RATTLEMAN: Praise for 18 Seconds 'Excellent! Stephen King

by George D. Shuman

  “Maybe we should just head back to the motel,” Judy said as they were getting into the Jeep. “It’s getting late.”

  “My house is only a mile away.” Marty sounded disappointed. “Besides there’s a reason I want you to see it.”

  She stared at him. “You know I have to go home in the morning, Marty.”

  “I know that, Agent Wells,” he said. “It’s just to see my place and straight back to your motel. We can eat the pizza along the way.”

  She looked at him with raised eyebrows, then nodded. “Okay, but just to see your place.”

  The road led them to a lane that wound through hardwood trees and at last to a log ranch house on a grassy hill, lawn gently sloping to a massive two-acre pond. Dark water shimmered under the light of the full moon.

  “Oh my God,” she said, jumping out of the Jeep. She ran toward a wooden dock and kicked off her shoes. “Is it safe?” she yelled.

  “Of course it’s safe.” He took the box of pizza and set it on the hood of the Jeep.

  She ran to the end of the dock and put her feet in the water that was lapping gently against the pilings.

  “Come on,” she called over her shoulder, patting the board next to her, pointing up at an orange star. “Saturn,” she said happily.

  Marty sat next to her and looked up at the sky. Then he stretched his arm overhead. “Taurus.”

  “Bull,” she said, turning to look at him.

  He shrugged and drew a line with his finger to the north. “Orion.”

  “Orion?” she looked at him doubtfully.

  “Orion,” he assured her.

  “Show-off!” She laughed.

  Their shoulders touched; he could feel her bare foot brush his leg. A star streaked across the sky. His arm shot out at the same time as hers, fingers touching fingers as the meteorite plunged into the horizon and they kept their hands that way, in utter awe of the feeling.

  When they turned, they turned together and in cosmic silence. He whispered her name.

  Crickets chirped and fireflies twinkled, and frogs plunked into the water spreading rings of golden moonlight. The stars had multiplied a thousand fold and she reached for the back of his neck, leg sliding over his knee. Marty pulled her into his arms and lay back on the dock and they kissed, slowly at first, then passionately until at last they pulled away and looked into each other’s eyes.

  “Must be the love necklace,” she whispered huskily.

  He smiled, pulling her back into his chest, and they lay like that in perfect silence, neither wanting to break the spell.

  Chapter 22

  Somerset State Police Barracks, Pennsylvania

  Juan Rodriguez’s memory of the morning of April 11th was uncanny in detail. He had said he’d been driving north on I-81 and picked up I-70 south of Breezewood as snowflakes began to fall. He wouldn’t forget that because it was the first snow his son had ever seen. When he passed the Welcome to Pennsylvania sign there was a police car sitting behind the trestle of an overpass. The policeman put on his lights, came up behind him and pulled him over. A cargo strap had come loose in the bed, and the buckle was dragging on the pavement showering sparks beneath the bumper. The officer took his license and registration, wrote him a warning ticket for having an unsecure load and told him to have a nice day.

  Fielding ordered the junior agent to fetch the ticket from the truck. Then he found the Duty Office where he closed the door and asked the Sergeant how long the state police digital in-car videos were kept.

  “Three months,” the Sergeant told him.

  “How long to find one and put it on a screen?”

  “Maybe an hour – if you know the day and time.”

  The junior agent arrived with the ticket. Fifty minutes later a video attachment arrived on the Desk Sergeant’s computer. On the screen was an image videoed from the dash camera of a state police car as it was pulling over a gray truck with Florida tags. The trooper approached the vehicle, spoke to the driver who then got out and followed the trooper to the rear of the truck. It was Juan Rodriguez, the man in the interrogation room. In the lower right corner of the screen the date read 04/11/12 and the time 0503 hours. Snowflakes were melting on the trooper’s windshield.

  Juan Rodriguez had been in Pennsylvania at 05:03 on April 11, four minutes after the Atlanta commuter pilot had reported the fire in Tennessee. Juan Rodriguez could not have been in both places.

