by J K Ellem
Giles stared after Daisy as she stormed off. He turned back to Shaw. “Like I said, I’m sorry about what happened.”
“Come up to the house, we’ll sort it out there. Daisy’s hurt and upset about the horses, as you can imagine. Please don’t take her words to heart. The Morgans are not to blame. She’s just emotional.”
Giles smiled. “Much appreciated, glad someone around here is being reasonable.”
Shaw nodded and led the way.
Twenty minutes later, after Daisy had let the horses loose in a paddock for them to be free for a while, she walked back up to the homestead. She swung open the screen door, turned into the kitchen and stopped.
A shattered cup was on the white tiled floor with a splatter of coffee. Taylor Giles lay next to the mess, face down, his body not moving.
Shaw stood over him and motioned at Daisy. “Grab his legs.”
34
Now was the time and the basement was the place. Shaw was going to show Taylor Giles how unreasonable he could be, if he didn’t start telling the truth.
They stripped Giles down to his boxers and undershirt, and handcuffed him to a metal copper water pipe that was bracketed to the cinderblock wall. Shaw had tested the wall mounts holding the pipe and they would hold, no matter how much Giles struggled in pain.
His uniform was folded neatly on a chair a few feet away from him, and his duty belt and police radio was draped over the back of the chair. Shaw removed the handgun from its holster, stripped it apart and left it in pieces in a shoebox on the workbench. If by some miracle Giles managed to break free from his own handcuffs by chewing off his own hand, Shaw doubted he would know how to reassemble a completely broken-down Glock.
Shaw sent Daisy upstairs to get cleaned up while he watched the unconscious Giles, and then when he had gone to take a shower himself and change into a clean set of clothes, Daisy stood watch with her Winchester. They had locked all the doors and windows so the house was completely secure in case they had visitors.
Shaw returned and stood next to Daisy. He walked over to the slumped Giles and started kicking his leg.
“Come on, wake up. Wake up!” Shaw kicked him harder, then walked over to the shelves and picked up an empty paint can. He tipped out the pile of screws and washers inside it, went to the laundry sink, and filled up the can.
He threw the cold water in Giles' face and placed the can on the ground.
Giles spluttered, spitting water. His head lolled and his eyelids flashed open, his eyes slowly coming into focus. An ugly purple bruise had started to form on the corner of his mouth where Shaw had hooked him.
Giles looked confused, wondering why he was half-naked, sitting on a hard concrete floor, with both his hands handcuffed to a pipe above his head. He pulled hard, but the pipe didn’t budge.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing!” he yelled. “I’m a damn cop. You’ll be thrown into jail for this.”
Shaw glanced at Daisy.
She nodded.
Slowly Shaw picked up another chair, carried it to within just a few feet of Giles, swiveled it around and sat down on it backwards so he could rest his arms on the back. It was his preferred sitting position for interrogations with a hostile subject, the most comfortable. He had once sat for six hours like this in a chair, questioning a man in the basement of a government building. Just Shaw, a chair, the man, four soundproof walls and a video camera in the corner. He didn’t get up out of the chair once.
“Who said you were a cop?” Shaw asked.
Giles pulled at the handcuffs angrily. “Get these damn things off me!” he yelled again.
“Who set the stables on fire?” Shaw said, his voice low and calm, but his eyes drilled into Giles with a slow, unnerving determination.
“It wasn’t me!”
“Then who was it?”
“I don’t know. I’m a cop.”
Shaw smiled. “You’re no cop. You’re a stooge for the Morgans. Billy Morgan whistles and you come running like the mutt you are.”
Giles shifted his eyes from Shaw to Daisy.
“Oh, she knows about you. I’ve told her,” Shaw replied. “Small town cop who wants to impress. New car. Jim Morgan’s got you on the payroll.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Giles said defiantly.
“Sure you do,” Shaw said. “Who set the stables on fire?” he said again. He could do this all day. Giles would eventually break, but he didn’t have all day. Time was running out. Shaw needed to escalate things.
