Witness for the Defense (36 page)

As he stepped toward it, my grip tightened. “Don’t move.”

Reineer’s stare remained fixed on the marble. “You know I’ll never leave without it.”

I raised the gun and stepped closer until the end of the barrel was no more than a foot from his face. “I know you won’t.”

“Please,” he said and dropped to his knees. I shoved the gun to his forehead. His hands, then arms began to tremble. Within seconds his whole body was shaking violently, nearly convulsing.

“Did those children have to beg?” I said. Just at the thought of it I could feel nausea pushing against my throat. “Did you make them beg for their lives just like you’re begging now?”

I slowly pushed the gun forward. The pressure of the barrel caused the top of his head to tilt upward. I could see his eyes. I cocked the hammer—a loud click. He flinched.

“You should be so lucky.” I backed up toward the head of the bed and placed the tip of the barrel against the marble.

With a panicked look, Reineer screamed, “What are you going to do?”

“Destroy something you fear losing more than your own life.”

I pulled the trigger. The marble exploded into a cloud of fine dust, except for a small fleck that hit the corner of my eye. When I reflexively reached for my face, Reineer vaulted head first into my stomach. I fell backward onto the floor, where we struggled as he tried to grab the gun from my hand. A loud popping sound was immediately followed by a horrific burning sensation in my left bicep. My whole upper arm felt as if it was on fire—the muscles went limp. The gun fell from my grasp.

I tried to stand, but could only get as far as my knees. When I looked up, I saw Reineer standing over me. With the gun in his hand. He had a bead on my head.

“You have no idea what you just did,” he said and glanced at the agate dust all over the bed. “You have no idea.”

As quickly as the pain had shot through my arm, it just as quickly diminished. It felt like a heavy brick was dangling from my shoulder.

I tried to push myself into Reineer’s gut the same way he had to me. But my legs were too rubbery. I ended up on the cold wooden floor, facedown in a pool of my own blood. When I sat up, I could barely make out Reineer’s hand—with the shiny gun in it—smashing into the side my head.

Chapter 43

My eyes opened to blackness. I was entombed in a thick gritty liquid. I tried to breathe, but the mixture filled my mouth, then my lungs. My whole body began to heave. I was disoriented, unable to tell top from bottom. I frantically flailed and thrashed about, searching for air. Suddenly, I felt lightheaded, every limb too heavy to move. Before I faded into unconsciousness, a last thought bubbled to the surface: That maniac Reineer got away with it, after all.

I was lying on my side, gasping for air. A heavy rain pelted my face, clearing the mud from my eyes. That’s when I saw Reineer standing directly above me. Behind him—resting on a large flat rock—was Avery’s gun.

“I’ll bet that scared the living shit out of you,” he said, looking at the hole he’d pulled me from. “Would have left you there, but you were in the way.”

Confused, not knowing what he meant, I strained to see where we were. Except for the headlights of his car, shining directly on us, there was total darkness.

“Don’t get any ideas,” he said, seeing me eye the gun again. He grabbed the handle of a shovel, stuck blade first in the wet dirt, and jumped into the hole.

He looked at the swampy hole, which was halfway between his knees and waist. “Bet you really feel stupid,” he said. “You almost drowned in a couple feet of water.”

Reineer poked around the mire with his shovel. I tried to ask him where we were, but I only managed a gurgle and then coughed up black gunk. After several more jabs, he set his feet and began to dig—always making sure he threw the excess mud in my direction.

As I floundered in the mud he was tossing at me, I couldn’t help but think about how my plan hadn’t worked. It seemed simple enough. I’d get Reineer’s necklace, remove Gary Cosgrove’s marble from it, then give it back to Reineer minus the marble. I was sure that before he left the county, he’d go to wherever the poor boy was hidden or buried. If someone like McBean, or one of his cohorts, followed Reineer, they’d catch him red-handed.

With a bullet hole in my arm, it was painfully obvious that the plan had one major flaw. Me. Why did I have to overplay my hand and dramatize the fact that Reineer needed to replace the damn marble? How could I have been so stupid? Why didn’t I just toss Reineer the necklace and order him to leave? McBean could have taken it from there. That’s when it occurred to me. Where in the hell was McBean? My only hope was that he was out there somewhere in the darkness just waiting for the right moment.

