Hellhound On My Trail

by J. D. Rhoades

  “Trouble?” Kathryn said.

  “Nothing you need concern yourself with.”

  She stood up and walked to the window. “Tell me what it is that we did just see.”

  “I’m not sure,” Cordell said. “But we do know that Jack Keller served in the first Gulf War. Something happened. We’re not sure what. He was a squad leader. Apparently a good one. Then he lost his squad. The experience seems to have unhinged him. He was given a medical discharge.”

  “How did he lose his squad?” She gestured at the television. “Or did we just see that?”

  Cordell nodded, looking thoughtful. “That may be it. What happened to his men…well, there are gaps in the record.”

  “The kind of gaps you get when someone’s covering up the kind of negligence that leads to men being killed by their own side?”

  Cordell’s nod was more definite. “That’s the best theory that fits the data.”

  She turned away from the window. “So whatever is going on between Cliff Trammell and his son may have nothing to do with me or my father.”

  “If you say so,” Cordell said.

  “I do. So. We leave Keller alone.”

  Cordell took a deep breath. “It may not be that easy, ma’am.”

  She frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Maybe you should let me handle it. It may be best that you—”

  She interrupted him. “Is Keller dead?”

  “No.”

  “But?”

  “Someone else is. And Keller’s been charged.”

  “Did he do it?”

  “Kathryn—”

  “Tell me, Mr. Cordell, or get out of this house and don’t come back.”

  “Fine,” Cordell said, the anger breaking through. “But my advice to you is that there are things it’s not in your interest to know.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  “No. Keller didn’t do it. There was an accident retrieving this video. Someone was killed. It wasn’t anything we intended. But Keller was charged.”

  “Will the charges stick?”

  Cordell shook his head. “It doesn’t sound like it. Except maybe a vehicle theft. He stole a van trying to get back to the—”

  “So, let me sum up,” she said. “We have an unstable person with a history of violence, in jail for a crime he didn’t commit. And he may get out. When he does, he’s likely to want some payback from the people responsible. Which means you. And by extension, me.” He started to answer, but she raised a hand to silence him. “You’re right, Mr. Cordell. I don’t want to hear any more. I just want this mess cleaned up. However it needs to be done. I don’t want to have to sleep with one eye open the rest of my life.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She turned back to the window. “Have you ever read Macbeth, Mr. Cordell?”

  He had been walking to the door, but the question stopped him. “I vaguely remember it. From college.”

  “It seemed like a simple plan to Macbeth and his wife. A quick and easy assassination and hey presto! Macbeth is King of Scotland.” She turned back to face him. “But that one killing led to another. And that led to another. Murder on murder, until Macbeth was at war with most of Scotland and the very forest was marching against him.”

  “That makes for a good play,” Cordell said. “But that won’t happen here.”

  “I hope not,” she said. “I certainly hope not.”

  CORDELL WALKED out of the room, shaking his head. He began to wonder if signing on with Kathryn Shea had been a mistake. On paper, she had everything: she had the name recognition, she could articulate a strong conservative message without seeming far-right crazy, and she was incredibly photogenic. But he was discovering a disturbing dark streak in her. It wasn’t just the drinking, although he would have to keep an eye on that. Her obsession with her father’s old friend Trammel was beginning to border on mania. What does he have on you, Kathryn? He resolved that he would find that out. But for now, there was a loose end to tie up. She was right. It was unfortunate, all things considered, but this Keller could be a threat down the road in so many ways. It had been Riddle’s screw-up but now was not the time for the blame game. Now was the time to clean up the mess and move on. He pulled out his cell phone and hit the speed dial for Riddle’s number.

  He answered on the first ring. “Yeah?”

  “I just spoke with the home office,” Cordell said. “We’ve decided that driving our competitor out of business is the only option.”

  “Understood,” Riddle said. “His doors will be shut by close of business Friday.”

  “Good. Thanks.”

