“Yeah, you attach the AT-2B to your rocket, and then you have a receiver, and that way it’s easier to find your rocket,” Clay told Grace. They were sitting in the same office where she had conducted the interviews with the novena people. Grace had raced to the church and pulled Clay out of class. Her nephew looked like he hadn’t slept in days.
“So he has one? Forrest owns an AT-2B?”
“I guess,” Clay said. “He didn’t mention it to me but it would be really cool to have.”
“So you wouldn’t know if he had it with him now,” she said.
“No, but …” His eyes widened. “But if he did …”
“And if we had a receiver …” She took his hand. “If it was on …”
He sighed heavily. “It’s only good for five miles.” Then he started to get excited, hopeful. “But you could start looking. I mean, it’s better than nothing. He could even be five miles from right here.”
She tried to conceal her disappointment. “Yeah. He could.” Or five miles away from a different part of the nearly seventy thousand square miles that made up the state of Oklahoma. She wanted to hit something. She’d thought this was their ace in the hole. They didn’t have time to look for a needle in a haystack.
“That’s a big help, Clay,” she said.
He looked hard at her. “No, it’s not. You think he’s going to die.” He started to shake.
“No.” She stopped herself. Then she put her arms around the person she loved best in all the world and rocked him. “I hope I find him in time, Clay. I want to find him.”
“I’ve been praying,” Clay said.
“I’m sure that’s helping.” She kissed the crown of his head. “I have to get back to working on this.”
“Okay, Aunt Grace.” He turned away, turned back. “Aunt Grace,” he said, “praying is working on this, too.”
She tried to smile. “Yeah,” she said.
She cupped his cheek, and Clay headed back to class. Grace watched him go, and then, on impulse, she headed for the sanctuary. Her boot soles brushed the soft carpet.
What the hell am I doing? she thought. I am for sure not going in there to pray.
A second passed. Two.
I’m not, she told herself.
Nevertheless, she pushed open the door.
Father Alan was kneeling before the altar, hands clasped in prayer. She watched him in silence and saw the rosary between his fingers. Crossing himself, he rose, genuflected, and looked at her.
“Detective,” he said. “Has something … happened?”
“I thought we had something,” she said. Her shoulders rounded. “It seems that Forrest or someone he knows bought an AT-2B. A transmitter. And I thought, What if he has it with him, and he’s trying to send a signal? But Clay told me it’s only good for five miles. I’m going to give it a shot, but …”
“It’s only five miles on the ground,” he cut in. “But it’s fifty miles from the air.”
“From …” She looked at him. “Like, in a helicopter?”
He nodded. Eagerly.
“If I have the receiver with me in the helicopter—”
“I have the receiver you need.” He smiled at her. “I have the answer to your prayers.”
“Oh, God, oh, Ham,” Grace whispered as he pushed against her in the stairwell where she went to smoke. They were fully clothed; there was no actual sex, but Grace wanted, needed, to feel him there while the chopper was fueled up. A department pilot would take them up. Father Alan had given them the receiver and showed her how to use it. In ten minutes, tops, they would be airborne.
“We gotta find him, Grace. We have to.”
“We will, goddamn it.” She pressed herself against his length as energy surged through her. She felt almost like she had wings. Like she could fly. She felt higher than a kite.
Just as quickly, urgency shot through her. It could end badly. It might.
“God, please, please, let us find him,” Ham gasped.
Amen.
CHAPTER
TWENTY
From their vantage point inside the police department building on North Colcord, Rhetta, Butch, Bobby, and Captain Perry watched the chopper lift off from the pad across the street. Inside the bell sat a pilot, Ham and Grace, and a doctor. They had insulin and glucagon. A receiver for the AT-2B transmitter. And guns.
Rhetta whispered a prayer and crossed herself. Captain Perry gave her a nod, and everyone turned away from the window. Captain Perry would assist with ground support. Butch would be driving the roads, with an additional assignment: They’d gotten a tip about a burning vehicle, and who knew? Grace and Ham would keep a lookout as best they could. But at the moment, Forrest Catlett was their top priority.
