Murder on the Third Try

by K. P. Gresham

  Against every instinct I have, I hand my weapon over to the Chief, then surrender Kodak’s as well.

  The Chief sticks Kodak’s in his holster, mine in his belt, then aims his own weapon at Kodak. “The car’s out front.” He nods at me. “You drive.” He turns to Kodak. “And you ride shotgun. I’ll sit in the back and make sure everyone behaves.” The smile on his face is edged in steel. “Let’s go get Hogan.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Hell Breaks Loose

  At eleven p.m. Dr. Joan Fortner slapped the side of the van, gave the driver a thumbs up, then backed away as it drove out of James W.’s driveway. “Your murderer put her in a plastic bag first,” she said to the sheriff. “That’s gonna save us a whole lotta time and a whole lotta trouble.”

  James W. blew out a sigh of relief. “I thought for sure this was gonna take a couple of days. If not longer.”

  “I’m not closing up shop yet. We’ll study the bones at our lab, but if they’re not all there—” she shrugged. “We’ll have to come back and look for more. This is still a crime scene.”

  “Yeah, but it looks like we caught a break.”

  “Maybe.” She gestured to the broken chunks of cement scattered across his backyard, then the jackhammers and bulldozer. “Best we leave this stuff here for now.” She held out her hand. “I’ll keep you posted. It’s been a long day. I’m outta here.”

  He shook her hand gratefully. “Get some rest. You deserve it.”

  He watched her head for her car feeling like a man who’d been sentenced to hang, but the rope had just broken. He wasn’t out of the weeds all together, but there stood a good chance this could be finished up before Elsbeth got home.

  His cell rang, and he took it from his breast pocket. He didn’t recognize the number, but at this time of night, it wouldn’t be good. “Sheriff Novak.”

  “Sheriff, I’m Clive Engels. The federal marshal for this District.”

  James W. straightened. “What can I do for you, Marshal?”

  “I understand you’ve been working with my deputy on the Pastor Matt Hayden case.”

  “Yes, sir.” James W.’s mind raced. Had Ballard turned him in for moving the preacher without the Fed’s permission? Legally, the entire situation of who actually had custody of Matt was gray. The federal marshal was responsible for Matt’s well-being, but the crime of him getting shot had happened in James W.’s jurisdiction. He’d checked with a lawyer on that.

  “Well, I’m standing in a motel room in Dannerton. Ballard’s dead.”

  “What?” James W. took a step to maintain his balance. “How?”

  “He’s been shot several times. And I have two more bodies here. They’re ID’d as a Peter Pendergast, male, approximately forty-seven years old, and Tom Gibbons, a white male sixteen-year-old. It looks like it was a shoot-out. Two guns found in the room. Do you know anything about this?”

  James W.’s jaw dropped open. What the hell could he say? Three snakes just got shot in a barrel?

  “Sheriff?”

  James W. took a steadying breath. “I don’t know anything about the shooting. I didn’t even know these folks knew each other. But I can tell you, all three were rougher than a stucco bathtub.”

  The federal marshal was quiet for a moment. “Sounds like we need to talk.”

  “Where are you exactly?” James W. asked.

  Engels gave James W. the address, and the sheriff punched it into his Google app. “I’m leaving now,” he said and ended the call.

  His truck was parked in front of the house, but he took a moment to go inside and get his hat and utility belt. As he was fastening it into place, his front door opened. His jaw dropped when he saw his wife standing in the doorway.

  “Elsbeth?”

  He could see immediately that she was in a sod-pawing mood. Her face was blood red, and he worried that she was gonna start spoutin’ steam at every joint. “What are you doing home?”

  “Did you know about this?” She spat out. She slammed her luggage down on the marble-tiled floor. “Did you know about Pearl and Bo?”

  He had no time for this fight, and it was gonna be a doozy. “I’ve been called to a murder scene in Dannerton. I’m walking out the door.”

  She looked ready to spit nails, then saw the work lights streaming through the patio door. “What’s going on back there?” She slid by him to get a closer look out the window. Her eyes widened in horror and she whipped around to face him. “What happened to our spa?”

