Hellhound On My Trail

by J. D. Rhoades

  “There was some breakage.”

  Cordell sank into his desk chair, rubbing his temples. “Is it repairable?”

  “No.”

  This was bad news, Cordell thought. Deaths created investigations and there was no telling where those might go.

  Riddle went on. “But I think we can shift liability for it to our competitor. At least in the short term.”

  “That’s good. Because the people backing our competition don’t have a lot of staying power. He’s not well financed. If you can keep the competition out of the running for, say, a couple of weeks, our problem may resolve itself.”

  “It would probably be better to take them off the board permanently.”

  Cordell’s brow furrowed with concern. He wondered if the man was getting a little too bloodthirsty. But then again, from everything he was learning about this Jack Keller, he might be a continuing problem. “Use your discretion,” he said finally.

  “Understood.” Riddle broke the connection without saying goodbye.

  Cordell frowned at the phone. He knew the man was rough around the edges from spending so much time in the world’s darker places, but there was no need to be rude.

  A FEW miles into the desert, Keller felt the adrenaline rush begin to subside, like a tide going out. This was a mistake, he thought. Then: What the hell was I thinking? He looked down at his hands. He noticed they were shaking and wet on the wheel. It was as if they belonged to someone else. He pulled the van over to the side of the road. The desert stretched out on either side, nothing visible but the scrubby, wind-gnarled creosote bushes and cholla cactus. He released the wheel and leaned back, taking a deep breath to steady his nerves. He needed to talk to someone. Taking out his cell phone, he glanced at the screen. Jules hadn’t called back. He hit the button for the only other person he knew to call.

  “Lucas Berry,” the deep, strong voice came through the phone’s tiny speaker and Keller immediately felt calmer. “Lucas,” he said.

  “Jack? What’s wrong, son?”

  “I’m sitting by the side of the road in the desert. I…I stole a van. At the airport.”

  “Yes, I’d say that’s a problem. Are you hurt?”

  “No. I’m okay.”

  “Doubtful. Tell me what happened.”

  Keller filled him in, starting with the incident with airport security. He finished up with “And I couldn’t reach Jules. I tried calling the motel, and the guy who runs the place said I should be in jail for what I’d done. I think something’s happened to her, Lucas. I didn’t have any way to get back. No one would talk to me. So I…” He trailed off.

  “Hmmm.” Berry’s response was so perfectly familiar, Keller almost laughed. After a moment, Berry went on. “Sounds like someone’s fucking with you, Keller. It’s stressing you.”

  “Yeah. You could say that.” A thought came to him. “Did you find out anything about—” He almost said my father, but changed it at the last second to “this Trammell character?”

  “No,” Berry said, “and that’s weird. We know the guy was military, but my buddy at the records center in St. Louis can’t find a trace of him. What’s even weirder is that the day after my phone call, I got a visit from two guys in dark suits from CID at Fort Bragg. At least that’s where they said they were from.”

  Keller sat up straighter. “What did they want?”

  “They wanted to know what my interest was in Clifton Trammell. I told them the truth. I was looking him up on behalf of a patient. They got a little pissy when I refused to tell them who.”

  “They didn’t know already?”

  “I got the impression they didn’t even really know why they were being sent to ask. They seemed a little irritated in general about the whole thing.”

  Keller shook his head. “What the hell is going on, Lucas?”

  “We can figure a couple of things for sure. Trammell is, or was, some kind of spook. The kind that the government doesn’t want anyone to even know exists.”

  “You think that’s why my name’s on the no-fly list?”

  Berry paused. “If that’s the reason, and it’s not just a garden variety Homeland Security snafu, then someone with a very long reach wants to keep you far away from him. I suggest you do what they want.”

  Keller clenched his jaw. “I don’t like being fucked with like this, Lucas.”

  “I know. That’s what worries me. This is fuckery on a higher level than you’ve ever had to deal with. And, given your situation at this moment, I think we can agree your decision-making skills are not what they should be.”

  This time, Keller did laugh. “Understatement of the year. So what do I do now?”

