A Killer Past

by Maris Soule

  ‘So what kind of clues did you leave for Mary?’ Jack hoped whatever those clues were they’d also bring Mendoza and other officers.

  ‘Little ones, so if you’re hoping the cavalry will come and save you, I wouldn’t hold your breath.’

  ‘He doesn’t need the cavalry, David. I’m here.’

  ‘Grandma,’ Shannon cried.

  Both Jack and Burrows looked toward the Impala.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  MARY HOPED HERS wasn’t an empty boast. She’d found them, but now what? She’d picked up a pitchfork that was leaning against the side door of the barn, but what good would that be against David’s gun?

  ‘I thought he was your friend,’ Shannon said, her voice cracking. ‘I wouldn’t have gotten into his car if I’d known.’

  ‘Not your fault, honey.’ Mary understood how David had tricked the girl. The agency taught them to deceive, and they did it well.

  David stepped away from Rossini, smiling as he slapped his left palm with a short stick. ‘Took you long enough to get here.’

  ‘I’m an old lady, remember? Not as fast as I used to be.’

  As he drew closer, she realized he held two wooden sticks, not one, the chain connecting them barely visible. ‘So you took it.’ She nodded toward the nunchuck he held. ‘Not Dubois or that gang.’

  David smiled. ‘You know, I have absolutely no idea where Peter Dubois might be or if he’s even alive.’

  ‘So he never moved to Florida, never saw my picture in the paper.’

  ‘Not that I’m aware of, but using his name was a good idea, don’t you think? Kept you off guard.’

  David released one of the sticks, holding the remaining one up near the chain end. ‘It’s been a while since I’ve used one of these. I figured, in case someone did find your bodies under that compost, blunt force trauma would be harder to trace than a bullet, especially if this was found next to your body.’

  He began spinning the nunchuck so it flared out, appearing to be one long stick. ‘If it’s even important, time of death will be identical for the three of you. You first, of course.’

  Mary watched as he neared, knowing she couldn’t make her move too soon. ‘So that’s why you kept them alive?’ she said, staying close to the Impala.

  ‘That and so I could tell them all about your glorious past.’

  She glanced at her granddaughter. ‘What did you tell her?’

  David made two diagonal strokes with the nunchuck, one from his upper right to his lower left, then a switch. Mary didn’t move. She knew he was too far away for the stick to hit her. He was taunting her, showing her his prowess with the nunchuck, and trying to goad her into revealing her defense.

  ‘I told her you were a whore, that her saintly grandmother slept with men then killed them. Are you going to deny that?’

  She wanted to, but she couldn’t. ‘You’ve turned into a nasty person, David.’

  ‘You always said I enjoyed my work too much.’

  ‘You’re such a liar, who can believe anything you say?’ Rossini shouted from where he sat, tied to a post.

  David turned toward the sergeant, halting the rotating motion of his hand. The end rod stopped spinning and dropped down, swinging back to hit his arm. He flinched, and Mary moved. Pitchfork held waist high, she bolted forward, driving the tines into his side.

  His coat stopped the pointed ends from penetrating his flesh, but the force of her thrust caused him to drop the nunchuck and step back. A look of surprise crossed his face, then one of anger. He knocked the pitchfork away from his side and out of her hands, and reached inside his coat for his gun.

  Mary didn’t wait for him to pull the gun from his shoulder holster. Using the full force of her weight, she slammed into his side.

  Together they fell to the cement floor, Mary on top. She immediately rolled off and to the side, rising up on her knees. Four and a half decades before they’d sparred on mats in ADEC’s workout room. They’d both been in their twenties then, supple and full of energy. Ultimately David always won, his strength dominating her skills, but she’d made him work for those wins.

  Today she couldn’t let him win.

  She reached for the fallen nunchuck. He pushed himself up to a seated position and again went for his gun. She swung the wooden weapon up using a backhand stroke just as he aimed his Glock at her. The gun blast and his scream overlapped. She heard the bullet hit the Impala, and saw the gun leave his hand. His wrist hung at an odd angle.

