Journey to Hope

by J. P. Bowie

  “Hey, it’s Sheriff Harper. Just wondered if you had an update on that gun they found, or if you’d managed to get a hold of Nate Potts. Give me a call when you can.”

  His cell rang almost as soon as he’d put it down. “Sheriff Harper.”

  “Yeah…” The drawl on the other end was unmistakably Midwestern. “This is Detective Jackson, Cheyenne Police Department. I’m investigating a possible homicide and you just called the victim’s cell phone.”

  Joel gasped. “Victim—Brad Culver is dead?”

  “Deader than a ninety-year-old pecker. He was killed four days ago, road kill. Eyewitnesses says it looked deliberate. O’ course, no fucker got the licence—just that it was a beige or brown pick-up. Chevy maybe. Know how many of those fuckers we have around here?”

  “Yeah, that’s gonna be tough.”

  “No kidding. So, what’s your connection with Culver?”

  As quickly as he could, Joel filled in the detective with what Culver was working on, and that he was following up on a possible link between the Carl Potts shooting and the recent discovery of a young man’s remains that included a gun.

  “Sounds like a long shot,” Jackson grunted. “But ol’ Brad Culver always was one for the shaky cases.”

  “You knew him?”

  “Yeah, somewhat. Years ago when he was still on the force. We weren’t dear old pals or anything, but he had a reputation—and not just for the booze. So what’s this about Nate Potts?”

  “Culver figured he’d be about the same age as the kid they found buried,” Joel told him. “Thought he might have known him in Riverdale, or knew a friend…some kind of lead that would maybe help identify the remains. Also he said he had a friend in the coroner’s office who might be able to let him know if the gun they found was the same type used in the shooting.”

  “May I ask what your interest is in this, Sheriff, way out there in California?”

  “You may,” Joel said, ignoring the faint but unmistakable sarcasm in the detective’s voice. “Friend of mine hired Josh Kenyon, the guy originally accused of and incarcerated for the shooting of Carl Potts. Folks around here are tending to believe Mr Kenyon when he says he didn’t do it, so I was just following my natural curiosity curve.”

  “Were you now—and what had ex-detective Culver told you so far?”

  “Not much more than I’ve already told you. I was hoping he might have heard from his friend at the coroner’s office. You know, about the gun.”

  “Right. Okay, Sheriff, leave this with me.”

  Joel grimaced as the click sounding in his ear meant the connection had been abruptly shut off. Nice guy.

  As soon as he’d hung up, Detective Jackson swung his chair round to face his computer and one-finger-typed in the name, Nate Potts.

  * * * *

  Josh pulled his truck into the parking lot of the Parole Board’s office in Sacramento. What he’d originally thought might be something to be endured week after week had actually turned out to be, while not something he particularly looked forward to, at least not the chore he’d imagined. Ken Goodman, his parole officer, was a decent guy, and they had struck up a fairly easy-going relationship, even going for a coffee after one of his sessions. He’d listened to Ken’s life story, about the rotten pay and how hard it was to raise kids on what little the state paid him. But the guy did seem interested in how Josh was settling into working on a ranch, and overall impressed with his progress in civilian life.

  Josh was aware something was different this day as soon as he entered the building. The door to Goodman’s office was open and there were three or four men and women hovering outside. “What’s going on?” he asked as he walked up to the group of people.

  “Who are you?” one of the men demanded.

  “Josh Kenyon, I’m here for my weekly appointment with Mr Goodman.”

  “Mr Goodman was attacked,” a blonde woman in a tailored suit told him, on the verge of tears. “Attacked, and his office ripped apart. The police are on their way.”

  “Is he okay?” Josh could hear the cop sirens even as he spoke.

  “Security’s in there helping him till the paramedics get here.”

  Damn… Josh so did not want to be there when the cops arrived. He felt guilty about just walking away, but there wasn’t anything he could do anyway. The medics would take care of Ken, and he’d call later to see how he was doing. He just needed to get out of the building before the cops shut it down. He could imagine the shadow of suspicion in the cops’ eyes when they discovered he was an ex-felon and at the scene of the attack, even though he had the right to be there. It would most likely mean being held for questioning—and how was that going to look to Brett and his buddies—to Sheriff Harper? Fresh outta jail and in shit already… Yeah, that would go down real well. He could already hear the ‘told-you-so’s’.

