Desert Places

by Erica Abbott

  An hour later she sat back in the chair. A grumble of thunder outside the office windows caught her attention for a moment and she noticed a few splatters against the glass. The rain was beginning gently but her mind returned to everything she had just read.

  In researching case law concerning liability of public officials for wrongful acts committed prior to taking office, Todd had uncovered one notable case involving a state elected official who had committed tax fraud prior to his election. Because the fraud hadn’t been discovered until after he had taken office, the case discussed whether the official could be removed for acts that predated his election.

  Jean realized that it didn’t matter what the ruling in the cases had been. The fact that Todd had been researching them told her everything she needed to know about who was behind the murders. Jean hit the print key on the page with the search term and she heard the printer in the copy room across the hall begin to spit out the pages.

  Fred Lambert had given up the key fact in his deposition without being aware of it and it had gotten him murdered. When Todd had discovered the reference, he had disregarded it at first, as his draft memo indicated. Then he must have had second thoughts, Jean realized, and begun this line of research.

  She reached for the telephone and punched in Lea’s cell phone number.

  “Hi,” Lea answered. “I’m almost finished here. Are you at the office?”

  “Yes. Lea, I know who killed Lambert and Moorman. Or at least who ordered it done.”

  She’d been an idiot, she realized. The killer had an accomplice, someone who knew what had happened and had protected the conspiracy at every turn. She didn’t know why yet, but it had to have been—

  Del Franklin stood in the doorway of the office. She looked at his florid face for a moment before her gaze dropped involuntarily to his hands. One hand held the pages she’d just printed out. The other hand held a gun. She gripped the receiver so hard her fingers hurt.

  “Say goodbye and hang up right now,” Franklin said. “Don’t say another word.” He lifted the barrel of the gun a fraction of an inch for emphasis.

  Jean managed to choke out, “I have to go now. Goodbye.” Then she punched a button on the phone and slowly replaced the receiver.

  “Del,” she said, “why are you pointing a gun at me?” She was amazed at how calm her voice sounded.

  “I never should have hired you,” Del said through gritted teeth. “Goddamn nosy bitch. You couldn’t just mind your own fucking business.”

  “Are you the one who killed Fred Lambert and tried to make it look like it was the burglar?” Jean asked.

  “This is not a damn television show, McAllister. I’m not going to stand here and explain everything to you. Where is the file?”

  “What file?” How long could she play for time before he got impatient and just shot her?

  Franklin took a step forward and raised the gun again. His face was brick red, the veins in his forehead prominent as ropes. But his expression was cold. “I’m done fucking around with you. I told Rita to shred the file and she obviously screwed up. Now where are the fucking folders?”

  She tried to think of an answer that would help her but after a moment settled for responding with the truth. “The Tesóro Police Department has them. That’s where I read them, at the police station.”

  “God damn it to hell,” he snarled. He was close enough now that Jean could see sweat glistening at his hairline. “All right, get up. We’re going for a walk.”

  “No,” Jean answered immediately. “I’m not going anywhere with you, Del.”

  He shifted suddenly to her side of the desk and put the gun hard against her head. “If I have to I’ll blow your brains out right here. It’ll be a tragic suicide.”

  Jean wanted to laugh hysterically. Of all the deaths he could arrange for her, surely an apparent suicide would be too ironic to bear.

  How long had it been since he’d come into the office? One minute? Two? Her fear was making the time elongate grotesquely.

  “Where are we going?” she asked. Delay, delay.

  “Just a little walk,” Franklin said. “I just need for you to stay put for a while until I get out of here. I won’t hurt you unless you make me.”

  She didn’t believe a word of it, but she needed more time. “Tell me where we’re going.”

  “Upstairs,” he answered, jabbing her again with the gun. “Now move.”

  He pushed her ahead of him, grabbing her arm and steering her toward the stairs. The county attorney’s offices were already on the eighth floor and the only floor above them was the one housing the commissioners’ offices and meeting rooms. Were they going to meet Franklin’s boss? But they passed the door to that floor on the stairwell, so they must be headed to the roof.

