Death to the Chief (Atlanta Murder Squad Book 2)

by Lance McMillian

  Her manner is more businesslike now, the pace of her speech faster. I peer out her window. The clouds show no sign of abating, and a darkened tint figures to rule the rest of the day. I wondered about the dynamics of my being governor with her on the Supreme Court. Obviously, she would have to sit out a ton of cases. I didn’t expect it to be a deal-breaker. I realize that Mom had it wrong. Cate would not make a great political wife. She already has a better job.

  I counter, “The Governor and Susan Benson seem to make it work.”

  “I asked them about that. Susan said she just rules against him every time to avoid giving him any favoritism. It’s shady as all get out, and they both know it. But they can only get away with that because the relationship is secret. You and I wouldn’t have that luxury.”

  I prepare to tell her I’ll turn down Minton’s offer and go back to working on cars, but she beats me to the punch.

  “Honestly, I’ve already been thinking we should slow things down between us. This might be the right time for us to go our separate ways before things get more serious.”

  A piece of my heart stops on hearing her words. I feel myself biting my lower lip to quell the bubbling tremors. A heavy silence encircles us, and I fumble along in a mental fog before settling on a response.

  “I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to tell me the truth. Will you do that?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “I’m going to give you three choices, and I want you to choose one. Okay?”

  “I’m not sure what you’re getting at, but okay.”

  “One—you’re spooked about almost being blown up in my car and don’t know what to think about us in the aftermath. Two—you don’t want to be the reason I refuse becoming attorney general and later governor but would leap in my arms right now if I walked away from all that. Three—you’re really not into me and see the current situation as a humane way of letting me down gently.”

  I focus on her with hungry tenacity, waiting for the response. She finally meets my stare and answers.

  “I don’t know.”

  59

  Minton is in a fine mood when Martha ushers Scott and me into his office. He gives me a tight hug and says, “Glad you’re all right, but you can stop going around trying to get yourself killed now.”

  He directs us to a sitting area and observes, “You guys got more than you bargained for.”

  We don’t disagree. I remember driving up here a couple of weeks ago to talk about Ella, only for him to spring the special attorney general business on me unawares. A lot has happened in the short period of time since then. Ella got her judgeship, yes, but the rest of the collateral damage just makes me sad.

  The Governor surveys the two of us, ready to get down to business. He says, “You guys have proven yourselves invaluable to me and the people of Georgia. The Daltons have disgraced the state, and we need good people to replace them as attorney general and head of the GBI. Take the weekend to think about it and then come back to tell me yes. Just to let you know, I’m not going to take no for an answer.”

  We don’t stay long after that. Martha gives me an embrace on the way out, and I realize I haven’t been hugged this much since Amber and Cale were murdered. I lived through that time in a daze, barely conscious as to what was happening around me. But now I’ve grown acclimated to the tortures of unexpected pain. The hurt persists, but less intense, more like a rough pebble in my shoe, always reminding me of its presence with each step.

  I ride with Scott back to the squad room. He says, “Attorney general, huh?”

  “He actually wants me to replace him as governor in two years.”

  “Best friends with the governor? I kinda like that.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up.”

  I explain the situation with Cate.

  He responds, “You barely know her. That’s a lot to give up for someone you only met a couple of weeks ago.”

  “You told me to ‘go get her’ less than an hour ago.”

  “I didn’t know you could be governor. That’s a horse of a different color.”

  “Who says I even want to be governor?”

  “Opportunities like this don’t come around every day, Chance. Maybe only once in a lifetime.”

  ***

  The Corvette sits in the parking lot when we arrive at the squad room. When we go inside, Marlon tosses me the keys. I give him a hug for his trouble, and he grins that Solomonic grin of his, leaking wisdom like some Tibetan monk. Sophie and J.D. are still busy processing Kenny. But Barbara and Taylor are there. I hug them, too. It’s that kind of day. Barbara updates me about her morning. Mary Woodcomb denied Tommy Dalton bail.

  ***

  I drive home, intending to do my best to sleep through the predicted snowy weekend. Scott released the house as a crime scene, and the team paid a cleaning crew to clean up the blood in my garage and living room. When Amber and Cale died, I spent hours scrubbing their blood off the floor—an act of penance born out of fear that I had somehow cost them their lives. I’m thankful to be spared a repeat performance.

  The cell phone rings as I exit the city limits—my mother.

  She says, “I just wanted to hear your voice. You should’ve called me. A car bomb and an armed intruder? I’m a mother. I get worried. You should’ve called.”

  “Sorry. The last two days have been a whirlwind. I’ve barely had time to sleep.”

  “Some things you make time for.”

  She’s right, and I don’t argue the point. I’ve always lived too much in my own head, and one offshoot of that is a consistent failure to appreciate that the things that happen to me also affect the lives of the people who love me.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re all right.”

  The tears she’s holding back nearly choke her. She’s not a crier. None of the Meridians are. We’d probably be happier if we let it all out from time to time. Mom changes the subject.

  “I’ve been talking to Minton.”

