Bound to Die

by Laurie Rockenbeck

  A trail of wet mud led upward. How much time had Court lost by chasing down the deer and getting stuck in the mud? Court tiptoed on bare feet toward the stairs.

  A banging boom, like a gunshot from behind him, exploded in his ears.

  Court spun around, ready to shoot.

  He was alone.

  A rushing whoosh and explosive earthquake-like sound had him drop to his haunches. Art popped off the wall and slammed to the floor around him. Thumps from overhead. Outside, the thick trunk of a fir tree stretched across Karen’s back yard, its branches missing the cop on the ground by inches. A tree had fallen on the house.

  Screams. Shouting from upstairs. The dog barking.

  Court crouched low, climbing the stairs, his heart pounding. The stairs split halfway up, turning at the front door landing. He paused, listening. Karen spoke, urgently, in a low voice. He couldn’t make out the words over the weather and the barking dog.

  A green glow cast shadows everywhere. He couldn’t see anybody at the top of the stairs or in the kitchen. They all had to be in the living room, to the right. He could only get so far up before he would be seen unless he crawled the rest of the way.

  A gunshot. The barking stopped.

  “No one move.” Ivy’s voice cut through the din. Calm, commanding, clear. “Drop the gun.”

  65

  Court stopped two steps below the top, where he could still be on his feet and crouch low, yet not be seen. He peeked around the half-wall to check out what was happening in the living room, holding his breath, hoping Payne wasn’t facing his direction.

  Payne stood with his back to the stairs, his left arm outstretched, his gun still pointed at the dog. Court let out his breath, long and slow. The dog lay on its side, his chest heaving up and down in labored breaths.

  He could barely see Ivy. She stood directly opposite Payne. She faced Court, but kept her eyes pinned on Payne. Karen knelt next to her daughter, whose legs disappeared underneath a bookshelf. It must have toppled when the tree crashed into the house. A Coleman lantern was on the ground, tipped over and casting fractured shadows around the room.

  Court knew this scenario all too well. It was the coward’s way out. Payne was forcing their hand. That had been his game all along. Coming in, shooting the dog, waving his gun around. Hoping they’d end his agony for him.

  But why hadn’t Ivy already shot him? At less than ten feet away from Payne, she had a perfect shot at him. His grip was shaky.

  Court stood up from his crouch, moving with the speed of a sloth so Payne wouldn’t notice him. He had a clear shot, it would be easy to justify. He took careful aim, moved his finger against the trigger and stopped.

  He didn’t want to give this man what he wanted. An end to his pain and suffering—things he’d brought on himself? A need to take Payne alive filled Court with an urgency unlike anything he’d ever felt before. Suicide by cop? Not gonna happen. Not by his gun. Court pulled back, putting his gun away. He had to end this a different way.

  Ivy saw him and gave the slightest shake of her head. She made it look natural, like she spoke only to Payne, but the movement made him stop in his tracks. “Put Brian down, Payne. You won’t get out of here alive if you don’t drop the gun.”

  A movement between Payne’s legs caught Court’s attention. A pair of feet dangled between Payne’s legs. Small feet. Brian.

  If Court had taken his shot, the bullet would have killed both of them. So close. Sweat or water trickled down Court’s cheeks, tickling at the point of his chin.

  Ivy kept Payne focused on her, giving Court a chance to get closer.

  Karen held up her hands in a placating gesture. “Jarvis, let him go. You and I can go talk this over.” Her voice shifted into a calm, persuasive deep alto. “We can work through this. No one else needs to get hurt.”

  Brian repeated Aspen’s name over and over, sobbing in between breaths. The dog whimpered in response, lifting her head, trying to rise, but collapsing back to the floor. Krav techniques spun through Court’s head. His fingers practiced in miniature movements.

  Payne pointed the gun at Karen, his hand wobbling with the weight of it. “You are the one who brought me to this. It’s your fault I’ve become a killer.” His voice was rough. He was crying. “You destroyed me.”

