Saving Grace: Tough Love

by Nancy Holder

  “"Us, too?”" Todd and Mae chorused.

  “"No, not you two.”" Rhetta looked at Grace. “"You’'d better call it in. And …... can you clear the house first?”"

  Arson. That was what Rhetta was thinking. There was no reason to second-guess her. Rhetta knew her stuff.

  Grace turned to the kids.

  “"You two stay out here. I’'m going to make sure it’'s safe to go back in the house.”"

  “"Is our house on fire?”" Todd asked anxiously. Mae began to cry.

  “"I don’'t think so. But let me check,”" Grace said.

  Easing the kids farther away, Grace opened the kitchen door and pulled out her gun. She worked her way through each room, armed, ready, throwing open closet doors, looking under beds. Then she went out back and searched the vegetable garden. When she was finally satisfied that there were no intruders, she called for an arson team and for backup.

  Cops heard the dispatch call; within minutes, the Rodriguez barn was surrounded. Ham, Butch, and Bobby; officers were helping to round up the frightened animals, and everyone from Leo on down to Todd were giving statements. Ronnie and Rhetta were seen by a paramedic. Both refused to go to the ER.

  Amber sunlight washed the charred barn walls. It was mostly cosmetic, and easy to repair. All animals were accounted for.

  Except for Speckles.

  Mae was inconsolable, weeping against Rhetta’'s chest, fingers digging into Rhetta’'s shoulders.

  “"We’'ll find her,”" Rhetta promised, stroking Mae’'s hair. “"Don’'t worry, baby.”" She pointed to the rest of the squad as they corralled the horses. “"Our friends will help us.”"

  Todd patted his sister. “"Speckles is very little,”" he said. “"She can’'t go very far.”"

  “"I don’'t think Speckles went anywhere,”" Grace muttered to Leo. “"I think she was taken by the same people who started this fire. The Sons of Oklahoma.”"

  “"That’'s that wacko cult out in the country,”" Leo said. Grace inclined her head. “"What do they have against the Rodriguezes?”"

  Grace explained.

  “"Shit.”" Leo scratched his chin. “"No good deed goes unpunished.”" He looked at her. “"Weren’'t you involved in that little police action the other night? And now this, tonight? You’'re jinxed, Grace.”"

  “"Am not.”"

  “"Man, what did you do in a past life, kill Gandhi?”"

  “"Thanks, Leo.”" She smiled at him. “"Appreciate the empathy.”"

  He mugged punching her. “"Yeah, and there’'s a little rain cloud over your head, following you around. I sure as hell am not going fishing with you at Lake Texoma anytime soon. The fish will probably all be dead.”"

  She rolled her eyes. Then she left him to go visit with the detectives who were processing the crime scene. The arson specialists were there, too.

  Dressed in jeans, boots, and a green sweater, Rhetta walked up. She was wearing a pair of gloves and carrying a brown paper evidence bag, and she looked grim.

  “"I think you can sit this one out, Ms. Rodriguez.”" It was the criminalist from the Catlett house. Grace remembered that his name was Hodge.

  Rhetta held out the bag. “"You’'ll need this. Unfortunately I stepped on it with my bare foot but …...”"

  Grace took a peek inside. It was an empty rubbing alcohol bottle.

  “"Jeannie told me they have tons of it,”" Rhetta said to Grace. “"I wondered why.”"

  “"That’'s a good accelerant,”" Hodge mused. “"And you found it where?”"

  “"Here’'s two more empty bottles,”" another cop said. “"They were behind the barn.”"

  “"Don’'t touch them,”" Rhetta ordered. “"Please, I want to help. I need to help.”"

  Grace knew the best thing she could do was keep out of the way. She accepted a bottle of water from Leo as he folded up the gear he’'d lent her and finished packing up his truck.

  “"Looks like arson to me,”" he said.

  “"See you on the witness stand.”" She crossed her fingers.

  “"Stay out of trouble.”"

  Then he was gone.

  “"I found a footprint,”" Rhetta announced, pointing at the muddy ground on the western side of the barn.

  “"No,”" Captain Perry said.

  “"No?”" Grace echoed, incredulous.

  It was nine a.m.—--business hours—--and Grace and Ham had just asked her to let them get a warrant. They had a copy of the footprint; they had fourteen empty bottles of rubbing alcohol.