  “As a medical professional, I need to tell you to return the stolen property and accept the consequences of your self-destructive actions.”

  “And as my friend?”

  A longer pause this time. “How soon can you get back here to North Carolina?”

  Keller rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know. Remember I’m driving a stolen van, without a lot of cash on me to fill the tank. And…” He stopped as he looked in the rearview mirror.

  “And what?”

  “And a police car just pulled up behind me and hit his lights. Shit.”

  “Okay, Jack, what I’m about to tell you is very important. Don’t try to run.”

  There were two men in the car, and they got out at the same time, one from either side.

  “Give me some credit, Lucas. I’m not going to try to outrun a police cruiser in an airport van. I may be crazy, but I’m not stupid.”

  The trooper who came from the passenger side left his door open and crouched slightly behind it, his weapon pointed at the back of the van. The other draped his gun hand over the front of his own opened door and raised a microphone to his lips.

  “Okay, give me some info,” Berry said. “What agency or what county are they from?”

  “YOU IN THE VAN,” a voice boomed over the police car’s loudspeaker. “THIS IS THE MARICOPA COUNTY SHERIFF’S DEPARTMENT.”

  “Offhand,” Keller said, “I’d say it’s the Maricopa County Sheriff’s Department.”

  “Okay. Just sit tight. I’ll let them know I know where you are and that I expect you to stay healthy.”

  “GET OUT OF THE VEHICLE,” the voice said. “HANDS IN THE AIR.”

  “How are you going to do that?”

  “Leave the line open. Tell them I want to talk to them.”

  “NOW. OUT OF THE VEHICLE.” Even over the distortion and static of the loudspeaker, Keller could hear the strain in the voice.

  “Lucas,” he said as he opened the driver’s side door, “these guys already have guns on me. If I get out of a stolen vehicle with a dark object in my hand, they’re going to blow me away.”

  “Good point. Leave it on the seat or the dash, then. Don’t break the connection. Tell them there’s someone who wants to—” But Keller had already laid the phone on the seat. He slid out of the vehicle, raising his hands in the air as his feet hit the ground.

  “TURN AROUND. FACE AWAY FROM ME AND GET ON YOUR KNEES.”

  Keller slowly sank to his knees. The rough gravel by the roadside dug into his kneecaps. He was facing west, into the lowering sun. He squinted against the glare and wondered for a moment if this was going to be the end. If his life was truly being manipulated by forces powerful enough to reach out and stymie him from a thousand miles away, it would be relatively simple to have him gunned down in a roadside arrest. All someone would have to do is claim that he…

  His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of feet approaching quickly, crunching in the rocky soil. “On the ground!” a voice snapped. “Hands behind your back!”

  He began lowering his arm to break his fall and something hit him in the middle of the back, knocking him to his face in the sand and gravel. He fought down the temptation to roll over and begin fighting back. He had barely started to put his hands out when he felt his right wrist being grabbed and wrenched behi
nd him. He gritted his teeth against the pain and felt the cuff being snapped around his wrist. “I’m not resisting,” he grated. “I’m not resisting.” The words seemed to have some effect, as the grip on his left arm became firm but not brutal. The officer helped him to his feet. A hand on his shoulder turned him around.

  The cop who stood before him was short and muscular, dressed in dark brown uniform pants and light khaki shirt. He had light olive skin and eyes hidden behind the inevitable mirror shades under a dark-colored ball cap with the sheriff’s logo on it. His nametag read ALVAREZ.

  “What’s your name, sir?” Alvarez demanded in a loud, aggressive voice that completely negated any effect of the “sir.”

  “Jack Keller,” Keller responded. “ID’s in my back pocket.” He glanced over and saw the other cop, a bareheaded older man with thinning gray hair, holding his weapon steadily on him several feet away.

  “Uh-huh,” Alvarez said. “You got anything in any of your pockets that I need to know about? Any needles? Weapons? Sharp objects?”

  “No, sir.” He stood impassively as the younger cop fished the wallet out of his back pocket and flipped it open. The license in the front compartment made him squint. “North Carolina?” he said. “You’re a long way from home.”

