Oh, fuck,” Dushane said, sitting up and pulling the sheet around her. “It’s Wolf.”
“Tim?” the voice asked again. “I can’t find Dushane. She’s not in her room. Have you seen her?”
“Just a second,” Buckthorn called out.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.” She jumped up, the sheet still wrapped around her naked body. “Hide me.”
“Why?” Buckthorn said, but she had already bolted for the bathroom, leaving the bed bare. She closed the door as Buckthorn was pulling his jeans on. He went to the door and opened it. Wolf was standing there, looking confused.
“Hi,” Buckthorn said.
“I can’t find Dushane,” Wolf said, “Have you seen…” He stopped and took a sniff. Comprehension dawned on his face. He shook his head. “Jesus,” he said. “How long have you two been going at it? It smells like a New Orleans cathouse in here.”
“Um,” was all Buckthorn could think of to say.
Wolf called over his shoulder. “L.D.,” he said, “you can come out now.” He pushed past Buckthorn into the room. “There’s been a development.”
Buckthorn sat on the bed, hoping the heat he could feel in his face didn’t mean he was blushing, but knowing that it probably did. In a moment, Dushane came out of the bathroom, the sheet still covering her. She was looking at the floor, unable to meet anyone’s eyes. “Sorry, boss,” she murmured.
He shrugged. “I’m your partner, L.D., not your dad. You’re a grownup. What you do on your own time is your own business. Unless you’re sleeping with a suspect.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Euuuw.”
“Or a defense lawyer.”
She made a gagging noise. “Double euuuw.”
“Or…”
“Okay, okay,” she laughed, “I get it.” She looked at Buckthorn and laughed harder. “Tim,” she said, “you look like you want to sink through the floor.”
“I’m fine,” he said. “This just isn’t how the morning staff meeting usually goes.”
“Christ, I hope not,” Dushane said.
Wolf turned serious. “I got word from Watson,” he said. “Art Preston was found dead in his cell last night.”
“What? How?” Dushane said.
“They don’t know,” Wolf said. “They said suicide, but he’d been on suicide watch. No sheet, no shoelaces, the whole protocol. Somehow, he got hold of a belt and hanged himself.”
“Or someone did it for him,” Dushane said grimly.
Wolf nodded. “One of the deputies who was supposed to be on duty at the jail walked away from his post sometime during the night. Now they can’t reach him at home.”
“You were wondering about whether Monroe had people in the local police. Or the FBI,” Dushane said. “Looks like you were right.”
“It doesn’t make me happy.”
“When does being right ever make anyone happy in this job?”
”Someone’s cleaning up,” Buckthorn said. “Trying to get rid of anyone who had connections to the kidnapping.”
“Anyone who might be able to take things further than Lofton Monroe,” Wolf said.
“Only one who’d have any reason to do that,” Dushane said, “would be this Donovan character. Or Granddaddy, the Lizard King.”
Buckthorn felt fingers of ice closing around his heart. “What about the girl?” he said. “Callie. And her mother?”
“The girl’s fine,” Wolf said. “The mom insists she doesn’t know any names. It was all just voices on the phone. But they’ve got someone guarding her, just in case.”
“So everything dead ends with Lofton Monroe,” Buckthorn said.
“For the moment,” Wolf said. “In any case, it looks like we’re done here. I say we go home.” He stood up. “I’m getting us plane tickets back to Charlotte,” he said. “Tim, you think you can get home from there?”
Buckthorn nodded. “I can get someone to come pick me up.”
“By the way,” Wolf said, “the news media’s picked this one up. You’re probably going to have a few phone messages when you get back.”
“Including one from your girlfriend?” Dushane said.
Wolf looked annoyed. “Probably.”
Dushane turned to Buckthorn. “He wants you to call her back first.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“I will,” Buckthorn said. “She’ll get it right.”
“Whatever,” Wolf said, still clearly nettled. He got up. “Plane leaves at 2:45. Checkout time’s at 11:00. Let me know if you want to go get breakfast.” He let himself out.
“So that’s it, then,” Dushane said. “Case closed. At least for us.”
“Leila,” Buckthorn said, “I’d like to see you again. When we get back, I mean.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Well, yeah,” she said. “I don’t do one night stands.”
“I didn’t think you did,” he said.
She smiled and kissed him on the cheek. “That’s settled, then. Call me when we get back.” She stood up and let the sheet drop. “For now, I think breakfast can wait.”
__________
“The ones that killed my grandson,” Lampton Monroe said. “I got names. Some hick deputy and two FBI people.”
“I heard,” Donovan said.
“I want them dead.” He was sitting up in bed, a tray table across his lap. A bowl of oatmeal sat untouched on the tray, next to a cup of coffee.
Donovan shook his head. “Don’t be daft,” he said. “Taking out a cop is bad enough, even a small town deputy. But you’re talking about killing federal agents. You’ve got to know what kind of shit-storm that’ll bring down.”