“Go fuck yourself!” Giles spat. “I’m a cop, you can’t touch me.”
“I might not.” Shaw nodded over his shoulder at Daisy. “But she might. After all, you killed her horses.”
“I killed nothing.”
Shaw smiled. “Plenty of nice tools down here.” It was an odd comment to make.
Giles looked past Shaw to the pin board above the workbench. Hacksaws, pliers and hammers hung neatly on small hooks.
Shaw continued. “They say women are more vengeful than men, especially when it comes to the animals they own and love. They see them as part of the family, even treat them better than humans.” Shaw let the words hang, keen to see the expression on Giles.
“You still can’t touch me. There are laws against that.”
“Laws?” Shaw leaned forward, balancing on two legs of the chair. “The same laws that Jim Morgan and his sons break every day while you turn a blind eye?”
Daisy stepped closer. “You killed my horses.” She still held the Winchester low. She wasn’t stupid.
“I don’t care about your damn horses! Maybe you should have kept one of the dead ones. They looked well-cooked from what I saw. Make a change from all the beef you eat. Maybe they taste like chicken.”
Daisy lunged at Giles, venom in her eyes, but Shaw caught her just in time and held her. He shook his head and pulled her aside.
Giles laughed. “Keep your bitch on a leash, tough-guy. Maybe all those years here alone have screwed with her head. She used to be a nice chick in high school, now she’s just a nut-job, that’s what they all say about her.”
It took every ounce of effort for Daisy not to bring her rifle to her shoulder and put a round into Taylor Giles’ head. Instead, she handed Shaw her rifle and went to the workbench. She came back with a roll of thick silver duct tape.
“Really?” Giles looked up at her. “Keep that on your bedside table in case your boyfriend here feels like a late-night—” Daisy bent down and smacked Giles hard across the mouth. She pulled a length of the duct tape, a harsh ripping sound.
Giles looked over at Shaw, blood trickling from his lips, his teeth stained red. “Hey man, did Billy tell you what he did to Daisy on the—”
Daisy slapped the tape across his mouth before Giles could finish the sentence, pressing it hard against his face, none too gentle. “Shut your mouth,” she hissed. “You’re just the same retard you were in high school. Just older and dumber.”
“What now?” Daisy said, taking back her rifle from Shaw.
“He’s not going anywhere,” Shaw replied.
Giles looked at them, his eyes glowing hatred, muffled insults behind the tape.
Shaw looked around the basement then spotted something. He walked to the far corner, near the boiler, and picked up something heavy and brought it back.
As soon as Giles saw what Shaw was carrying the insults stopped, replaced with silence and abject horror in his eyes.
A cinder block is a concrete brick, eight inches by sixteen inches, used for retaining walls and building foundations. Despite it having two internal hollow sections, it was still twenty-eight pounds of hardened masonry concrete with a rough surface and sharp unbevelled edges and corners.
Shaw easily carried the cinder block in one hand. Giles started to squirm on the floor, pushing up until his back was hard against the wall, he had nowhere to go. He kicked his legs at Shaw as he approached, but it was futile.
Switching to two h
ands, Shaw lifted the concrete block to his chest and stood between Giles’ legs. Shaw angled one corner of the block until it was directly over Giles’ groin.
He raised it a little higher for effect.
“I failed physics in high school,” Shaw smiled, adjusting the block in his hands as Giles wriggled. “But I know when I let go of this concrete block gravity is going to make a mess of your manhood.”
Screams came from behind the duct tape, but Shaw ignored them. He looked Giles straight in the eye, his expression hard and ruthless. “I’m only going to ask you one more time before I let go of this.”
Tears started to stream from the corners of Giles’ eyes and it sounded like he was choking.
“Who set the stables on fire?” Shaw said.
Giles nodded, his head going up and down like he was convulsing.
“Do you want to talk?” Shaw asked.
Giles kept nodding.