  For a moment he stared at her, eyes wide with both pain and surprise, and then he looked over to where the gun lay on the cement, not far from Rossini.

  ‘Leave it,’ she ordered.

  ‘You broke my wrist,’ he growled, the fury in his words warning her he wasn’t through fighting.

  Cradling his right arm to his chest, he scrambled to his feet. She tried to stand before he did, but in spite of his injury, the six-year difference in their ages gave him the advantage. He delivered a sidekick before she had her balance. The blow sent her sprawling.

  She lost her grip on the nunchuck when her hand hit the cement, the wooden rods sliding out of her reach. The pitchfork lay closer, and she started for it, only to see David coming at her. She rolled onto her back and grabbed his leg as he kicked at her side. The toe of his shoe hit her ribs, taking her breath away and sending a jolt of pain through her body, but she didn’t let go. Forcing herself to ignore the pain, she did a sit-up, rising to the side just enough to press her weight against his leg.

  Caught off balance, he fell backwards and onto his side, jarring his body and forcing out another cry of pain. In his eyes, she saw the fury of a wounded animal and knew she’d merely increased his desire to kill her.

  She gritted her teeth and moved, ignoring the pain as bruised or broken ribs protested her action. Scooting along the cement toward the pitchfork, she put as much distance between them as she could before he was on his feet. She managed to get to her knees and grab the pitchfork before he took a step closer. One glance at the pitchfork and he stopped, smiled, and took a step back.

  She wasn’t quite sure how to interpret his retreat until he took another step back, then another, and another, each bringing him closer to where his Glock lay on the cement. He didn’t look at the gun but kept his gaze on her.

  She could see Rossini behind David. Although the sergeant’s arms were tied behind his back and around a board that went from the rafters to the floor, he was stretching out his body, trying to reach the gun with his foot. She didn’t want David to notice, so she groaned and set the pitchfork back down. She brought one hand to her side, about where he’d kicked her, and let the fingers of her other hand touch the cement. She hoped Rossini would notice how she was sweeping her fingertips toward her and would get the message.

  She also hoped David wouldn’t notice.

  ‘Ah, did I hurt you?’ David taunted and grinned.

  ‘Like you care.’ She gave a slight nod and tensed her muscles, ready to move.

  Rossini moved his right leg, sweeping it along the cement floor, the toe of his shoe pointing at the Glock. David heard the movement and looked behind him, immediately understanding what Rossini was attempting to do.

  The tip of Rossini’s shoe caught the Glock near the grip and propelled the gun away from David’s feet. If they’d been on a smooth surface – a polished hardwood floor or ceramic tile – the gun might have slid into Mary’s hands, but the rough surface of the cement slowed its forward motion.

  Mary lunged forward, and David swooped down. She grabbed the grip with her right hand and pulled the Glock closer. David slapped his uninjured hand over hers, the weight of his body stopping her from moving the gun any farther.

  An involuntary cry of pain accompanied the thud when his shoulder, then hip, hit the cement. She had a feeling the groan she heard as she tried to scoot back and away came from her. The pain in her side brought tears to her eyes, but she didn’t let go of her hold on the gun.

  ‘G
ive it to me!’ David snarled, his face only inches from hers.

  ‘No,’ she yelled, though she wondered how long she could counter his strength.

  ‘Give it!’ He squeezed his fingers around hers, pressing her hand into the frame of the gun.

  She could feel him lifting both her hand and the gun, and she knew once he had enough room, he would twist her wrist until she had to release her hold. After that, it would be over. He would have the gun, and she would be dead, along with Shannon and Rossini.

  ‘No!’ she yelled again, and countered his lift by raising her hand even higher and rolling to her side.

  The twist of her body turned her hand slightly to the side, and she clasped her fingers around the gun’s grip, her index finger reaching the trigger. The deafening bang when the gun went off was matched by the recoil, slamming her back against the cement. She saw David coming down on her, saw the look of anger in his eyes, then the surprise.

  ‘Damn,’ he growled, falling on top of her.