  Brother, you have no idea, Keller thought. “Yes, sir,” was all he said.

  Alvarez stepped back slightly. “Mr. Keller, you’re under arrest for theft of means of transportation. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say…”

  Keller took a deep breath as the familiar litany went on. If they meant to execute him by the side of the road, they probably wouldn’t be reading him his rights. It wasn’t an execution. It was just an arrest.

  “I say something funny, sir?” Alvarez snapped.

  “No. No.” Keller realized he was smiling. “I just thought… never mind.” He gestured with his chin toward the vehicle. “By the way, someone’s on the phone in there. He wants to talk to you.”

  Alvarez looked baffled. “What?”

  “The phone. On the seat. There’s someone on it who wants to talk to you.”

  Alvarez looked at his partner, who looked just as confused as he did. The gun, however, never wavered. He sidled over to the open door, never taking his eyes off Keller. Finally, he stole a glance into the interior of the vehicle. He reached in and picked up the cell phone. For a moment, he stared at it as if it was some sort of alien artifact.

  “Go ahead,” Keller said, “say hello.”

  Alvarez scowled, but put the phone to his ear. “Hello?” His scowl deepened as a voice came over the line. “This is Deputy Alvarez of the Maricopa County Sheriff’s Department. Who is this?”

  The look of irritation returned to one of bafflement at the response. “Who?” He listened for a moment, then tried to reply. “Listen, Mr. Berry…okay, Dr. Berry…we’re…sir…”

  Keller tried to repress another smile. When Lucas ramped up his delivery, using that voice that Keller had once told him sounded like it ought to be coming from a burning bush, he was pretty much unstoppable, even by a cop two thousand miles away. Finally, Alvarez gave up. “Yes, sir. Right. We’ll make a note of it.” A pause. “You’re welcome, Dr. Berry.” He cut the connection and looked at the phone again as if he couldn’t quite comprehend what had just happened. He shook his head and turned back to Keller. “Okay,” he said, clearly struggling to get back into his comfort zone, “mind telling me where you were going with this vehicle?”

  “Deputy Alvarez,” Keller said, “so far you’ve acted pretty human in a tense situation. So I’m not trying to disrespect you when I tell you I’m not saying a damn thing without a lawyer.”

  “Well, I’m not trying to tell you not to get one,” Alvarez said, “but you know, once you lawyer up, there’s not a lot we can—”

  “Do to help me. I know. I’ve heard this all before, Deputy. And I’m still not saying anything without a lawyer. You’re a professional, I’m…well, let’s just say this isn’t my first rodeo. So let’s get in your car and get this show on the road, okay? And could you tell your partner there to quit pointing that gun at me? I’m sure he’s getting tired, and I’m not bucking you.”

  Neither Alvarez nor his partner were used to this much rationality from a criminal suspect. Truth be told, Keller wasn’t used to it himself. He wished he could thank Lucas for talking him out of a state of mind that would have ended in an ass-kicking or worse. He didn’t resist as they put him in the back of the patrol car. As they were pulling away, however, he leaned forward. “Hey,” he said. “I need you guys to do me a favor.”

  “Shut up, asshole,” the older cop who was driving said.

  “Warren,” Alvarez told him, “chill. This guy’s a veteran.”

  “How the hell do you know…”

  “The guy on the phone told me.” He turned to speak to Keller. “Iraq, right? The first one.”

  “Yeah,” Keller said. “You?”

  “Too young for the first one. Spent the second one walking the edge of the DMZ in Korea.” He sounded almost regretful. “So what did you want?”

  “I was trying to get back to where I was living. My girlfriend was supposed to pick me up.” He didn’t see any reason to tell the cop why. “She didn’t show, and I couldn’t reach her on the phone, so I tried to call the people across the street. The old guy who lives there said something had happened. I need to find out if she’s okay.”

  “Gimme the address,” Alvarez said. Keller did. Alvarez got on the radio. “Dispatch, this is Unit Twelve. Request information on any incidents in District Two, repeat, District Two.”

