Life or Death

by Michael Robotham

  A small bright flash registers in Audie’s peripheral vision. In the same instant a bullet tears through his left shoulder, blowing his clavicle apart like a sledgehammer hitting a watermelon. He hears only the percussion as it exits, thwanging into the metal boat and detonating like a firework next to his ear. He falls to the ground and clutches his left arm. Sticky. Wet.

  The shooter has changed his line of fire and gone to work on the boat, punching holes through the metal. Audie crawls under the trailer and forward until he’s below the driver’s door of the Dodge.

  Another round comes in from a different direction, closer to the beach. They’re not going to keep missing. His left arm is useless. Opening the door, he reaches up and turns the key in the ignition. The engine sparks and rumbles. Two rounds blow out the glass in the driver’s door. Audie puts the car into ‘drive’ and takes off the handbrake. It begins to roll forward. Running and crouching, he keeps his head below windshield level. The right front tyre makes a popping sound, then the rear one. The car slows. Audie breaks cover and heads for the stairs, taking them three at a time.

  Wood splinters near his right hand. He’s on the deck, sprinting for the door. If they lock him out he’s dead. It opens. Collapsing inside, he pulls Max down with him and slides across the floor, cutting the tape on Tony’s legs, telling him to lie flat. The old man is yelling, wanting to know who’s shooting.

  ‘Did they hit my rig? What about the boat? I’m gonna lose my job if they mess up that boat.’

  Audie crawls to the living room and presses his back to the far wall. He lifts his head and peers through the slatted shutter. A hundred yards away he can see the box-like silhouettes of two vehicles. There are no lights except for a dredger further along the canal. Straight lines of drizzle form a nimbus around the glowing filament.

  ‘Your arm,’ cries Max.

  Audie is trying to keep pressure on the wound. It exited clean, but he’s going to bleed out if he doesn’t staunch the flow.

  ‘Find me a sheet,’ he says. Max obeys, hunching over to pull open the linen cupboard. ‘Tear it into strips. There’s a first-aid box in the bathroom with gauze bandages.’

  Audie bunches the gauze in his fist, packing the entry wound, telling Max to do the same with the exit hole. Then he wraps multiple strips of sheeting beneath his arm and over his shoulder while others are bound around his chest. Already the blood is soaking through.

  ‘It’s my fault,’ sobs Max. Pale. Tearful.

  Audie stares at him.

  ‘I sent my dad a message. I told him where I was.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Tony had a cell phone in his bag.’ Max reaches down the front of his trousers and retrieves the phone. ‘I’ll talk to him. I’ll tell them not to shoot.’

  ‘It’s too late now.’

  ‘He’ll listen to me.’

  Max punches the number but Audie takes the phone. Valdez answers.

  ‘Max?’

  ‘No, it’s me.’

  ‘You fuck, I want to speak to Max.’

  ‘He can hear you.’

  ‘Max. Are you OK?’

  ‘You have to tell them not to shoot, Dad. It’s all been a big mistake.’

  ‘Shut up! Has he hurt you?’

  ‘No. You got to stop shooting.’

  ‘I want you to listen. Don’t believe a word he says. He’s lying to you.’

  ‘Did you adopt me?’

  ‘Shut up and listen!’

  Valdez is yelling. There are muffled voices in the background, people arguing. Audie turns off the speaker and raises the phone to his ear. ‘You don’t have to yell at the boy.’

  The comment lights a fire under Valdez. ‘He’s my goddamn son and I’ll tell him what I please.’

  ‘You’ll tell him lies.’

  ‘You’re a fool! You’re gonna get him killed. Why couldn’t you just keep your mouth shut?’

  ‘You mean like last time?’

  Valdez has walked away from the car. Audie can see the brightness of the cell phone pressed against the sheriff’s ear.

  ‘This is how it’s going to go down. You’re going to walk outside with your hands in the air.’

  ‘It’s not that simple.’

  ‘Sure it is.’

  ‘There’s someone with us. He’s a local. He looks after places when folks lock ’em up for the winter. You just shot up his rig.’