  “Dannerton. Three people dead,” he said. “I gotta get going.” He pulled open the front door, almost ripping it from its hinges, then stopped cold. “If you’re here, where’s Pearl?”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t care,” Elsbeth said. “As far as I’m concerned—”

  James W. turned and took her by the shoulders. “When did you last see Pearl?”

  “You’re hurting me.” She twisted from his grip. “She was on the same plane I was. I refused to sit with her, of course. I got off before she did and took an Uber home.”

  James W. felt the blood drain from his face. He backed out the door, then turned and ran to his truck. Lord, what if Pearl had gone straight home?

  ***

  When James W. burst through the front door of the Fire and Ice House Bo immediately knew there was trouble. The sheriff’s face was red, he was out of breath, and his eyes were all business.

  “Where’s Warren?” James W. demanded.

  “Here.” Warren came around the kitchen corner, carrying a bus bin.

  “You got your weapon?”

  Bo raised his eyebrows at the sheriff’s question. James W. was on a mission, and he didn’t care who knew it. Bo exchanged looks with Aaron Rodriguez, the only other customer in the place at this late hour. Aaron looked as surprised as Bo felt.

  Warren put the bin down on the nearest table. “Yes, sir. In my truck.”

  “You parked in the back?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Get your gun. I’ll pick you up back there.”

  Warren hightailed it to the patio doors as James W. rushed out of the bar as quickly as he’d come in.

  Aaron looked at Bo. “What in the world?”

  The two men stared in disbelief as they watched James W. peel away from the front curb, squealing his tires as he went around the block. “No idea. But that don’t look good,” Bo said.

  “No, it does not,” Aaron agreed. “You think we should—”

  Before he could finish his question, another car pulled up in front of the Ice House. Elsbeth Novak stormed from the Lincoln and headed straight for the Ice House doors.

  Bo hadn’t realized a woman that large could move so fast.

  Elsbeth burst through the front door. “Where’s my husband?” she shouted into the empty bar.

  Bo was stunned. Hell must be freezing over if Elsbeth was standing in Angie O’Day’s Fire and Ice House. “What are you doing here?”

  Elsbeth stomped towards the bar. “I have as much right to be here as anyone else.”

  “No, I mean, what are you doing in town? You’re supposed to be in New York.” The fact she was in Wilks hit him hard. If Elsbeth was here, where was Pearl?

  She bristled at his question. “I don’t answer to you, you murderin’, slicker-than-a-boiled-onion, white trash!”

  Bo ignored the insults as well as the shocked look on Aaron’s face. His only thought was for the woman he loved. “Where’s Pearl?” he demanded.

  “None of your business.” She slammed her purse on the bar. “Now where’s my husband?”

  If Elsbeth’s looks could kill, he would be dead any second, but he didn’t care. “Is Pearl back in town?”

  Elsbeth sniffed. “Maybe. We parted ways at the airport, and I haven’t seen her since.” Her eyes bored into his. “You really think that decent, gentle woman is in love with the likes of you? Oh, you’ve charmed her all right. We both know Pearl is no beauty—”

  Bo stalked back into the kitchen
and pulled his cell from his jacket. “Damn!” Sure enough, Pearl had left a message for him less than an hour ago.

  Elsbeth slammed through the kitchen swinging doors. “You can’t walk out on me.”

  Bo’s hands squeezed into fists. “I’m going to listen to this message from Pearl, and you will keep your mouth—”

  Aaron hurried through the still-swinging doors. He took Elsbeth’s elbow and gave her a shake. “Shut up, woman.” He nodded for Bo to listen to Pearl’s voice mail.

  “Don’t you tell me to shut up, Aaron Rodriguez.” Elsbeth jerked her arm away. “No one speaks to me like that.”

  “Yeah?” He leaned into her face. “Well, maybe we should start.”

  Ignoring the argument, Bo felt his heart sink as he listened to Pearl’s tearful message. “She’s headed back to her place.” He looked at Aaron.

  The chunky linebacker of a man nodded. “We’d better get out there.” He pulled his keys from his pocket.

  “What about—” Elsbeth sputtered.

