by Diane Capri
She turned on her wipers and headlights and drove along the shoulder past the flares marking the end of the crime scene in front of the eighteen-wheeler. She could have continued along the now empty roadway, but one of the cops waved her through the emergency crossing.
Kim joined the line of slow-moving traffic eastward toward town, still wondering about the crash and its victims and what the hell they could have been thinking.
CHAPTER TEN
Wednesday, May 11
Carter’s Crossing, Mississippi
8:05 p.m.
Two hours ago, he had cashed in his chips and made his way to the bar. The local reports from Memphis had covered the crash on US 72 west of Carter’s Crossing. He’d watched the images through several rounds of breaking news alerts, each one worse than the last.
The talking heads had said the driver of the sedan was dead at the scene. Which was precisely what he’d expected to happen. Wrong driver, of course. But at least Carolyn Blackhawk was done.
The cyclist had somehow, miraculously survived. He’d been airlifted to a Memphis hospital. He was in critical condition. Which was not even remotely close to fine. That idiot Jasper should have died, too. The moron couldn’t even kill himself effectively.
He had questions. Like why the hell Carolyn Blackhawk turned too soon and ended up on the eastbound lane instead of the westbound one. Jasper had planned the stunt for the westbound lane, but he must have checked the tracker and realized the sedan was up ahead coming straight at him, the stupid kid had improvised. Disastrously.
He shook his head. Didn’t matter. Whatever the explanations were, now, he had another problem.
The victims’ names were withheld pending notification of the families, but he already knew who they were. Too soon, everyone else would know.
Traffic had been rerouted on US 72, which meant the seniors in the casino had been freed to climb aboard their buses. All four groups had headed back to their assisted living homes until next Wednesday when they’d make the trek again.
He’d be long gone by that time.
Once the traffic routes were opened again, the casino had filled up quickly with younger gamblers and drinkers. Cloying tobacco smoke hung suffocatingly heavy in the air. When he left here, his clothes would need to be fumigated.
The casino was abuzz now with soldiers from Kelham and Carter’s Crossing residents who had finished their work shifts for the night. Everyone was looking for some fun. His senses were overwhelmed. He couldn’t think straight.
Nina had joined him at the bar and they’d ordered dinner. He’d glanced at the television screen behind her from time to time. There was a game show on and local news, such as it was, crawled along the bottom of the screen.
It was too early for the baseball game. Cardinals at San Diego Padres would start later tonight. He was careful not to glance at the television too often. Nina would become suspicious if he paid too much attention.
He shrugged off his concerns. Everything would settle out. It always did.
The result was inevitable, even if things were taking longer than expected. No reason to worry.
Jasper would die tonight.
Nina had blathered on about this and that while he tried to work out a new plan for her. He was good at war games. Adjusting for contingencies on the fly was well within his skill set.
This was perhaps the most crucial war of his life. But it was by no means the most difficult.
He ticked off the elements in his head. Remove the obstacles. Gather the last of his assets. Move on.
It wasn’t a complicated plan, which was fine. Simple plans were always the best. Fewer moving parts. Less to screw up.
Brian Jasper and Carolyn Blackhawk were not the obstacles. Blackhawk was already dead, and Jasper soon would be.
The real problem was Nina. She knew about Pak. She was there in New York. She knew about the counterfeiting. She’d already blabbed about the trip to New York. She’d told Bonnie Nightingale. Who else had she told?
He had to get rid of her, and soon.
He realized that Nina hadn’t mentioned the crash. Which meant she hadn’t heard the news yet.
She’d be devastated about Carolyn Blackhawk, partly because they’d been friends since elementary school. But mostly because Blackhawk had been driving Nina’s car.
He’d seen a lot of death. He’d consoled his share of survivors. He knew what was coming.
He tuned out the words, but he watched her as her mouth ran on about nothing. Nina wasn’t an overly emotional woman. But she was bound to suffer some survivor’s guilt about Blackhawk, along with the inevitable horror and grief.
He shrugged.
She’d learn about the crash in the next few hours. Whatever her reaction, he didn’t want to be around to experience the fallout firsthand. Better to deal with her after she’d had some time to process.
The last thing he needed was a devastated mistress to deal with now. He couldn’t leave her alone for too long, though. Tomorrow, maybe.
He glanced at the clock over the bar. It was just past eight o’clock. He interrupted her flow of chit-chat.
“Aren’t you supposed to work tonight?” he asked.
“Yeah. You’re right. Randy’s night off,” she said, referencing her brother. She wiped the last crumbs of crab cakes from her mouth. The simple gesture raised his annoyance to a slow-burning rage.
Randy’s night off. Of course it was.
Randy Cloud was Nina’s brother. Together, they managed Big River Casino. Randy was also an asshat. Always had been. Too bad he couldn’t add Randy to the casualty list. He simply didn’t have the time.
His mind returned to the present when Nina leaned in to kiss him. “See you when I see you.”
It was their standard farewell. He couldn’t bring himself to say it. Instead, he nodded, grinned, and raised his beer in her direction. When she turned to walk away, he dropped the grin, scowled at her retreating backside, and swigged the beer.