  “It’ll be easier if he’s out and about. I assume it was you that put the lien on our competitor.”

  Cordell was puzzled. “The…lien?”

  “The federal lien.”

  “Ah.” Having Keller subjected to a federal hold might have been overkill. But Cordell had wanted to be extra sure that the man would stay under lock and key. “I’ll take care of that.”

  “And I may need access to funds.”

  “I’ll have someone contact you with instructions for accessing a line of credit.” He took a deep breath before going on. “It’s vitally important that our name be kept out of this.”

  “I don’t even know who the principal is. I assume it’s not you. And I don’t much care who it is, as long as the money’s there.” Riddle broke the connection.

  Cordell put away the phone and thought about what Kathryn had said. One killing led to another, murder on murder. He shook off the chill that ran down his spine. There was that dark streak of hers again. He wasn’t going to take counsel of his fears. It was still early in the game. Once this Keller was dealt with, it’d be a straight and smooth path to the US Senate. And after that? Who knew?

  “I’VE GOT some good news,” Alford said to Keller through the glass. “I’ve got some puzzling news. And I’ve got some bad news.”

  “Start with the good news,” Keller said.

  “The surveillance videos came through. They show you were clearly at the airport during the time frame of the murder.”

  Keller felt a weight being lifted from his shoulders. “So the charges are going to be dismissed?”

  “The murder charge, most likely. Ross is still trying to figure out a timeline where his theory that you did it works. He says he wants to talk with the medical examiner again, since the actual time of death is a window of a couple hours. But he’s losing his faith in that scenario. He’s unhappy, but it’s like I said. He’s a tough son of a bitch, but he’s a realist. He’s not the kind of cop who wants to put the wrong guy in jail just to close the case. Not in a murder where that’d mean the real killer’s still walking around loose. “

  “Good to know there’s a few honest cops left.”

  She nodded. “More than you think.”

  “So how long?”

  “A day, maybe two.”

  “Good. And the bad news?”

  She sighed. “Well, Mr. Keller, those surveillance recordings are kind of a mixed blessing. They do show you stealing that van. You’ve still got a bond on that.”

  “How much?”

  Alford grimaced. “Fifty thousand right now.”

  “Fifty…”

  “Now that the murder charge is going away, we’ll be in good shape to make a run at getting that modified. Or do you know anyone that could put up ten percent to pay a bondsman?”

  “Ten percent? Isn’t it usually fifteen?”

  She shrugged. “There’s a lot of competition in the area.”

  He thought for a moment. “No,” he said. “I don’t know anyone who can do even that.”

  “How about Lucas?”

  Keller shook his head. “I’m not asking him for money. He’s done so much already. I’ve still got to figure out a way to pay you.”

  “We’ll work it out,” she said. “Right now, I’m mostly working pro bono. A favor for an old friend. Plus, I’d forgotten how much fu
n this can be.” She saw the look on his face and flushed. “Sorry. I know it’s not fun for you.”

  “No,” Keller said. “But it’s okay.” He recalled what she’d said earlier. “So what’s the puzzling news?”

  She frowned. “That federal hold I told you about? The one that came out of nowhere? It’s been withdrawn.”

  “What? Why?”

  She shook her head as if she could hardly believe it herself. “I have no idea. The assistant US Attorney I called to find out about why the thing was there in the first place isn’t calling me back.”

  A level of fuckery you haven’t previously experienced. “Maybe someone now wants to make sure I get out.”

  Comprehension dawned on her face. “To get to you.”

  “Maybe. Did you call that number?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. No one answered. And no voicemail.”

  “They didn’t recognize the number. Maybe if you call from my phone.”

  “How would they know your number?”

  “What the hell, they know everything else about me.”

  “Would your father,” she began, then saw the look on his face and corrected herself. “Sorry, your putative father put up your bail?”

  “I don’t know,” Keller said, “and I don’t care.”

  She sighed and stood up, picking up her briefcase. “Okay. I’ll let you as soon as there’s any more news.”

