Authors: J.D. Rhoades
“I understand,” she said. “I don’t know why you’d take the risk.”
“Like I said, Jones, you’re a good officer. Plus, this sorta concerns you, too.”
She felt a stab of fear in her stomach. “What do you mean?”
“The feds went out to that trailer,” he said. “But somebody’d bumed it down.”
“What? Who?” she said.
“They thought at first it might have been that fella of yours,” Shelby said. He held up his hands reassuringly as he saw the look on her face. “But his boss gave him a pretty solid alibi. Current theory is that it was Randle hisself. Tryin’ to cover up evidence, maybe.”
“Or maybe he’s just lost it completely,” she said.
“They’s been a couple o’ doctors sayin’ the same thing. Decompensatin’ they call it.”
“If that’s the case …” She trailed off.
“Yeah,” Shelby finished the thought for her. “He and his friends’re gonna kill a lot more people ‘fore they take him down.” He cleared his throat. “There’s one more thing,” he said. “One of the survivors got a good look at one of the shooters. Looked him right in the eye. Said it was a young white male. Looked to be in his late teens.”
Marie closed her eyes. “Oh, no.”
“Ain’t seen it yet, but there’s s’posed to be a sketch by a police artist comin’ down the wires soon. Sounds like our missin’ boy from the gas station, though. And this witness can put a rifle in his hand.”
“So much for the kidnapping theory.”
“He could be under duress. We don’t know yet. But since that started out as your case, I thought I’d let you know.”
“Thanks for keeping me in the loop, Shelby,” she said. “I appreciate it.”
“No problem,” he said.
She picked the phone back up. “I need to call Jack,” she said.
“Now this is more like it,” Roy said. He was kicked back on the couch, drinking a beer. Laurel sat beside him, running a hand idly through his hair. Stan sat on the floor nearby. He had his rifle broken down and was cleaning it the way Roy had taught him. Roy had the remote in his other hand, flipping through the channels. The .45 lay on the arm of the couch. The cable-news channels were wall to wall with
what Roy called “our story.” Roy flipped back and forth between the channels. He kept coming back to the one with the graphic that said “Murder in Carolina.”
“Stan,” he said, “flip the switch so we can catch the local yokels.”
Flip it yourself, Stan thought, but he got up and moved the slider switch to get the antenna rather than the dish. The screen filled with static, then Roy punched the remote and Grace Tranh’s face filled the screen.
“There she is,” Roy said. “There’s my girl.” Laurel gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. Roy turned up the volume.
Grace was standing beside a thin girl who looked into the camera as if she were terrified. A cold shock ran through Stan’s body as he recognized the girl from earlier that day, the girl with the baby. He couldn’t hear what Grace was saying from the blood roaring in his ears. Then another shock hit him as his own face filled the screen. He began to tremble. The picture was sketchy, but it was undoubtedly him. He tried to stand, but his knees gave way and he slumped back down to a kneeling position, as if he were praying. He looked at Roy.
Roy was standing, his hands fallen limp at his sides. The beer had slid from his hand and was leaking on the floor, unnoticed. Roy’s mouth was opening and shutting like a fish. His face became red, then redder, until it was almost purple. It was only then that he turned to look at Stan.
“You little shit,” he said in a low deadly voice.
“Roy,” Laurel said. She tried to reach for him. He backhanded her, the movement seeming almost casual, but it was hard enough to knock her backwards onto the couch. That brought Stan to his feet. “Stop that!” he yelled.
“You let one of them live,” Roy said in that same tone of voice. “Somebody who could talk to the cops.” He took a step toward Stan. “Somebody who could draw them,” step, “a fucking,” step, “picture!” His fist shot out and hit Stan full in the nose. The punch was enough to knock him backwards into the wall. He felt his nose break, saw the spurt of blood that flowed from him. The pain seemed to fill the whole world, and there was blood covering his hands. Stan looked down at it for a moment. A strange feeling came over him. This was a totally familiar scenario. A man punched him. He took it. But something felt different now. Somehow, everything had
changed. He looked up at Roy, who was standing there, glaring at him, breathing hard like a bull ready to charge. But it was Stan who launched himself at the older man, his hands clenched into claws that seemed to slide easily around Roy’s neck.