  Valdez doesn’t answer.

  ‘He’s got a heart condition, and he’s not doing so good. If you come storming in here, you’re going to kill him.’

  ‘His death will be on your hands.’

  ‘You mean like Cassie and Scarlett’s?’

  Audie hears an intake of breath. He shouldn’t be goading this man, but he’s angry that innocent people are dying around him. He glances out the kitchen window toward the beach and sees two heads, stooping but not stooping low enough, as they run between the dunes. Moving closer. They’re dressed in black, wearing balaclavas with only their eyes showing. Night-fighting shit.

  ‘Send him out,’ says Valdez. ‘I’ll make sure he gets to the hospital.’

  Audie looks at Tony, who is sitting with his back to the kitchen bench.

  ‘I don’t trust you.’

  ‘You want to help the guy or not? You got thirty seconds.’

  He hangs up. Audie watches Valdez walk back to the cars, where he discusses something with the others. Audie drags himself across the floor next to Tony.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Fine. You heard him, they’re not going to shoot me.’

  ‘He’s lying.’

  ‘They’re the police!’

  ‘No, they’re not.’

  ‘My dad is a county sheriff,’ protests Max.

  Audie wants to argue but knows that Tony is no safer inside the house than outside. Any moment they’re going to come in with guns blazing, shooting anything with a pulse.

  Tony shakes two pills into his hand and swallows them dry. ‘If it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to take my chances with them than with you. The odds are better.’

  65

  Seated beside Moss in the pickup, Desiree thinks of every law that she’s breaking. She has ignored protocols, disobeyed orders and jeopardised her career, yet everything about this case has altered her perception of normal. The man next to her should still be in jail or in handcuffs. He swears blind he didn’t escape. Whoever set him free had influence, connections. They didn’t want the money, according to Moss, they wanted Palmer dead.

  ‘Did you steal this pickup?’ she asks, speaking for the first time since they left the outskirts of Houston.

  ‘No, ma’am.’ Moss looks hurt by the accusation. ‘They gave it to me.’

  Desiree opens her cell phone and calls Virginia, asking for a status update on Moss Webster and asking them to run a motor-vehicle check on the Chevy.

  She looks at Moss. ‘You lied to me. It was stolen from a garage near the Dairy Queen after you escaped.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m sitting in a stolen pickup.’

  ‘Give me some credit. You think I’d steal a shitbox like this? Makes me look like a redneck. And I didn’t escape – they let me go!’

  ‘According to you.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be seen dead driving a Chevy.’

  She waves her gun. ‘Well, I could test that theory.’

  They fall into a sullen silence until Desiree changes the subject and asks about the old man who found the boy.

  ‘Theo McAllister’s place is set back from the road,’ explains Moss, ‘but it was near enough for him to hear the shooting and see the burning car. He found the boy the next day.’

  Moss taps his hands loosely on the steering wheel. Desiree likes men with big hands.

  ‘That’s when I got to thinking: what if the boy belonged to that woman, the one who was never identified?’

  ‘How do you know about her?’

  ‘I read about it in the papers.’

  ‘
She has a name now.’

  Moss glances at her.

  ‘Belita Ciera Vega.’

  His eyebrows arch.

  ‘You’ve heard it before?’

  Moss looks back at the road. ‘Audie used to have these nightmares. Not all the time, but often enough. He’d wake up screaming, crying out a name. That was the one: Belita. I used to ask him about her but he said it was just a dream.’ He glances at Desiree. ‘You think he’s that boy’s real father?’

  ‘Not according to the birth certificate.’

  Desiree falls silent and begins adding more details to the picture forming in her mind. Audie and Belita were married in a chapel in Las Vegas. Five days later they were in Texas. If Audie took part in the robbery, why bring his wife and the boy along? More likely, they were bystanders – caught up in the outcome. Perhaps Audie and the boy were thrown clear by the impact, or they’d stopped by the side of the road and weren’t in the car. Nobody came forward to claim Belita’s body. Audie was in a coma. The boy was too young to help.

  Moss breaks the silence. ‘Why didn’t Audie tell someone about the boy?’

