Tony Wolf/Tim Buckthorn - 02 - Broken Shield

by J. D. Rhoades

  “Hey,” she snapped, pulling her badge out and flashing it at the deputy. “FBI. I need your car.”

  The deputy blinked. “What?”

  She held out her other hand, snapping her fingers before opening her palm. “Your keys. Give them to me,” she looked at his name tag, “Deputy Arrington.”

  He looked around, as if searching for someone to save him from this deranged apparition that had suddenly appeared before him.

  “Lady, I can’t…”

  “It’s not ‘lady’, Deputy Arrington. It’s ‘Agent’. ‘Special Agent’ if you want to be formal. As in ‘Federal Agent’ on a Federal investigation, which you are coming perilously close to obstructing. Do you know what happens to people who obstruct federal investigations?”

  “Ma’am…”

  “They go to federal prison. Now what’s it going to be?”

  He was getting angry now. “Ma’am, I’m not giving you my car!”

  At that moment, the radio crackled in the patrol car. Tim Buckthorn’s voice came through clearly, his words causing every officer in the area to turn their heads and listen.

  “Attention, all units. Officer down. 10-33. Repeat. Officer down.”

  “God DAMN it,” she heard Duane Willis snarl behind her. Then, “Arrington! Take Agent Dushane and get out to the Motor Court. Haul ass.”

  “Yes, SIR!” Arrington said. He looked at Dushane. “But I’m drivin’.”

  “Whatever,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  She’d barely gotten her door closed when Arrington stomped the gas pedal hard, kicking up a spray of gravel as he tore out of the lot, siren wailing. She grabbed the door as he rocketed down the road. An ambulance fell in behind them, its own siren adding to the cacophony.

  “Hey,” she said, “sorry I was kind of rough back there.”

  “Not a problem,” he said. “You’re that Agent Wolf’s partner, right?”

  “Yeah.” She held on to the door, her knuckles whitening as he took a curve at tire-squealing speed. “You’ve met him?”

  “Sorta.” He grinned. “Chased him one time. He got away. Ran me right in the damn ditch. That fella can sure drive.”

  “I’ll tell him you asked after him,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “You do that…oh, no.” They had come within sight of the Pine Lake Motor Court. There were two sheriff’s cruisers in the otherwise empty parking lot. One had its lights flashing. But what had gotten Arrington’s attention was the sight of Buckthorn, sitting on the pavement beside a stretched-out body in the brown uniform of the Sheriff’s Department. Arrington pulled the car to a screeching halt a few feet away and he and Dushane piled out.

  Buckthorn looked up as they approached. He had his pistol out, held loosely in one hand on his knee. His face was blank, drained of all emotion.

  “It’s Chris McCall,” he said in a dead voice. “Shot twice. Ev Carter’s in the office back there. Dead.” Arrington started toward the office just as the ambulance pulled in, its siren grinding down to a low growl. Buckthorn raised his voice to speak over it. “Don’t touch anything,” he said. “There’s something wired to the bottom of Chris’s car. There’s probably other devices around.” Arrington pulled up short, looking confused. “Wh…what do you want me to do, Captain?”

  Buckthorn didn’t answer at first. He looked around, then slowly got to his feet. Two paramedics, a man and a woman, ran to where McCall lay and bent over him. The man put his fingers to McCall’s throat, pulled back his eyelid, then looked up and shook his head. Buckthorn didn’t seem to notice. “Secure the scene,” he said as he slid his pistol back into the holster on his hip. “Tell Duane to get the EOD guys from Bragg over here. Wait for the FBI. They’ll be taking over. Right, Agent Dushane?”

  His eerie calm was giving her chills. “That’s not important right now. We need to get you…where are you going?”

  He was climbing into Willis’ vehicle. He acted as if he hadn’t heard the question. “Tim!” she said as he started the engine. He didn’t look at her as he drove off.

  “Where’s he going?” Arrington asked.