Shaw lowered the block and placed it on the floor. He squatted in front of Giles and violently ripped off the tape.
“Billy Morgan!” he spluttered in a spray of tears, sweat and saliva. “It was Billy Morgan. But I had nothing to do with it, I swear.”
Shaw nodded. Taylor Giles was broken. He was still a kid who was trying to act like a tough guy, another one of the Morgan minions who had been manipulated into doing the family bidding.
“What else are they planning?” Shaw asked.
“I don’t know. Honestly I don’t.”
Shaw stood and picked up the concrete block again.
“No!” Giles screamed. “I don’t know anything else.”
Shaw lifted the block higher, holding it over the man's groin again. “It’s not enough. Tell me more.”
“Look, they are having a gathering tonight. I’m supposed to be there. That’s all I know. Please,” Giles begged. “That’s all I know.” Giles began to whimper like a child.
Shaw actually felt sorry for him. The kid was just a pawn in a bigger game. He laid down the block and squatted again in front of Giles, his face just inches from his. “What do you mean gathering?”
“Important people, people who help them. People from the town, county officials, some police officers, other business people and the like.” Giles said, his words coming out in a sorrowful gush.
Shaw imagined the ‘gathering’ was some kind of community get-together of the Morgan faithful. Corrupt officials and supporters who had benefitted from Jim Morgan’s dishonesty and bullying.
“Are you expected to go?” Shaw demanded.
Giles just nodded and sniveled.
Shaw tore a fresh strip of tape and plastered it across his mouth again.
“Come on,” Shaw said to Daisy. He grabbed the police uniform off the chair together with the two-way radio. They left Giles in the basement and went back up the stairs. Daisy locked the basement door behind her.
35
There were long shadows in the hallway, it would be dark in a few hours. They moved to the kitchen.
“What are you going to do?” Daisy asked.
Shaw placed the police uniform and two-way radio on the kitchen bench, then started to get undressed. “I’m going to wait until it’s dark, then I’m going to pay the Morgans a visit.” He put on the police shirt. It was a tight fit, Giles was smaller, but Shaw wasn’t big or bulky. He managed to squeeze the buttons closed then he tucked the shirt into his jeans. There was no way the uniform pants would fit. Hopefully no one would see the ill-fitting shirt and wrong pants from a distance. He slipped the keys to the police cruiser into his own pocket.
“I want you to keep all the doors and windows locked. Go back into the basement and keep guard over him. You’ve got more than enough firepower and ammunition down there to defend against an army.”
“I’m coming with you,” Daisy said defiantly. She didn’t want to be left behind. This was personal. She wanted Billy Morgan. She wanted him dead. Killing her horses was the final tipping-point. It had gone beyond being just some old family feud. It had escalated beyond anything she had expected.
Shaw shook his head. “No way. They will recognize you. At least I’ve got a disguise. You, they’ll spot a mile away.” Shaw didn’t stand out, because he knew how to blend in, go unnoticed, melt into the periphery. But Daisy’s face was burned on the minds of each Morgan brother. Even if she tried to disguise her appearance they would make her. These guys were sexual predators, she would attract more attention.
“I need you here to guard Giles. If he runs, he’ll run straight to the Morgan compound. I can’t risk that.”
“But what if someone comes looking for him?”
“Then just tell them he left. Tell them he’s gone to the Morgan ranch. That’s where he said he was going. Plus if he doesn’t turn-up, it will raise suspicion.”
Shaw picked up the police radio. So far it hadn’t made a sound. If a call came through from the police dispatcher he would have to somehow mask his voice and respond. The police cruiser would also have police GPS tracking. But they knew Giles had responded to the call at the McAlister ranch, so his location here was expected. Giles was also expected to be at the gathering at the Morgan’s ranch, so that sat well with what Shaw was planning.
By the time Shaw left Daisy the sun had sunk below the horizon and the light was fading fast. He went down the front steps to the police cruiser. He released the trunk with the key and looked inside. Body armor, ammunition can, tool box, standard equipment you would find in the trunk of most police cars. He grabbed a police baseball cap and put it on.