  Face blanched, Fielding raced from the room, punching numbers into the cellphone as he tried to find his driver. There would be no rest tomorrow, he knew. No rest in his foreseeable future.

  Chapter 23

  Marion, West Virginia

  Marty’s phone startled him awake.

  “Hello,” he said quietly, leaning over the side of the bed.

  “It’s Sam, Marty. Sorry to wake you.”

  “Tell me,” he said groggily. “Whatcha got, Sam?”

  “They found a body up on Cemetery Hill. State troopers are already on the scene.”

  “Any details?”

  “They think it’s that lawyer from Canaan Mountain that went missing. She was killed with a knife is what I heard. Chief Douglas said he’d wait for you at the church. Fill you in there.”

  “Tell him I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” he said. He switched off his phone and picked up the clock.

  Judy opened her eyes tiredly. “What is it?”

  “They found a body,” he said, squinting at the clock again as he set it down.

  “God, Marty. Where?”

  “Cemetery Hill. I’ll drop you at the motel on the way.”

  “Can’t I go along?”

  He turned. “You’re leaving this morning, remember?”

  “I can sleep when I get back to Washington.”

  He smiled weakly and leaned down to kiss her.

  It was after 2:00 AM when they crossed the bridge to Quills Landing. Clouds had gathered, moving quickly across the moon. A wind out of the west bent treetops and the air smelled like rain.

  On the side of the mountain Judy could make out the large white cross on top of the Pentecostal Church, pulsing blue under the wash of an emergency beacon.

  They pulled into the parking lot next to an orange pickup with a strobe light on the dash. A heavyset man in a brown uniform was leaning against the driver’s door. He wore a white cowboy hat and boots.

  “Chief Douglas,” Marty said, as they pulled alongside the truck. “Remember I told you about Quills Landing?”

  The big man came alongside the passenger window.

  “Hey, Marty.” He leaned down to look in the passenger window.

  “This is Agent Wells, Doug.”

  The Chief reached in and pumped Judy’s hand vigorously, stooping to get a better look at her face. “A federal agent,” he said. “My, but you two have been up working late.” He grinned, and winked at Marty.

  Douglas’s great belly pushed against the passenger door. He wore a Sam Browne belt and a nickel-plated automatic with ivory grips.

  “Hell of a mess up there.” He removed his hat and rubbed the back of his head.

  “Who found her?” Marty asked.

  “Myron Jenkins went up to finish digging the Miller boy’s grave. He told Preacher Holland what he found and Holland called me and I called the state troopers. She’s still up there.” He pointed. “Just like we found her. Gutted and cleaned like a deer.”

  Douglas put his hat back on. “State trooper said your buddy Lazarus is flying in from Charleston and there’s supposed to be some FBI agent on his way. Must be thinking it’s that serial killer they’ve been chasing. Anyhow, Cemetery Road’s blocked just above the church. Easier to hoof it up the hill.”

  Marty turned off the engine and Douglas stepped away from the door.

  The three of them followed the footpath behind the church, climbing the hillside to the hayfield overlooking Quills Landing.

  There were bright lights in the distance and the monotone chatter of police radios. The
y walked for several minutes before the outline of police cars appeared. Their headlights and spotlights were trained on a mound of earth between the tombstones.

  A trooper approached them out of the dark, put his light up to their faces. “Marty,” the man said, before turning the light on Judy. He was tall and black and wore captain’s bars on his shoulders.

  “Brad, this is Judy Wells, federal agent, DEA.”

  Judy removed a badge from her pocket and held it up to the light.

  “Ma’am.” The captain touched the brim of his hat. “Major Lazarus said to tell you he’s in the air. Wanted to know if you’d mind meeting him at Elkins airport.”

  “Me,” Marty said dully. “You guys don’t pick up police majors when they come to town?”

  The captain shrugged. “Said he wanted you and unless you really mind, I’m seriously short of troopers.”

  Marty nodded. “Sure, of course.”