  No, Brett would understand—he’d believe him. Still…

  He exited through an emergency door and hurried towards his truck. He backed out onto the street, and just managed to get clear before a fire truck and two black and whites, sirens blaring, coming from the opposite direction, effectively sealed off the parking lot.

  * * * *

  Joel picked up his cell phone on the second ring. He raised an eyebrow in surprise as he read caller ID—Detective Jackson. Maybe their terse conversation of the other day had netted results.

  “Sheriff Harper.”

  “Yeah, Sheriff, Detective Jackson, Cheyenne PD. I did some footwork after our little talk the other day and there’s some things you should probably know about.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Well, first, that gun they found with the bones is a match for the one used in the Carl Potts homicide. Not only that, two bullets were fired from that gun—one that presumably killed Potts, the other that killed the guy they just dug up. There’s a bullet hole in the back of the skull.”

  “So, if it’s the same gun, whoever killed him was with him when Carl Potts was shot.”

  “Kinda looks that way.”

  “Josh said there were two guys involved in the robbery,” Joel said, almost to himself, then louder he asked, “So did you get a chance to ask Nate Potts if he knew the dead kid, or friends of his?”

  “Here’s the thing about Nate Potts…he’s disappeared. His girlfriend said he ran out on her ’bout a week ago.” Jackson chuckled quietly. “She didn’t seem too upset other than he owed rent. Said he’d been acting kinda strange recently.”

  “She know where he was going?”

  “No, but you’ll be interested to know I’ve had an APB issued for him.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “He drives a brown Chevy pickup.”

  Just then, Joel’s attention was diverted to an alert that had flashed up on his computer screen.

  Parole Officer attacked in Sacramento office…victim identified as Ken Goodman… eyewitness reports seeing 2 trucks with Wyoming plates in parking lot…

  “Holy shit!” Ken Goodman—Josh Kenyon’s parole officer. Oh, don’t fuckin’ tell me!

  “What’s up doc?” Jackson’s voice rasped in his ear.

  “I gotta go. Keep me informed on that APB!”

  He hit the door running, punching in Brett’s number, and yelling at his new patrol officer Eddie, “With me!” as he headed for his SUV.

  A wide-eyed Eddie climbed in beside him. The guy was young, but looked eager and excited as Joel flung the SUV into gear and roared out onto the road.

  “Brett!” Joel snapped when his friend picked up. “Where’s Josh?”

  “In the city at his pa—”

  “No, he’s not, or at least I hope he’s not.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “There’s been some trouble—Goodman was attacked. Are you on your own?”

  “Will’s here.”

  “When Josh gets back—”

  “He didn’t do it, Joel!”

  “I didn’t say he did. There’s something else.
Anyway I’m on my way to your place right now.”

  “Okay. Oh, here’s Josh coming through the gates. What’ll I tell him?”

  “Nothing yet.”

  “But…”

  Joel heard the crack of a rifle shot clear as day over his phone, then Brett screaming, “Josh! Oh my God, he’s been shot!” Then the line went dead.

  “Fuck!” Joel gripped the steering wheel hard and gunned the engine. “Call 911, Eddie, tell ’em to get their asses over to Hope Ranch pronto—and hold tight. We’re about to break some more speeding laws any second now.”

  * * * *

  Jaz was already at Josh’s side, whining, when Brett and Will got to where Josh was sprawled on the ground by his truck. He was holding his left shoulder, trying to sit up. Blood seeped through his fingers. His face, white as ivory, was etched with pain.

  “Jesus.” Brett knelt by his side. “Will, we need to get him into the house. Whoever did this—” Another shot rang out and the windscreen on Josh’s truck exploded into tiny fragments. “He’s got us pinned down, dammit. If I could just get to the house and get my gun…” His cell phone chimed. It was Joel. “Joel, Josh is bleeding real bad. The son-of-a-bitch shooter is up on that small rise above the ranch. He’s got us pinned down behind the truck.”