The force of Stan’s charge propelled Roy back into the couch. Laurel screamed and barely managed to roll out of the way in time. “No one!” Stan screamed down into Roy’s face. He slammed Roy’s head back. “Fucking! Hits! Me! Again!” Each word was punctuated by Stan shoving Roy harder back against the couch. Roy’s face was even purpler now, his eyes bulging. Stan could see the light in those eyes beginning to fade. He felt it again, the high wild exultation he had first felt upon pulling a trigger. I’m not afraid anymore, he thought, I’m not afraid. Laurel was clawing at his back, sobbing and begging incoherently. But Stan was laughing with joy. Then he felt a blow to his midsection, like Roy had punched him in the stomach. He ignored it.
“That the best you can do, Roy?” he shrieked down into the older man’s face. He was strong now. Nothing could stop him. He felt another blow, then another, and suddenly, unbelievingly, his strength was leaving him. No, he thought, No, I’m strong, strong, but his hands were sliding away from Roy’s throat, as if his brain couldn’t reach them anymore. His legs were rubbery again, too, and he slid to his knees on the floor in front of the couch. It was then he saw the blood all over his shirtfront. He was soaked in it. It was coming out everywhere. He looked up in disbelief. Roy stood up, holding the gun he had grabbed off the couch where it had fallen. He brought it up to Stan’s face. No, Stan had time to think one last time before there was a bright flash, a sudden incredible pain, then nothing.
Keller was only a few miles from Fayetteville when his cell phone rang. He checked the number. It was Marie.
“Have you heard the news?” she asked.
“No, I’ve been working. What happened?”
“They did it again. A hog processing plant in Bladen County.”
“Shit,” Keller said. “How many dead?”
“Eight. And a survivor got a look at one of the shooters. It might be the kid from the gas-station shooting.”
“At least they’re keeping you informed,” Keller said. “That’s a good sign.”
“Shelby is, at least,” she said. “I’m at his house right now.”
Keller thought it over. Now there were three enemies. And night was falling.
“Stay there,” he said. “I’m only a few miles away.”
“What?” she said. “Why?”
“I’ll come pick you up,” he said. He hung up.
It took him twenty minutes to reach the Shelby house. The door opened as he got out of the car. Marie was standing in the doorway watching him. Shelby stood behind her. Keller waved at him.
“You want to come in, Jack?” Shelby called to him.
“Thanks, but not right now,” Keller called back. “I need to see Marie.” She looked at Shelby and shrugged. She walked out to the driveway. “Get in the car,” he said urgently.
“What?!” she said.
“Get in the car. Quick.”
She looked baffled. “Okay.” She turned and waved at Shelby. “Thanks,” she said. “I’ll be back to get my car in a little bit.” She got in the car.
Keller was moving as soon as the door slammed shut. “I think I know where Laurel Marks is,” he said. “And Randle.”
“What?” she said.
“Laurel’s mother gave me directions to her family’s old home place,” he said. “Laurel spent a lot of time there. It’s abandoned, but it’s a logical place for her to hole up. And it’s less than ten miles from here.”
“And you knew about this while I was standing there talking to Shelby? Damn it, Jack!” She slammed her hand on the dash. She was silent for a moment. “I need to call this in,” she said.
“I knew you would,” he said. Her voice was flat. “But you waited to tell me until you were sure you’d get there first.”
“We,” he said.
“What?” “I wanted us to get there first. Not just me. You get the collar on Randle, you get back in the department. I get Marks.”
“Oh that’s great,” Marie said. “Nice plan. And you assumed I’d go along with it.” She put her head in her hands. After a moment, she said, “This is it, Jack. It’s over.”
The words seemed to hit him like a physical blow. “What?” he said.
