Blood from a Stone

by David M. Salkin

  “Like I can sleep,” she said.

  We hung up, and I wondered if we’d be okay. We’d only been dating for such a short time, and had already been through more than couples who were married for a lifetime. I hoped so. I loved that woman.

  When I walked back downstairs, I could hear a state police officer giving George a hard time. He was demanding to interview me personally. George told him to call Special Agent in Charge Hess. No one was talking to me other than the FBI.

  That was fine with me. There was a lot of testosterone downstairs. I just sat on the stairs and listened to them argue until the state police officer left, then I walked downstairs, feeling whatever it was that comes after complete exhaustion.

  “Thanks,” I said to George.

  Ronnie walked up behind him. “Good job tonight. I’d share a foxhole with you.” Where I come from, that’s the ultimate compliment. “Thanks, man. I guess it worked out how it was supposed to. You got enough on tape to prove he killed Anne. He’s dead. You saved some taxpayer money and prevented him from fucking up my country.”

  “Well,” George said, “I’m not sure how much the tapes will prove, but it was a justified shooting with plenty of eyewitnesses. Now comes the paperwork. Go upstairs and get some sleep. We’ll be at this all night. There’s no sense in everyone feeling like shit tomorrow.”

  I thought about Stone dead in my yard. “Actually, this is the best I’ve felt since I found that damn book.”

  George and Ronnie walked off with their computers to begin their massive pile of paperwork, and I remained in my kitchen, looking out of the window to my rear yard and gardens. I could still see the dark red blood, dried now on the angels’ faces like permanent tears.

  Casey had been avenged…and so had Ben. And Anne? Well, I’d leave her judgment for a higher authority. I’d never know how much she knew about Casey’s abuse at the hands of her twisted husband. I suppose she’d been dealing with her own hell on earth. But still, she should have protected her child. Where I came from, a person always sacrificed their personal safety for their battle buddies. Always. I didn’t know how to process it. Those were moccasins I’d never walked in.

  I went upstairs and flopped face-down on my bed. I may have been asleep before my head hit the pillow.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  It’s Over

  I woke up at sunrise to the sounds of people walking around downstairs. I smelled coffee brewing in my kitchen, thank God, and got out of bed with a groan. While stretching my shoulder a bit, it dawned on me that I felt like I’d been hit by a bus. I threw on some fresh jeans and a shirt from the piles that were still strewn all over my room. One of these days, I’d have to pick all that stuff up.

  I washed up in the upstairs bathroom and walked downstairs. Ronnie was the first person I saw, and he had a Styrofoam cup of beautiful coffee in one hand and a doughnut in the other. He presented them to me with fanfare and a slight bow.

  “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he said with a smile. “I told you, doughnuts before ten. Then we switch to pizza.”

  I took the coffee and considered kissing Ronnie. “You guys been to sleep yet?”

  “Sleep is overrated. Who needs sleep after a hundred coffees? You’ll be happy to know that we picked up around the backyard. You have a young lady waiting for you out there. She’s been here since two a.m.”

  “Amanda’s here?” I could feel my heart speed up. God, I wanted to see her!

  “A reporter. Kim’s her name. Agent Bauman said she’s ‘part of the deal’, whatever that means. She’s been on her cell phone back there since before sunup. There were bodies everywhere when she arrived, and she was smiling from ear to ear. You hang out with some strange people, Cory Walker.”

  I laughed. Her big break.

  I thanked Ronnie for the coffee and headed out back. I guess I was expecting to see bodies, blood and Feds everywhere. Instead, the yard was completely empty, except for Kim, and the sun, shining in a blue sky. They had sanitized everything like nothing had ever happened back there. Someone had even been considerate enough to hose down the angels.

  But there was no missing the yellow crime scene tape that screamed Do Not Cross that had been stretched around the perimeter of my property, and as word spread from the tiny community of Harkers Island out to the mainland—and by that, I mean China—dozens of reporters began finding their way to our sleepy little island. The Feds and local deputies kept them off my property, and they were complaining about why Kim was allowed back there. She saved our asses, and you didn’t, so go eff yourselves.