  Was there a place for him to lock her in? No, he must be intending to shoot her outside the building on the roof, a place where no one would see them. Perhaps he was going to wait for some thunder to mask the gunshot.

  Franklin had no hope of getting away, but it didn’t help her to know that. For all the awful days after Charlotte’s death she had wished she were dead too, today she desperately wanted to live. How long could she delay him? How long would be long enough?

  Jean let herself slip on a stair, stumbling to her knees. Franklin dragged her up, wrenching her arm and sending pain shooting into her shoulder. “Clumsy bitch. Move!”

  She could hear the tension in his voice, thin and taut as a piano wire. He pushed her through the door marked Roof and she stumbled again, genuinely this time. Franklin let her fall and she waited a moment on her hands and knees, trying to catch her breath. Think, try to think.

  Cold raindrops splattered onto the back of her blouse, just a few but with the promise of a deluge soon. Franklin barked, “Stand up.”

  Jean got to her feet and looked around. The roof had a parapet about as high as Jean’s waist, topped with a single metal railing. There were a couple of structures, HVAC systems, she guessed, but nothing that looked like a storage shed. He was going to shoot her. She was going to die on this stupid roof before she could reclaim her life. Before she and Lea had even begun.

  In desperation she lunged at him, trying to wrestle the gun away. He jerked back in surprise, momentarily losing his balance as she clutched at his wrist. She pushed the weapon away, but with his free arm he slugged her clumsily in the face. Her glasses smashed into her nose then flew away. He punched her again and Jean went down, still maintaining her hands on the sleeve of his jacket.

  Franklin swung a heavy leg into her and Jean crumpled in pain as he caught her in the side. She waited for the next blow. The one that would finish her. The one from a bullet.

  Instead he was dragging her across the roof. The asphalt was scraping at her and she could feel blood streaming from the bridge of her nose.

  They hit something. He was dragging her up, trying to get her onto her feet. Why? She was dazed, but she continued to scrabble for his arm.

  “Motherfucker,” she heard him mutter.

  The next moment there was a hard rod across her stomach. He was bending her over and for a wild moment she thought he was going to rape her. Then she felt her center of gravity begin to shift forward. Into nothingness.

  He was going to throw her off the roof.

  Terror gave her strength. Jean twisted, facing him. He continued to push at her, the metal railing now crushed against her back.

  “No!” she screamed at him. Her grasping fingers found the front of his shirt and she clutched at him like an anchor. Rain was coming down harder and his face was wet and slick. His eyes bulged, his breath was rasping and hard on her cheek.

  “This is the sheriff!” She barely heard the yell above the crack of thunder. “Franklin, stop now!”

  Oh, thank God! Lea was here. Jean couldn’t see her, but Lea’s voice rang out again.

  “I’m warning you, Franklin. Let her go or I’ll shoot!”

  She saw no hesitation in his face. Oh, m
y God, Jean thought in all-out panic. He hadn’t heard Lea over the storm.

  She tried to scream at him but all her breath was taken away by struggling to keep her balance. She still couldn’t see Lea. She couldn’t see anything but Del’s face contorted in desperate rage, blurred by the pounding rain.

  Where was Lea? Jean feared she couldn’t fire her gun at them because Jean was locked in Franklin’s hold at the edge of the roof. She fought frantically.

  Franklin got one leg up on the edge of the parapet to increase his leverage

  “Fucking bitch!” he bellowed and pushed Jean over the edge.

  She tightened her grip on him in horror. She felt him fall toward her.

  They both went over together.

  At the last instant she let go of him, flailing out with both arms for anything to grasp. One hand caught something cold and hard.

  When she realized she wasn’t falling through space Jean fought to get her other arm onto the railing. She finally managed it, but something heavy was pulling her down toward oblivion. Her body felt impossibly heavy, twice its weight.

  Below her she heard screaming. It was Del, hanging on to her, wrapped around her legs, dragging her down toward death.