  “Let me fix you,” Karen said.

  Payne’s hand wavered. The gun drifted down and off to the side for a moment, and then he whipped it up again. “No. No. No. I can’t listen to you anymore.”

  His shoulders rounded with a sudden firmness as he aimed the gun at Karen.

  66

  Court shouted. A primal guttural Tarzan-like yowl. It worked.

  Payne spun around, firing his gun in reflex as he moved. The bullet pinged against the fireplace and zinged across Court’s shoulder.

  Payne’s gun arm swung around toward Court. He reeled Brian away from him, directly at Ivy, as he spun to face Court. Ivy had no choice but to catch Brian or have him knock her backward to the ground.

  Court ignored the searing pain in his shoulder and launched himself at Payne. He used a two-handed twist to knock the gun out of Payne’s hand, kneed him firmly in the groin, and twisted his arm with a swift cracking sound. Court had Payne face-down on the floor in less than three seconds.

  67

  Court sat on the edge of the ambulance as an EMT applied some butterfly strips to hold the wound on his shoulder together. “This is the best I can do here, but you’ll need to get over to the hospital and get some stitches, antibiotics, and a tetanus shot if you haven’t had one lately.”

  Court winced as the tech applied some pressure. The wind continued to blow, but the rain had stopped. Emergency standalone lights flooded the area. The top of the fir tree extended beyond the roofline of Karen’s house, its tip hanging over the front yard.

  Crews of news reporters pressed in against the yellow ribbons marking off the scene. At least the other ambulances had taken off with the injured cops and Karen’s daughter before they’d showed up. The storm, which had subsided as soon as Payne was in custody, had delayed them from getting prime shots of Karen and her kids.

  Court groaned when he saw Stensland lift the tape and enter the area.

  The tech working on his arm stopped. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. My boss just showed up.”

  Stensland scanned the entire scene until he located Court. He strode over in long officious strides. “What’s this make? Twice now? You’ve been shot twice in three years.”

  Is that what he was going to focus on? Court didn’t need a lecture. “I’ll survive. I’m barely nicked. Maybe I’ll need a few stitches. Got our guy in the process so it’s worth it.”

  Stensland leaned in to examine the wound. “Lucky you. I’ve got a dozen news people out there wanting to know what went down here.”

  As he explained what happened, Court sensed Stensland’s disappointment. He had been hoping Drummond’s death was Triad-related to refuel the department’s fight against them. Drummond’s death being an accident was a major letdown.

  “Get his confession, get him processed, then go home. Take tomorrow off.”

  Court lifted two fingers to his temple in a salute as Stensland turned to talk to the news reporters. Stensland paused and returned to him. “You ever figure out the leak?”

  Court shook his head. “Still working on that one. But, I think you’ll want to give the deputy chief a call. Give him a personal update.”

  Stensland leaned in close enough for Court to smell his coffee breath. “Your conspiracy theories are getting old, Pearson.”

  Court made a note to never play poker with his boss. “It’s his glasses. They showed up in some photos. You have some ass-covering to do, Lieutenant.”

  68

  Court rolled his shoulders and neck, trying to relieve the tension that had grown in them over the last couple hours. The ride back into Seattle with Payne in the back of the car had been uneventful. The storm had cleared, and
the bridge reopened to traffic. The continued darkness created by widespread power outages made the city appear like a post-apocalyptic ghost town. Lights, most likely lit by personal generators, dotted the landscape all around. The streetlights in downtown were not even flashing.

  The department had generators, so getting Payne to talk on videotape went as smoothly as it could. He had become a weepy mess. By the time they were done, Court almost felt sorry for him. Payne’s mother had a heart attack during their argument, and he blamed himself for that. He confessed that he also blamed himself for his father’s death during a boating accident when he was only fifteen. It sounded to Court like it was more likely the typical self-centered loathing found in a lot of teenagers, but they wouldn’t know for sure until later. Court was pretty sure the psych evaluation was going to make Payne out to be an abuse victim, but that wouldn’t keep him from going to prison for a long time. He confessed to everything being his fault in the end. Begged to know if he’d killed the dog, too.