  I found Kim sitting on the same bench I’d sat on when all hell had broken loose, smiling and typing like mad on her laptop with ear buds in. When she saw me, her face turned serious, and I heard her say, “He’s here. I’ll call you back.”

  She put her laptop down and ran over to me. “Cory!” She threw her arms around me and gave me a hug. She pulled back and looked at me. “Are you okay?” she asked, sounding ever-so-serious.

  “I’m fine. They sure cleaned up the yard,” I said, almost to myself as I looked around.

  Hell, maybe they weeded for me, too.

  “Yeah, but not until I got here and took about a thousand pictures last night under their lights. I had the scoop in this morning’s paper—front page, above the fold. It’ll be all over the world by now, but I had it first. I owe you—and that George Bauman—big time.”

  “So you’ve got your Pulitzer in the works?”

  “You never know. The sheriff’s department wasn’t even let in, and they were going crazy. The FBI had sealed off the entire area, and other than some state police guys who were allowed, I was the only one! And I’m the only one who will have an interview with Cory Walker. A Kim Predham exclusive! I was just waiting to talk to you. I need some quotes.”

  “Quotes? ‘The sick fuck is dead and his daughter can rest in peace.’ How’s that for a quote?”

  “I may have to paraphrase that.”

  “Ask your questions, and let’s get this over with. I really just want all this to be over and done with. You know what I mean?”

  “Totally. On the record, how did you find the diary?”

  I answered every question for the next thirty-five minutes without complaint. Kim had helped me more than I’d helped her, and I always pay my debts. As soon as she was finished, she thanked me and hopped back on her laptop and her phone.

  George walked out to the yard and told me they were wrapping up.

  Kim had thanked me a hundred times and raced off to get back to the office, although her story was already filed via email and the paper was already on the newsstands. She had Rosman thank me personally, although the gratitude was quite mutual.

  “This story is on every news source in the country. Harkers Island is going to be a very busy place,” George said. “You may want to take a trip somewhere quieter, Cory.”

  “Yeah, I was thinking about trying to re-enlist,” I said.

  “Special Agent Hess already started making some noise in Washington. You can rest assured the grand jury will never hear your old case, and the prosecutor who pushed for a grand jury will be looking for a new job tomorrow. I’m doubtful we’ll ever find the shooter in the McDade murder. If he was connected to the guys on the beach, we have a shot. The lab is working up IDs on them. In any event, you can put this all behind you. For whatever it’s worth, you did a great job.”

  “Wanna buy a house?” I asked him.

  He laughed. “Not on my salary. Besides, with the next news cycle, all this will be forgotten and you’ll have a beautiful place to live happily ever after in. I got a call. They’re bringing Amanda over.”

  Lejeune was only sixty miles away, which meant she’d be back soon. I couldn’t wait for her to get here.

  George gave me a light smack on my good shoulder. “We’ll get out of your hair. I’m leaving an agent out front for the next couple of days, in case the press or anyone else goes overboard. Oh, and I left your illeg
al Mossberg that I never saw up in your room. Even had it cleaned and oiled. That’s a nasty little weapon you have there, Cory.”

  “An old friend. Thanks for everything, George. You ever want to come out ‘feeshing’, just call. Bring Ronnie and we’ll hang out some weekend.”

  “Yeah? I might just take you up on that.”

  Chapter Fifty

  Six Hush Puppies

  By the time Amanda arrived from Lejeune, I was the only one left at the house. The Feds had left, pretty much without a trace. One lone ‘tourist’ with mirrored sunglasses and a bulge on his hip was parked out front, occasionally getting out to walk around the block.

  I was standing in the kitchen, making a halfhearted stab at putting things away, when Amanda walked in. Suffice it to say, there was a lot of hugging, kissing and saying ‘I love you’. We spent the entire day cleaning the house. It was cathartic, and when we were finished cleaning, I think we both felt ‘cleaner’ ourselves. We finished the day with a long hot shower and some personal time. It was after five and we were both famished.

  “I know a place that makes great hush Puppies,” I said.

  “You buying?” she asked.