  “No place good,” she whispered.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Buckthorn sat in the patrol car, looking at the outside of Bru and Loretta’s house. He knew what he needed to do. It was his news to deliver. His duty. But for once in his life, he couldn’t face that duty. He reached for the keys in the ignition, intending to start the car and just drive away. He didn’t know where he’d go after that. His whole life had been dedicated to protecting his town, his officers, his family. And he’d failed. Utterly. Loretta was dead, burned to an unrecognizable husk by an evil he’d gone out and found and brought back to Pine Lake with him. A young officer lay dead, slain by the same evil. He felt the weight of his failure settle on his shoulders. He remembered the story he’d had to read in high school where a man suspected of witchcraft was pressed to death by having progressively heavier stones laid on his chest. ‘More weight,” the man had said. But the weight was coming down on him without being asked. A strange lethargy seemed to steal over him, as if someone had slipped him a powerful anesthetic. He let his hand drop and sat there until Bru came out of the house. He walked towards the car, looking puzzled and slightly annoyed at the interruption. Finally Buckthorn got his legs to work. He opened the door and stood just as Bru reached him.

  “Tim?” Bru said. “What’s going on? Loretta said she was going to meet you for lunch. Did she…”

  “Bru,” Buckthorn interrupted. “Loretta…” he choked on the words.

  Bru’s face went slack with shock as he saw the expression on his brother in law’s face. “What? What is it?” He grabbed Buckthorn by the shoulders. “What happened to my wife, Tim?”

  “She’s dead, Bru,” Buckthorn said. “She was…someone came after me. They put a bomb. In the car.”

  Bru released him and stepped back, a look of disbelief on his face. “A bomb? What? That’s crazy.” His face darkened. “If this is a joke, old son, it’s not funny. Not a…”

  “It’s not a joke, Bru. She’s gone.”

  “You’re sure?” A note of desperation crept into his voice. “Maybe you’re wrong. Maybe she’s just hurt. She’s at the hospital.”

  Buckthorn shook his head. “I’m sorry, Bru. I’m…I’m so sorry.”

  “Sorry,” Bru said hollowly. He swayed like a drunk for a moment, his eyes glazing as if he was about to collapse. He steadied himself with a hand on the hood of the car. His eyes cleared and he looked at Buckthorn. “How the hell can you stand there so calmly?” he demanded in a harsh voice. “Don’t you feel anything?”

  “Yeah,” Buckthorn said. “I do. I…I do.” He looked around, as if he was seeing where he was for the first time. “Where are the boys?” he asked. “I need to tell…”

  “I’ll tell my sons, Tim,” Bru said, and his voice was raw with rage and pain. “You’ve done enough.”

  “Bru, I…” he trailed off “I’m sorry,” he said again. They were the only words he seemed capable of forming. Bru didn’t answer; he just turned and walked back towards the house, his shoulders bowed as if he was bearing the same weight Buckthorn did. As Buckthorn started to get back in the car, Bru suddenly turned. His face was a mask of fury and hate. “Useless,” he hissed. Buckthorn froze. “You were supposed to protect us. And you’ve done a piss poor job of it.”

  He couldn’t answer. It was an echo of the same voice he’d been hearing in his head. He felt a sharp pain in his jaw, a quick bolt of agony that made him gasp with surprise He realized that he’d clenched his jaw so hard that he’d broken a tooth clean through. The pain was like lightning pulsing through his head.

  Bru went on. “You said they were trying to kill you. I wish to God they had, if that meant my Loretta would still be alive.”

  “I wish that too,” Buckthorn whispered. Bru didn’t hear him. “But they missed,” he said. “What happens if they try again? Are you going to do the same great fucking job
you did protecting us this time?”

  “I’ll find them,” Buckthorn said. “I promise you that. I know who did this. And I’ll make sure they pay.”

  “How?” Bru said. “You’re going to investigate? You’re going to arrest them? How’s that worked so far?”

  Buckthorn straightened up. “No,” he said. “You’re right.”

  “I can’t believe…what?”

  “You’re right,” Buckthorn said. “It’s not working.” He slid behind the wheel.

  “What are you going to do?” Bru shouted. Buckthorn drove off without answering.