But I couldn’t take that chance. Even though I was weak and groggy, I had to try to make a run for it.

“Not such a bad place to spend the rest of eternity, ” Reineer said and rested his chin on the handle of the shovel. “But it’s too bad you’ll have to share it with somebody.”

He resumed his digging.

It was now or never.

Though my left arm was useless, I awkwardly struggled to my feet. When I pushed off, my pivot foot slipped and I ended up flat in the mud. Unsure if Reineer had noticed, I tried it again. Halfway up, a powerful whack to the side of my head spun me to the ground.

Dazed, trying to focus, I could barely see his face next to mine. Reineer had swung the shovel so hard, he’d lost his balance.

“I wouldn’t try that again,” he said as he rose, wiping the mud from his face.

“Or what? You’ll kill me?”

“That’s the attitude, Dobbs,” he chuckled. “A soldier to the end.”

That was the first time I’d ever heard him laugh. It didn’t suit him. But Reineer was in his glory. He was free and had his good-luck charms around his neck which, I was afraid, he’d planned on adding to before the night was over. He was one happy psycho.

“But why out here? Why didn’t you kill me back at the house?”

“Couldn’t leave any evidence.” He jumped back into the hole. “Have to make sure there’s no corpus delecti.”

I knew full well what he meant. Without a body—or any direct evidence of death—it was difficult if not impossible to arrest a suspect, let alone convict one.

“How do you think I’ve been getting away with it all these years?”

“Your luck will run out.”

Reineer laughed in between tosses of mud. “There’s no luck to it…I’m immune.”

“Because of that necklace?”

His face went blank. “What about my necklace?”

“Just that you’re nothing without those souvenirs,” I said. “You think if you were to die without every one of them, you’d rot in hell.”

Reineer smiled. “I’m going to rot in hell no matter what.”

He poked the shovel several times next to where he’d been digging and dropped to his knees. With the mud above his waist, he reached down, clawing like a dog searching for a lost bone.

“Gotcha, you little bugger,” he said and slowly lifted a partially decomposed human head. I was sure it was Gary Cosgrove’s.

I watched as he slowly rotated the head in front of his face. I almost gagged as the hair and scalp slipped from the rotting skull, dropping into the muddy water below.

“Say hello to the Boonville boy.”

“You’re insane,” I said as he revered his prize a few moments longer.

Reineer tossed it back into the hole. “He’s sure not as cute as he used to be.”

I looked around for some sign of McBean. He had to be out there somewhere. Knowing him, he was probably enjoying watching me squirm.

Reineer reached down and feverishly searched the boy’s pants as he straddled the rest of his remains. “Here it is.” He held up a small pouch for me to see. He then loosened the drawstring, opened it, and withdrew a marble—similar to the one I’d blasted. He put it in his pocket and was about to drop the pouch back into the hole, when he gripped it tightly. “Better not take any chances,” he said and jammed the pouch of marbles into his coat pocket. “I don’t want to ever have to do this again.”

Reineer climbed out of the hole. “Now it’s your turn,” he said, fingering the necklace. “But first tell me what you have for me.”

“I thought you only took souvenirs from little kids?”

“Of course not,” he said like I should know better. “I’m responsible for everyone’s souls. And everyone’s responsible for mine.” A devil-like grin crossed his face. “Like my mother, it doesn’t matter how old they are.”

“And like Bobby Miles?”

“Exactly,” he said and rubbed Bobby’s gold band, which he’d already removed from his teeth and attached to the leather strap. “Although, killing him did bother me.”

I found it hard to believe that killing anybody or anything would ever faze him—he was so clearly, so dangerously, insane. “Why would killing a man bother you more than killing a child?”

Reineer chuckled. “No, no, no, you’re misunderstanding me,” he said and walked to his car. “It only bothered me because I couldn’t hide his body.”

He opened the car door and leaned inside, searching. “I killed him because he ratted. Remember? He was my gift to you.”

“You’re full of shit,” I shouted as he walked back carrying something shiny. “You killed him because you knew he never had a chance to tell anyone that he’d been lying about me all along. He was going to clear me.”

“Doesn’t matter anymore,” Reineer said and stopped next to me. He lifted the shiny object he’d just taken from the car—a large buck knife.

Standing above me, Reineer grabbed my hair with his free hand. He was going to take my scalp just like his mother’s.

