Blood Ties (32 page)

not good PR with the bonfi re of controversy burning the Catholic church’s coff ers the last couple of years.”

I stared at the open door afraid I’d be stuck sitting in the same place hours from now, jaw hanging open, my throat dry as jerky.

“Julie?”

I refocused on LaChance. He didn’t seem any worse for the wear. He dealt with murderers and rapists all the time. Th

is was probably just another breezy day at the of-fi ce for him. “Why tell me? Why not the police and turn Father Tim in?”

“I did call them after Shelley was found. But, they assured me they had already questioned the suspect in Sam’s death.”

“But, they’d been questioning Dick Friel,” I protested,

“not Father Tim.”

He shook his fat fi nger at me. “Ah-ah-ah. I didn’t know that. I said I had information and they weren’t interested.

I performed my legal obligation.”

Shelley had told me there were two men. Another lie?

No, she’d told the truth. But, in pieces. Part to me, part to Charles LaChance. Had she really believed we couldn’t put two and two together? Th

e sick feeling subsided when I

realized I had fi gured it out, but Charles was still one piece shy of the puzzle.

My immediate, cat-who-ate-the-canary smile was well received. “Maybe you should hang up your juris doctorate 341

and hang out a PI shingle. You narrowed it down to two guys? Hell, Kevin and I hadn’t come that close.” I sucked in a lungful of smoke. Blew it out. “Who was the other guy you initially checked out?”

A skeptical look tightened his eyes to steel BBs. For a second I was afraid he wouldn’t tell me, but his ego reared its ugly head. “Bobby Adair.”

“Bobby Adair?” I manufactured a confused look.

“Remember him? Big guy, drank like a fi sh? Played center senior year when they won the state football cham-pionship?”

“Vaguely. Don’t remember Bobby and Tim being that tight.”

“Are you kidding me?” LaChance twisted his index and middle fi ngers together, holding them up. “Th ose two

were inseparable. Surprised the hell out of all of us when Tim up and joined the seminary. Soon after, Bobby headed for basic training with the Marines.”

What event precipitated an abrupt life change in both their lives? Graduation? No light bulb this time, but I knew.

Shelley’s

rape.

Father Tim had joined the priesthood out of guilt. Or, because of the shame of his relationship with Bobby. It made sense. It also made sense on why he skirted the issue about Samantha. She had confronted him. But, I didn’t see him slicing her throat. Or, killing Shelley. I said casually,

“So, what is Bobby up to these days?”

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“Not much after his discharge.”

“He hang out with you guys?”

“Not much. We hunt prairie dogs occasionally. Keeps to himself, mostly. Volunteers at Tim’s church a bunch and at the mission. Th

ough, I don’t think that’s his fi rst

choice. Tim can be pretty pushy when it comes to helping the less fortunate.”

My lungs wouldn’t work. I grabbed a Bic pen and chewed on it instead of lighting another smoke. “He seems a little young to be retired from the military.”

Charles’ oily laugh boomed as he slicked his palm over his balding pate. “Bobby was
forcibly
retired. Th e Marines

don’t take kindly to his behavior.”

I blinked my eyes wide open with apparent shock.

“Really? What for?”

“He was tried for sexual assault.”

“And, you discounted him as a suspect in Sam’s murder?” I couldn’t help the dig. “With a conviction for sexual assault?”

Th

e lawyer in him countered, “He wasn’t convicted.

Big diff erence. And Samantha wasn’t sexually assaulted.”

“Ah. But, Shelley had been.”

“He seemed the logical choice, until . . .” LaChance cleared his throat and pressed his thin, wet lips together.

“Come on Chuck,” I cajoled with false good humor.

“Don’t go all coy on me now.”

His smile beamed confi dence born of a nasty secret.

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“Bobby was off the list when I discovered the prostitute he’d assaulted was male.”

I resisted jumping up and yelling, Bingo! Instead, I said, “Really?”

“Everything is pretty hush-hush with the ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy.”

“Yet,

you
found out,” I fairly gushed.

He preened again, oblivious to my sarcasm. “Yes, well, anyway, I found out only because Bobby hired me when he bought his land. I do extensive background checks on all clients.”

“Where’s he live?”

“Out

off of Rimrock Highway near the 385 junction.