  “Bar’s closed, lady,” Aaron said, backing her towards the door. “Shut everything down,” he called over his shoulder to Bo. “I’ll get my truck.”

  Bo started flipping off all the appliances. The place was going to be hell to clean in the morning, but he didn’t care. Pearl’s life was in danger.

  ***

  Mike studied the University of Texas student transcript displayed on the computer screen. “I should have known.” He pushed away from the kitchen table.

  Angie put down the dinner plate she was drying. “Should have known what?”

  Before Mike could answer, James W. busted through the front door. “Get in my truck. Now!”

  Mike stood up. “She’s here?”

  “What? Who?” James W. pulled his gun from its holster.

  “Mandy. Mandy Culver. She’s the one who Rutledge sent to kill me.”

  Angie’s eyes rounded in surprise. “The church lady?”

  Seeing the room was clear, James W. thrust his Glock back into its holster and grabbed Mike’s arm. “You can explain it to me in the truck.”

  Mike suddenly felt the floor shift beneath his feet. The wave of dizziness forced him to sit back down in the chair.

  “Steady, there, Matt.” James W. glanced nervously towards the door, then at Angie. “What’s wrong?”

  Angie came to Mike’s side. “The doctor said he isn’t supposed to get excited. His brain can’t handle the strain.”

  “I get that,” James W. said to her, “But Mandy’s already here. The guard on the road’s been shot. Warren’s with him, trying to stop the bleeding.”

  “Mandy’s here?” Mike’s head finally stilled enough for him to look at Angie. “We’ve got to go.”

  Too late. The back door crashed open. Sure enough. Mandy Culver stood in the doorway, and she was packing. Despite the weapon, Angie flung herself at the young blonde just as James W. reached for his Glock. Mandy pistol-whipped Angie across the face in one stroke, then trained her revolver on Mike. “You don’t want to use that, Sheriff.”

  “Let them go,” I say. “I’m the one you want. They don’t know anything about Rutledge.”

  Her smile was evil. “But they know about me.” She nodded toward the back door. “Besides. There’s someone here who’d like to do this himself.”

  Chapter Forty

  Welcome to Texas

  Mandy stepped further into the room, allowing a small, weedy-looking man to enter behind her. He looked straight at James W. “Sheriff,” he said, politely. “Place your weapon on the floor.”

  Mike nodded to James W. to comply. If his guess was right, this mini-Napoleon was none other than Howard Rutledge’s second in command. “Kodak,” he bit out. “As I live and breathe, you really do exist.” His instinct should have been one of fear. Instead it was rage he felt boiling up his throat.

  Kodak smiled. “Gun. Floor. Now.”

  Red-faced, James W. put his Glock on the floor.

  “Now kick it over here. Gently, please.” Kodak instructed. He bent down and picked up the weapon, then trained it on the sheriff. He shot Mandy a victorious smile. “Gee. I’ve got a gun now, too.”

  Angie groaned, her body still sprawled across the kitchen floor. Mandy walked over to her and pistol-whipped her again across the face. Angie’s head hit the floor with a thud. She stopped moving.

  “That’s right,” Mandy said, straightening. “You lay there and take a nice, long, nap.”

  Mike wanted to slam the blonde’s face into the counter. “So that’s how you always got the babies to take their naps,” he sneered.

  Mandy looked at him coldly. “I never hurt those kids. Ever.”

  “Maybe not those, but what about the ones you killed in the Benedict explosion?”

  Her gaze darted to Kodak and back to Mike. “That wasn’t me.”

  Mike inclined his head toward Kodak. “Growing some pretty big balls there for such a small man. I’m surprised those orders weren’t issued by your boss.”

  Kodak glared at Mike, then stepped aside.

  Mike’s most hated enemy—the man who had killed his father and brother, the man who had maimed his other brother, the police chief who dealt drugs, enslaved humans, ordered people dead, the man who had corrupted an entire police department to make himself rich—Howard Rutledge walked in the door. “But I did,” Rutledge said. “Order it.”

