“I remember,” he said.
“I’ve got someone here ready to confess.”
“Are you serious?”
“I am.”
“Who, Reese?”
“His pal Tiny. I can bring him to you now.”
“Why is he talking?”
“I’ll explain when we get there.”
“What about my lawyer?” Tiny asked.
“And he wants a lawyer, Inspector. Can you get him someone from the Public Defender’s office? Someone eager?” Eager meant new.
“I’ll do what I can.”
“Good. We’re on our way.”
I hung up.
“Well?”
“You’re all set, Mr. Blatt. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 35
TINY DROVE THE PLYMOUTH.
He had a tough time. His thighs were too big and his legs were too short. But I wanted him under my gun. It wasn’t that I doubted his sincerity about ratting on Reese. It was just that a guy can change his mind. If he did, I wanted his chubby hands on the steering wheel and away from my neck.
We left the car in a tow-away zone in front of the sheriff’s office. I walked behind Tiny up the steps and inside. I kept my gun in the gym bag. Guns make cops nervous.
Ives was waiting for us with a pair of deputies. He looked about the same as the first time I’d seen him. Tired eyes, military haircut, baggy brown suit. The butt of a .38 showed next to his big hard gut.
“You have the right to remain silent,” he told Tiny. When he was finished with the rest of it, he said, “Do you understand what has just been said to you?”
“Yeah, yeah, where’s my lawyer?”
“This way,” Ives said.
The four of us followed him into an interrogation room. There was a black cop at the table checking the sound on a tape recorder.
“Where’s my lawyer?” Tiny asked again.
“He’s on his way.”
I wanted to explain to Ives about the tape I’d made. But it was too late. The door opened and in came Benny Quintana, the Assistant District Attorney. He was a small, dark man with quick movements and eyes fit for a bird of prey. I knew him only by reputation. A fighter for justice, according to the right. According to the left, a mean and heartless bastard. He asked Ives if Tiny had been advised of his rights. Then he asked Tiny if he was ready to make a statement.
“When I see my lawyer,” Tiny said.
Quintana looked at me. “I thought that was you.”
“No, sir.”
“Out.”
I stepped out.
A few minutes later a young man with slicked-down hair walked past me. His collar was frayed and his shoes needed polish. His briefcase was shiny new. He fidgeted with his tie and went into the interrogation room.
An hour and a half later, Quintana came out of the room. He breezed by me.
Then out came Tiny with the nervous young man and the two deputies. They turned left and walked deeper into the building. I waited for Ives. He was talking to the black cop. When he was through, he came looking for me.
“My office,” he said.
I followed him.
He told me to close the door, then went behind his desk and slumped down in his chair. It groaned in agony.
“What’s this tape you have that Tiny and his counsel were arguing about?”
“What was the argument?”
“I asked you a question.”
“It’s a cassette tape I took from Townsend’s wrecked car. His final words are on it. Supposedly. He names Tiny and Reese just before they push him over the cliff.”
“What do you mean, supposedly?”
I told him about the tape. He didn’t look pleased.
“If you were a real cop, Lomax, we would be dangerously close to entrapment here.”
“Thank God I’m a fake, right?”
Ives just shook his head.
“What was the argument between Tiny and his lawyer?”
“Counsel wanted to hear the tape. Herman Tiny Blatt said no fucking way, not in front of any fucking cops, not until he’d made his fucking statement. Or words to that effect. Counsel insisted. Quintana said counsel could listen to the tape during Tiny’s trial for first-degree murder. Tiny told counsel to shut the fuck up or get the fuck out. Counsel acquiesced. Tiny spilled his guts.”
“He named Reese?”
Ives nodded. “He’ll plead guilty to accessory and testify against Reese with the promise of leniency. He helped Reese push Townsend off the cliff.”
“What about Gofman?”
“Reese did that all by himself. Tiny said Reese beat Gofman to death because he’d squealed to you.”
“Did Tiny try to implicate Maryanne Townsend or Clarence DeWitt?”
“Implicate them in what?”
“Never mind.”
A deputy opened the door.
“We’ve got the warrant, sir.”
“Has Mr. Blatt’s statement been typed and signed by him?”
“Yes, sir.”
Ives stood.
“You’re going to pick up Reese now?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“At his aunt’s house. Tiny told us about it.”
“I can show you where it is,” I said.
Ives hesitated.
“Okay. But stay out of the way.”
“Hey, no problem.”
We went in two cars. Me and Ives and a deputy in one, followed by three deputies in the other. I described the layout of the Sutter place to Ives. I told him about May and J. P.
“Don’t worry,” Ives said. “There won’t be any shooting.”
I pointed out the entrance to the Sutters’. We blocked it with the cars, so there was no way Reese could crash through with his van. Then we piled out. Everyone but me and Ives had weapons drawn.
Ives gave instructions to his men.
“You stay here,” he told me.
“There are a couple of dogs,” I said and then we heard them.
J. P. Sutter’s two hounds charged around the corner of the house. One of the deputies calmly sprayed a cloud of Mace. The dogs skidded to a stop and ran back, howling. Ives led the deputies down the driveway. I stayed put. I saw J. P. come from behind the house. Ives went to him. J. P. was waving his arms and yelling about his dogs. Ives motioned the deputies on. They went around the house and out of sight.