  “"No one will give you a warrant.”" Captain Perry scratched her forehead, then dropped her hand to her side. “"Upstairs wants to continue the polite fiction that everything is OK in OKC. Chief’'s afraid that if you go onto that property without solid proof, we’'ll have another Waco on our hands. Ruby Ridge. And, you will recall, that’'s where the seeds were planted for the bombing of the Murrah Building.”"

  “"But he just sent armed police officers into a civilian neighborhood,”" Grace argued. “"What about that?”"

  “"That was to protect officers in danger from lawless gangbangers. Maybe you don’'t see the difference, Grace, but the media does.”"

  Captain Perry turned to go. Grace followed her. Ham waited and watched.

  “"They set Rhetta’'s barn on fire! And stole Mae’'s calf!”"

  Captain Perry fixed Grace with her stern-commander look. “"Then get me proof, Detective. Real proof. Last I heard, anybody can buy rubbing alcohol. Unless the Crime Lab can pull prints off those bottles that you can then match with what we already have in the system, you got nothing.”"

  Captain Perry went into her office and shut her door. Grace had half a mind to kick it, not because she was mad at Captain Perry, but because she was mad, period.

  “"There’'s no justice,”" she bit off.

  “"We’'ll get it,”" Ham said. “"Those assholes are going down.”"

  “"We should have already had our warrant,”" Grace said. “"I mean a real one, not just for their damn vehicle. Hell, we shake down the gangs all the time.”"

  “"Because we’'ve established that they’'re bad guys,”" Ham reminded her. “"Like the captain said. We haven’'t established that the Sons are anything but patriotic citizens who like to live in the country.”"

  “"I hate it that you’'re right.”" She blew her hair out of her eyes.

  “"Good. Let’'s have angry sex later.”"

  She formed a fist, then made as if to punch him. Then, with a crick of his forefinger, he urged her to follow him. Grinning like that kid in The Omen, he opened his desk drawer. Inside lay a doll dressed in a onesie that read SKELLIE. She had big blue eyes and a Cupid’'s bow mouth. Grace remembered the doll from the days when her nieces had them. They ate, drank, peed, pooped. Oh, yeah, and talked.

  Creepy.

  “"Watch this,”" he said. Then he turned over the doll and showed Grace a red switch. “"Tech made it for me.”" He flipped the switch.

  “"I gotta poop.”" Grace blinked. It sounded exactly the old lady from the lot. Exactly. “"I gotta take a dump. I gotta shit. I gotta—--”"

  “"I have the safety on, but once I activate it, it’'s motion-sensitive,”" he informed her. “"And there is no way to turn it off. So …...”"

  He scooted over to Butch’'s desk and put it in the top right drawer. “"Okay, activitated. Once he so much as jiggles it, it won’'t shut up.”" He very carefully slid the drawer shut and held out his hands like a magician.

  “"That’'s cool,”" she said, trying to sound enthusiastic.

  He looked hurt, and she shrugged. “"I gotta say, you’'ve done better.”"

  “"Short notice, man,”" he said. “"I don’'t see you pulling your weight around here—--”"

  “"I had magnet duty, man.”" She darted over to Butch’'s magnet and flipped it upside down.

  He just stared at her.

  The glass door to the squad room opened and a dark-skinned woman with bad teeth, wearing a pair of jeans and
a tank top, walked in slowly, as if she were scared or high or both. Her eyes were swollen and at first Grace thought she had been beaten. Then she realized that she’'d been crying.

  And she was Haleem Clark’'s mother.

  “"Detective Hanadarko,”" she croaked.

  “"Hey.”" Grace came toward her. “"Hello, Ms. Clark.”"

  “"Have you found out who killed my son? Have you …...?”"

  She burst into tears and stood perfectly still, sobbing from deep down in her belly. Grace reached out a hand to show her to the interview room and Ms. Clark clutched it with both of hers. Her legs gave way, and Grace caught her.

  “"Come with me,”" Grace said, leading her to the interview room. Ham caught the door, holding it open, as Grace led her inside.

  Ms. Clark sat down hard in a chair. She smelled like dope.

  She had lost her son.

  “"Do you know who did it?”"

