The Night Killer

by Beverly Connor

  Liam reached suddenly through the bars, grabbed the waist of the guy’s jeans, and jerked him into the bars. The guy hit his head on the cell bar and collapsed. Liam held on as the man slid to the floor. Liam grabbed his feet and pulled them through the bars, and with two quick, devastatingly crushing kicks, broke both the man’s ankles across the bars.

  “He’s out,” said Liam.

  The big guy looked around wide-eyed at his other friend. “Shit, whad’ya do that for?” he said. “Ya could of just laid back and watched the show. Little honey missy here’s going to pay for that.”

  He looked back at Diane, who was trying to stay out of his reach. She’d taken off her four-inch heels and held one in each hand. She’d thought of pulling one of the bunk beds out to try to keep it between her and him, but they were bolted to the floor. He eased toward her. She guessed he was playing cat to her mouse, wanting to draw out her fear. It was working.

  He was too big and he had a layer of fat covering all the vulnerable places on his torso she could use to disable him. Right now his head was the only vulnerable part of him. But she would have to get through his beefy arms, and his arms were longer and stronger than hers.

  He eased closer.

  “I’m going to get you, missy. You got your honey pot ready for me?” he taunted.

  “Keep away from me or I’ll hurt you,” said Diane.

  “Hurt me?” He laughed loudly, derisively. “I ain’t one of these skinny boys you can hurt, missy. Your boyfriend over there knows that. He knows all he can do is watch me fill that honey pot of yours.”

  Diane eased away, trying to figure out how to get across the cell to where Liam was. He could help if she could get there, but the big man had the way blocked. He stepped back and forth. He knew what she was trying to do.

  Diane kept her eyes on him, always moving in the opposite direction every time he moved. He would get tired of the game soon, she knew. He stepped to the left and Diane made a break to his right, trying to get to the opposite side of the cell. He was quicker on his feet than she imagined an overweight drunk would be. He lunged toward her and grabbed her arm. She swung at his eye with the heel of her shoe, missed, and grazed his nose. He pulled at her clothing as she tried to get away from him. The sleeve of her jacket ripped as Diane struck his hand with the other shoe. He let go of her and she fell backward to the floor.

  He rubbed his hand where the heel of her shoe had struck. She knew it must have hurt him.

  “You bitch,” he said, spitting on the floor. “You fucking bitch.”

  He stepped toward her. Diane started to rise.

  “No. Stay,” said Liam, and he yelled out a series of words: “Dorsal left foot calf plantar right foot patella leverage.”

  Keywords, Diane’s mind flashed to her. But what? her conscious mind asked. Her subconscious seemed to know what to do. When his right leg was close enough, his weight resting on it as he leaned toward her, she hooked her left foot around his calf. He looked down at her foot and then into her eyes and smirked at her. There was drool dangling from his open mouth.

  His hesitation was just enough. She pulled hard against his calf with her left foot and kicked his knee-cap with her right heel as hard as she could. It took a fraction of a second for the pain to register; then he screamed and crumpled to the floor, trying to hold his ruined knee, but he couldn’t get the joint to work and the pain wouldn’t stop.

  “Oh God, oh God, I’m hurt. Jackie, help me. She’s hurt me. Oh, God. Les, she’s killed me.”

  The guy on the bed looked up and started to speak, but grabbed his jaw instead. He looked over at Diane and she cast him a don’t- mess-with-me look. Her adrenaline was still pumping and she was angry. She got up and fetched her heel. The big man on the floor grabbed at her foot. Diane slapped him in the head with her shoe and he howled.

  “Leave me alone, you son of a bitch,” she yelled at him.

  “Well,” said Liam. “I stand corrected. You could have hurt me.”

  “They were drunk,” said Diane. She looked over at him. “This is the second time you’ve helped me out when I badly needed it. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Come and stand over here,” he said. “If the guy on the bed tries anything, I can help.”

  “I ain’t got no more truck with you,” the skinny guy on the bed mumbled. “I can’t move my arm. What’d you do?” he said.

  “You should regain the use of it,” said Diane. “Just lie down on the bed and stay there.”

  Diane dragged the unconscious third guy away from Liam’s cell. She pulled a blanket off the bunk, wet it in the sink, and washed the bottom of her feet before putting her shoes back on, all the while watching the three men for signs one of them might be going to try something.

  Liam laughed.

  Diane smiled at him. “No telling what’s on this floor,” she said.

  She stood near Liam and waited, wondering what the sheriff was going to do when he came back.

  “Those were beautiful flowers you gave Andie,” she said.