  The railing was slick with rain. She wasn’t going to be able to hold on for more than another second or two.

  Then Lea was there, her hands strong on Jean’s wrists. Her voice rang clearly over the pounding rain pouring into Jean’s face.

  “I have you!” Lea called. “Hold on, for God’s sake!”

  “I can’t,” Jean groaned. “I can’t!”

  “Hold on!” Lea yelled again. She leaned out over the railing, her body nearly over the edge.

  Jean screamed, “Let go, Lea! We’ll pull you over!”

  She felt the release of Lea’s hands on her arms and knew that Lea was going to let loose of her and let them fall. Jean tried to look up into the stream of rain flooding over her. She wanted Lea’s face to be the last thing she saw.

  She felt an icy circle of steel against one wrist. Lea snapped the other end of the handcuff onto the railing and folded Jean’s fingers around it.

  “Hold on,” Lea said again, the words harsh in her throat.

  Lea slid over and leaned out even more. “Franklin!” she yelled. “Give me your hand!”

  Her fingers of one hand slipped off the wet metal. Jean cried out, scrambling to regain her hold. The metal of the handcuff bit into her wrist.

  The pain in her shoulders was agonizing. Jean screamed as she felt Franklin shift, crawling up her body. Lea loomed over them with one arm stretched out to grab at him.

  “Give me your hand!” Lea called out again.

  A flash of lightning tore through the sky. Jean felt another shift, then a blessed release of the weight dragging her down. For a moment she thought Lea had him, but the next instant she heard the scream echoing up from the alley below her, piercing through the sharp crash of thunder.

  Her arms felt wrenched half out of their sockets. Jean managed to lift one hand up to the railing into Lea’s grasp.

  “I’ve got you!” Lea gasped.

  She pulled Jean up, wrestling her over the metal railing. Jean sprawled on the rough asphalt trying to ground herself back into the world.

  Dimly she was aware of Lea releasing the handcuff. Jean’s arms ached, her face hurt, her ribs were sore. But she welcomed the pain because it reminded her keenly that she was alive.

  Jean leaned back and realized Lea was sitting on the roof behind her, holding her. The rain was freezing cold on her skin but Lea’s arms encircled her, strong and warm.

  “I’ve got you,” Lea repeated. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

  * * *

  Jean couldn’t get her fingers to work well enough to get her key into the lock of her condo. Lea leaned over and gently took it from her. She unlocked and opened the door.

  “I’m sorry,” Jean said. “My hands are just so cold.”

  “I should have made you go to the hospital,” Lea said. “I’m not sure the paramedics checked you out enough.”

  “I’ll be fine once I warm up.” Jean shut the door behind them and went wearily into the kitchen. “I’m thinking we’re not up for the casserole tonight.”

  Lea followed her. “Go sit down. I’ll make coffee, it’ll help warm you. You’re really sure you don’t want to go to the emergency room?”

  Jean sagged limply onto the couch in the living room. “I’m sure. My shoulders are sore, but there’s not much they can do for that. Everything else is just minor. God, I’m just freezing.”

  In a minute Lea brought her coffee, steam rising from the mug. “Drink this,” Lea urged her. “In a second I’ll go run a hot bath for you. A good soak will help too.”

  Jean wrapped her fingers around the mug, drawing the heat into her bones. The first taste of the hot, bitter coffee rolled through her warmly.

  The evening was surreal to her, the sharp edges of her memories smudged by the few minutes of stark terror on the roof.

  Franklin had fallen nine stories to his death. The red emergency lights had pulsed in the alley for what seemed like hours, glistening on the rain-soaked pavement in garish tones. Jean had looked down from the roof at the broken doll of Franklin’s body before the police covered him.

  Officers in uniforms and officers in plain clothes had asked endless questions of her and of Lea as well. Jean wondered how much longer it would have taken them to get home if Lea hadn’t been the sheriff.

  The Tesóro police finally let them go. Jean couldn’t drive home safely without her glasses, so Lea got her truck and took them back. During the short ride home she and Lea hadn’t talked, but Lea had held Jean’s hand tightly all the way to her door.