  “Okay, Brett, we’re almost there, a few minutes more is all. Stay behind the truck long as you can.”

  “Brett.” Will shook his shoulder. “There’s someone coming down the hill and he’s gettin’ awful close.”

  “Well, we can’t stay here like sitting ducks. I’m gonna make a run for the house and get my gun. At least we’ll have a chance then.” Brett sprang up, but froze when the dirt at his feet was kicked up by a bullet that was way too close for comfort.

  “Shit,” he muttered, sinking back down. A few seconds later a shadow fell over them and a tall skinny guy with long, unkempt hair appeared in front of them squinting down the barrel of a hunting rifle. A low growl came from deep down in Jaz’s chest and his hackles rose as he paced forward to take a protective stance by Brett.

  “Who the hell are you?” Brett blurted.

  “Ask your buddy Josh there,” the man answered, sneering. “That is if he can talk. Whatever, it’ll be the last thing he gets to say.”

  “Are you nuts? The sheriff’s on his way here right now, and—”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Brett could see that the shooter’s eyes had taken on an almost vacant look. “I’m gonna go to jail for what I did anyway. I just wanted to make sure Josh doesn’t get a shot at vindication.”

  “Nate,” Josh whispered, trying to sit up. He propped himself against the truck wheel. “What…?”

  “You never did figure it out, did you?” Nate’s face twisted in an ugly smirk. “That day in the store, you coming round the corner like you did…you should’ve caught that bullet, but Carl, the stupid faggot, trying to be a hero, got in the way. You were dumb enough to pick up the gun that fucking idiot Bernie dropped, putting your prints all over the damned thing. I couldn’t believe how lucky we were, and dear old Dad covering for me. He was just glad it wasn’t his straight son that caught the bullet. Then Bernie got panicky and I had to pop him one. Dad helped me bury the stupid son of a bitch. They just found his body, by the way. You read about it?”

  “No…”

  Brett could see Josh was having a hard time staying conscious. Joel, where are you?

  “Didn’t bother me till this smartass private dick shows up asking me all kinds of questions. I thought I’d outfoxed him, but he was back the next day. I could see he was putting two and two together. Something I said, I guess. Anyways, he had to go—I got rid of him, but not before he’d told me all about you being out here in sunny California and how people were beginning to believe you were innocent and wasn’t it a shame you’d spent eight years in the slammer for something you didn’t do—Ha!”

  Brett stared at Nate, and his stomach sank to about his knees. Oh my God. It was his asking Joel to look into the case, to see if there was a chance that Josh could be declared innocent. He’d started all of this—and it had got Josh shot—and that PI guy killed? Jesus Christ—he was to blame for this!

  “No!” he yelled, jumping to his feet and getting between Josh and Nate, taking Nate by surprise, but only for a moment. Nate stumbled back a step or two, then swung his gun at Brett.

  “You asshole. Guess you wanna die with him, huh? What are you—his bitch? ” The hateful glare he directed at Brett shifted suddenly as the sound of screeching brakes followed by slamming doors, filled the air around them.

  “Drop your gun, now!” Joel’s barked command was almost drowned out by the blast from Nate’s shotgun. Two more shots rang out and Nate staggered backwards, his gun falling from his hands, a red stain blossoming on his chest. He went down without a sound.

  “Brett, you all right?” Joel was kneeling by him while Eddie checked on Nate.

  “He’s dead,” Eddie said, shrugging slightly.

  “I’m okay!” Brett struggled to his feet then pushed past Joel to get to Josh, whose eyes were closed and whose pallor was decidedly grey. “Oh God, Joel, I can’t believe that what I asked you to do turned out this way. This is all my fault.”

  “Don’t talk crazy,” Joel said sharply. “How the hell could you have known that maniac was going to come all this way just to settle a score that was really all in his mind?” He put a gentle hand on Brett’s shoulder. “You believed in Josh’s innocence—and you were right.”

  The whoop-whoop of an ambulance siren announced the arrival of the paramedics and Brett reluctantly got out of the way while Josh was quickly examined, hooked up to a temporary IV, loaded onto a gurney and trundled off to the ambulance.