  The radio crackled back. “Stand by.” After a long pause in which all Keller could hear was the sound of the cruiser’s tires on asphalt and his own heart beating in his ears, the radio came to life again. “Twelve, say again the name of your suspect in custody.”

  “Keller,” Alvarez replied with a puzzled glance back to the back seat. “Spelled Kilo-Echo-Lima-Lima-Echo-Romeo.”

  “Stand by.” After a moment the dispatcher came back. “Unit Twelve, Ten Twenty-Five Headquarters, Detective Sergeant Ross, CID, reference Code Four Five One.”

  “Code Four Five One?” the driver said. “What the fuck?”

  Alvarez didn’t answer. He looked at Keller in the back seat. All of the warmth had gone out of his eyes.

  “I have a feeling I know what Code Four Five One means,” Keller said.

  Alvarez shook his head. “What the hell did you do, Keller?”

  Keller didn’t answer.

  THE DETECTIVE that met them at Headquarters was unusually well-dressed for a homicide cop. In Keller’s experience, most of that breed wore a coat and tie only grudgingly. Detective Ross’s suit looked tailored, and his tie was knotted perfectly. His gray hair was professionally cut. Even his mustache was trimmed just so. He entered and took a seat across the table from Keller in the interview room, his cold blue eyes studying Keller’s. He was carrying a manila envelope in his hand. He didn’t speak. Keller knew the game; wait for the suspect to blurt something out and hope that it was either something incriminating or something a good prosecutor could spin that way. Usually, Keller could outwait anyone. These were not usual circumstances. He broke the silence first. “I’m pretty sure I asked for a lawyer.”

  Ross still didn’t answer. He reached into the envelope and pulled out a set of photographs. His eyes never left Keller’s as he put them on the table. Keller didn’t want to look down, but he finally did. What he saw made his breath catch in his throat. He tried to remain stoic, but the sight of Julianne’s ruined face and battered body made him close his eyes.

  “We found the murder weapon in your trailer,” Ross said in a low, even voice. “It had her blood and her hair all over it.”

  Keller sucked in a deep breath and looked back up. “One, I didn’t kill her. Two, I want a lawyer.”

  “If you didn’t do it…” Ross began.

  Keller finished for him. “Why do I ne
ed a lawyer? Come on, Detective, we both know that script. The guy that didn’t do it needs a lawyer as bad as the guy who did. More, probably. Now let’s move this along.” So I can get on the trail of whoever did this, he thought but didn’t say.

  Ross didn’t answer, just stared at him. Keller stared back. It was so quiet he could hear the ticking of Ross’s wristwatch. Finally, the detective shook his head and gathered up the pictures. “Okay, wiseass,” he said as he stood up. “You had your chance.”

  “Not really,” Keller said.

  “What?”

  “I never had a chance. But you have a nice day, Detective.”

  Ross slammed the door as he went out. Keller sat silently, hands still on the desk, no expression on his face. He knew there were people behind the mirror of the interrogation room. He wasn’t going to let them see or know what he was feeling. The grief, the regret, and most of all the rage would stay locked behind his eyes until the time came to release it. That day would truly be a day of reckoning for someone.

  THE NEXT twenty-four hours passed slowly, as all hours do in lockup. Keller shared a cell with a silent, tattooed Latino who probably wouldn’t have spared three words for him even if he’d had any English. That gave him more time to think than he liked. He lay on his bunk and stared into space, trying some of the relaxation exercises Lucas had taught him just to keep himself from pacing the cell like an animal in a cage. Day dragged into night, the only sign of that passage being a barely edible dinner of a single bologna sandwich and water, then lights out. Keller didn’t sleep. His cellmate snored like a chainsaw with a bad muffler.

  In the morning, after a breakfast of powdered eggs and watery milk, a pair of guards came to take Keller to his first court appearance.

  The spectators and defendants awaiting their own turns looked up with interest as he was brought into the courtroom, shuffling in his leg shackles. He noticed that one of them was writing furiously in a notebook. Press, he thought. Great. That’s all I need. He kept his face impassive. After a short pause, the judge, a slim Asian man with glasses, called his name and Keller stood.