Justice Buried

by Patricia Bradley

  “If you can help me up.”

  Mark was a big man, and when he leaned into her, she stumbled. “This won’t work. Use the wall to brace against and I’ll help you.”

  He scooted around and, just like she had, used his legs to push himself up.

  “Ow!”

  She’d heard the bump just as he cried out. “Sorry. Come closer to me so I can feel where the lock is on your tie.”

  “Can you find my hands?”

  She ran her hand down his arm to his wrists. Just like hers, they were off center, and she adjusted them to the middle. “What you’re going to do is bend over and raise your arms as high as you can and then bring them down hard against your hips. That should break the lock.”

  He raised his arms and she moved back and heard the snap when the lock broke. “Now we have to figure out how to get out of here.”

  “I’m telling you, it’s no use. We’ll break our necks if we jump—even if we found the window and got it open.”

  “Stop it! Being negative will only defeat us. Maybe we can get the door open,” Kelsey said. “Do you have your keys?”

  She heard a low gasp.

  “He forgot about the master key when he took my car keys . . .” For the first time, hope sounded in Mark’s voice.

  But Kelsey’s thoughts went in the opposite direction. Jackson thought of everything, even moving Mark’s car to send the police away from the museum. How could they hope to overcome him?

  “Ow!” Mark cried again. “Watch the eave, it’s angled. Point me toward the door.”

  Easily said, but she couldn’t remember which way to turn. “Better crawl so we don’t bang into something else,” she said and dropped to her knees. “I’ll go to my right, you go to the left.”

  She kept her bearings by keeping one hand on the wall as she crawled. Her fingers touched a hinge. “Here it is. Bring your key.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Feel your way along the wall back to me. Do you think there might be a light switch in here?” she asked.

  “Should be.”

  His voice was getting closer. As Kelsey stood, she ran her hand up the side of the door, and then moved to the wall, feeling for a light switch. Nothing on this side. Smoothing her hands across the wood, she felt for the doorframe. Just beyond it, her fingers touched a switch and she flipped it.

  Nothing.

  She ran her hand back to the doorknob and twisted it. Wouldn’t budge.

  “What’s going on?” Mark asked, his voice shaky but near her.

  “Door’s locked. Can’t get it open. Are you all right?”

  “About as all right as I’ll ever be.”

  “See if your master key will work on the lock.”

  She heard keys clinking together and then scratching. He’d found the door lock.

  “This one doesn’t fit. Let me try the others.” More scratching, then a soft moan from Mark. “They don’t work.”

  She dropped her head. What was she going to do now? She rubbed the side of her face. Time was getting short. “Do you think the window you were talking about is where that tiny light is?” she asked.

  “You’ve seen it too? I thought I was imagining it.”

  Kelsey crawled her way to the wall and the pinpoint of light. “It’s not boarded with plywood but planks,” she said. The light came through a knothole. “Do you think we can get them off?”

  “Let me see.”

  She tried to remember if there was a drainage pipe on the west side of the building. It didn’t matter. If she could get out the window, she could get to the drainage pipe she’d used Saturday. She heard him crawling, smelled his aftershave when he stopped beside her.

  “Whoever built this used one-by-eights, and there doesn’t seem to be any middle studs. Probably twelve-foot boards.”

  He actually sounded excited. “What does that mean?”

  “It means we may be able to break through. Hold on—the board where the light shines is splintered.”

  She felt him move back, and suddenly he thudded against the wall. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m too close to the wall. I need to find the middle.”

  “I’ll crawl from one side to the other.” She crawled to the wall and turned around, counting each time she put her right knee down. She bumped her head on twelve, and then backtracked to six. “Should be right here.”

  “Let me try it there. I’m going to step back a little more, so don’t let me run over you.”

  She scooted toward the far wall, and he crashed against the boards, succeeding in letting in more light.

  “They make it look so easy on TV,” he said, panting. “One more time.”

  “Wait,” she said, feeling the wall. “The splintered board seems looser.”