  __________

  “Janine?” Sheriff Stark’s voice coming from the intercom on her desk startled her. She was so unused to him calling down to the office that she didn’t answer at first. “Janine!” he said again, a little louder.

  “Yes sir?” she answered.

  “Where the heck is Tim Buckthorn?”

  He’s doing the job you ought to be doing, you useless tub of lard, she thought to herself. “I assume he’s out at one of the crime scenes, sir.”

  “Well, you assume wrong. Someone just saw him walk into my office and walk back out again. And he left his badge on my desk.”

  “He left…” she stopped. “I’m not sure where he is, then, sir. I’ll see if I can find him.” She pulled out her cell phone and hit Buckthorn’s number on speed dial. The phone rang five times before his voicemail came on. “This is Tim Buckthorn. Leave a message.”

  “Tim,” she said. “It’s Janine. Sheriff Stark says you just walked in and left your badge on his desk. What on earth are you thinking of? Call me.” She called his house, got the answering machine, left a similar message. She sat in silence for a moment, her brow furrowed, her stomach twisting with worry. She got up and went into Dispatch.

  “Monica,” she said, “you know where Tim is?”

  “Ain’t you heard?” Monica said. “He took Duane Willis’ car and run off from where McCall got shot. I guess between that and his sister, he’s freakin’ out.”

  “What about Loretta?” She put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, no. Was she…oh, no.”

  Monica nodded grimly. “Yep. It was her car that got blown up.” She shook her head. “What is this world comin’ to when somethin’ like this can happen in Pine Lake? Crazy bikers a couple years ago, now some terrorist is goin’ around blowin’ people up.”

  “Get Tim on the radio,” Janine said. “Now. Tell him to call me. Now. Move it, girl!”

  “Okay, okay,” the girl muttered, turning back to her console. “You don’t have to yell.” She keyed her mike. “705,” she broadcast. “705, County. Please acknowledge.” The only reply was the hissing of the radio. She keyed the mike again. “Tim,” she said, “where you at, Tim? Acknowledge.” There was no answer. Monica frowned. “Now, that ain’t like him.”

  “No,” Janine said, “it isn’t.” She pulled out her phone again and punched another set of numbers in. The answer came after the first ring. “Dushane.”

  “Agent Dushane, this is Janine Porter.”

  She didn’t get a chance to go on. “Mrs. Porter, have you seen Tim?”

  Janine felt a cold chill down her spine. “I was hoping you knew where he was.”

  “I don’t. His sister was killed. I’m on my way to his house as soon as I can get someone to give me a ride back to my car.”

  “He’s not picking up his land line,” Janine said. “Or answering the radio.”

  “Fuck!” Dushane said. Then, “Sorry.”

  “Never mind that,” Janine said. “You just call me when you get there.”

  “Yes ma’am. I will.” She broke the connection. Janine stood in the doorway of the dispatch room. For once, she had no idea what to do.

  __________

  Dushane saw the sheriff’s car parked at the curb as she pulled up. She parked behind it and sat for a moment. She wondered what she’d find inside. Buckthorn was beginning to frighten her, and she hated that feeling. Finally, she got out and walked slowly up the concrete walk to the front of the house. She tried the front door without knocking. It swung open easily at her touch. She took a deep breath and entered.

  Buckthorn was coming out of the bedroom. He’d changed out of his uniform into a pair of worn, ragged jeans and a solid black t-shirt. He was carrying a small overnight bag in his left hand. A shotgun was cradled in the crook of his right elbow. He stopped when he saw her standing in the living room.

  “Hey,” she said as calmly as she could. “Going hunting?”

  “Something like that,” he said. The blank, stunned look she’d seen earlier was gone. In its place was a look that frightened her even more. His face was still calm, but she could see the muscles working in his clenched jaw. It was the eyes that scared her most. They were narrow, smoldering slits of rage.

  “Tim, what’s going on?”

  He wouldn’t look her in the eye. “I’ve got to go. I’ll be away for a while.”

  “Go where?”

  “Better that you not know.”

  The fear gave way to anger. “Oh, really? You can’t tell me? The person you were, you know, making love to this morning?” She shook her head. “It’s not like I can’t figure it out. I’m not stupid, Tim.”