A moment later, I heard gunshots. Then the roar of a motorcycle.
Reese came into sight, straddling a Harley, skidding through the dirt and up the driveway. Ives and J. P. dove out of the way. Reese shifted once, throwing dirt and lifting the front of the bike. He came right at me. That didn’t bother me as much as the deputy now beside Ives. The deputy was pointing a shotgun.
I turned and threw myself over the trunk of the nearest car, as Ives yelled “Don’t!” But the deputy did. The shotgun blast was followed immediately by lead thunking metal and smashing glass. Reese dropped the bike on its side and slid around the cars. I thought he’d been hit by the double-aught shot. But no. He got the wheels under him and pointed toward the highway.
For a moment, our eyes met. His were filled with animal rage.
He slammed into first gear and roared off the dirt and onto the asphalt with his head down and the throttle twisted open.
Ives ran up to me.
“You all right?”
Before I could answer he was in the car and on the radio.
I stood up carefully and brushed dirt off my pants. The deputies ran to the other car. Three piled in and took off after Reese. The one who had fired the shotgun stayed behind. He looked uncomfortable.
“Sorry,” he said. “I forgot about you.”
“Right.”
Ives was finished with the radio. I got in the car. There were tiny cubes of glass on the seat.
“You didn’t tell me he had a motorcycle.”
“My error.”
“No matter. We’ll get him. There’s an all-p
oints out now. The highway patrol will probably nail him before he gets twenty miles up the road. If not, we’ll give his picture to the media, in case he tries to double back and hide in the city.”
I was thinking about the look in Reese’s eyes when he’d seen me crouching behind the patrol car.
“We’ll get him, Lomax. Don’t worry about it.”
“Who’s worried?” I said.
CHAPTER 36
I RODE BACK TO Golden with Ives.
“We’ll have Reese behind bars before dark,” he said. “He took off with nothing but the clothes on his back. How far can he get?”
I said nothing.
“Not very goddamn far,” Ives said.
He dropped me at the Plymouth. I drove to the Townsend residence.
Rosa let me in. She led me through the house to the backyard. Maryanne Townsend was pruning roses. She wore a white summer dress, a hat with a large floppy brim, and cotton work gloves. She looked cool and elegant.
“Hello. I was wondering when I would hear from you.”
She pulled off a glove and offered her hand. Her grip was firm.
“You look better than the last time you were here,” she said. “Less battered.”
“You look better, too. Less anxious.”
She smiled briefly. “You have something to tell me concerning Leonard Reese?”
“Yes. Perhaps we should sit.”
We sat on the patio under a canopy. I told her why and how Reese and Tiny had killed her husband. It was painful for both of us. But better she got it from me than from the media. I told her how I’d tricked Tiny into confessing and how Reese had managed to escape.
“There’s a statewide manhunt on for him,” I said. “He’s finished.”
“When they capture him, will he stand trial for Phillip’s death?”
“For his murder. Definitely. And with Tiny’s sworn statement, he’s as good as convicted. He’ll die in the gas chamber.”
She winced.
“I suppose I should feel good about that. Vengeance and so on. But I don’t. I feel sad. Sad for Phillip and sad, believe it or not, for Mr. Reese.”
“Don’t shed any tears for Reese.”
“No. No, I suppose I won’t.” She brightened. “And then, of course, there’s the money.”
“What?”
“The insurance money,” she said. “The insurance company will have to double their settlement now that we’ve proven Phillip’s death was not his own fault.”
Before I could comment, Jennifer came rushing out the back door, followed by her big, clumsy dog. She was out of breath and dressed for tennis. When she saw me, she smiled and spun around, raising her skirt and showing off her ruffled panties.
“Do you like my new dress?”
“Uh, yes, it’s very nice.
“Mom, can I take Pasha with me to Gretchen’s?”
“Yes, but put him on a leash.”
“’Kay. See you later.” She started off.
“Jennifer?”
“What?”
“Be careful crossing the streets.”
Jennifer glanced at me and blushed.
“Oh, Mom.”
And she was gone. Maryanne Townsend sighed after her.
“They grow up so quickly,” she said. Then, “I suppose there will be a lot of publicity.”
“Probably.”
“Will I be asked to testify at the trial?”
“It’s possible,” I said.
We sat in silence for a few awkward moments.
“I have to go.”
“Of course. I appreciate your coming here and talking to me. And thank you for, well, for everything.”
That night I treated myself to prime rib and twelve-year-old malt scotch. I watched the late news. There was a brief story about the escape of Leonard Reese. His picture filled the screen. Still at large, the man said. Armed and dangerous.
Sunday morning dawned lazy and cloudy and warm.
The radio said a chance of showers in the city. In the high country it was still coming down. The fire-blackened ground was saturated. Fires had given way to local flooding.
I waded through the thick Post with the help of huevos rancheros and a pot of black coffee. There were several stories on Reese and Tiny and some background stuff on Phillip Townsend. There were statements by Ives and a few others, but not Mrs. Townsend. She was unavailable for comment. There was no mention of me.