After Rhetta secured some evidence so that it wouldn’t be compromised, she met up with Bobby. Both of them were wearing jeans; he had on a long-sleeved shirt and his black leather vest. She wore her ruffled blouse and a denim jacket she’d nearly forgotten she owned. She’d started to go through her family’s clothes, telling herself she was planning a garage sale, although deep in her heart she was bracing for a move.
Tech gave her a little tape recorder to put in her jacket pocket. They were going to fetch Jeannie Johnson, Rhetta accompanying Bobby because Jeannie trusted her the most of any of them. Bobby because this was a criminal case, and he was an officer of the law.
Bobby and Rhetta left for Shelter Valley in an unmarked department Toyota. The drive seemed to take a lot longer than it had previously; maybe Rhetta was just extra nervous. She looked up at the sky. It wasn’t raining for once, but the wind was picking up again.
“No wonder she was so scared,” Rhetta said, as the truck made its way up the mesa. “If she knows they’ve been killing people.”
“If she’s a material witness, we’ve got something,” Bobby said. “But if it’s just pillow talk, that’s hearsay.”
“Maybe she doesn’t know the difference.” She looked over at him. “You called ahead to Brenda.”
“Yes. Jeannie’s doing pretty well. She had a few shaky moments where she wanted to call Hunter, but she hasn’t asked to leave.”
“Do we have to take her in?” Rhetta asked. “Can’t you just get a statement at the shelter?”
“If she’s really got something, we can offer protective custody. We couldn’t do that before. If she decides to leave the shelter … there goes our witness.”
Rhetta nodded. She looked up at the sky again, wondering where the helicopter might be. Hoping they located Forrest in time.
They reached the shelter. Rhetta tested her little tape recorder and turned it on.
Bobby gave her a thumbs-up.
As she opened the door, Ms. Wyman saw her. It was almost time for lunch, and Rhetta smelled hamburgers. Then Brenda wandered over and said quietly, “She’s helping in the kitchen. There’s a side door and a porch. It’ll give you the most privacy.”
“Thanks.”
Rhetta took a deep breath and headed into the kitchen. Three women were bustling around, grabbing plates, and running the water in the sink. Jeannie was cooking a grilled cheese sandwich and laughing at something one of the other women said.
Then she saw Rhetta, and she went pale.
“Is everything all right?” She held the spatula in her hand like a mallet.
“Hey, yeah,” Rhetta replied. She was a terrible liar. She wasn’t even sure there was any benefit to be gained in lying to Jeannie anyway. “Well, not exactly.” She gestured to the side door. “Can we talk in private?”
“Is Hunter … is he okay?” She gripped the utensil. Rhetta eased her fingers from around it and set it on a ceramic sunflower spoon rest.
“Let’s go outside.”
It was getting blustery, really building up. Clouds were tumbling end over end, and Jeannie’s hair whipped around her head. Up this high, the wind was gathering momentum. Rhetta wondered what it would be like in a helicopter.
“I need to tell you a few things, Jea
nnie.”
Rhetta took her hands and told her about the fire, and Speckles. She didn’t tell her that Grace had been to the compound, but she did make mention of six witnesses, describing Malcolm, and waited to see Jeannie’s reaction. The wind was buffeting her clothes, and she wasn’t sure the tape recorder would be able to pick up the conversation.
Jeannie stared off into space for a long time. He profile was soft and her features were delicate. But there was still swelling, and bruises. If he had hit her any harder, she might have sustained a facial fracture. Scars.
“You have to understand.” Her voice was whispery, light, otherworldly. “Tommy got ’em all drunk. And he told them that those white girls should not be with those boys—”
“Were they African American?” Rhetta asked, fighting to stay neutral.
“Some of them. I think one was Mexican or something. And two Asian boys. And they saw them with the girls. So Tommy …” She balled her fists. “Hunter didn’t do anything. He swore it to me and I believe him.”
Rhetta was shocked down to her core. “They killed them? All of them?”
Jeannie shook her head. “Tommy tried to say it was okay, because they were a gang. Drug pushers and pimps.”