  “You know it. And, if we get a double order, then each person can have equal amounts so there won’t be any long-held hard feelings.”

  We were going to walk, but the agent out front insisted on playing chauffeur. We sat in the back, holding hands.

  “This feels like another first date,” I said. Then I leaned closer to her ear and whispered, “Are you gonna marry me or what?”

  “Maybe,” she said. “Let’s see how dinner goes. I’ve had some pretty bad first dates.”

  Together, Amanda and I read the front page of Carteret Inqurier.

  Congressman Killed in Shootout

  Harkers Island

  Kim Predham

  Earl Stone, sixty-two, U. S. House of Representatives, D-SC and Presidential hopeful, has been fatally shot by FBI agents on Harkers Island. Stone has been implicated in the death of his late wife, Anne Stone, who allegedly committed suicide in 1991 after learning of the brutal rape and murder of their daughter, Casey, sixteen. Cory Walker, a veteran of the Iraq and Afghanistan wars and a decorated Special Forces soldier, purchased a house in late August of this year on Harkers Island that was once owned by the Stone family. While doing renovations, he discovered a diary believed to be written by Casey. The diary has been turned over to the FBI.

  According to a confidential source close to the investigation, the diary reveals a pattern of sexual, physical and mental abuse perpetrated by Earl Stone. The sources claim that Anne Stone did not commit suicide as had been originally reported. Earl Stone is alleged to have strangled her and hanged her body in the family residence. Stone allegedly used his influence to cover up the murder, as well as evidence of sexual assault. Benjamin McComb, then seventeen, was found guilty for the rape and murder of Casey Stone. After being interviewed by Walker in Maury Prison, McComb was brutally murdered. Several prison guards have been suspended with pay, pending further investigation. Stone allegedly sent a team of professional hit men to kill Walker, in an attempt to end the investigation. Walker, with the assistance of two local Harkers Island fishermen, Caleb Jackson and Thomas Woods, killed what has been described by the FBI as ‘a number of professional hitmen’, who were seeking to obtain the diary.

  The FBI has announced that Walker, Woods and Jackson will not be charged. The three men will be awarded the FBI’s Civilian Meritorious Service Medal. The FBI continues its investigation into undue influence peddling by the late Earl Stone, including charges aimed at the Eastern Carolina Prosecutor’s Office. Carteret County Sheriff Wade McFadden has announced his retirement, pending formal inquiries into his involvement in this case nearly twenty years ago.

  Regarding this case so unbelievable that it has sent shockwaves through the entire country, FBI Special Agent George Bauman said, “Heinous crimes occurred almost twenty years ago which were considered solved. As a result of corruption and manipulation by Congressman Earl Stone, an innocent man, Benjamin McComb, was sent to prison, where he was recently murdered. If not for the courage and conviction of Cory Walker, this case might never have been properly solved. The country owes the North Carolina native a debt of gratitude for his service, once again, to his country.”

  In an Inquirer exclusive, Walker said that while he wished the entire event had never occurred, “I am satisfied that the truth has finally come to light and that Earl Stone has finally been given his proper sentence.” Walker expressed his deepest sympathies for Casey Stone. Tomorrow—an exclusive in-depth interview with Cory Walker.

  * * * *

  The real estate section, two weeks later

  For Sale—

  276 Turtle Cove Road, Harkers Island

  Magnificent estate home, a short walk from the beach.

  Turn-of-the-century Victorian, four bedrooms, three-and-a-half baths, two

  fireplaces, open kitchen, wine cellar. Hardwood floors throughout.

  Magnificent gardens. A must-see. $450,000.

  * * * *

  I woke up to the smell of coffee. When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was my amazing Amanda, wearing my T-shirt from the night before and a beautiful smile. She was holding my coffee in her left hand, her engagement ring sparkling in the sunrise through the window.

  “Wow. If I had known you were going to make me coffee in the morning if I gave you a diamond, I would have done that a long time ago,” I said.

  “I might not have said yes a long time ago,” she said, handing me my hot cup of joe. No macchiato vente soy bullshit—just a regular ol’ cup of joe. Unlike mine, her coffee always came out perfectly. She sat on the bed next to me and asked, “So now what are we going to do?”