  “Let me take my belt off. I’ll press above it and you see if you can wedge the buckle in to give us finger holds.”

  She took the belt he pressed into her hands and then waited while he strained against the top board. The crack grew wider, letting more light in. Finally she shoved the buckle between the two boards. “There. Now what?”

  “We need a bigger wedge.”

  “How about my shoe? It’s a wedge.” She slipped off her sandal and slid the toe end into the gap.

  “Move over, I’m going to pound it down.”

  In the dim light that had filtered in, she watched as he used his fist to beat her shoe deeper in the crack.

  “Okay. You pull on the board on your side of the shoe, and I’ll push on this side. On the count of three.”

  On three she pulled with all her might, and the board popped loose, tumbling her back. “We did it!” she cried.

  Whoever had built the room had left a narrow walkway between the wall and the window.

  “All we need is enough space for you to get through,” he said.

  “You’re not coming with me?”

  “I can’t climb down a wall, but you can. So go get help.”

  50

  “WHAT’S ON THIS SIDE?” Brad asked, climbing the stairs to the west side of the Pink Palace.

  “Years and years of junk,” Jackson said, his voice sharp. “There’s no place for him to hide Kelsey up here.”

  “I still want to take a look-see, but you can go back downstairs if you want.”

  “No, I’ll stay. I just don’t think they’re up here.”

  The skin on the back of Brad’s neck prickled. He couldn’t put his finger on why it was so important to check out the attic, but the more Jackson downplayed the possibility that Mark had hidden Kelsey there, the more determined he was to look.

  Brad made the turn at the top of the stairs and stepped into the attic. Jackson had not been kidding about the junk. The place was a mess with boxes and chairs. Halfway down, it appeared there were two rooms. To his right were a couple of dress forms and what looked like steel rods. Like the other side, a layer of dust covered it all. In the dim light, he glanced at the floor and froze. Was the dust on the floor disturbed? He unsnapped his holster.

  Suddenly, in the stillness of the room, a man’s voice yelled for help.

  Brad pulled his Glock. “Who’s there?”

  He caught movement in the corner of his eye. Jackson held a .45 with a silencer on it. With lightning reflexes, Brad moved, but Jackson clipped his right shoulder with the butt of the gun. Pain ripped down Brad’s arm and he dropped his weapon. Jackson came at him again, and Brad lunged for the automatic in his hand. They struggled for the weapon, and it went off.

  The shot rocked Brad’s head.

  51

  SOMEONE WAS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DOOR. Maybe it was Brad! A gunshot rang out.

  “Hey! We’re in here,” Mark cried.

  “Don’t do that! It might be Jackson.”

  What if he had shot Brad? Kelsey crawled back through the opening into the room. “We don’t know who’s out there.”

  “It might be the police.”

  “I don’t think so.” She’d like t
o think Brad had found her, but if he had, why wasn’t he knocking the door down? She pictured him lying on the floor, bleeding.

  She had to move fast.

  “I think I can reach the rest of the attic on the other side of the wall, and from there I can go down the stairs.”

  The deep creases in his face smoothed out. “Good thinking.” She locked eyes with Mark. Regret reflected in his.

  “I’ll only hinder you, but if I stay, maybe I can slow him down. Go and don’t worry about me,” he said.

  She held his gaze a second longer. “Thanks,” she said.

  “God go with you,” he said.

  The sound of the lock turning in the door froze them both. Maybe it was Brad! No, he’d be calling her name. Evidently, Mark thought the same thing.

  “Go,” he urged. “Now!”

  Kelsey turned from him and squeezed through the opening in the planks. Someone in the past had laid a wide board across the rafters just out from the wall, but she had to watch where she walked. She glanced up and saw another network of rafters high above them.

  Behind her voices shouted. Brad? No. Jackson. Screaming at Mark, and then she heard more popping.