  “You going with him?” Joel asked.

  “I’ll follow in my truck. Will, can you stay till I get back?”

  “O’ course,” Will said quickly. “Don’t worry about a thing here. Jaz and me will be just fine.”

  “Thanks, Will.” Brett gripped Will’s arm. “And thanks for being so strong through all of this. A lot of guys would’ve headed for the hills when that crazy man started blasting at us.”

  “Well…” He gave Brett a shy grin. “Can’t say I wasn’t scared shitless, but you and Josh are my friends… I couldn’t just up and run, now could I?”

  Brett gave him a tight hug. “Thanks again, Will.”

  Joel walked him over to his truck. “I’ll let Parker know what went down. He’ll most likely send one of his hands over to help keep an eye on things.”

  Brett wrapped the sheriff’s hard body in his arms. “Thanks for everything, Joel. It was a helluva way to prove Josh didn’t do any of that stuff, but at least everyone will know now for sure.”

  * * * *

  Josh woke up, aware of a steady pinging sound near his head, and a warm pressure on his hand. He opened his eyes, taking in the whiteness of his surroundings. Where am I? Oh yeah, a hospital—and the pain would be because that bastard shot me. Nate… How the hell…?

  “Josh?” The soft, concerned voice made him turn his head a little towards the sound. Brett’s face, so full of what looked like guilt, swam into focus. “How d’you feel? Does it hurt a whole lot? I’m so sorry…”

  “Yeah, it hurts some.” He tried to tighten his fingers round Brett’s hand. Jeez, I’m so weak… “But why are you saying sorry? You didn’t shoot me.”

  “He thinks it’s all his fault.”

  Josh moved his head again as far as the pain in his shoulder would allow. Royce stood at the foot of the bed.

  “How could it be your fault?” Josh asked, turning to look at Brett again.

  “He’ll explain it all to you soon as I’m outta here,” Royce told him before Brett could say a word. “I just wanted to make sure you were going to stay in the land of the living so’s I can report back to the guys. They all say hi, and hope you’ll be back on your feet in a couple of days.”

  “Oh, okay, Royce, thanks…”

&nbs
p; The handsome attorney headed for the door. He paused and smiled at Josh. “He did it for you,” Royce said quietly before closing the door behind him.

  Josh turned back to Brett. “Did what?”

  “Got you shot, that’s what I did.” Brett’s eyes welled with tears.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I asked Joel to do some checking into your case. You know, maybe prove to everyone somehow, even after all this time, that you were innocent—that you would get some kind of validation. Everyone here believes you didn’t do it, so why should it be a stain on your record forever?” He faltered for a moment then continued. “Joel talked to a private detective…”

  Josh listened, astounded, while Brett related the rest of the story.

  “So it looks like after the private detective that Joel hired talked to Nate Potts he went ballistic—nuts really,” Brett said finally. “The police in Cheyenne called Joel and—”

  “Nate was the one who attacked Ken Goodman, my parole officer?”

  “Yes. Joel said Nate had connections enough, his father having been Sheriff, to find out who your parole officer was. He knew he could find your records in Ken’s office…where you were working, staying…” Brett’s face was etched in sorrow. “I’m so sorry, Josh. This wasn’t what I meant to happen at all.”

  “Hush…” Josh tightened his grip on Brett’s hand, at last feeling some strength returning. “I’m sorry too, about Ken, of course, and the private detective getting himself killed, but the rest of ’em, like Nate and Bernie. Nate especially… When I think what he could’ve done to you. Jesus, he shot his own brother.” He shuddered. “But what I care about is that you did this for me. You believed in me enough to do all of that. God, Brett, how did I ever get so lucky?”

  “Lucky?” Brett sounded like he was choking. “You got shot, Josh. You lost so much blood. I was so scared. I thought I was going to lose you, and all because—”

  “I mean lucky ’cause I met you,” Josh said, interrupting. “Damn this shoulder—I want to hold you, have you lie here next to me. When do I get to go home?”

  “A couple more days.” Brett leaned in and kissed Josh’s lips tenderly. “You have no idea how much I want you there with me. A home isn’t home without the one you love.”