The Robertson Hood? Had the Sons killed the missing gangbangers?
Jeannie bit her lip. She winced from the pain, and stared at her hands in her lap. “But you have to believe me. Hunter had nothing to do with it.” She stared at Rhetta. “He was just there when it happened, and he can’t saying nothing about it or Tommy will kill both of us.”
Is that what he told you? And you believe it? Or are you just trying to convince us both?
“Now we can take care of it,” Rhetta assured her. “We can protect you and Hunter.”
Jeannie kept crying. “Except he tried to burn down your barn.”
Rhetta fought to sound calm. “But I can see why. He needed to find you, so you could explain. I get it.” She swallowed hard. “I won’t press charges.” Surely Jeannie wasn’t so naïve as to actually believe her.
“Because—because now we can tell the judge that he wasn’t in on it,” Rhetta went on in a wobbly voice. “But we have to move you again. To protect you. So you can stand up for Hunter.”
Jeannie looked panicky. “Move me … where? Can I stay with you?”
“That’s not the best place,” Rhetta said. “But there are good, safe places. The department will look after you. You and Hunter both.”
Funny thing about lying: the longer you did it, the better at it you got.
“Please, no, I’m so scared. If Tommy finds out—”
“We’re getting close to arresting him,” Rhetta promised. And your husband, too.
Time passed. Jeannie stared at her hands, then off into the distance again. Maybe Bobby should have handled this part; Rhetta didn’t think she was being very persuasive.
“So … if you leave me here, Tommy might … might find me …” She caught her breath.
“Yes, and I understand now that Hunter knew that, and was desperate to find you.” She was practically choking on her own words. “Because he loves you.”
Jeannie smiled uncertainly, and it was heartbreaking. “If I go … can we stop along the way? I want to get something … some makeup and things.” She grimaced. “Your things are very nice, but Hunter likes a little more color.” She gathered up her hair. “He says I look like a top model.”
Rhetta didn’t know what to say about stopping.
Bobby joined them. “I can’t get cell reception here,” he said. “I want to check in and see how the others are doing.”
Rhetta relayed Jeannie’s request. Bobby nodded; it was probably best to keep Jeannie as happy as they could. Jeannie went off to gather her things; Bobby headed for Ms. Wyman’s closely guarded landline.
“There’s a little town about halfway down the mountain,” Ms. Wyman told them. “There’s a couple of outlet stores, a market, and a pharmacy. They ought to have a few things.”
“Sounds good,” Bobby said, rejoining them after his call.
After a few minutes, everyone headed for the car. Jeannie held on tightly to Rhetta’s turquoise cat bag. The wind blew fiercely; Rhetta fought against it as she climbed into the backseat with Jeannie. Jeannie set the bag on the floor, between her feet. Rhetta felt for her; she was practically hoarding, like a frightened animal.
Bushes rippled like ocean waves as they began their descent. The sky flattened into an angry dark gray. A storm, maybe even a tornado, was getting ready to hit. Rhetta thought of Grace and Ham up in the helicopter, and knit her brows.
About forty-five minutes later Bobby reached the fork in the road that led to the little mall. He said, “I told Captain Perry we’d be in a little later. But we probably shouldn’t take too long.”
“Look at the wind,” Rhetta murmured as newspapers and trash flew across the entrance of a dusty, abandoned-looking strip of stucco buildings.
The three got out. The wind chased them into the drugstore. At the makeup counter, Jeannie dawdled around, and then it dawned on Rhetta that she had no money. Once Rhetta offered to buy, Jeannie gathered up a ton of makeup, and perfume, and some hair elastics.
“Maybe we can put a little back,” Rhetta ventured. She was half afraid she didn’t have enough money on her card.
Buying the makeup chewed up some significant time. Nearly forty minutes had passed before they got back in the car. Jeannie sat behind Bobby, and Rhetta took the right-hand side. The road was level and straight along this section; it would get steep in a little bit.
Rhetta heard a beep. For one heart-stopping moment, she thought it was the tape recorder. But then she realized it was her cell phone. She must be in range again.