  “Over here.” The captain waved them toward the spotlights. “Right next to the pile of dirt.”

  The woman was lying naked in the open grave, arms at her sides and abdomen split from pelvis to breastbone. Her insides were laid between her legs. Her eyes were wide open and her mouth filled with congealed blood.

  “Clothes?” Marty asked.

  “By the tree line. No wallet, no ID, but there’s a dragonfly tattoo on her ankle, same as the lawyer on Canaan Mountain. Some of the agents over there are already on the way.” He pointed at his car. “Man who found her is Myron Jenkins, sitting in my back seat. Said he’s the caretaker for the church.”

  “Yeah, I know him,” Marty said.

  “Ain’t that something, girly?” Chief Douglas came up alongside Judy. “Ever seen anything like them eyes?” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. “Sight like that’d send some good men off into the bushes.” He folded the handkerchief into a square and stuffed it into his back pocket. “Been there at least a day. Killer’s probably halfway to Hell or Hoboken by now. Heard you feds lost some cocaine up there on the mountain?”

  Judy looked up, unprepared for the shift in subject.

  Douglas removed his hat and ran a hand around the brim. “Actually, I heard that someone beat you to it.”

  Judy opened her mouth to speak, then closed it.

  Douglas wiped his forehead on a shirtsleeve and replaced the hat. He looked out over the lights of Quills Landing and sighed. “Imagine it’ll end up in my town sooner than later. I’m sure Marty told you we’re a regular Sodom and Gomorra down there. Just how much dope were we talking about, Agent Wells?”

  “Ten kilos,” she said quietly.

  Douglas whistled. “Well now, that’s enough cocaine to get someone’s attention. Maybe I’ll just get back and start knocking on some doors.” He touched the brim of his hat. “You kids be good now.” He smiled and backed away into the shadows.

  Judy watched him disappear then returned her gaze to the woman’s body. He was right about one thing, she thought. She had never seen anything like those eyes.

  “Kirsten on the way?” Marty asked the captain.

  The captain shook his head. “The Bureau’s sending in their own forensics from Washington and troops from other barracks. Works out for me since half my troopers are in Charleston.”

  “What’s in Charleston?”

  “Breakfast at the convention center. Vice President is attending a DNC fundraiser.”

  Marty looked at him, then up at the fluttering treetops, thinking something must have been terribly wrong in Pennsylvania.

  “You heard a weather report?”

  “Storm front’s over Kentucky,” the captain said. “Winds flipped a tractor-trailer on I-64. Should be a good one by the sound of it. Ought to be here within another hour.”

  Marty nodded and looked down at the open grave. “Hope they’re bringing the tents along. Nothing worse than a muddy circus.”

  Chapter 24

  Marion, West Virginia

  Marty dropped Judy off at the Cherokee Inn on his way to Elkins Randolph Airport to pick up Lazarus. There should have been more to saying goodbye than a hug and exchange of kisses on the cheek, he thought. But they had just stood there afterward, neither knowing what to say. Surely it would have been different if it were not for the crime scene on Cemetery Hill. You don’t leave the sight of something like that and pick up mid-conversation. But the spell had been broken and now they each had time to question what had happened, to wonder what the other one might be thinking. Maybe his emotions were out of proportion to the situation. Maybe Judy would actually be relieved to be going home.

  Either way, she would soon be on her way to Washington. And then what? Just forget about what had happened? Neither had talked about or even suggested a future conversation.

  Hattie Wilson had been right, he thought. And so had he. Something else had come along. And just as quickly it was going away.

  The parking lot was empty; the tower light revolved through a steadily driving rain. He watched the buffeting wing lights of the twin-engine Beechcraft as it touched down and taxied to the terminal in a spray of rainwater on the tarmac.

  Lazarus was first out of the plane and ran toward the door holding a magazine over his head. An airline agent opened the door and blocked it with a wooden wedge. Lazarus passed through the security gate and shook the rain from his jacket, then entered the small baggage area. “Marty,” he said, nodding as he took his elbow and pulled him away from the NTSB officers in screening.