  Keller stood up as well. “Thanks again for everything.”

  Her face was troubled. “You’re welcome,” she said. “I just wish I didn’t have this feeling that I’m not really doing you any favors by trying to get you out. I mean, that’s my job. But I feel like I’m setting you up for something terrible to happen. And I don’t want that.”

  “Me either,” Keller said. “But don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.”

  She looked at him for a moment without speaking, her expression still uncertain. Then she turned and left.

  IT WASN’T Alford, however, who brought him his next piece of news. It was a burly, taciturn guard named Rodriguez who opened Keller’s cell door the next morning and said, “Keller. Come with me.” The tone was brusque but not aggressive, which was normal for Rodriguez.

  Keller got up from the bed. “What’s going on?”

  “You’re getting out.” Rodriguez gestured impatiently. “Hurry up, man, I got shit to do.”

  “Out?” Keller said. “Did they reduce my bond?”

  “No. Someone paid it. You wanna get out of here or not, homes?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I want to get out.”

  “Well, come on, then.”

  He followed the guard through a succession of doors, out to Administration, where a bored-looking female officer returned his belongings to him and had him sign the proper forms while Rodriguez stood by impassively, arms folded across his chest. As he went through the papers, Keller casually asked, “So who was it that paid the bond? This was kind of a surprise to me.”

  Rodriguez shrugged. “They don’t tell me nothin’, man. All I can say is you’re one lucky guy. Come in here on a murder charge, walk out a couple days later. ’Cept for the auto theft charge. An’ someone sprung you pre-trial on that. You must have friends in high places.”

  “Maybe not friends,” Keller said. Rodriguez didn’t answer, but when Keller looked up, he saw a troubled look in the guard’s eyes. “What?” Keller said.

  Rodriguez looked away. “Nothin’.”

  Keller finished the last of the paperwork, picked up his bag, and followed the guard out to the final door to the outside. As Rodriguez unlocked the door, Keller tried one last time. “You heard anything I need to know about, Rodriguez?”

  Rodriguez hesitated before turning around. “Look, Keller,” he said, “I don’t know you. But you didn’t give me no trouble. You ain’t got tats like a gangbanger or a biker. And no one’s said anything about you bein’ mixed up with the cartels. If you was, we’d hear about that.” He grimaced. “The cartel boys get handled with kid gloves.” He clearly didn’t like the practice.

  Keller shook his head. “No on all counts.”

  Rodriguez nodded, apparently satisfied. “Well, you didn’t hear this from me. But when we found out that someone paid your bond, my boss went in his office and made a phone call. He locked the door. That usually only happens when someone on the outside needs to know to be waitin’ for some dude to get out. And I ain’t talking about someone’s mama.” He looked around to make sure no one was listening. “All I’m sayin’ is, you watch your back, Keller.”

  “Thanks,” Keller said as he picked up his bag. “I will.” Rodriguez nodded again and swung the door open. Keller stepped out into the bright sunlight, wondering if he was stepping into a pair of crosshairs.

  The giant red-brick jail loomed over him, with the street a few yards away. The street was busy, with cars rolling past at a steady pace. Keller realized he had no particular place to go and no real way to get there. He reached into his bag and pulled out his cell phone, then into his back pocket to get the business card he’d stashed there. He pressed the buttons, hoping he got through on the first try. He had almost no battery charge left.

  “Erin Alford,” the voice on the other end answered.

  “It’s Jack Keller,” he said. “I’m out.”

  “Out?” she said. “How? Did you change your mind and call Lucas?”

  “No. Someone put up the bond. Don’t know who.”

  “That’s…weird.”

  “The guard who let me out said someone made a phone call right before I was released. He didn’t know to whom. But he seemed to think it was worth warning me about.”

  “Shit,” Alford said. “You still at the jail?”

  “Yeah. Right outside.”