“Oh,” she said. “I have a message from Mae.” She played it.
“Mom? We’re at the mall. Mrs. Raimundo dropped us off. And there’s this weird guy. I think he’s following us. He has really blue eyes and—”
Beside Rhetta, Jeannie yanked something out of her bag and slammed it into the back of Bobby’s head. He grunted. She did it again. It happened so fast. The car swerved; Rhetta tried to grab Jeannie’s arm as the car wove out of control. Jeannie turned and thrust something straight at her.
It was a gun.
“Miz Rodriguez, please, put down your phone,” she said. “Drop it now or I-I’ll shoot you.”
Rhetta stared at her. “Jeannie, what?”
Jeannie wagged the gun at her. “I mean it, ma’am.”
Rhetta set the phone on the seat and raised her hands in the air. Jeannie fumbled at Bobby, who was limp, and pushed him sideways. She half rose and clutched the wheel, keeping the car straight.
I could try to take her, Rhetta thought. But she stayed where she was.
The car rolled to a stop.
“Miz Rodriguez, you need to get out, please,” Jeannie said, her voice quavering.
“Jeannie, don’t do this.” Rhetta tried to look over the seat, to see how Bobby was. Jeannie cleared her throat. Her hand was shaking hard.
But not hard enough.
“Please, just do it.” Jeannie was tearing up. “I-I have to do this. I’m so sorry.”
Rhetta obeyed. She thought about running but she was standing in a vast plain of nothing. Her mind raced. She’d had self-defense; what should she do?
Jeannie crawled out, gun in hand.
“I—you need to walk around the car,” Jeannie said. “And then, I’m sorry, but you need to lie facedown with your arms and legs spread.”
“We need to take care of Bobby.” Rhetta started to turn around, and Jeannie raised the gun. Rhetta shook her head. “You won’t shoot me.”
A tear ran down Jeannie’s cheek. “I’m desperate, Miz Rodriguez. I know you don’t believe me about Hunter. I have to fix this, make it right.”
“We can talk it over.”
Jeannie was crying. “No, ma’am. People never listen to people like us. That’s why … I understand why he gets so mad. B
ecause nobody listens unless we make ’em listen.”
“I’m listening. I am.”
“You think he killed those people. And he didn’t. Now please do what I say.”
Rhetta staggered ahead of Jeannie, then lay prone in the dirt. The wind threw handfuls at her cheeks. Her heart pounded. Sweat poured off her, wicking in the wind. Mae, oh, God, was Hunter after Mae? Was Todd all right? He was going to a friend’s after school. The Handleys.
Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Oh, Blessed Mother, protect my child. Protect Bobby. And me.
There was a sickening thud. Jeannie had hit Bobby again.
Then Jeannie said, “Help me get him out of the car.”
“Oh, my God, you didn’t kill him,” Rhetta begged. “Jeannie, Jeannie, listen to me—”
Jeannie walked back over to Rhetta; the tips of Rhetta’s own tennis shoes came eye level as she lay in the dirt.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Jeannie said. “Sorrier than you’ll ever know.”
Rhetta prayed.
Tech had requisitioned a much more sophisticated receiver than the one Father Alan had offered Grace. While it couldn’t boost the signal, it did load coordinates and maps of the search zone that were more accurate and easier to read. Grace stared at the screen while the pilot, Scott Friesen, soared over the beautiful spare landscape. Ham stared out the window. They were both wearing earphones.
Captain Perry was on the radio, bringing them up to date: Rhetta and Bobby had taken Jeannie shopping and Butch had located a white panel van, on fire. A fire truck was on the scene, and a forensics team had been sent out.
“Is there a crucifix wrapped around the rearview mirror?” Grace asked, making a show of bracing for the answer.
“On the dashboard. Forensics has it. And there’s something else here, Grace.” He paused as if for effect. “A credit card receipt signed by Tommy Miller. Not even scorched.”
“Oh. My. God.” Grace slid a glance at Ham. “How stupid is that?”
Grace and Ham shared a moment—a tight smile, a mental high five. But things were too serious in the cockpit of the helicopter to truly savor the victory.
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