  As they left him for processing, he turned to Court, his eyes swollen and cheeks tear-streaked. “Please. Can you make sure someone takes care of Higgins? I’m all he had.”

  “Your cat?”

  “Yes, please. It’s not his fault. He’s a good cat. He even fetches.”

  Court couldn’t quite believe it. The man had tied up Berkeley Drummond, ejaculated on his face and left him. And now this? “Don’t worry about your cat,” Court said, wishing already he hadn’t.

  “Thank you.”

  Court had forgotten to ask about a detail, he put a hand up to the officer who was leading Payne away. “Why’d you turn up the heat?”

  Payne looked at him, confused. “The heat?”

  “In the studio, when you left Drummond.”

  A sad little smile creased his cheeks. “He was naked. I didn’t want him to get cold while he waited for Mistress.”

  In the written report, Court made a point of documenting Payne’s stalking behavior. He had to have known that her leaving early was unusual, and by not staying around to ensure her return, Payne’s leaving Drummond alone to die was intentional. He wanted the prosecutor to bring down first-degree murder charges. He made a good case for stalking, harassing, and kidnapping to add to the package.

  At eleven, he switched on the news out of curiosity. Storm damage took top billing. A third of the city was still without power, there were half a dozen mudslides being reported, and the flooding along the rivers wouldn’t peak for a few more hours. They brought Ingram in with his hot breaking news as if he was reporting live action. Ivy came over from her cubicle to stand next to him, looking up at the TV mounted on the wall.

  The footage showed the chaos outside Karen’s house. First, it panned across the whole scene showing flashing ambulance, police and other emergency vehicle lights. It zoomed in on Karen as she climbed into the ambulance, Ingram’s voiceover narrating the scene.

  “Berkeley Drummond’s dominatrix is seen here climbing into the ambulance with her son who was held hostage before the police were able to subdue the man.”

  Then, it zoomed in on Court. He looked in fascination at himself, his shirt off and his wound being tended to. His sense of time looping around to hours before was disorienting as he stood there watching himself in a previous moment.

  “Lead detective Court Pearson was shot as he grappled with the suspect.”

  Ivy elbowed him. “Man, you have some muscle on you, don’t you?”

  Ivy was actually being friendly?

  Stensland appeared on the screen. “While I am not at liberty to discuss the particulars, we are confident we have the man responsible for the death of Berkeley Drummond in custody. His name is Timothy Michael Payne. Unfortunately, I can’t share any details about his motives in the Drummond killing.”

  The footage switched to Ivy directing a handcuffed Payne to a car and pushing him in. “Glad I remembered to put my hand over his head. Looks better than bashing it into the car, eh?”

  Ingram had gotten this part of the story pretty much right. All but the part about the hour-long kidnapping. Payne had only been a couple minutes ahead of him. And, it couldn’t have been more than a minute from the time Aspen got shot to the time Court had Payne on the floor.

  When Ingram finished his report, the camera zoomed in on Tracy’s face. “Thank you, Scott,” she said.

  For a moment, it was as if Court was in a little bubble with her, as if she were able to see him on the other side of the lens.

  How had he missed this? Holy hell.

  “Oh, fuck,” Court said falling back against his chair, struggling to breathe. His throat felt like it had a rope around it, tightening, squeezing it shut.

  “What?” Ivy asked.

  Court couldn’t say it out loud. I’m the leak. I’m the fucking leak.

  69

  Court didn’t care how late it was. He pounded on Cami’s door.

  She opened it partway. “Oh shit.” She stepped back, refusing to look at him as he entered. She was dressed in cutesy pajamas covered in neon-colored owls. The kind he would never have guessed she would wear. He’d always pictured her in leather, even while sleeping.

  He brushed past her. “Why? Why did you do it? Is she here?”