Father Tim got the Catholic church to donate this rustic log cabin they’d planned on tearing down. Th eir church

camp is a couple of miles downstream. Apparently, Bobby is living that whole ‘back to nature’ lifestyle.”

Evidently Charles paid more attention to the amount of zeros on the check than the address on it. Now, armed with the information I needed, I’d had enough of being nice. “So, did you do an extensive background check on Nancy James too, when you took on her case?”

“I wondered when you’d bring that up.”

“Th

at why you’re here? To make sure I know you’ll make good on your threats to Sheriff Richards?”

“No. I won’t press charges as long as you understand the consequences of your attempt to terrorize my client.”

344

I resisted rolling my eyes. “Terrorize?”

“Yes. You frightened Mrs. James when you boasted about your involvement and position with the Bear Butte County Sheriff ’s Offi

ce. Fear is a powerful motivator.

Any answers to your questions were obtained illegally. No Miranda warning, no chance that anything Mrs. James allegedly disclosed is admissible in court.”

“A secretary doesn’t have the power of Miranda. You know that.”

“Mrs. James didn’t know that,” he said slyly. “But, I think you’ve fi nally come to understand my threats are rarely idle.”

“Is there anything else?”

“No. As long as we understand each other.” He smiled, stood, and reached his hand over the desk.

I understood perfectly. I shook my head and his pale fi ngers withdrew.

His smile dried up like a spring puddle. “Lovely to see you again, Ms. Collins. Give my regards to Kevin. I’ll show myself out.”

Th

e second he slinked out the door I booted up Kevin’s computer. No rural route box numbers in Pennington County, all addresses, no matter how far out of town, had street designations for emergency services and fi re protection. Th

ank you, Smokey the Bear. I nearly kissed the screen when Bobby’s address popped up in a matter of seconds.

345

After leaving updated messages on Kevin and Jimmer’s phones, I went off in pursuit of Bobby Adair.

In my obsession to seek justice for Shelley and Samantha Friel, it didn’t occur that I was alone until I’d reached the road leading to Bobby’s house.

I parked in a clearing off Rimrock Highway and took stock of the situation. Few cars zipped past me. Here I was, alone in the woods, about to confront a man I guessed had killed three people. No cell phone, no training in guer-rilla tactics, no clue what I’d do if I crossed paths with Bobby. Run? Climb a tree? Hide? What the hell had I been thinking? I doubted that if I got caught I could talk my way out of it.

Th

e tough girl in me assured me I wouldn’t get caught.

Th

e chickenshit, weepy girl almost threw the Sentra in reverse and sped away.

Th

e surreal scene brought to mind low-budget horror fl icks from my drive-in days. I hated those slasher movies 347

where the barely-dressed heroine confronts the killer alone, at night, armed with nothing more than a blood-curdling scream and a great pair of breasts. I believed nobody would be that stupid. Yet, here I was, running off half-cocked and indignant. Except, it wasn’t night. And I wasn’t exactly unarmed.

I grabbed my bow from the backseat, wishing I had the foresight to load my arrows with tips more lethal than target tips.

Okay. I revised the plan; I’d take a quick look around, hop back in the car, and head to the offi ce to wait for

Kevin and Jimmer. We’d call the cops, the FBI, the CIA, and the NPS.

A deep breath later, I slipped through the rusted barbed wire fence strung across the rock-strewn road. “No trespassing” had been painted in huge white letters on a gargantuan tractor tire hanging from a telephone pole.

Wires swooped down through the mix of pine and oak trees lining the driveway.

Opting to stay off the glorifi ed goat path, I trod lightly on the pine needles and ground cover of decayed organic material which made up the forest fl oor. With the soaring pine trees, scant patches of watery sun shed little light on the uneven terrain. I shivered and walked steadily, stopping every so often to listen for noises, crunching pinecones, snapping twigs, rustling dead leaves, a dead give away of another presence.

348

A murder of crows cawed, squirrels chattered discontent, but I seemed to be alone. I hadn’t any idea of how far I’d walked when my burdened smoker’s lungs needed a break. I set my bow on the ground, resting against a towering Black Hills Spruce, fl exing my cramped fi ngers.