If McBean waited another second, I’d be a goner.

“You won’t get away with this,” I said, trying to buy more time. “The cops are watching you right now.”

“Cops?” he said as though he was going to humor me this one last time.

“McBean,” I said. “He followed you out here.”

Reineer let go of my hair and laughed all the way back to his car. He opened the trunk and reached inside. “I’ll bet you thought he was going to save you,” he said and pulled something up from the trunk. It was McBean’s head.

“Sorry, Counselor, but it looks like he’s in worse shape than you are…He’s not going to be much help.”

Reineer pulled McBean from the trunk and dropped him headfirst into the mud. I heard a faint moan. He was alive. But barely—like me—and not for long.

Reineer walked toward me. His crazed look sent ripples of fear throughout my body.

“A bone from your body would look good on my necklace,” he said nonchalantly. Then, with a sudden fury, Reineer jumped on me. As we wrestled in the mud, he grabbed my injured arm’s hand by the index finger. I struggled to pull away as he lifted the knife over his head. I felt the whoosh of air beside my cheek when he swiped at my hand with the knife—his grip broke loose along with my finger.

In the mud, I convulsed in pain. My hand was burning as though it was submerged in boiling water. The pain was screaming up the same arm which only moments before had had no feeling at all.

“You won’t be needing this,” he said and dropped my finger into the pouch, along with the boy’s marbles. He then grabbed my hair and dragged me to the edge of the hole where he held my face in front of his.

“Anything you want to say?” he asked and forced me into a kneeling position. I looked down into the hole to see where I’d end up. Floating beneath me was what was left of the boy’s head, the brown leathery skin glistening from the falling rain, his hair and scalp floating next to it.

“Rot in hell!” I yelled. Reineer grinned as he jerked my head back by the hair and shoved the barrel of the gun against it. Our eyes locked for the last time.

He cocked the firing pin. I instinctively flinched at the sound of the loud, deafening blast. Suddenly, I was covered by a warm liquid. Then I felt him let go. I opened my eyes. Lying next to me was what was left of Reineer. His head was gone. Nothing remained but the bloody stump of his neck.

The crazy bastard was dead.

I looked up, wiping Reineer’s blood from my eyes. Standing above him was Otto Cosgrove cradling a shotgun in his arms. He was starring blankly into the hole where his son’s jaw was still jutting upward.

“That’s my boy in there,” was all the big man said before he dropped to his knees and sobbed like a baby.

Chapter 44

“It’s just like Patterson to keep me waiting for my own hanging.”

Sarah looked stunning, dressed in a mauve suede suit. Except for a small scar under her left ear, there was no way to detect she’d been in a horrific accident less than a month before.

“Any feeling yet?” She’d noticed me massaging what was left of my finger.

I waffled my hand. “Now and then,” I said, looking at it.

With my arm in a sling, I’d helped Avery prepare his trees for Christmas harvest. One-handed, I’d attacked his trees like an old hired hand. Surprisingly, I’d actually enjoyed the physical labor. Or maybe it was the company of Sarah and her father I liked so much. Avery and I had become friends, best of friends. Sarah and I became lovers. Etched in my memory forever is each and every moment I’ve been fortunate enough to spend with her—except for the “Chivas night,” as I think of it. Although, I never did admit to her that I don’t remember what happened that night, I think she knows.

We were in Department D of the San Francisco Superior Courthouse, waiting for my trial to begin. Avery was seated directly behind us, looking worried. Our biggest concern was that I was our only witness. It was actually more than a concern—it was a problem. There wasn’t a juror in the state who felt a defense attorney’s word was worth a hoot. My only consolation was that Patterson wasn’t in much better shape. All he had was the preliminary hearing transcript of a scared-to-death drug dealer. It would have been fun if it wasn’t my ass on the line.

The back doors were opened, and Sarah and I looked over our shoulders to see if Patterson had finally decided to show up. But it was Steve Ogden, my boss. He walked straight up to Avery and they shook hands, exchanging greetings like old buds.

All of us came to attention as the bailiff announced that Judge William McConnell was taking the bench. As soon as he sat in his huge leather chair, the judge’s eyes shifted about the courtroom and finally settled on the seat normally occupied by the district attorney. “Where’s Patterson?” he barked at his clerk.