“Not if you don’t get caught.” Monroe’s hands trembled as he picked up his coffee cup.
“They won’t let up until they do. They’ll hound us to the gates of Hell.”
“You won’t get caught. I know you can do it. I got papers for you. A whole different identity. You go in, you do it, you get out, we burn the ID. An’ I got half a dozen people’ll say that Sean Donovan was a hundred miles away when any of it happened.” He picked up a packet off the table next to him. “It’s all here. New driver’s license, social security card, credit cards, the works. Cost me
a damn fortune to get it all done so fast, but I want this done. An’ I got names an’ addresses of those three.” He held it out to Donovan.
He didn’t take the packet. “It’s not a good idea.”
The old man slammed the packet down on the tray. Coffee sloshed over the lip of the coffee cup. His voice was hard. “When I want your opinion, boy, I’ll tell you. This is family. No one touches my family and gets away with it.” He picked up the coffee up again and smiled slyly. “Besides, with Lofton gone, I’m lookin’ for someone to replace him. But it’s gotta be somebody with some hair on his balls. Someone who ain’t afraid.” He took a sip, looking at Donovan over the cup. “I was thinkin’ that might be you, Irish. Was I wrong?”
Donovan stared back at him without expression. “No,” he said finally. “You’re not wrong.”
Monroe nodded. “Thought so.” He put the cup down and held the packet out again. Donovan took it. “There’s one more name in there,” he said.
“Of course there is,” Donovan sighed. “Who?”
“Just a fella I know. He worked at the jail where that Preston asshole was bein’ kept. The one that smuggled him in a belt an’ tole him what would happen to his wife an’ lil’ girl if he didn’t use it.”
“Great,” Donovan said. “Another cop.”
Monroe shook his head. “Not any more. He’s on vacation, you might say. I want you to make it a permanent one.”
“The last link to you,” Donovan said.
Monroe nodded. “He goes first. He’s down at the beach, spendin’ my damn money. I want it back.”
“Right, then. I best be on my way.”
“Yeah. An’ send that red-haired gal in here to clean up this mess.”
Donovan walked into the living room. Patience was at the bar in the kitchen, eating a bowl of cereal. “He wants you,” Donovan said. “He spilled his coffee.”
“Okay.” She got up. “What were you talking about?”
“Business,” Donovan said. “Nothing you need worry about.”
She looked surprised at his sudden abruptness. “Oh. Okay.” She looked past him at the open door. “Just…be careful.”
“I will.” He didn’t embrace her as he walked past, out the front door.
She looked after him, frowning. He could have just been being cautious, with the old man so near. But he usually let her in on what he was up to. It worried her.
She plastered a professional smile on her face and grabbed a towel before going into the bedroom. “Oops,” she said in a bright cheerful voice, “did you spill?”
“Take this shit away,” he said roughly. “Then help me into the bathroom. I gotta go.”
“Yes, sir.” She did the requested tasks, never letting the smile leave her face. When she had the old man situated, she closed the bathroom door behind her. She glanced back once as she walked over to the bedside table and pulled out one of the drawers. She took out the small black digital voice recorder she’d slipped into the drawer when she’d gone in to wake the old man up. She turned the volume down to a whisper and ran the playback back to the beginning. The device was voice-activated and wouldn’t start recording until there was some sound to record. She heard the conversation as she awakened Monroe. The voices were faint, muffled slightly from being in the drawer, but they were distinct. She could make out every word. The recording jumped to the time when she brought in breakfast. She heard the old man’s wheezing complaints about the blandness of the meal, as if his system could handle anything else. She heard Donovan come in, then the door closing behind him.
“Those people that killed my grandson,” she heard Monroe say. When he got to “I want them dead,” she closed her eyes and breathed the sigh of someone listening to a dream come true. She shut off the recorder and looked at the bathroom door. “I own you, you old bastard,” she whispered fiercely. “And Sean Donovan, too. I fucking own you. And you don’t even know it.”
“Gal?” Monroe’s cracked voice came through the door. “Gal? I need help here.”
“Coming, hon,” she said with a smile.
PART TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY
Loretta Starnes met them at baggage claim in Charlotte. Dushane noticed her first, standing by the carousels, talking on her cell phone. She poked Buckthorn in the arm to get his attention, then pointed.
“Oh. Okay,” he said. He hesitated.
“There’s Gaby,” Wolf said. Buckthorn saw her standing a few feet away from Loretta. She waved.
“Glad she didn’t bring a camera crew,” Buckthorn said.
“I asked her not to.”
“Thanks.”
“But she is going to ask for an interview. You being a hero and all.”
Buckthorn sighed. “Okay. But tell her later, all right? I’m betting there’s a shit-ton of work on my desk.”
Wolf nodded. “Done.” He walked off towards her.
Buckthorn turned to Dushane. “I guess this is goodbye.”