  I laugh out loud but in a repressed sort of way to keep her from hearing. Some things are simply joyously predictable. I didn’t expect her to press me this soon, but the quick transition from heartfelt emotion to practical politics feels right. She goes on.

  “He wanted me to talk to you, and that’s what I’m doing.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I spent a lot of time over the years making people think I was bitter about never being first lady of Georgia. People like to play the victim, and I’m no different. Feigning offense was also a way to get in little digs at your father for what he had done. But you want to know the truth? Your father and I were never happier than in the years after he retired from politics. He was back home for good, you boys were older with your own things going on, and we belonged only to each other. I wouldn’t trade any of those years for anything, not even to be first lady of the United States. Every week when I visit him at the cemetery, I bask in those times. I’m glad that he never became governor. I never told him that when he was alive, and it’s the biggest regret of my life.”

  The voice coming out of the phone sounds like my mother, but the words are so foreign-sounding as to suggest an imposter. I pull to the side of the road. Her sharing of something so touching warrants a response from me, but the effort fails. I sit there mute and wait for her to speak again.

  “Minton called me to put the pressure on you. He has this grand vision all laid out for you, and I have no doubt that he can make it a reality. But don’t let him browbeat you. Listen to your mother: do what makes you happy, son. After all you’ve had to endure, you’re allowed. Do what’s in your heart—whether it’s being with Cate, fixing stupid old cars, becoming governor, whatever.”

  I remain immobile with amazement, unsure if I’ve ever felt so loved in my entire life but ashamed at how little I’ve understood Mom over the years. Tears well in my eyes.

  She snaps, “You ain’t saying anything. Are you there?”
/>   “I’m here. Just thinking about what you said.”

  When we get off the phone with each other, I keep still for a long time—the big trucks and cars zipping past with great velocity, rattling the Corvette, but barely registering on my radar. I try to picture my parents in those later years, and the overwhelming sense I get is two people who had found peace. When I learned about Daddy and Susan Benson, I felt a sense of betrayal that he had lied to me about the real reason he didn’t become governor. Except now I wonder. Politics cost him so much, including a piece of his integrity. Daddy wanted to go home and be around the people he loved. He told me, “To thine own self be true.” From a certain point of view, he was being straight with me. Or that’s what I choose now to believe. I’ll never know the whole story, just like I’ll probably never know who killed my family. But that’s life. We do the best we can and leave the gaps to God.

  I turn the car back around toward Atlanta.

  60

  I leave the Capitol, bounding down the steps two at a time. I’ve always loved the place, even with its ignoble history of being built by virulent segregationists and topped with gold stolen from the Cherokees. But all we can do about the past is learn from it. The march of history is humanity’s attempt to do a little bit better than the people who came before.

  Against the odds, the sun has made a comeback. The light shines on the new courthouse, and I study the building with a hopeful heart. Christened by a murder, the glistening marble façade nevertheless suggests that the future is what we make of it. Without that murder, I would still be living like a recluse in the country, working on my cars. But now I want more.

  ***

  For the second time that day, I enter her chambers. Cate jerks her head up and shoots me a questioning glance. Her eyes are neutral. She lays a pen down on the desk to give me her full attention. On the walk over, I composed a rough draft of what to say, knowing that I have only one shot to get this right.

  “I told Minton no.”

  She inspects me as if I’m one of the world’s great mysteries. And maybe I am. She asks, “Why would you do that?”

  “Some opportunities are too good to pass up.”

  Scott was right on the theory but wrong on the facts. A good woman is worth far more than being governor. And Cate is a good woman. The impact of my declaration has an effect—her torn face betraying a tortuous indecision. After a long enough pause, she answers, “You should go back to the Governor and ask for a second chance. I don’t want to see you anymore. I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Stubbornness comes naturally to the Meridians. I’m not leaving here empty-handed without a fight. And the truth is that I don’t believe her. The last couple of days have been hell, and she’s rattled. But what existed between us didn’t magically disappear overnight. I make my case.

  “You remember when you saw me get knocked out after catching that touchdown pass in high school?”

  “I remember.”

  “There’s an epilogue to that story. A few weeks later, we played in the playoffs for a chance to reach the state championship. We were driving for a winning touchdown in the final seconds. The quarterback led me on a touchdown pass that I would’ve caught easily if I was running full speed, but I held back a little because a big linebacker stood ready to clean my clock. I was scared. The pass slipped off my fingertips, and we lost the game. I never played football again.”

  Her brow frowns in thought. She responds, “And?”

  “And I lost something important because I was too timid to commit for fear of getting hurt. I don’t want to repeat the same mistake.”

  Minton didn’t take my decision well, but sitting on the side of the road after Mom’s call convinced me that following my heart meant pursuing Cate with full vigor. I could’ve half-assed it, told her I would turn Minton down if she’d have me, and put the pressure of the decision squarely on her shoulders. But that’s the coward’s way.

  She asks, “Are you scared now?”

  “Terrified.”

  “Does that mean you want me to be your girlfriend?”

  “I was thinking something more permanent.”