  Her heart sank. He’d killed Mark. She just knew it. And maybe Brad. No. She wouldn’t believe that. Kelsey focused on moving forward. She had to put as much distance between her and Jackson as she could and reach the main floor of the attic. Why hadn’t the wall ended? She’d thought access to the rest of the attic would be closer.

  Hopefully Jackson would think she had climbed out the window to the roof.

  52

  A STORM RAGED IN BRAD’S HEAD, thunder pounding his skull. The pain meant he was alive. The last thing he remembered was fighting Jackson for his gun.

  Kelsey! He’d heard her voice. No, not her voice. A man’s. We’re in here. Kelsey had to be with him. But how long ago had that been? Why wasn’t anyone coming to check on the shooting? He fumbled on the floor for his Glock. Gone. Cell phone too.

  Brad pulled the small automatic pistol from his ankle holster and then struggled to stand. His head reeled, and he touched where the bullet had grazed him, bringing away wet fingers. Half an inch more and he’d be dead. Jackson must have thought he’d killed him.

  He had to find Kelsey. He scanned the dim room, spying an open door. Inside, he found Mark Tomlinson on the floor, bleeding from a chest wound. He knelt beside the man, feeling for a pulse. Weak. His eyes flew open.

  “Jackson,” he whispered. “After Kelsey.”

  He glanced toward the hole in the wall. The window was open. “Did Kelsey go out on the roof?”

  “No . . .” Mark took a shuddering breath. “Looking for the stairs . . .” He coughed. “Find her . . .”

  With pain beating a tattoo against his head, Brad climbed through the opening. The window gave off light, and he scanned the area to the left. Was that movement? He squeezed his eyes closed and opened them again. Everything still spun, but he could make out Jackson’s silhouette in the light of another window ahead.

  53

  NO! KELSEY WANTED to beat her hands against the wall that stopped her forward progress. She was boxed in. No way to the main attic.

  She glanced behind her. Couldn’t see Jackson, but she knew he was there. The open window hadn’t fooled him. Light filtered in from the dormer windows in the attic. It was barely enough to see the plank beneath her feet and to avoid the boxes that were stacked against the wall. The wall that stood between her and freedom. She knelt between two stacks of boxes marked Fragile, and her fingers brushed something rough. Burlap bags. She stood and leaned her head against the framing.

  There was no way out. Retracing her path would take her straight to Jackson. Was it time to stand and fight? But how, against a gun? Her heart caught in her throat. There had to be something she could do. God, I can use a little help here.

  She looked down at the boxes again. Fragile. Glass? Kelsey looked up at the roof, where another network of rafters crisscrossed the building, and a plan formed in her mind. Could she risk it? She had no choice. It was her only hope to come out of this alive. As quietly as she could, she opened a box. Glass beakers. Perfect.

  A board creaked. She glanced over her shoulder. Someone moved. Not someone. Jackson. Light from the second window they’d passed outlined his body, and then he disappeared only to reappear seconds later. He must be checking to see if she was hiding inside the windows. Only two more windows to go.

  She had to act now.

  Kelsey grabbed two of the burlap bags and used one to wrap five of the beakers in so they wouldn’t clink together and then placed them all in the other bag and tied it to her arm.

  Grabbing an overhead brace, she pulled herself up and hooked her leg over a rafter. She climbed higher, taking care to not bump the burlap sack, then walked the rafters toward the last window she’d passed and stopped. This is where she’d wait.

  Kelsey looked down. The distance to the floor looked like a fifteen-foot drop. She’d fallen from higher.

  She heard him panting before she saw him. Opening the sack, she got ready.

  “King!” Brad’s voice sounded hollow from the other end of the room.

  Below her, Jackson turned and fired.

  Kelsey hurled the beakers on either side of Jackson. When they crashed on the floor, he turned, jerking his head first one way, then another. He took a step her way. She waited until he was just past her.

  Kelsey dropped from the ceiling, feet first. She landed on his shoulders, knocking him forward as they hit the floor. She rolled away from him as the gun he held skittered across the floor.

  He crawled toward it.