  Jean looked up to see Lea watching her with a frown creasing her forehead. “I’m all right,” Jean said.

  “I’m sorry,” Lea said quietly. “I was almost too late.”

  “Oh, God, Lea.” Jean reached over and grasped her hand. “You saved my life.”

  “You saved yourself. Franklin had no idea you put the phone call to me on speaker?”

  Jean shook her head. “I was afraid you’d say something, but it was all I could think of to do. You must have run all the way.”

  “I was crazy to get to you,” Lea answered and Jean realized for the first time how terrified Lea must have been.

  Jean put her coffee cup down and went into Lea’s embrace. Lea tightened her arms around her and Jean said, “I’m sorry you were scared.”

  “I thought I was going to lose you,” Lea whispered.

  Jean smiled a little. “For a minute there, I thought you had too,” she answered.

  Lea stroked her hand slowly down Jean’s back. “How did you figure out the accomplice was Franklin?” she asked.

  “It had to be,” Jean said. “He told Rita to destroy the Lambert file. And he tried to keep Lambert from testifying about the people Lambert did the grading roadwork for at the deposition. I should have put it together sooner.” She lifted her head and met Lea’s eyes. “I wasn’t doing something stupid, Lea. I just couldn’t stop wondering what the connection was.”

  “Okay,” Lea said, kissing her temple. “It’s okay.”

  “I just can’t believe he killed Todd too,” Jean continued. “Do you think you’ll be able to prove it?”

  “I think there’s at least a fifty-fifty chance he used the same gun to shoot Lambert and Todd and that it’s the one we found on his body. When we verify that, we’ll get an arrest warrant for his boss.”

  The memory of the cold metal barrel of the gun against her head made her shudder. Lea said, “Let’s not talk about this any more tonight. Go take off your wet clothes and I’ll run you that bath.”

  Jean stripped off in the laundry room to put her clothes in the dryer, sadly removing the black underwear she’d put on that morning in happy anticipation. Lea hadn’t given her any indication that she would be staying tonight and Jean knew they couldn’t recapture
the anticipation they had shared. But her body was humming with yearning. She suspected it was the aftermath from the terrors of the evening but all she could think about was the way Lea’s arms felt around her as she stepped into her robe.

  In the bathroom. Lea was sitting on the side of the bathtub, holding her hand under the water running from the tap. “Almost ready,” Lea said.

  Jean crossed the room and turned off the water. “I don’t want a bath,” she said.

  She heard Lea’s breath catch. “Then what do you want?”

  “You,” Jean answered. “I want you.”

  Lea stood and moved next to Jean, so close but without touching her. “Jean, you went through something awful. We don’t have to do anything just because you feel, I don’t know, grateful or scared or—”

  Jean took off her robe and let it drop to the floor. She watched Lea’s face transform into something wonderful, filled with a fierce desire.

  “Lea, please,” Jean said.

  Lea took Jean in her arms and kissed her with slow, heated deliberation. Jean said against her mouth, “Now, now.”

  Lea backed Jean up against the vanity. Jean was desperate for her touch and she demanded Lea’s passion with urgent pleading. She trembled in Lea’s intimate embrace, warmth inundating her body with pleasure. Lea held her upright as her climax ebbed.

  “Jean,” Lea murmured in the quiet, her hand soft between Jean’s thighs. Lea buried her face into the gentle curve of her neck.

  Legs trembling, Jean murmured, “Come to bed with me.”

  Lea drew back and Jean saw uncertainty in her eyes. Jean smiled. “Oh, we’re just getting started.”

  * * *

  Jean lay on her clean sheets and watched Lea as she undressed. Lea had her eyes on Jean’s face and Jean smiled at her. Lea gave her the crooked smile that turned Jean’s heart over. She could see how relaxed Lea was in her own body and it made her even more attractive. She said, “You have no idea how much I want you.”

  “This isn’t what I’d call going slowly.”