  “Stay there. I’ll be there in about a half hour. Stick close to the front. I don’t think anyone will try anything that close to the jail itself. At least I hope not.”

  “Me, too,” Keller said.

  The half hour felt more like half a day. Keller scanned every vehicle carefully as it rolled past, wondering if one was going to swerve, open its windows or doors, and start spitting lead. Finally, a low-slung Mercedes convertible pulled up. The vehicle’s top was down and Alford was behind the wheel, wearing a scarf over her hair and dark glasses. Keller threw his bag in the back as he got in.

  “Nice ride,” he said, “but I don’t know if I’d be driving around with the top down with me in the car. From what that guard said, someone might try a shot at me.”

  “If they did,” Alford said as he pulled away, “it’s not like the soft top would stop a rifle round. Look in the glove box.”

  Keller opened the latch. He stared for a moment, then pulled out a stubby pistol with what seemed like an absurdly short barrel.

  “Beretta Nano,” Alford said. “Part of my wife’s collection. She says it’s easy to conceal. It’s a lot of fun to shoot, but watch the long trigger draw, it’ll pull your aim right.”

  Keller stared at her. Alford noticed his expression and chuckled. “Is that look because your lawyer’s handing you a gun or because the one who told me to give it to you is my wife?”

  “Maybe a little of both,” Keller said.

  Alford laughed again. “You should meet Becca. I told you I married money, right? Among other things, Becca owns a controlling interest in Liberty Arms.”

  Keller had spent most of his time in the past couple of years living at a one-horse crossroads in the desert, but you would have to be farther away from civilization than that not to know the name Liberty Arms. Their commercials and billboards were everywhere across the Southwest. Most of them featured a fierce-looking woman with curly brown hair holding a rifle at port arms across her ample chest over the slogan “The right to buy weapons is the right to be free.” Apparently, the message had taken hold. There were Liberty Arms stores dotted across the Southwestern landscape.

  “Thanks,” Keller said. He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

&nb
sp; “So,” Alford said, “where to?”

  Keller thought about it. The bar Julianne had run and the trailer behind it was the only home he’d known for a while, but he didn’t know if he could bear to go back there.

  Alford seemed to sense his hesitation. “Look, come stay at the house for a day or two. Get your bearings. We’ve got plenty of room.”

  “No,” Keller said. “I can’t ask you to—”

  “You can’t go back where you were,” Alford interrupted him. “At least not yet. For one thing, I need to see if it’s still an active crime scene.”

  “Right.”

  “And Becca wants to meet you. Once she heard you might be the target of a government conspiracy…” She stopped. Keller said nothing, just looked at her. “I didn’t mention specific names,” she said.

  “Good.”

  “But…well, I talk about things that worry me with Becca, okay? And she listens. That’s what a partner is for.”

  “It’s okay,” Keller said. “I’m not mad. So how much does she know?”

  “Not everything. But she’s totally willing to believe there’s someone in the government out to get you. And she’s chomping at the bit to help.”

  Keller felt more than a little uneasy at Alford’s idea. His recent experience in South Carolina had given him more contact that he ever wanted to have again with cults and conspiracy theorists. He was also uncomfortable with the idea that Alford’s partner was planning to adopt him as a sort of pet project. Still, he needed some time to get his bearings, as Alford put it, and a safe place to do it in.

  “Okay,” he said. “But I’m not going to impose on you more than a day or two.”

  She nodded. “That’s fine. And that will give me some time to find out who’s behind bailing you out.” She shook her head. “This case just gets weirder and weirder.”

  “Yeah. That happens to me a lot.”

  THE HOUSE where Alford lived with her wife was far out in the desert, near the tiny Gila Bend Indian Reservation. Keller couldn’t tell how big the property was, but they’d begun passing the same line of wrought-iron spike-tipped fence running along the highway for at least a mile before Alford turned in at a large double-sided gate. An iron archway spanned the top of the driveway. Keller looked up and saw that there were Greek letters wrought into the arch.