  “She seemed to like them. She’s still angry. I suppose I don’t blame her,” he said.

  “What did you find out at the church today?” she asked.

  “People are scared. Some don’t trust the sheriff—” he began, but stopped when he heard the door open.

  “Damn,” whispered Diane. Liam reached through the bars and took her hand.

  Chapter 43

  Diane squeezed Liam’s hand and listened for the footfalls. More than one person. Several. The sheriff and his deputies, she thought. Would Travis Conrad be with them? Would he defy his father and help her? Her heart thumped in her chest. She felt the adrenaline leaving her. She couldn’t fight again.

  “You have strong hands,” whispered Liam.

  “Sorry,” said Diane. “Having a little anxiety.”

  “Don’t blame you,” he said. “I’m a little anxious myself.”

  The first person she saw was the sheriff, then Frank rushing past him. Diane thought she would faint with relief. She raced over to meet him at the cell door, reaching her arms through the bars for him. Agent Gil Mathews of the GBI was with them. So was Colin Prehoda, her lawyer, and David. How did they all get there so fast? David, thought Diane. Of course. Dear, paranoid David, who planned for all disastrous contingencies.

  Frank reached for her, then looked, startled, at the moaning men behind her. He looked back at Diane, his expression going from surprise, to worry, to anger. He turned to the sheriff and in a flash had him by the collar of his suit, pushed up against the cell bars.

  “What kind of piece of garbage are you that you would do this?” Frank pulled him forward a few inches and slammed him against the bars again. “Get her out now!”

  “You can’t . . .” the sheriff sputtered.

  “I can and I will,” said Frank. “Get her out. Now.” He let go. “Now, you sorry son of a bitch.”

  “You’re going to answer for this,” said Agent Mathews to the sheriff. “This is a disgrace to law enforcement—putting a woman in the cell with a bunch of men.” He looked at the empty cell and at Liam and back at the sheriff. “Disgraceful.”

  “Unlock the door now,” said Colin Prehoda. “This isn’t going to go well for you, Conrad.”

  The sheriff looked at each of their faces, his lip curled. As if just noticing the three men holding their pained body parts and whimpering, he opened his mouth and looked at Diane in amazement.

  “You need to call nine- one-one,” she said. “These men need to get to a hospital.”

  “Why’d you do it, man?” said the guy on the bed. “Why’d you put her in here with us?”

  The sheriff went to the intercom and punched a button. “Bob!” he yelled. “Get your ass down here.”

  Bob, the painfully thin deputy she’d met at the Barres’, must have already been on his way, for he came running through the door.

  “You were supposed to watch her,” said the sheriff. “Where the hell wer
e you?”

  “I’m sorry, Sheriff, but, you know, I ate at that new Mexican place and something just tore me up inside,” he said. “I was coming down as soon as I could.”

  “He was supposed to get her out if there was trouble,” said the sheriff. “I was trying to teach her a lesson.”

  “Teach her a lesson?” said Liam. “They tried to rape her.”

  Bob looked at the men in the cell. “She did that?”

  The sheriff unlocked Diane’s cell and opened it.

  Diane glared at him as she walked out of the cell. The sleeve of her jacket was almost ripped off and at some point she had torn her skirt up the side, probably when she broke the big guy’s knee.

  “The best thing you can do for yourself now, Conrad, is resign,” Diane said. “Let Liam out.” Frank put his arms around Diane and she leaned against him.

  “You can’t . . .” the sheriff began again.

  He was red faced and angry. He still hated her, still wanted to say this was his county. She could see he wanted to put her back in the cell. But there was also something else, some other emotion she couldn’t quite identify.

  “I can,” said Agent Mathews. “Open the door and let him out. There’s a lot we have to do here and a lot of questions you have to answer.”

  “I’ve got questions for him,” said the sheriff, pointing to Liam.

  “He has more credibility than you,” Diane interrupted. “He has more character witnesses than you. Let him out. You think I’m going to be a problem for you? He’s going to be worse.”

  “What are you talking about?” said Conrad. “He was in the woods with a knife.”

  “Show me a man in these woods who doesn’t carry a knife,” said David. “He’s a Medal of Honor recipient. How close have you ever come to serving your country? Slapping a yellow ribbon on the bumper of your truck?”

  Diane watched Conrad. Only now did he have a look of panic on his face, and she thought that was curious.

  The sheriff stood immobile for a moment, undecided. Then he unlocked the cell and Liam walked out.

  “Call an ambulance,” said Diane. “Your prisoners need medical attention. They may be sorry examples of humanity, but they don’t need to suffer.”