Nina had to die because she’d killed Pak. Whether she’d known it or not at the time didn’t matter. Nina was smart. She’d figure out what happened. He gave her the poison and she gave it to Pak. None of which could, under any circumstances, be discovered. Ever.
Only one man would suspect him of killing Pak. And he hadn’t heard a peep out of Jack Reacher in more than fifteen years. The odds of Reacher putting things together and showing up here were less than slim and none. He wasn’t worried about that in the least.
But when he added the Pak straw to the already overburdened Nina camel…well. What else could he do?
Nina had to go.
He didn’t feel the least bit of grief about her.
He drained the glass, waved the bartender over, and paid the check with cash.
He stood and swallowed the last of the beer before he headed out. He’d been in the casino for hours. His image would have been captured on a dozen cameras, at least.
More than enough.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Wednesday, May 11
Carter’s Crossing, Mississippi
8:55 p.m.
He left the casino by the front door and gave the cameras another chance to see his face, to document the time of departure. He put his hat on and hustled out to the truck through the drizzling rain.
The drive back to his safe house was uneventful. He parked the truck in the garage, retrieved the gun and the silencer, and entered the house through the back door.
He considered making a trip to the barn. “Nah. It can wait until tomorrow,” he said aloud.
He strode to the bedroom, opened the safe, and emptied his pockets of the cash he’d won at the casino. He then closed the safe and locked it before he stripped down and tossed his clothes in the washer.
He took a long shower to get rid of the smoky stench, dressed, and left the house again, this time on foot, the gun and silencer in his pocket.
He walked through the dreary darkness with his collar turned up, hat pulled low, and hands stu
ffed into his pockets. There were no sidewalks on this side of the railroad tracks. But the road was paved, which meant he didn’t need to walk the whole way through the mud.
Soon, he’d reached the crossing point directly across from Brannan’s. He left the road, walked through the tall weeds to the railroad tracks, and then crossed over to the other side.
As he moved closer, he could see maybe a dozen patrons inside Brannan’s. He couldn’t identify them all from this distance, but he knew they were the same guys who showed up every night during the week. No surprises. Which was exactly the way he liked it.
Three McKinneys were playing pool with another dude, waiting for the baseball game to start. The fourth guy was smaller, fitter. Luke Price. He hung around with the McKinneys because no one else would have him.
Brian Jasper had taken pity on Price, too. They’d been in boot camp together. Jasper said he owed Price for some reason. Let Price bunk out on his couch the past few months when Price said he had PTSD and he couldn’t live alone. Which was another load of crap.
But boot camp was a long time ago and Price had long since worn out his welcome. With Jasper dead, Price had become irrelevant. Which meant he didn’t want Price around.
Two guys from Kelham stood talking with Walt the bartender. Walt was a veteran. Army Ranger. He’d served in Afghanistan. When he came home, he bought the bar from the Brannan brothers, allowing them to retire to Arizona.
But Walt was the only McKinney worth his salt in the entire county. The other McKinneys and most of their pals were rednecks through and through. Wouldn’t hurt them to take a bath now and then, either.
When he reached the sidewalk, he knocked the mud from his shoes and went inside. He stopped at the bar, acknowledged the two guys from Kelham, and collected a beer from Walt McKinney before he walked back to join Hern and Redland, huddled in a dark corner in the back, near the rear exit.
He walked around the table and sat with his back to the corner, where he could watch the room and the door and everyone coming and going and the chair across from him, the one where Jasper usually sat.
Shaking his head, Eddie Hern said, “Helluva thing about Jasper. Won’t be needin’ that fourth chair for a while, for damn sure.”
“What about him?”
“Jasper,” Tony Redland snorted. “The idiot’s dead by now. Who does he think he is, Evel Knievel?”
“Stupid fool,” Hern agreed. “At least he didn’t try to jump the Grand Canyon.”
Redland said, “It’s one thing to jump a motorcycle across the tracks when the train’s comin’. Train’s predictable. Steady speed. Only one set of tracks. Pretty simple. Hell, anybody could do that.”
Hern shook his head. “Yeah, well, it’s a whole ’nother thing hittin’ an oncoming car head-on driving sixty miles an hour and flying over it to land on the other side.”
“Every kid has to have a hero, I guess. There’s worse heroes than Evel Knievel.” He swigged his beer and shook his head, as if he was hearing the story for the first time, and couldn’t believe it, either.
But he’d watched Jasper practice the jump out on the county road for hours on end. He’d used an old tractor somebody had abandoned long ago. He’d adjusted his speed, doing the calculations over and over, until Jasper claimed he could practically do the stunt in his sleep. The only variable was the speed of the oncoming vehicle. He’d had to estimate that since the tractor hadn’t been drivable for a couple of decades or so. Jasper had tested his calculations a few dozen times until he felt confident enough to pull it off.
Jasper was wearing protective gear for extra insurance. Full leathers and an airbag jacket and a full helmet. If he’d miscalculated somehow and come off the motorcycle, he believed he’d still be okay.
He’d planned the jump at precisely the right point on US 72, where the traffic cameras could record it all. Jasper not only wanted to do the jump but to be as famous as his hero afterward.