I spent a good part of Sunday afternoon in the backyard with Vaz, filling him in on the last few days.
“You do not sound pleased,” he said.
“I’ll feel better when the cops get Reese.”
“Do you doubt that they will?”
“I suppose not. But I keep expecting him to come busting in, gun in hand.”
“That is nonsense, Jacob. Mr. Reese has more on his mind than you. He is totally occupied with running from the police. If he stops even for a moment, they will capture him. They will capture him anyway. It is inevitable.”
“I know.”
“Well, then? Get on with it.”
“What?”
“Move. You are in check.” Sunday night I slept like the dead.
On Monday I watched the morning news and listened to the radio and read the paper. No word on Reese. It was time for me to quit worrying and forget about him.
I drove to the office.
I opened the windows to let out the stuffiness, then sorted through the pile of mail. Junk and bills. I listened to the answering machine. One possible new client, three solicitors, someone named Lloyd who wanted to meet for a drink, a wrong number, and one other message. It was a woman’s voice, familiar, though I couldn’t quite place it. The message was brief.
“Please call right away.” She gave a number and hung up.
I dialed the number. It rang three times before someone picked it up. Silence.
“Hello?”
“Is this Lomax?” A man’s voice.
“Yes. Who’s this?”
“It’s me, Jake ole boy.”
My chest tightened.
“Reese.”
“That’s right, buddy.”
He didn’t sound like a man on the run. He sounded cool and calm.
“Where are you?”
“I’m at the Mountain Man Saloon, Jake. How about you come on up here and join us. I mean now. Alone.”
“I’ll send the cops instead.”
“Hey, that’s up to you, buddy. But first I got somebody I want you to talk to.”
I heard movement. Reese said something, away from the phone. Then, “Mr. Lomax, please do what he says. He has me and Jennifer and if you don’t—”
The phone was yanked away.
“You know who that was, don’t you?”
“I know.”
“Then let’s get with it. I want you up here now.”
“So you can kill me?”
“Hell, Jake, I don’t want you dead. I need you. You’re going to help me get out of the state.”
“You seem pretty sure about that.”
“I am sure. Now are you coming up here, or do I shoot the little girl?”
“I’m coming.”
“And no cops, Jake. If I so much as hear a helicopter or smell a badge, I shoot them both, the woman and the kid.”
“No cops,” I said.
He hung up.
I drove to the apartment to pick up my guns.
The magnum went on the back of my belt, where Reese was sure to find it. I strapped the .38 in an ankle holster. It bulged a bit under my pant cuff. If he didn’t look too hard he wouldn’t notice.
Outside, the day was darker than it should have been. Heavy black clouds roiled up over the mountains. You could smell moisture in the air. The high country was still getting it, much more than it could handle. Rivers were swollen. Streams had pushed over their banks. Flood warnings were up. Thunder boomed in the distance.
I fired up the Olds and drove west, toward the storm, tow
ard Reese.
CHAPTER 37
I TOOK U.S. 6 to the base of the foothills. As I turned onto Lookout Mountain Road, a few fat raindrops smacked the windshield.
The road twisted up. Past the houses with manicured lawns. Past the parched and scraggly brush. Past the gap in the guardrail. The gap where Reese and Tiny had pushed Phillip Townsend to his death.
Lightning flashed. A few seconds later thunder vibrated the wheel in my hands.
The rain came and I switched on the wipers.
The road flattened and straightened. The Mountain Man Saloon was dead ahead. I turned into the empty gravel lot. “Closed Mondays,” the sign said.
I shut off the engine and got out.
The only sound was the splatter of rain.
“Reese!”
No answer.
I went to the front door. It was open.
“Reese?”
“Come on in, Jake.”
I could see them in the corner of the room. Reese stood behind Jennifer and Maryanne Townsend.
“Put your hands on your head. Now kick the door shut.”
“Mr. Lomax, please help—”
“Shut up,” Reese said. “You alone?”
“Yes.”
The girl was making small whimpering sounds.
“Come here,” Reese said.
I crossed the barroom. It smelled of stale beer and cigarettes. When I got close enough, I could see that Jennifer’s eyes were glazed, apparently from shock. Maryanne wasn’t much better—mussed hair, smeared mascara, rumpled dress. Her wrists were tied together. The expression on her face was quite familiar. I’d seen it in my dreams. Pleading. Terror.
Reese was smiling. He pointed a gun at my chest. A government-issue .45 automatic. He thumbed back the hammer.
“Turn around,” he said.
I turned.
There was movement behind me and then a gasp from Maryanne. Something hard smacked my head. I dropped to my knees. Reese shoved me forward onto my chest. He sat on my legs. He frisked me with one hand and kept the gun pressed against my ear.
He found the magnum.
And then he found the .38.
“Loaded for bear, eh, Jake?”
He forced my hands behind me.
“I’m going to put the guns down while I tie your hands. If you think you can do something before I pick one up, go ahead and try.”
I didn’t. He tied my wrists with a length of electrical cord.
Death on the Rocks (The Jacob Lomax Mysteries Book 1) Page 19