Shaw shut the trunk and slid into the driver's seat. There was a shotgun upfront in a vertical rack between the front seats, a rugged-looking swivel mount laptop computer and a large side-mounted GPS screen. The cruiser would be tracked from the moment he turned the key. So he did, and the engine growled to life. He took one last look at the front of the homestead where Daisy stood on the porch, the glow of the lights behind her and her rifle in one hand. He nodded, did a tight turn and headed down the driveway and out onto the main road.
Shaw hunkered down over the wheel as traffic passed him by. He had the baseball cap pulled down low, the brim obscuring his face. He didn’t want to draw any undue attention. Giles was well-known and spent most of his time patrolling Martha’s End and the surrounding county. He was a familiar face to the locals and Shaw wasn’t, but he was driving his patrol car.
* * *
The sky was a river of molten lead. It boiled and rolled with a threatening menace as Shaw drove. Lighting arced across the windshield, but the clouds hadn’t unleashed their heaviness. Shaw had his window down, the wind in his face was cold and biting, thick with the earthy smell of approaching rain. The atmosphere prickled and hissed as the dark blanket of clouds descended around him.
It wasn’t far to the Morgan property and he soon spotted the fortified entrance. He wound up the window and edged the cruiser to a stop slightly away from the security camera mounted next to the gates.
There was no intercom pad.
Good. No reason to face them.
The camera swiveled towards the cruiser and angled down.
He turned his head away, chin tucked low, like he was busy on the laptop, fingers moving, keys untouched. The camera was pointing directly at him. He could feel eyes on him, miles away, looking at his pixelated image on some screen. He leaned further back from the window, scratched the side of his face slightly longer than needed, making him less visible, obscuring the camera's view.
He rested his elbow on the inside of the window sill, drummed his fingers impatiently, and imagined a clipboard being pulled off a hook somewhere, a finger or pen nib running down a list of names, a car plate being matched. A tick made next to a name.
The gates clicked and slowly swung open. Shaw let out a huge sigh of relief.
Shaw waved at the camera, keeping his hand in front of his face as he passed. Hays County Police Officer Taylor Giles had been confirmed as a member of the Morgan community, a guest,
a supporter, an ally in their treachery.
A gravel road stretched in front of Shaw only as far as the headlights could reach. The gates closed behind him and he felt a tightening of his gut. He was entering hostile territory, with the threat of being shot dead if he was discovered.
He hit the gas and the cruiser accelerated away from the gates with a throaty grumble and for the first time in a long time Shaw felt totally alone. No partner. No back-up. No one to save his ass, if it all went wrong. It was a new sensation for him. But he needed to know. He wanted answers. He couldn’t just move on like normal people could. He couldn’t turn a blind eye like the others in Martha’s End. The town was thick with injustice and he couldn’t help himself. He needed to right the wrongs or do his best trying, even at the risk of his own safety.
The headlights bobbed and weaved across the barren landscape, the inside of the cruiser dark except for the glow from a multitude of display screens and instrumentation that resembled the intensive care unit of a hospital. He glanced every few seconds at the GPS screen and watched the green triangle shape of his car as it slid further along the digital line of the road, a sea of black on either side.
The screen showed nothing ahead. No other roads, intersections, structures. But he could feel something, an enormous mountain of menace in the distance ahead. The Morgan compound was there, somewhere in the abyss in front of him.
Shaw pressed the gas a little more, the tires crunched and the engine responded.
A minute later a glow rimmed the horizon ahead, and the outline of hills on either side.
Then the rain came.
No warning, no gradual patter of drops, just a violent and sudden deluge. Huge sheets of water, vertical and hard, fell on the roof of the cruiser that echoed with the beat of a thousand hammers on the sheet metal.
Shaw flipped the wipers up to full, and the blades pushed deep rivers of water back and forth across the windshield, only providing milliseconds of visibility between sweeps.