  ‘Maybe they threatened him. Maybe they threatened the boy.’

  Moss whistles through his teeth. ‘That’s got to be one precious child.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You didn’t see what they did to Audie in prison. He swam through an ocean of shit when most men would have happily drowned.’

  Desiree ignores him for a moment, still developing the story in her mind. She and Moss had been working toward the same end but approaching the search from different angles. Together they had created a compelling story, but that didn’t make it true.

  Audie Palmer saw the accident and shootout. He watched his wife die. There were seven million reasons to clean up and remove any witnesses, which meant killing Audie or silencing him. They tried both.

  There were three deputies involved in the shooting. One is dead, another missing, and the third is Ryan Valdez. DA Edward Dowling is now a newly elected State Senator. Frank Senogles ran the original investigation and is now a Special Agent in Charge. Who else might be involved? The conspiracy relied upon Audie Palmer’s silence. They must have used the boy as leverage, which is why they kept him close … very close.

  What about the other gang member? In the original statements the two deputies claimed a dark-coloured SUV was parked alongside the armoured truck and the bags of cash were being transferred. The SUV sped off and was later found burnt out near Lake Conroe. These elements of the story were only added after the shooting. The deputies could easily have searched the dispatcher’s log for reports of stolen and burned-out cars and chosen one to link to the robbery.

  There was never a description of the missing gang member. Nobody claimed to have seen Carl Palmer. It was always an assumption, which the police helped foster by creating rumours, third-hand accounts and reports from unnamed sources. Somebody leaked Carl’s name to the media and the story took on a life of its own. Soon it became accepted as fact, backed up by periodic ‘sightings’ of Carl in places like Mexico and the Philippines. There were never any photographs or fingerprints. Each time Carl would mysteriously slip away before the FBI could confirm his identity. Somebody like Senogles could have planted the stories. By keeping this fictitious gang member alive it stopped anyone looking more closely at the robbery.

  Desiree’s mind comes back to the present. The sun is a fading spark on the horizon and farms have given away to wetlands, canals and shallow lakes. Short grasses are bent by the wind and the air blooms with the smell of salt and rain. Big sky. Big land. Big sea.

  66

  ‘Let me take the boy with me,’ says Tony, rubbing his hands over his head as though his whole scalp itches.

  ‘He’ll be safer here,’ says Audie, his voice sounding hollow and brittle. He takes a reflective vest from Tony’s bag. ‘You should wear this.’

  Standing unsteadily, Tony slips it over his shoulders.

  ‘They won’t shoot you,’ says Max, looking at Audie for reassurance. ‘My dad is out there. He’s a sheriff.’

  Tony looks at the teenager and smiles. ‘A braver man would offer to stay here.’

  ‘You’re brave enough,’ replies Max.

  Audie wants to stop Tony, but he doesn’t have any arguments left. Staying is no safer than leaving. In the same breath he thinks of Scarlett and Cassie in the motel room and wonders if it would have made a difference had he stayed. Could he have protected them?

  Tony motions to Audie’s shoulder where blood is leaking through the bandages and running down his forearm. There are droplets like beads of mercury on the polished wooden floorboards.

  ‘I’m a little confused about what you’re hoping to achieve here, son.’

  Audie opens his palms and stares at them. ‘I’m trying to keep Max safe. And I’m trying to keep you safe. And I’m hoping to stay alive. Which bit confuses you?’

  ‘The third part, I guess. I’m seventy-two. Widowed. Retired. Unemployable. Ex-Navy. I got a dodgy ticker and it takes me an hour to pee. I don’t have a son, only daughters, but I’m not complaining. They’ve been good to me. I’ve seen you with Max and I know you’d never set out to hurt him.’

  ‘Thank you,’ says Audie.

  ‘No point thanking me.’ Tony glances back at Max. ‘Good luck, young ’un.’

  Tony crosses the deck and walks slowly down the stairs, feeling for each step in the darkness. When he reaches his pickup, he pauses to examine the bullet holes and curses under his breath. He walks toward the road, the footing firmer, the pain in his chest getting worse.