  “"Not yet. But we’'re building a case.”" On the beach. At high tide.

  “"He …... he was my angel.”"

  Grace blinked, wondering why everyone was talking about angels all of a sudden.

  “"My babies, all my babies,”" she said. “"All taken away.”"

  “"I know,”" Grace said.

  “"He was not there to buy my shit. I wouldn’'t do that.”" She buried her face in her hands. “"That dealer …... he wasn’'t my dealer. I didn’'t know him.”"

  Was she lying?

  “"Where’'s my boy? He in heaven?”" Tears streamed down her face, and snot, and spit. Grief did not have a pretty sound track and soft lighting and nice clothes. Grief was cruel, and ugly.

  Grace looked straight at Haleem’'s mama.

  “"Yes,”" Grace said. “"I’'m sure that he is in heaven. I’'m a hundred percent sure.”"

  Truth, or dare?

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Enough.

  Haleem Clark’'s case was getting cold. Forrest Catlett might be dying at that very moment.

  Enough.

  Thunder rumbled through the black sky. Klieg lights blazed against the Sons of Oklahoma flag, but elsewhere, there were huge pockets of darkness, and Grace was crouched inside one of them. She was holding on to the chain-link fence—--that cat crawling up the fence had told her it probably wasn’'t electrified, and a glance at the utility bill had verified it—--and taking deep breaths to dilute the adrenaline coursing through her body.

  Impatience and her visit from Ms. Clark—--first name Tonya—--had pushed her into action; she was about to commit a crime that could yank her off her cases—--and every case—--for the rest of her life. Breaking and entering, trespass. She wondered what the Sons of Oklahoma would do if they found her on their property. Press charges, or shoot her? They’'d be within their rights to drop her like a bobcat.

  She made sure all her hair was tucked inside her black knit cap. Pulled the black balaclava over her face. Checked her utility belt. She had more gadgets and gizmos than Batman.

  There were guards in flak jackets holding submachine guns stationed at regular intervals along the chain-link fence. Gone was the more benign show of shotguns and handguns of her previous, more legal visit. No one on her current roster of victims had been murdered with an Uzi, but she wondered if it was only a matter of time.

  Piano wire curled along the top of the fence. But there were also large sections where the terrain was uneven and boulders sat on either side of the fence, making it difficult to station a man there …... and easier to climb in. Especially …...

  Here, Grace thought as she gazed up at the edge of the trailer hanging just slightly over the fence, shielding anyone who was shimmying up that fence. It was so obvious a way in that she was afraid it was a trap. But she took it, planting her hand on top of the overhang and hoisting herself up. She had on Kevlar and black clothes. Boots.

  Then a searchlight buzzed inches above her head and she flattened her upper body on top of the roof. Shake shingles. The searchlight had not been on a minute before. Had she alerted them to her presence? She’'d parked Connie behind some trees over a mile away and trekked in, alert to every possibility from land mines to Dobermans. Maybe it was too easy. Maybe she was about to die.

  Suddenly the roar of engines approaching from the road tore up the stillness. She flung herself up onto the roof and willed herself to be an invisible pancake. Her heart thundered and she listened.

  Horns blared. Guns shot off blam blam blam. There was a lot of whooping and cheering.

  “"Hey, Tommy, how’'d it go?”" That was Hunter. He must have stayed behind and watched the fort.

  “"DeWitt got ’'em! He ran like a raccoon but that coon is dead.”"

  That was Tommy Miller. Grace gritted her teeth and kept listening.

  “"Good on you, DeWitt,”" Hunter said. “"Wish I could have seen it.”"

  “"It was a beautiful thing,”" Tommy said. “"One less thing to worry about. What about your tits, Hunter? That little bitch show up yet?”"

  “"Don’'t worry, Tommy. She won’'t say nothing.”"

  Whoa, Grace thought.

  “"Damn right. Because the minute I find her, I’'m shooting her in the mouth.”"

  “"Come on, man,”" Hunter protested. “"She’'s my wife.”"

  “"If I was you, I’'d try to forget that. Biggest damn mistake you ever made.”"

  There was silence. Then more cheering. Grace didn’'t move.

  “"You want to do the honors?”" Tommy asked.

  “"Sure thing,”" said a new voice. Maybe it was DeWitt.