Th

e sharp snap of a rope broke the silence. Before I recognized what the sound meant, my body was fl ush with the tree by way of a canvas cord. Wound tight around my center fi rst, then my shoulders, then hips, and then calves.

Th

is person had roping skills the envy of a rodeo circuit cowboy. Before I took another breath, I’d been rendered powerless. In a bewildered kind of fascination, I watched the rope digging into my upper arms as it was cinched taut.

My vocal cords fi nally made sound when those same ropes ripped away the fi rst layer of my skin.

A man stepped in front of me, face camoufl aged with paint, body covered in military fatigues. Part of me hoped I’d accidentally stumbled onto the National Guard training grounds. I knew better. Th

at site was ten miles from

here. Th

e sensible side of me knew it was Bobby Adair.

“Well, well.” He picked up my bow. “If it isn’t Xena.”

I didn’t scream since my entrails were clogging in my throat.

“What are you doing here?”

Fear loosened the hold my teeth had on my tongue.

I yelled, “Jimmer, Kevin, I found him. About a thousand yards to your left.”

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Bobby slapped me hard across the face. “Shut up. I know you’re out here by your little lonesome.”

Th

rough the stinging sensation on my cheek and the pain roaring in my head, I couldn’t move or ask how he knew. It was almost as if he’d sensed my question.

“Got cameras hidden in the trees up by the gate.

Keeps away unexpected visitors. I saw you get out of your car. Alone.”

He kicked my bow, then picked it up. “Just what do you expect to do with this itty bitty thing?” His fi ngers stroked nylon cord up to the cam. “Nice. Th ough I’m

surprised it isn’t pink. What’s your draw weight?”

Th

e tangy taste of blood fi lled my mouth but I managed to gulp it down. “Forty pounds.”

Bobby

scoff ed, “Can’t hardly kill a squirrel with that.

I pull seventy-fi ve.” He withdrew an arrow and studied it.

“Target tips? You came out here loaded with target tips?

Why?”

“Th

ey’re handy for shooting targets.”

“You’re out here for target practice?”

I let a look of horror cross my face that wasn’t entirely faked. “You mean Jimmer didn’t call and tell you I was coming?”

He slapped me again, same side, same bruise. Same open spot inside my mouth squirted blood onto my tongue.

“You’ve got a big mouth. Always did. Didn’t like it then, don’t like it now. Let’s see what other goodies you’re 350

carrying.”

I closed my eyes, revolted by the feel of his thick hands skimming my body, patting me down through the ropes.

“I’m clean,” I choked as his fi ngers inched toward my crotch. “I don’t have anything else.”

“No

matter.”

“Just let me go.”

Th

e right backhand split my lip; the left backhand re-opened the cut on my cheek Ray had given me that had fi nally started to heal.

“Now, I’m sure this isn’t a social visit. Playing Nancy Drew, you must’ve fi gured it out, so you get marks for that.

But,” he tsked, tsked, “Not so smart coming up here by yourself, are you?”

I played dumb. “What?”

“
What
? She says.”

He whacked me on the collarbone with the cam of the bow. Sharp, agonizing pain, followed by a red-hot fl ash of heat; a poker searing my fl esh. I shrieked and shut my eyes.

He laughed and smacked the other side of my clavicle.

“I’m gonna enjoy watching the smart remarks drain out with your blood.”

My eyes fl ew open. I expected to see a knife perched near my throat. “Like you killed Samantha?” I managed.

“No.” He gestured with my bow. “Something diff erent this time. It’s always diff erent. Same old same old gets boring.”

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“Why did you kill her?”

“She got in my way.”

“How?” I let my gaze track the woods surrounding us. “What was she doing out here?”

“Not out here. God, you are stupid.” Bobby extracted another arrow, studied it. “I was working in the back room off Tim’s offi

ce when she accused Tim of being her sperm donor. Said Shelley told her about the rape. Tim didn’t know what to do so I handled it for him.”

Father Tim had given the edict to off Samantha? “He told you to do that?”

“No. He didn’t need to. I always know what’s best for him, even when he doesn’t recognize it.”

He

sighed.

“Take those prairie niggers down at the Mission.

Th

ey’d suck up every bit of his free time, if Tim let them.

Gotta tell ya, it was a helluva lot more fun getting them drunk, and holding their bodies under the water than it was playing basketball with them. Th