  “It came apart in interrogation. He didn’t do the murders in Tennessee.”

  “And now you think he’s here.”

  “We don’t know.”

  Marty laughed. “And let me guess who your next suspect will be. A drifter carrying packs on his back?”

  “They’ve got agents heading for Tellico Plains to get a composite,” Lazarus said. “And please don’t say I told you so. I’ll take the beating after we find this guy. Deal?” He looked Marty in the eye.

  “Deal.” Marty sighed and then nodded.

  “FBI’s doing the forensics – you already heard?”

  Marty nodded again.

  “They’re just hearing about this on the Canaan Mountain themselves. Once the press knows we have a body there’s going to be a media event on your mountain. From what I hear Spangler was a big deal. The State’s Attorney General is still with the family.”

  “Mary Saxe was a big deal too,” Marty said.

  Lazarus put a hand on his shoulder. “Yes, she was. And I’m sorry. Now let’s get back up there and put this thing right.”

  The wind was picking up, state police helicopters grinding noisy circles over Cemetery Hill, scattering deer and livestock in nearby farms and fields. Long before dawn, house and barn lights around the foothills began to wink on.

  Jewel had closed her bar and gone to bed at 3:00 AM, but sleep had been impossible, what with the helicopters and the wind rattling fire escapes in Old Town Quills Landing, scattering trash in back alleys where brutish looking cats searched for rats.

  And now someone was banging on her door.

  “Morning, Jewel,” Chief Douglas said from the rotting second floor landing of her apartment.

  “What in the hell do you want?” she demanded, fishing a foil pack of cigarillos from a green cotton bathrobe. A gust of wind pelted them with rain and she pulled the robe closed at the neck.

  “You know, Jewel,” he said. “There’s a story I always like to tell about you, a good story too, but I can never get it told the same way twice. Boy robs you with a Saturday Night Special and you shoot him full of holes on his way out the door. Or was it boy robs you with a finger in his pocket and you plant the Saturday Night Special in his hand. The same Saturday Night Special that’s been in your cash drawer for thirty years?”

  “It was justified, you bastard.”

  “He was shot in the back, Jewel. And don’t you forget about those shell casings in my safe. Might remember to have them fingerprinted one day,
like a cold case investigation. And they just happen to come back to you. Be pretty hard to explain how you loaded another man’s gun. Wouldn’t it now, Jewel?”

  Douglas pushed himself off the railing and turned to watch the strobe of the helicopter flying east away from the mountains.

  “What do you want?”

  He turned to face her, reached into her pocket and helped himself to one of her cigars.

  “I heard a rumor.” Douglas leaned into the doorway and cupped his hands around the match.

  Jewel laughed out loud. “No shit. You heard a rumor, in Quills Landing. Well don’t that beat all.”

  Douglas nodded, tossing the match over the rail. “You know I never asked much of you, Jewel, but I’m asking you once tonight. I want to know about cocaine. I want to know who has the cocaine that went down on the mountain. I know you know the story and if you tell me, then it’s the last you’ll hear of me. If you don’t, I’m closing down that snake pit you call a bar and you’ll be peddling your ass at the truck-stops quicker ‘n biscuits.”

  “Does the law know about you?” Jewel hacked out a cough. “Seems to me folks still have rights.”

  “No, Jewel.” He bent down and looked her in the eye. “There are no rights when it comes to you and me. Folks like us? We just have understandings.”

  She took a long drag on her cigar and turned to look at the lights of the retreating helicopter.

  “What’s going on up there?” She waved her cigar in the direction of the mountain.

  “Found a body.”

  She flicked her ash. “Why ain’t you worrying about that?”

  “Oh, they got too many college boys coming to suit me.” Douglas stared at her, waiting.

  “Aw shit.” She flicked the cigar over the rail. “Tiny took one of my barmaids home last night and told her he struck it rich. Said he bought a shitload of cocaine and was moving to Nashville. But who in the fuck knows with Tiny?”

  “When was this?”