  Grace inched her way along the roof, listening to the voices and laughter as the men walked through the compound. She was in it now, neck-deep. What the hell.

  Then she heard the lowing of a calf, bleating, really. Speckles. Oh, God, she had proof that they’'d been in Rhetta’'s barn. She had them now.

  I’'m here without a damn warrant.

  She remained calm—--or thought she did, as she kept moving herself along. But her hands were trembling and her mouth tasted sour. She heard movement behind and beneath her, at the boulder she’'d used to jump-start her climb. A sentry. Thank God she hadn’'t had to use the wire cutters in her belt.

  The report of a weapon ricocheted across the compound. Grace froze. Planned her counterattack. Waited to see if she’'d been the target.

  Evidently not. Laughter and cheers rose up; then music started up—--I’'m proud to be an American—--and a lot of hooting. For hours. Grace glanced up at the sky, trying to gauge how long it would be before sunrise. No stars, filmy moon.

  She rested her head on the rooftop.

  Gradually, the celebration began to die down. The klieg lights went out.

  “"Time to wrap it up,”" Tommy declared.

  The Sons said good night to one another like normal, civilized men. Doors opened, closed. Then footfalls echoed directly below her, and she realized she was on top of someone’'s home.

  Shit.

  “"Here to relieve you,”" said a male voice behind and below her.

  “"Glad to be relieved,”" another male voice replied. The changing of the guard. So she couldn’'t go back out the way she came.

  But she couldn’'t stay here, either.

  Carefully, she scooted to the right, where the roof merged with newly created shadows as the moon moved in the sky. She leaned over and looked, seeing nothing but blackness.

  Leon Cooley’'s face blossomed in her mind. She remembered that in her dream, he had warned her not to jump without looking. She turned herself around and slithered to the edge. Held her breath, and tried to find toeholds for her boots.

  Her boot tip touched something and she almost grunted with relief. She experimentally ran her foot along it—--it seemed to be a level, solid surface, so she lowered her weight onto it.

  It held.

  She put her other foot down.

  That held, too.

  She let herself stand on it. It was the top of a shed much like the one in Rhet
ta and Ronnie’'s barn. Taking a breath, she let go of the roof and made herself as small as possible. Waited a few beats, and shimmied down the side.

  Then she crab-walked in the darkness in the direction she had heard the gunshot and the music. An owl hooted. She kept going.

  It was a long building with corrugated aluminum siding, like many of the buildings on the property. Grace scanned the area as she sidled up to the door and leaned against it, and then slowly tried the knob. Locked. She ran her hand along the latch and smiled. She had brought a lock-pick kit. She unfastened it from her belt and went to work. Ordered her hands to stop shaking.

  Got the lock picked.

  Slowly, very slowly opened the door.

  A light was on; she stopped, remaining motionless while she ascertained that there was no one else in the room. She chanced flicking on a penlight, and crept inside. What she saw chilled her blood: targets, as in target practice, but with photographs of faces where the dark silhouettes would normally be. Six of them: Haleem, Chris Jones, Malcolm, with bullets right between their eyes, and a fourth guy she had never seen before. Numbers five and six had no bullet. Five was white and middle-aged. Six was young, and black.

  They’'re still alive, she guessed.

  She whipped out her phone and took pictures, quickly, and sent them to Ham. Then she turned it off, because if it so much as vibrated at the wrong time, she was dead.

  Witnesses, she thought. They saw something these guys did.

  I’'ve got you, assholes. Not now, but soon.

  Jubilant, she edged back to the door. Tested opening it a crack. Went out and crept around the building to the other side. She couldn’'t go out the way she’'d come—--the sentry—--but maybe there was another weak spot along the perimeter.

  God, I hope so, she thought.

  “"There is,”" Earl whispered from his position on top of the barn. And if, well, he sent a little …... intuition …... her way, he didn’'t think he’'d get in a peck of trouble over it.

  “"Hello,”" Rhetta said into the landline phone. She checked the time. Two a.m. Don’'t let it be Mom or Dad. Or Grace.

  “"Mooo,”" someone whispered. “"I smell barbecued beef.”"

  Oh, God. She rolled over and nudged Ronnie. He woke instantly. She pointed outside; there was a squad car out there, watching their house. And a shotgun in the barn.