  Panic is the enemy. That’s what his old drill sergeant used to say. Panic is what takes over when fear renders your brain useless. Where are the police cars? Why haven’t they come out to get him?

  In that instant, a blast of light almost knocks Tony backward. He raises his hands to shield his eyes but sees nothing but red circles burned onto the back of his lids.

  ‘Stop there,’ says a voice.

  ‘I’m not armed.’

  ‘Hands on your head.’

  ‘Hey, I’m going blind here. Can you turn down the lights?’

  ‘Kneel down.’

  ‘My knees aren’t what they were.’

  ‘Do it.’

  ‘I’m just the caretaker. You don’t have to bother with me. I’m no problem. The boy’s safe.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Tony Schroeder.’

  ‘How do you know Audie Palmer?’

  ‘I don’t know him. I just met him. I came to check on the house after the storm. You shot up my rig and the Halligans’ boat. I hope someone is going pay for that.’

  ‘You should have stayed out of this, old-timer.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  From a distance Audie hears a dull wet popping sound and sees the red mist of blood in the brightness of the headlights. Tony collapses to the asphalt, his head tilted sideways like a man in search of a pillow to lie upon.

  Max watches it happen and screams. He bolts for the door and Audie has to throw out his good arm, catching the teenager in mid-flight, lifting him off his feet.

  ‘They shot him!’ screams Max, blinking at Audie incredulously. ‘They shot Tony!’

  Audie doesn’t know what to say.

  The teenager is sobbing. ‘Why? He didn’t hurt anybody. He was kneeling down. They shot him in the head.’

  Audie knows they’re removing witnesses and finishing the job they botched eleven years ago. Max is kneeling on the floor, slumped over like a puppet with cut strings. Audie’s heart aches. He wants to run his thumb over the boy’s lower lip and wipe away the errant tear.

  Outside the headlights have been turned off. They’ll be coming now. Audie sits beside Max, feeling empty inside, hollowed out. Despite the sense of urgency, his body is ready to give up. Blood loss. Hope lost. The quest over. Even if he managed to get to the beach, what then? Would they let Max live?

  The teenager
has stopped crying. He’s sitting, braced against the wall, knees bent, staring at the cell phone.

  ‘I remember,’ he whispers hoarsely. ‘You were kneeling down and someone was standing over you pointing a gun at your head. You were looking at me…’

  ‘You have to run, Max.’

  ‘He won’t shoot me.’

  ‘You don’t know that.’

  There is someone on the stairs outside. Audie looks out the kitchen window and sees the outline of a head appear above the deck. Rising to one knee, he primes the shotgun and rests it on the sill.

  ‘I’ll try to draw their fire. Once I’m gone I want you to run.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘You can swim across the canal. Stay hidden.’

  ‘You can’t go out there.’

  ‘I don’t have a choice.’

  Moss crosses the swing bridge and eases the pickup onto Canal Drive, heading east past a handful of houses that are mostly closed up for the winter. Away from the brightness of the headlights, he can just make out the whitewashed shore and the darker shade of the sea.

  The houses begin to thin out and disappear. The canal and coastline converge to create a narrow strip of land less than a hundred yards wide in places. Although only a few feet above sea level, there are still swales and humps that could hide a man if he was lying down. The air is laced with salt and woodsmoke and the stench of rotting seaweed. Perhaps someone has lit a campfire or teenagers are drinking on the beach.

  Moss slows. Ahead, just visible past a bend, he notices the rear red reflectors of two vehicles blocking the road. He flicks off the headlights and rolls to a stop, turning off the engine. At that same instant Desiree turns her head.

  ‘Did you hear that?’

  Gunfire.

  They listen. The next shot is louder, followed by a short burst of semi-automatic gunfire that sounds like firecrackers exploding in an empty paint tin. Desiree opens her cell phone and calls for backup. It’s too dark for Moss to see her features, but he can hear the tremor in her voice.

  He peers out of the windshield. Each time the wiper blade sweeps across the glass the scene comes into focus. A pair of binoculars would have been handy.