  We had sold the house on Harkers Island in three weeks to a lawyer from New Jersey named Lou Scalzo, who was looking for a quiet summer home away from the typical tourist places. An avid fisherman, Scalzo quit his practice, moved to Harkers Island full-time and opened a charter business with his first mate, none other than Mike Jackson. Their first week, they broke the North Carolina record with a ten-foot long, one-hundred-eighty-pound sailfish.

  We were in her apartment in Twin Oaks on a month-to-month lease, since she had gotten out of the lease to come move down to Harkers Island with me, and that hadn’t gone so well.

  “What are we going to do now?” I echoed her early morning question. “We are going to travel around the United States of America and have the best time ever. And when we find a perfect spot, we are going to settle down, get married and live happily ever after.”

  She leaned over and gave me a kiss, even with my morning breath. She was leaning close, her eyes smiling, when she asked me, “Can I do a background check on the house before we buy it this time?”

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  Heat: A Love to Kill For

  Conor Corderoy

  Excerpt

  I parked my TVR Daemon outside Noddy’s Diner on the Portobello Road, put my ‘Doctor on Call’ sign on the windshield, loped through the gray rain and pushed through the door. Chandler once described a woman as the kind who’d make a bishop kick holes in a stained glass window. This one would have had him burning down the Vatican with the Pope strapped to the roof of the Sistine Chapel. It wasn’t just that she was a drop-dead looker. She was. She had all her curves in the right places, bobbed black hair, crimson, Cupid’s-bow mouth and slow sea-green eyes. But more than that, she managed to look vulnerable and lethal at the same time in a way that stirred your primal urges till you had smoke billowing out of your sphygmomanometer. Yeah, look it up.

  In my book, all women are bad news. They make you feel this thing called ‘love’, so you’ll let them chew you up, suck you dry then spit you out before they move on to their next victim. But even by those standards, I could see this lady was the kind of bad news they interrupt regular broadcasts f
or. Fortunately, I’m immune to bad news.

  She and Noddy both saw me as I pushed in, but I noticed his eyes pleading in a way I had never seen before. I ignored him and eased onto a stool next to the vamp, pulled out a Camel and asked Noddy for a Martini, dry. He stared at me like he was astonished I wanted that drink instead of another and said, real urgent, “This is Caffrin, Liam. Caffrin ’oward. I told you abaht her.”

  I nodded that I knew and he went to get the Martini. While he put it together, I flipped my Zippo and lit up. She watched me do it the way a cat watches a fly—cute and patient, and ready to eat it alive the minute it gets close enough. Finally, I blew smoke and said, “Noddy thinks I can help you. Want to tell me how?”

  She made a slow, green blink. When she spoke, she had that absence of accent the English call cut glass, but husky with it.

  “I’m being blackmailed, Mr. Murdoch. I’ve arranged to make a payment and collect the incriminating material, but I’m afraid that when I do, I may be murdered.”

  I’m not easily fazed and this didn’t faze me, but I wasn’t expecting it. I took a moment to study the olive in my Martini. It floated, so I bobbed it up and down a few times. I took a sip and, as I put the glass down, I said, “So you want me to get murdered for you.”

  She didn’t even have the decency to blush. Whether she said yes or no, it was going to be the wrong answer. So she said, “Not exactly, Mr. Murdoch. I’d like you to make the drop and collect the material. I shall pay you very well for that. Clearly, I don’t want you to get murdered.” Something like a smile played across her face. “That wouldn’t help anybody, would it?”

  I nodded. “Especially me. You want to give me some background?”

  She hesitated and pointed at my glass. “Can I have one of those?” While Noddy fell over himself in four different directions assembling a second Martini, she gestured at my cigarettes. I nodded and pushed them along the bar with the lighter. It’s hard for a woman to make a Zippo look graceful. In her hands it was triple-X-rated exquisite. She let the smoke drift out through red lips and read my face for a while. I put a blank page there. After a moment she said, “I used to work as a high-class prostitute. I had highly placed clients. I was expensive…”