  Cami closed the door, leaned against it still not looking at him. “What are you talking about?” She looked like a dog who was sitting with a chewed-up shoe in her mouth still trying to get away with it.

  Court didn’t have the energy for prevarication. He spun around, getting up in her face. “Seriously? You really want to play it that way?”

  She sucked in her breath, slipping away from him, scuttling to the overstuffed armchair that took up most of her tiny apartment. She pulled her feet up to her butt, hugging her knees to her chest. “I’m sorry, Court. Are you in trouble?”

  “It’s nice of you to worry about me.” His anger deflated a little at the round wetness of her eyes, her near-fetal position. Of course he was going to be in trouble. “You used me. Our friendship.”

  She pressed her forehead against her knees burying her face into the flannel owls. “I’m sorry. I needed the money. Tracy told me she could pay me for juicy stories. I could get paid a lot if I could find good information.”

  “How did you know what I had on my phone?”

  “I didn’t. You told me you had a new case Friday night at the bar. Then, Saturday, I heard the news report about Drummond dying. I put two and two together.”

  He’d never seen her look so vulnerable. “You went through my photos at the party on Saturday.” He hadn’t dumped the pictures until Sunday. The text Madeline had sent at the party hadn’t shown up as new because Cami was going through his phone at the same time she’d sent it.

  She lifted her head. Her eyes were red and tearing over. She nodded. “You left your phone in your coat pocket. It was hanging on the chair in the kitchen, and I heard it beep. A text or something. So, I … took a quick peek.”

  “You know my PIN?”

  “Yeah. You’re always checking your messages when you’re out with me. You’re not the only one who can read upside down, Court.”

  “You followed us to Karen Hunter’s house on Monday, too. I felt you watching me when I walked her out of the station.”

  She looked away.

  He walked to the door, yanking it open. “Was it worth it, Cami?”

  “Court, don’t go. We can talk this out, can’t we?”

  Court paused. If he tried to talk it out with her now, he’d say nasty things. Things he would regret. Things he couldn’t ever take back. “No. We can’t. Not now. I needed to see you deny me to my face. I’m gonna go. I’ll call you when I’m ready to talk to you again.”

  “Court, please.”

  “Don’t hold your breath.”

  70

  Court was stepping out of the shower ready to fall into bed when his doorbell rang. He looked at the clock. It was almost two. He was in no mood for Cami’s apology. He wrapped the towel aro
und his waist trudging to the door.

  It was Madeline. She looked up at him, her lower lip sucked in between her teeth. Her face scrunched into a giant question mark. “I saw you on the news, and I thought this was worth more than a text.”

  Court stepped aside to let her in. “Where’s Pippi?”

  “Who?” She slipped off her shoes.

  “Sorry. Lucy. She had pigtails the other night. I named her Pippi in my head.”

  “You’re sweet, Court. She does look a little like a Pippi, doesn’t she?”

  She reached out to touch his shoulder, her fingers gently tracing the outline of his bandages. “How many stitches?”

  “Seven. Just got home a little while ago. It’s been a crazy night.”

  “Can I stay?”

  He put his hand on hers. “I’m not going to be much fun.”

  “I want to be with you. You shouldn’t be alone.”

  He brushed a stray hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. “Okay. I plan on sleeping. I’m almost asleep on my feet.”

  “That’ll be fine. I’d like to stay next to you, keep you company.”

  She took him by the hand, guiding him to his bedroom. She pulled the comforter and sheets back for him. He dropped the towel around his waist and climbed in naked. She removed her outer coat to reveal bright turquoise pajamas with kittens all over them. Owls and kittens. What was it with pajamas these days? Court traced one of the kittens on her shoulder after she settled in next to him. “Cute,” he said. It was the last thing he remembered before the smell of coffee woke him the following morning.

  71

  Court let himself into Britt’s house. The photo of him with his family at Disneyland was sitting in the same spot on the shelf as last week. His chest felt tight, but it was a different kind of ache. Amanda and Bailey were captured forever at age two and thirty-seven.