  Trapped beneath him, the gun and her hand now squeezed between them, Mary waited for his next move. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the rhythm uneven, and for a moment she thought he was breathing hard. Then he coughed and tried to push himself off, and she realized he wasn’t going for the gun.

  ‘David?’ she said cautiously, using her free hand against his shoulder to push him to the side.

  ‘Damn you,’ he gritted through clenched teeth.

  ‘Mary, are you all right?’ Rossini called from behind David’s feet.

  ‘Grandma?’

  ‘David?’ she repeated, inching away from his body.

  She could see the blood now, pooling beneath his side. He simply looked at her.

  ‘Mary, cut me loose before the police arrive,’ Rossini yelled.

  In the distance she could hear sirens.

  It took her a moment to understand. Finally, she slowly rose to her feet, still holding the gun. ‘I called 911 before I came in here.’

  ‘Cut me loose and give me the gun,’ Rossini ordered. ‘You don’t want to be holding that gun when they arrive.’

  She looked over at Rossini, and then back down at David. He was still alive, but barely, his breathing shallow.

  ‘Grandma, is he dead?’ Shannon asked, her voice shaky.

  ‘No, not yet.’ She looked back at Rossini, then left David’s side and went to the sergeant.

  ‘Hurry,’ he ordered. ‘Check my right pant pocket. I think I still have my jackknife in there.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  ‘THANK GOODNESS YOU’RE here,’ Jack said, the moment Jennifer Mendoza entered the barn, her weapon drawn. ‘Call an ambulance.’

  Gun still drawn, Jennifer stood where she was, her gaze moving from where Jack knelt beside David Burrows’ body, to where Mary Harrington was cutting the rope holding her granddaughter’s arms behind her, to the Impala, and then back to Jack. ‘What happened?’

  ‘We were struggling with the gun, and it went off.’ Jack touched the side of Burrows’ neck, waited a few seconds to make sure he didn’t feel a pulse, then shook his head. ‘Never mind calling the ambulance. We’ll need the county M.E.’

  Frowning, Jennifer holstered her weapon and pulled out her cellphone. ‘Is that Agent Burrows?’

  ‘It is.’ Jack rose to his feet and took the Glock over to Jennifer, handing it to her butt first.

  ‘I thought he was with law enforcement. The other night … when those boys fire-bombed her house …’

  ‘He had us all fooled,’ Jack said, knowing he should have trusted his gut feelings about the guy. ‘He kidnapped the girl, then grabbed me when I followed him out of town.’

  ‘But why?’

  That was going to be the difficult part to explain, at least without revealing Mary Harrington’s role in the situation. Jack looked back at Burrows’ body. ‘I guess that’s something we’ll never completely understand.’

  ‘This isn’t your weapon,’ Jennifer said, carefully handling the Glock he’d handed her.

  ‘No. I’m not sure where mine is.’ Last Jack remembered he’d had it in his hand as he approached the back of the black car. ‘Maybe in the woods … or maybe in his other car.’

  ‘There’s a black Nissan parked outside and a gray Chevy.’

  ‘The Chevy’s mine,’ Mary said.

  Jack looked her way. Mary Harrington was standing, her left hand pressed against her right side, while her granddaughter remained seated, rubbing her wrists and flexing her shoulders. ‘You two all right?’ he asked, knowing how sore his shoulders felt from having his arms tied behind his back, and how painful a kick to the side could feel, especially if Burrows had broken any of Mary Harrington’s ribs.

  ‘Yes, thanks to you.’ Moving slowly, Mary Harrington left her granddaughter’s side and came over to where they stood ‘Thank you, Sergeant.’

  ‘You’re the one who called 911, aren’t you?’ Jennifer said.

  ‘I did. I—’

  Jack interrupted her. ‘I was at Mrs Harrington’s house when Burrows came over, driving that black car. He was putting something in her car when he saw me and took off. She followed me, saw what was going on, and tried to rescue us, but he got the drop on her, too. It wasn’t until he cut me loose that I was able to catch him off guard. We were struggling with the gun when it went off.’