  He set the bag and shotgun on the couch and went to the closet. “I don’t think you’re stupid. But you shouldn’t try and stop me.”

  “Tim,” she said, “this is not you. Remember what you told me? When I was shook up? After I shot Lofton Monroe?”

  He took an NC State baseball cap out of the closet and put it on. “What?”

  “You said you got over killing people when you had to do it because you reminded yourself you were a sworn officer of the law, and they were lawless men.”

  He looked at her, and her heart broke in half as she saw the pain mixed with the rage in his eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “And look how well that worked out.”

  “We’re going to get these people, Tim. I promise you. But we’re going to do it the right way.”

  He picked up the gun and the bag. “I wish you a lot of luck. But I’m betting I get to them first.” He started for the door.

  She moved to block his way. “Or they kill you.”

  He stopped. “Maybe. But where did twenty years of following the law get me? My sister’s dead, Leila. I can still smell her burning. I can still taste the ashes on my tongue. One of my officers, a young man whose name I barely knew, is dead, too. I spent all this time, all this worry, all this work, to try and protect this town and its people. But in the end, I can’t even protect my family. Or my men.”

  “So this is your answer? Some sort of kamikaze mission against Donovan and Monroe? I’ve heard of crooks committing suicide by cop, but this is the first time I’ve seen a cop try to commit suicide by crook.”

  He almost smiled at that. “Funny.”

  “Thanks,” she said. Her voice broke as she added, “I got a million of them.”

  “I’m not a lawman any more, Leila,” he said. “I failed at it.”

  A tear ran down her cheek. “You didn’t. You really didn’t.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “Please, Tim,” she said. “Don’t do this.”

  He shifted the gun to the crook of the arm holding the bag. He reached up and gently took her hand. He brought it to his lips and kissed it softly, looking into her eyes. Then he put a hand on her shoulder and moved her aside. “Goodbye, Leila,” he said as he walked past her and out the door. She went to the door and watched him walk to his pickup. The tears streamed freely down her face as he got in, started the truck, and drove away. He didn’t look back.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  “So how’s he taking it?” Donovan asked.

  “Better than you might think,” Patience said. “He started off raging and swearing that you’d missed the ones you were after. But when he found out that the deputy’s sister is the one who died, he started thinking. Now he’s almost happy about it.”

  “He thinks it’s more fit
ting? More of an eye for an eye?”

  “You’ll have to ask him. He said to send you in as soon as you got here.”

  “Okay.” He paused before entering. “See you later?”

  She nodded. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I missed you too.” He took a deep breath and opened the door.

  Lamp Monroe was sitting in his wheelchair, watching a daytime talk show on the flat screen TV. As Donovan entered, he picked up the remote and killed the sound. He stared at the silent screen for a full thirty seconds Donovan stood silently. He knew the old bastard was trying to make him nervous, but he knew that game well. Finally, Monroe looked at him.

  “Well?” he croaked. “What’ve you got to say for yourself?”

  Donovan shrugged. “They got into another car. There was no way I could’ve known they’d do that. I’ll get him next time.”

  Monroe grunted. “Maybe it’s better this way. Let the sumbitch suffer.”

  “I agree.”

  Monroe bristled. “Did I fuckin’ ask if you agreed?”

  Donovan decided to change the subject. “Is my alibi secure?”

  Monroe nodded. “Couple of feds came nosin’ around. But I had three people swear you was workin’ security on a riverboat casino in Biloxi for the last three weeks.” He chuckled. “We even got time cards showin’ you clocked in.”

  “Don’t those things have video surveillance? What if they ask for the recordings?”

  “We tell ‘em to get a warrant or go fuck themselves. An’ they ain’t got no reason for a warrant. Even if they do, we got a guy walkin’ around the casino, about your size, with a hat pulled down so you can’t see his face. That’s you, as near as anyone can tell.”

  Donovan shook his head. “They’re going to want to question me in person.”

  “Oh, they tried. But you walked off the job the day after the bombin’ and no one’s seen you since. So don’t worry. We got this locked down.”