“Yeah,” she said, her face expressionless. On impulse, he bent down and kissed her. She stiffened with surprise at first, then relaxed into the kiss. People shuffled around them, muttering impatiently, until they broke apart.
“I’ll call you,” he said.
“You damn well better,” she whispered. “I know where you live.” He laughed and turned to find Loretta standing there, her eyes as bright with interest as a bird’s.
“Well, hey,” she said. She hugged Buckthorn tightly, never taking her eyes off Dushane until she broke away and held Buckthorn by the shoulders, at arm’s length, looking at him appraisingly. “Welcome home, hero,” she said.
“Lord, sis, don’t you start too,” he said.
“Well, it’s true. Everybody’s talkin’ about it.” She held out a hand to Dushane. “Good to see you again.”
Dushane took it and smiled. “Thanks, ma’am. You, too.”
“Oh, hush with that ‘ma’am’ nonsense,” Loretta said. “You make me sound like an old lady. Call me Loretta.” She smiled more broadly. “Only right, with you two getting to be such good friends and all.”
“Loretta,” Buckthorn said.
“My God, Tim, are you blushing?” She laughed with delight and turned to Dushane. “He’s blushing! Look.”
“Yep,” Dushane said with a grin. “He sure is.”
“Isn’t he just the cutest thing?”
“Yeah,” Dushane said, and winked at Buckthorn, “he sure is.”
“Can we just go?” Buckthorn said, feeling the heat in his face.
“Sure,” Loretta said. “Can we give you a lift, hon?”
“Um…” Dushane looked at Buckthorn. “I was going to get a cab.”
“Well, now you’re not,” Loretta said.
“It’s kind of across town. I don’t want to be any trouble…”
“No trouble at all,” Loretta said. “Come on. We’ve got a lot to talk about.” She handed a set of keys to Buckthorn. “You drive, hon. I still feel like that big ol’ SUV’s about to get away from me. It’s more of a man car, anyway.”
As it turned out, Loretta did most of the talking, about the boys, her husband, what had been going on in Pine Lake since they’d left, the scandal erupting in the Sheriff’s department and judiciary over in Blainesville. Dushane, sitting in the back seat of the huge luxury SUV, mostly nodded, made sounds of agreement, and interrupted occasionally to give directions. Buckthorn stayed silent and drove. Finally they pulled up to Dushane’s house in a neatly kept residential neighborhood.
“Oh, sweetie,” Loretta gushed. “Your place is just adorable.”
“Thanks,” Dushane said as she opened the door. She paused, one leg out of the car. “Um…you want to come in?”
“Oh, no thanks,” Loretta said. “We’ve got to get on the road. But I tell you what, you doin’ anything Friday?”
Dushane looked at Buckthorn. “I, ah, don’t think so.”
“Great. Come to the house for dinner. Seven thirtyish sound okay? Don’t look a
t him, hon, I’m the one askin’.”
Dushane smiled. “Okay. Thanks.” She got out. Loretta turned to Buckthorn. “Well?” she said.
“Well what?”
“Tim Buckthorn, you get out of this car and kiss that girl goodbye. My God, have I got to do everything here? It’s like you’re fifteen all over again.” He shook his head, unbuckled his seat belt, and got out. Dushane was halfway up the walk to her house when she turned at the sound of the door opening. She dropped her bag on the ground as they kissed. When they parted, he still held her in his arms.
“It’s okay that I said yes, isn’t it?” she murmured.
“It’s great,” he said, and meant it. “Sorry my sister put you on the spot like that, though. It’s kind of what she does.”
“I like her,” Dushane said. “She reminds me of my Aunt Viola.”
“Better not tell her that.”
She laughed. “See you Friday.”
“Looking forward to it.”
When he got back in the car, Loretta said, “Now, you have got to tell me all about it.”
“No,” he said. “I don’t.”
She stuck out her tongue. “You’re no fun at all.” Her face grew serious and her voice lost the bantering tone. “Seriously, Tim,” she said, “how are you doing?”
He thought it over. They’d been through too much together for him to give his sister a superficial answer. “I think I’m okay. Shook..I mean shaken up. No nightmares. Yet.”
“You gonna talk to someone? Our pastor’d love to be able to help.”
“I’m sure he would,” Buckthorn said. He’d never trusted Pastor Cutler, the unctuous, pompous minister at the First Church of Christ in Pine Lake. He changed the subject. “So just how mad is Bru?”
“Oh,” she said. “He was in fine form when he came home, believe me. We had a nice little set-to about him leavin’ you behind. But when the reports started comin’ in on the news about what happened, he got over his mad in a hurry.”
Buckthorn’s heart sank. “The news?”
“I wasn’t jokin’ when I said you were a hero, Tim. That pretty little Mexican girl from Channel 12? The one that was here a couple years ago?”
Tony Wolf/Tim Buckthorn - 02 - Broken Shield Page 16