  Couldn’t let him get it. She jumped on his back and went for his eyes.

  Screaming, he tossed her off like she weighed nothing. Just as he grabbed for the gun, Brad kicked it away.

  “Jackson King. You are under arrest.”

  54

  HE HAD A CONCUSSION. Brad leaned against a stud and fought the blackness that threatened to close in again. He had Jackson King, but he didn’t know if he could make it down the stairs with him. And he couldn’t let Jackson know how blurred his vision was.

  “Have you found my Glock?” he asked, his voice sounding shaky in his own ears. He’d taken Jackson’s revolver away from him and stuck it in his belt since the silencer made it too long to go in his holster.

  “Got it.” Kelsey came close to him and gasped. “Brad, your head is bleeding!”

  “Just hold that gun on him.” He shook his head, trying to clear it. It was so dark, he could barely make out Jackson’s form.

  “Brad! He has a gun!”

  “Looks like we’re at a standoff,” Jackson said and lifted his hand. “You really should have checked to make sure I didn’t have another pistol.”

  Brad groaned when he saw the weapon. Stupid mistake, but maybe he could bluff him. “Hardly. Someone will come looking for us soon.”

  “You won’t last that long.”

  “Give me your cell phone.”

  “Nope. You’ll have to shoot me to get it, and I don’t believe you’ll risk me shooting her first. Just let me walk out of here and everyone will make it out alive.”

  “No!” Kelsey’s voice was fierce. “You’re going to pay for what you’ve done.”

  “Your boyfriend here needs a doctor. What are you going to do if he passes out?”

  “You have to go downstairs”—Brad paused to get his breath—“and find Rachel and Reggie.”

  “Brad . . . ?” Kelsey said.

  “We can’t force him to move or get his cell phone without killing him. I’m not leaving you with him.” He forced his eyes to stay open. “So our only chance is for you to go for help.”

  She stuck the Glock in her waistband. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Brad nodded and felt her questioning gaze on him. “I’ll be fine.”

  He would force himself to stay conscious until she was well away from the attic. Brad jumped a
few minutes later when the faint clatter of something hitting the floor echoed in the attic.

  “You better go see about her.”

  He hesitated.

  “I’m okay!” Kelsey yelled.

  Thank goodness. He had to do something to stay alert. “Why did you kill Paul Carter?”

  “I didn’t.”

  If only everything would quit spinning. “I don’t suppose you killed Hendrix or Rutherford, either.”

  “Come on, you’ll never stay on your feet long enough to take me in. Let me walk out of here.”

  “No.” Pain shot through his head, making him wince. Suddenly, Jackson lunged toward him. Brad fired, and the shot went wide as Jackson barreled into him.

  He caught Jackson in a bear hug, pulling the man down with him. They rolled on the attic floor. Cold steel pressed against Brad’s chest. He wrenched away as Jackson fired. The bullet pierced his chest, burning like a hot iron.

  Adrenaline pulsed though Brad’s body. Had to stop him. He grabbed at Jackson as he pushed away. But Jackson kicked free and bolted in the same direction Kelsey had gone.

  55

  WHEN KELSEY couldn’t quickly find the gun she’d dropped, she abandoned the search and climbed through the opening. Hurry. A groan stopped her. “Mark?”

  “Did you get him?” he whispered.

  “Yes. I’m going for help.”

  “Hurry.”

  “I will.” She dashed out of the room down the stairs and soon burst out into the second floor. Voices rose from the first floor.

  “Help! Someone help!” Making as much noise as she could, she dashed across the balcony. Rachel! On the bottom floor, the detective looked up as Kelsey waved frantically.

  “Brad’s in the attic holding a pistol on Jackson,” she yelled. “I’m going back.”

  Kelsey sprinted back to the stairs and took them two at a time.

  She was almost to the top when a shot rang out. Her heart leaped into her throat when she heard footsteps coming near. No time to find the gun she’d dropped. Should she wait for Rachel? What if he got away? He could take the other stairs.