Jasper possibly could have done the stunt and come out fine. Worst case, he might have limped away with nothing more than broken bones.
Except things didn’t work out that way. Not for Jasper.
And not for Carolyn Blackhawk.
The jump went bad.
Just about everything that could have gone wrong did go wrong.
Jasper had crashed into the car instead of flying over the hood and the roof and landing upright on the bike on the pavement on the other side of the sedan.
The car had swerved and rolled over several times, all the way off the road, down the embankment, and into a tree.
Carolyn Blackhawk flew out of the car and died.
He shook his head.
Jasper was a fool, just like Hern said.
Jasper would die tonight without waking up. Without ever knowing what happened.
But Jasper would’ve died soon enough, anyway. All these guys had to be dispatched before he left the country—no way around it.
He felt bad about Carolyn Blackhawk, though. He’d liked her. She was a good woman. He had nothing against her. Nothing at all.
But her death wasn’t on him. Nina was the one responsible. If Nina hadn’t loaned her the damned car, Carolyn would still be alive.
Nothing he could do about that now. Carolyn was dead. Jasper was hanging on by a hair unless he’d died in the past half hour.
One could hope.
And Nina was still walking around.
Which meant he had four more murders to execute before he could bug out, instead of three. Jasper, Hern, Redland, Nina.
None of these fools knew his plans, though. No reason they should. They’d find out soon enough.
Redland folded his hands around his beer and leaned forward. “We’re on track. We’ve got the inventory at the storage joint. The trucks are rented. We want to go over the plan a couple more times, but that’s easy.”
Hern leaned in, too, and spoke quietly. “A few loose ends to cover yet—”
Luke Price staggered up, pulled out the extra chair where Jasper usually sat, and plopped his ass down like he owned the table. He’d been drinking for a while. The stench of stale booze wafted from his body like he’d fallen fully clothed into a vat of beer.
Redland scowled at him. “Get the hell outta here, Price. You stink.”
“Whatever you boys are plotting, I want a piece of the action,” Price said, his speech so slurred he was barely comprehensible.
Hern gave Price a hard stare. “We’re plottin’ how to kill your miserable ass. Go stand in front of the midnight train. Save us all some trouble.”
“You think you can take me out, Hern? Why don’t you try it.” Price said, standing up so swiftly he knocked the chair over. It landed with a bang on the crusty wood floor. He swayed unsteadily on his feet from the effort.
Redland stuck his foot out and tripped Price. He plopped and splayed on his ass next to the chair. Redland gave Price a swift kick to help him along. “Get the hell outta here and leave us alone.”
“Sorry.” Price cackled, and drool ran down his chin. Maybe he’d noticed he was trying to fight three against one. “I’m drunk.”
“No kidding,” Hern sneered.
Price scrambled off the floor and righted the chair. He stuck his chin out pugnaciously. “I’ll handle you tomorrow, Redland. When I sober up. Bring these two along with you.”
“Yeah, sure. Whatever,” Redland replied, turning his back to Price and ignoring his stumbling gait as he staggered his way toward the pool table.
After ten minutes or so, the noise level returned to normal inside Brannan’s. The pool game resumed. Business as usual, like the minor altercation had never happened.
Not that it mattered. The time for quiet talking was over. The three men who had huddled at the table in the back each had things to prepare.
Hern said, “Want me to deal with Price?”
The man in the corner shook his head. “Not yet. Too obvious if something happens to him now. He’s all bluster anyway. We’ll me
et up tomorrow at the storage joint at noon like we planned.”
Redland and Hern left the bar through the back door.
He remained in the chair in the corner, blending into the shadows, waiting for the right moment. When he felt confident that he wouldn’t be noticed, he slipped out the back.
He walked along the alley’s deserted sidewalks, close to the buildings, careful to stay out of sight of the cameras and the glow of streetlights. He’d seen the grainy video of Pak at the dogfight in New York on an earlier newscast. Cameras were everywhere. He had to be more careful.
He turned onto Main Street and headed toward the parking lot behind the grocery store at the end of the block, where he’d left another truck earlier in the day.
A quick drive to Memphis to take care of Jasper and then back. He’d be snug in his bed before daybreak.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Wednesday, May 11
Carter’s Crossing, Mississippi
9:15 p.m.
It was full dark and still raining for the remainder of the drive. Fog had settled on the road. Even with the windshield wipers slapping time, she could see only a few feet ahead, despite the SUV’s headlights.
She exited off US 72, slowed her speed, and traveled south and east. The road was dark and straight. Heavily wooded on both sides. The fog and the rain stayed with her.
After a while, the trees simply stopped, like the lumberjacks had snapped a plumb line and razed them in a straight row. Perhaps they had.
The smooth asphalt road flowed like a ribbon on a package. Open green space flanked the road on both sides, emphasizing the effect.
She followed it through a right turn to a straight street running north and south with low buildings on both sides. Main Street.
As she came closer to the town, she passed a building with a sign out front declaring it the Carter County Sheriff’s Office. It was set off by itself, a large parking lot out front. Old-fashioned, but new construction, suggested it had been built within the last fifteen years, probably on the site where the old one was torn down.