  Again Officer Mendoza looked at the gun he’d given her. ‘Wow, sounds like you were lucky.’

  ‘Very lucky,’ he agreed.

  Sirens could be heard in the distance. Officer Jennifer Mendoza glanced that way. ‘Dispatcher put out an “all units” call. Others should be showing up soon.’

  Jack turned to Mary. ‘Why don’t we step outside for a minute so you can call your son and daughter-in-law and let them know their daughter is all right.’ He looked at Jennifer. ‘If that’s all right with you?’

  She hesitated, then shrugged. ‘I guess so.’

  Jack knew he was playing on Jennifer’s lack of experience, but he wanted to talk to Mary and her granddaughter before others arrived. ‘Come with us,’ he motioned to the girl. ‘We need to call your parents.’

  ‘Shannon,’ Jack said as soon as the three of them were outside of the barn. ‘Your grandmother does not want others to know what she did in the past or what she’s capable of doing. Do you think you can keep what you heard and saw today to yourself?’

  ‘At least until I decide what to do next,’ Mary added.

  ‘I … I guess so.’ The girl looked at her grandmother as if she’d never seen her before.

  ‘In that case, we need to make sure our stories are the same.’ He pointed at Mary. ‘You came in with the pitchfork. Poked him in the side. That will explain any tine marks they find on his jacket. He knocked you down and kicked you. Then he cut me loose. He was going to take us outside and shoot us, but I managed to get hold of the gun, we struggled, and he ended up being shot.’

  ‘Grandma broke his arm,’ Shannon said. ‘How are you going to explain that?’

  Jack looked at the girl. He certainly couldn’t tell Wally or others that he broke the guy’s wrist using the nunchuck. It wouldn’t take long to prove he had no idea how to handle one of those. ‘He fell on his hand?’

  ‘Tell them you have no idea how he did that,’ Mary said and put a hand in her pocket and pulled the nunchuck out so both he and her granddaughter could see the tops of the two rods and the chain holding them together. ‘I picked it up before I released Shannon. Without the weapon, they’ll just be guessing how David’s wrist was broken.’

  Jack noticed one other weakness in their story. ‘You have some blood on the front of your jacket.’

  ‘He was a friend of mine,’ Mary said. ‘After he was shot, I went over to see if I could help him. I must have gotten some blood on me at that time.’

  The sirens were coming closer, and they could see the flashing lights and headlights of the cars as they neared the farm. ‘So we’re agreed?’ Jack asked.

 
Both Mary and Shannon nodded.

  ‘For tonight we keep your past a secret, but Mary, if Burrows didn’t want you talking, how long before someone else connected with the agency shows up to keep you quiet? You need to tell that congressional committee what’s going on.’

  ‘But I haven’t been with them for over forty years,’ she said. ‘What can I tell anyone?’

  ‘That it exists.’

  She said nothing for a moment, then nodded. ‘I’ll think about it.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  IN ADDITION TO Officer Mendoza, two more Rivershore police officers showed up at the barn, along with deputies from the Van Buren Sheriff’s Department and officers from the Michigan State Police. Mary was separated from Shannon and Rossini. She hoped their three descriptions of what had happened in the barn would be close enough to be believable but not so close they seemed prepared.

  The paramedics checked out her ribs and told her they couldn’t tell if they were broken without an X-ray, but when they suggested taking her to the hospital, she refused. ‘I’ll see how I feel tomorrow,’ she told them and signed the release.

  It was after eleven o’clock when she was told that she and Shannon could leave. She knew Robby and Clare would still be up. When Shannon had called them earlier, she had said, over and over, ‘I’m fine,’ but Mary knew Robby and Clare would want to see for themselves.

  Standing around, talking to one officer after another, there were moments when Mary wished she had taken the paramedics up on their offer to transport her to a hospital. Once in her car, she decided sitting wasn’t going to be much better. Every inch of her body was beginning to hurt. She had the car started before she realized Shannon still hadn’t gotten in.