  Cate takes a second to catch my meaning and then bursts out laughing. Her smile of harsh incredulity is as wide as her face. She exclaims, “Are you having a mid-life crisis?”

  “I’ve already had one of those.”

  “Are you insane then?”

  “Yes, but I come by it honestly. My family was murdered. My dog was murdered. Someone tried to kill me twice this week, and I had to kill him first. The Governor wants me to succeed him, even going so far as talking about me being president one day. And I live alone by myself deep in the woods. So yeah, I probably am nuts. But in the midst of all that madness, when I think about my future, the only thing I know for sure is that I want to spend as much time as possible with you.”

  For the first time since I entered the room, a softness starts to show in her demeanor. She laments, “The past two weeks have been the craziest of my life.”

  Amazingly, the same may not hold true for me. I’ve bathed in crazy for three years now but am ready to dance to a new tune. I just want my world to be normal again.

  She adds, “You don’t even know me.”

  “I know what I love about you.”

  The scoffing that follows almost knocks her over. She says, “Come on, Chance! Did you get another concussion last night?”

  “I love your face. I love the way your body feels against mine when you’re bowling in my attic. I love that you love dogs. I love that you cried when you learned about what happened to Eliza. I love the excitement in your eyes when you first saw the Corvette. I love that you told Warren Jackson that he had a limp, wrinkled dick and that you cussed out that FBI agent when he suggested I planted a bomb on my own car. I love the tint of your hair in the candlelight. I love that when you came out to my property, you didn’t see isolation, you saw serenity. I love that you grew up in the same area as me and still feel a deep connection to your roots. I love that you want to be like Jesus. I love the warm feeling I had inside of me when you sat on my lap next to the firepit in my backyard. I love that I felt comfortable enough with you to share my deepest, darkest secrets. I love the thought of being stuck with you in a snowstorm this weekend. And Cate, I love you.”

  She sits there, mouth agape, for the longest few seconds of my life. She says, “My God, I bet you were a smooth talker in the courtroom. Come over here and kiss me.”

  She doesn’t have to tell me twice. I pull her up, and we balance ourselves against her desk. The moment lasts for some time. The slow touch of her body restores pieces of my soul that Jerry Dalton ripped from me. When we finally come up for air, Cate lays her head on my shoulder and asks, “You really want to get married? No joke?”

  “Mary Woodcomb is at the courthouse until five.”

  She jerks her head back and throws me a quixotic glance before proclaiming, “Today? You really are insane!”

  Guilty as charged. But I’m not merely relying on my own judgment here. Mom told me that Cate had me acting like a human being again. Ella perceived the connection between Cate and me across a crowded room. Minton examined me up and down like a doctor and concluded that my feelings for Cate ran strong. Scott observed how quickly I fell for Cate and told me to go get her. The people that know me best see from the sideline what I feel on the inside.

  I smile and make my closing argument.

  “None of us is promised tomorrow. I turn the key further in that ignition, and our mothers would be busy planning our funerals. Remember that night? As happy and as full of hope as we were walking to that car—holding hands like new lovers—all of it would’ve been gone in an instant. So I’ll wait as long as you need, but all my poker chips are in the center of the table—right now. Everything in life is a gamble, and I’m betting on us. If I go bust on that bet, so be it. But I feel good about my chances.”

  Cate shakes her head in be
musement and kisses me again. She whispers, “The sex would be nice.”

  I nod and gently trace my hand on her blouse around her breast. She moans, “No fair. That’s cheating.”

  We throw tender smiles of love at each other and make out some more. She throws her head back and laughs with reckless skepticism.

  “What is happening? I can’t believe I’m even thinking about this. I’m as crazy as you are.”

  “I love that about you, too.”

  She backs up a bit and gives me a final looking over before deciding whether she wants to buy or not. I try to make my face as irresistible as possible. At last, she gives me an answer.

  “Why not?”

  EPILOGUE

  “Now that the Dalton brothers are out of the picture, you two are about the dumbest jackasses in this entire state!”

  Minton is not happy with us. Scott and I sit like guilty school boys before a sadistic headmaster who doesn’t believe in sparing the rod. After I turned down Minton the other day, Scott repeated the ritual over the weekend. He reasoned that he was a cop, not some desk jockey who pushes papers. The Governor is not one to take rejection well. Today we get to hear about it.

  “The both of you were given the offer to rule the realm and said no. Damnedest thing I ever saw. What a pair!”

  He shakes his head and jabs his finger at me, “And you! Getting married to a woman you’ve known less than two weeks! What the hell?”

  I shrug, “My weekend was better than yours.”

  Minton rolls his eyes.

  Cate and I rushed over to Mary Woodcomb’s chambers and made everything official. When the snowstorm hit the next day, we were safe and sound under the covers consummating our bond in a spacious suite at the Four Seasons—although I’m still waiting for her to wear that cheerleading outfit for me. Of all the stunned reactions to the news from family and friends, Mom’s response took the cake. After a long silence, she said, “That’s the last time I give you advice.”