“You heard me.” She felt a tear rolling unbidden down her face. “I’ve tried, Jack,” she said. “I’ve really tried. But you still don’t trust me. You still don’t let me in.”
He was silent for a moment. Finally he said, “You want me to take you home?”
She sighed. “You know better. You know I won’t let you go there alone. And you know that if I’m the one who helps take these people down, I’ll be able to write my own ticket in the department. And you know how bad I want that.” Her voice was bitter as she said, “You’ve played me perfectly, Jack. Congratulations.” She pulled out her cell phone.
“I didn’t mean to—,” he began.
“But you did,” she said. “You can’t help it. Now shut up. I need to make a call.”
Shelby stood in the open doorway, watching Keller’s car pull away. Something was definitely wrong here. “Honey,” he called back to his wife, “I’m goin’ out for a while.”
She came back out of the kitchen. “Something wrong?” she asked.
He smiled at her. “No, sugar, I just need some air.”
She clearly didn’t believe the reassurance. She crossed the room and hugged him. “Be careful,” she whispered.
He hugged her back. “I love you,” he said. He had a sudden impulse to go in the kitchen and give a hug to his daughters, but he didn’t want to risk losing Keller’s vehicle. Keller’s taillights shone at the end of the loop road as he started his car. He reached under the seat and pulled out his service revolver.
“We got to bury him,” Roy said.
“Bury him yourself,” Laurel replied. “You’re the one that killed him.”
She was sitting on the floor, her back against the wall and her knees drawn up. Her face was streaked with tears. Stan’s body lay on the floor between them.
“The hell was I supposed to do? Let him choke me to death?”
“You didn’t have to hit him,” Laurel said.
“He’s got his picture all over the damn news,” Roy said. “He couldn’t handle the one thing we gave him to do.”
“He was just a kid,” she said.
“He’s not that much younger than you, Laurel,” Roy pointed out.
She looked away from Stan’s body and into Roy’s eyes. “I ain’t been a kid for a long time, Roy. A long, long time.”
He stood up. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll handle the buryin’. But you’ve gotta help me get him in the van. And while I’m gone, clean all this mess up.”
She got slowly to her feet. “Yeah, Okay. Whatever.”
They took an old patchwork quilt from the bedroom and spread it on the floor by Stan’s body. They wrapped the body in it, rolling him up tightly. When they were done, he was just a long bundle wrapped in bright colors. Laurel took his feet while Roy grabbed the heavier end. The two of them grunted with effort as they hauled him out onto the porch. Roy moved the van closer to the porch and opened the cargo door. As they picked the bundle up, a long groan seemed to come from inside. Laurel jumped back in surprise and dropped her end. Roy lost his grip and the body tumbled to the ground.
“He’s still alive,” she whispered. “I heard him.”
“Naw,” Roy said. “That’s just air leavin’ the body. I heard about it.”
“Roy,” she said. “We’ve got to see.”
“And what if he is alive, Laurel?” he snapped. “What are we gonna do? Take him to the hospital? How you gonna explain that? If he is alive, only thing that’s gonna happen is I put a bullet in his head to finish him off.”
“You fucking asshole,” she whispered.
“You’ve killed as many people as me, Laurel,” he said. “So get off your damn high horse.”
“I didn’t know them,” she said. “I hadn’t…”
“Right,” he said. “You hadn’t fucked them. So goddamn what?”
She didn’t reply. She just bent down and grasped her end of the bundle. Roy did the same. The body made no further noise as they loaded it in the back of the van. Neither of them spoke until Laurel slid the van door shut.
“Go down the road behind the house,” she said. “It goes to the back field. You can bury him there. There’s shovels and a pickax in the shed.”
Roy nodded. She didn’t look at him as she walked back into the house. When she reached the door, Roy called out to her. “Laurel.”
She stopped, her hand on the knob. “I told you it was a bad idea to bring him along.”
She didn’t turn around. “You think I don’t know that?” she said. She turned. “Just check and see, Roy. Don’t bury him alive.” She opened the door and went inside.