  The scum looked exactly as Mike remembered. Tall and fit. Perfectly groomed salt and pepper hair around a face that only a very expensive cosmetic surgeon could design. Such an attractive man to be such a cold-blooded murderer. “I’m not surprised,” Mike sneered. “You never had much of a problem with collateral damage.”

  James W. spoke up. “You know I’ve men stationed all around here.”

  Mike winced when Rutledge laughed at the sheriff’s threat. “Two. Two men. And I believe you’ve already run across the first one. I wonder if the ambulance will get there in time.”

  That left the Benedict County deputy who was monitoring the surveillance cameras around the property from the outbuilding behind the barn. With any luck reinforcements would be swarming the place at any moment.

  “And don’t worry about the fellow in the back. His TV’s aren’t working any longer,” Kodak said. “Nor are his eyes.”

  Mike worked to keep his breathing steady. That meant no help was coming. He looked at the clock above the stove. It was a full hour before Martens and Castleburry were due to show up.

  Then a sickening sound came from beyond the opened kitchen door. It was a car, driving up the gravel road.

  Mike watched the blood drain from James W.’s face. Whoever was in that car was putting the fear of God in his friend.

  Then Mike heard another sound—the click of a gun being cocked. He turned and saw that Mandy had her Smith and Wesson .38 trained directly at his skull. “Don’t make a sound,” she whispered.

  Taking her lead, Kodak did the same in the sheriff’s direction.

  Both James W. and Mike took the warning seriously. The kitchen became so quiet, they could actually hear the car door open. Then an all too familiar voice apologized to the driver for the late hour. Mike felt the breath leave his body.

  The voice belonged to Pearl. What was she doing back in town?

  Apparently her tip was substantial, as the man thanked her profusely before driving off.

  Next came Pearl’s footsteps wearily climbing up the stairs. She opened the door. “Bo? Are you home?”

  Rutledge nodded for Mandy to answer her call. Mandy hid her weapon behind her back, then went to the archway. “Bo’s not here, Pearl. He’s still working at the Ice House.”

  “What are you doing here, dear?”

  Mike watched as Mandy, wearing a pure, satisfied smile of evil, aimed her gun at Pearl’s shocked face. “I’m not your dear.”

  ***

  Aaron turned off Highway 71 and onto the gravel road that led to Pearl’s place. Bo willed the truck to go faster. It
was at least two more miles to the farmhouse.

  A figure ran out into the road ahead of them, waving for them to stop. Aaron slammed on the brakes just as Warren Yeck’s form was illuminated by the headlights.

  Aaron rolled down his window. “Warren, what the heck?”

  Breathless, Warren ran up to the truck. “I’ve called an ambulance. The deputy over there—” he gestured toward the tall weeds off to the left “—he’s in bad shape.”

  “Where’s James W.?” Bo demanded.

  “He went on up to the house. He left me here to tend to the deputy. I think the bad guys beat us here.”

  Bo swallowed hard. “Did Pearl go by?”

  “Pearl?” Warren looked surprised. “Ain’t she up in New York City?”

  “Has any car come on this road since you got here?”

  Warren shook his head. “Not as far as I know. But I had to walk a half mile west to get a signal to call the ambulance. I just got back.”

  “Step back, Warren,” Aaron ordered. “We’ve got to get up to the house.” He put the truck into drive.

  “No, wait,” Bo said. “They’ll hear us coming up the road. I know a back way.”

  At that moment a pair of headlights came toward them from the direction of Pearl’s house. To his dismay, Bo saw an illuminated TAXI sign on top of the car. He jumped from the truck and flagged the car down.

  “Did you drop off a lady at the house up the road?” he asked.

  The driver rolled down his window. He was an older fellow with a thickly wrinkled face. “Sorry?”

  “Did you drop off a lady up the road?” Bo repeated.

  “Sure did. Sad little thing. She didn’t say anything, but I knew she was crying.”

  “Was there anyone at the house?”

  The driver shrugged. “The lights were on. She seemed kinda surprised about that.”

  “Thanks,” Bo said and backed away from the taxi. “You best get outta here.”

  “What’s goin’ on?” the man was asking, but Aaron knocked on the truck’s hood and thumbed the car down the road.