by Jacki Moss
Chapter 23—Forever
Chad’s bus pulled into the terminal on time at three-thirty. He had no checked baggage to retrieve, so he shook off his stupor from the long ride and started walking toward Cafton’s house, several blocks away from the downtown bus station. While he walked, he thought about being in Nashville and how shabbily Cafton had treated him. In a block or so, he had already worked himself up into a seething rage. While on the bus, he had fashioned another wire for Cafton, and it was ready to use.
He decided he would wait until Cafton was not at home to break in, and then ambush him. He didn’t want a fair confrontation. Locking horns with anyone face to face always brought out the coward in him. The brief fight Dangcat had put up, even being caught off guard and at an extreme disadvantage, had scared Chad enough that he felt Cafton might be able to take him down in hand-to-hand combat. The element of surprise was his best first weapon. Sneak up on him from behind, and the wire would do the rest.
Across town, Ketchum dragged his tattered, brown leather travel bag off the airport baggage carousel, threw it over his shoulder, and headed to a nearby pay phone. “Chief Heckle, please. Tell him it’s Ketchum. Ketch—um, not ketch-up! Yessum, I’ll hold.” Ketchum was almost hoarse from the airplane’s dry air. He sounded more gruff than usual. “Moses, Jake. Yeah, it’s been a month of Sundays, hasn’t it? Did you get my messages about that Overstreet suspect?”
Heckle and Ketchum started comparing notes. They concurred Chad was indeed the prime suspect, and he was probably going to make Cafton his next victim. While they were talking, the dispatcher interrupted Heckle with a note. “BOLO hit. White male. Bus station. Arrived 3:30. Left on foot.”
“Holy shit, Ketch! The perp just hit town at the bus station. He’s about fifteen blocks from Merriepennie’s home. Probably on foot. Meet me there. I’ll get dispatch to send one of our airport patrols to pick you up. He’ll be right at the front entrance expecting you. I’m headed to Cafton’s now!” Heckle gasped and nervously seated the receiver back onto the phone. He practically exploded from his office and into the shift commander’s office. “Come with me! Let’s go!” he roared. They hustled out to the parking garage and jumped into the shift commander’s patrol car. “Code 3,” Heckle ordered. On the way, Heckle radioed dispatch, telling them to send three units to Cafton’s address and to be on the lookout on the way for the BOLO subject.
Ketchum lumbered as fast as his bulk would carry him to the first police car he saw. “I’m Detective Ketchum,” he barked at the officer who was standing on the passenger side of the unit. “Stash this.” He pointed toward the trunk with his baggage. They threw his bags into the trunk. Ketchum shoved some paperwork that was in the passenger seat onto the floorboard and crammed himself into the front seat of the patrol car. The officer sped off, Code 3, lights and sirens full blast, toward Cafton’s residence, weaving in and out of traffic and bumping the intersections with the air horn and siren tone yelps. Ketchum hadn’t been in a high-speed chase in a long time. He wasn’t a big fan. He tried to unwrap himself from his trench coat while hanging onto the sissy handle above the door, clinging for his very life.
Chad was already at Cafton’s. He had slinked up the back alley to next door. No sign of Cafton’s car. He edged close, making sure no nosy neighbors were watching. He crept to Cafton’s back door, stopping to listen again. No noise and no sign of Cafton or anyone else in there. He looked around for a way to get in, and quickly found it. On the back wall, inside a screened porch, was a small boarded-over window. A dryer vent was attached to the board, so Chad assumed this would be a vulnerable entrance. He took his garrote wire out of his bag and placed it in his pocket with the handles on the outside. He tucked his two bags underneath the outside stairwell to pick up after he had finished Cafton off.
He easily kicked in the board and then listened for signs of anyone noticing. Nothing. He poked his head inside and saw the washer and dryer right there. Easy! He crawled in headfirst on top of the dryer and let his eyes adjust before he tiptoed over and slowly, silently, opened the door into the kitchen.
He had turned to close the door to prevent giving Cafton an escape route when, over his shoulder, he saw someone looking straight at him.
****
Cafton and Leigh stopped at the organic grocery store and picked up some ingredients for a nice pasta dinner at home. They planned to put on some Sinatra, light some candles, and enjoy some good conversation. They felt that since they had notified Heckle of everything they knew, there was nothing more they could do for Dangcat at the moment. Besides, Cafton needed some time to come down from the shock of finding out for sure what had befallen one of his best friends.
They pulled up behind the house and parked the car. It was just a little before four o’clock, so they laughed about being on time for Sophie’s usual dinner time as they lugged armfuls of groceries to the back door. Cafton unlocked the door, opened it for Leigh, and she stepped inside the dark laundry room. As Cafton joined her, Leigh’s face changed to concern. She firmly placed her flat hand on his chest, giving him the “quiet” signal. She silently set the grocery bags down on the floor. Cafton followed suit, wondering what was happening.
There was no sound inside the house. That was the problem. Sophie had not greeted them at the door. Leigh’s instincts took over. She pulled her pistol from her shoulder holster and pointed it downward. Cafton did the same. She tiptoed across the room, slid alongside the inside wall of the hallway, and headed toward the kitchen.
Cafton followed, like a cat stalking a mouse.
Leigh raised her pistol into firing position and swung around into the kitchen doorway. “Freeze!” she ordered like a drill sergeant, drawing a bead on someone.
Cafton rounded the corner, pistol raised, and saw Sophie, standing perfectly still, giving her Elvis lip-curl to someone hunched up into a small ball on top of the fridge. Potato chip bags and the electric frying pan that usually resided up there were scattered on the floor.
“Soph, come here. Sit,” Leigh told Sophie in a calm voice. Sophie reluctantly but obediently did as she was told, never taking her eyes off the intruder. She sat directly in front of Leigh.
Cafton drew a bead on the trespasser and then reached behind Leigh to turn on the light. Chad raised his head, looked at Leigh and Cafton, and began to whimper.
“Chad?” Leigh asked Cafton, still pointing her gun at the small, sniveling figure.
“Yep. That’s him,” Cafton acknowledged. “I ought to just shoot him right now. I ought to just end this right now,” he said between his teeth. He was so angry, he was shaking. “Why did you have to kill him? Why?” Cafton demanded, his nostrils flaring.
Chad wobbled in a spasm of fear, almost rolling off the fridge. “He cut me out. He said I wasn’t good enough! He ruined my career! What was I supposed to do?” Chad sobbed, like a three-year-old explaining why he had no choice but to shove his sister on the playground. “Get that dog away from me! It’s a Pit Bull! He tried to kill me!” Chad demanded, nodding at Sophie.
“First, that dog is a female,” Leigh said. “Second, if that dog had tried to kill you, you’d be dead. Third, she is a Pit Bull, but she has not been trained to fight, so she’s like any other dog. She just doesn’t like bad people, like you.”
Just then, Heckle and Ketchum, leading the charge with half a dozen cops behind them, came rumbling through the door, guns drawn. “Police!” Heckle announced.
“Moses, we’re in here,” Cafton responded. “We’ve got our guns drawn on Chad!” he continued, letting the cops know they had weapons and they were the good guys.
“Sophie, stay!” Leigh kept her in position so she wouldn’t react to the commotion.
The patrol officers grabbed Chad by his arms and pulled him off the refrigerator. Then they threw him on the floor, put their knees in his back, and handcuffed his hands behind him.
Once on his feet, Chad sobbed through the reading of his Miranda Rights but acknowledged his unders
tanding of them.
“Take him downtown. Book him on murder one, for starters. I’ll meet you there,” Heckle ordered, following them out the door.
They had to drag Chad to the patrol car. He seemed to be so overcome by his own self-pity he was unable even to stand. They stuffed him into the back of the patrol car like he was a bag of dirty laundry.
Leigh and Cafton holstered their guns.
Ketchum walked over to Leigh and started to put his arm around her shoulder. Sophie got between them, watching Ketchum’s every move. Ketchum stepped back. “Good to see you, girl.” He grinned at Leigh. “I should have known you’d break this case and get the perp before I did,” he admitted. He turned to Cafton and held out his hand. “I’m Ketchum. I don’t know what magic you have to be the one who finally caught this one,” he said, nodding toward Leigh, “but she’s a keeper.”
“I agree. I don’t know how I got so damn lucky, but I sure am not going to mess this up,” Cafton agreed, giving Leigh his hand. “This one’s forever.”
A word from the author…
If there is such a thing as a human Swiss Army knife of publishing, I'm it. Throughout my twenty-five years of publishing experience, I have done it all. I have dug up the stories, written copy, edited copy, managed magazines, been a reporter, written Web content, and in general have done whatever needed to keep grits on the table.
Now, in my second act, I am having a blast writing fiction, specifically, Southern Lit, cozy murder mysteries.
http://jackimoss.com
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