  Diane began walking out of the cell block toward the doors. The others followed. She heard Bob apologizing to the sheriff.

  “My insides were just real tore up,” he was saying.

  “Shut up, Bob,” said the sheriff.

  Mike, Neva, and Andie were in the sheriff’s office. Diane grinned at them. They looked back at her in horror. Neva, however, didn’t miss a beat. She took out her camera and began photographing Diane with the sheriff in the background.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the sheriff yelled at Neva.

  “Documenting,” she said, without looking up. She took close-ups of the rips in Diane’s clothing and the bruises on her upper arm where the sheriff had held her.

  “You have no cause for complaint,” said Agent Mathews to the sheriff. “If I were you, I’d start now trying to make things right. You’re in deep trouble.”

  “You’re wrong,” said the sheriff. “The people in this county elected me. They will support me. They even informed on her at the church. The judges will support me.”

  “The judges are not local, in case you’ve forgotten,” said Prehoda. “This county is just one stop on their circuit. They owe you nothing. Don’t look to them to be as corrupt as you are.”

  Conrad slapped his thigh. “You listen here. I’ve been patient with you people insulting me, but I’ve had it. I’m not corrupt . . . and I’m a patriot,” he said, hitching up his trousers. “This woman was interfering in my investigation and I was teaching her a lesson. I thought I had her safety covered.” He cast a mean glance at Bob, who shrank back.

  “You were reckless and mean,” said Prehoda. “I can’t find any good intentions in your behavior. Now, I believe I can still hear those men moaning down there.”

  The sheriff picked up the telephone and called for an ambulance.

  Diane noticed that Andie and Liam were embracing. It looked as if perhaps she had forgiven him.

  Just then, Travis, Jason, and an older man came in through the front door of the office. The older man carried a file of papers with him. Travis looked at Diane and gave her a quick smile, then saw her condition and frowned.

  “What’s going on?” he asked his father.

  “None of your concern right now,” he said.

  “Is this your lead deputy?” said Agent Mathews. “You need to step aside and put him in charge while you deal with what’s coming.”

  “Ain’t nothing comin’,” the sheriff said.

  “You’re not getting it,” said Mathews. “I’m making a formal complaint to the state attorney general to have you removed. Do your people a favor and give them a smooth transition.”

  “What’s going on?” asked Travis again, a question reiterated by the older man.

  Diane realized he was probably Dr. Linden. Jason looked from the sheriff to the others in the room, confused. It was Frank who explained to Travis what his father had done to Diane.

  “Daddy?” Travis said.

  “Don’t you Daddy me. I’m Sheriff while you’re on duty,” he said.

  “Okay, Sheriff. Did you do what he said you did?” he said.

  “It was my fault,” said Bob. “I was supposed to watch out, but after that jalapeño burrito and refried beans, my insides were just torn all up.”

  Diane turned to Bob. “If I hear one more time how the state of your bowels was more important than my getting raped, I’m going to hurt you.”

  Bob blinked at her—surprised—and stepped back. It probably never occurred to him to prioritize things differently.

  Diane did notice with some relief that Dr. Linden, Jason, and Travis looked disturbed.

  “Is that man still here?” asked Dr. Linden.

  “Right there,” said Jason, pointing at Liam.

  “I got the results back,” said Linden.

  “Not now,” said the sheriff.

  “But he’s guilty,” said Linden. “The Barres’ blood was all over the knife.”

  Chapter 44

  “What?” said Liam, alarm clear in his face.

  He looked at the man with the folder, then at the sheriff, and last at Diane. She shook her head at him.

  “You are Dr. Linden?” said Diane.

  “Yes, and you are Miss Fallon, I presume?” he said.

  He didn’t hold out his hand. Neither did Diane. She had a hard time seeing the kindly doctor that Christine Barre McEarnest had described in the stern lines of his face. Even his snow white hair didn’t soften the grim look of him.

  “Dr. Fallon,” said Diane. “This is another low, Conrad. There were no bloodstains whatsoever on that knife.”

  “The Tennessee Bureau of Investigation did the analysis,” said Dr. Linden, puffing himself up. “They analyzed the rain poncho and the knife and found the Barres’ blood on both. Your lab made a mistake.” He emphasized the word your as if he were really saying, You made a mistake.

  “We don’t make that kind of mistake,” said Diane. “You have—”

  “What I don’t understand,” interrupted David, leaning back against a desk with his arms folded across his chest, “is what knife and rain gear you are talking about.”

  Dr. Linden looked pityingly at David—a look that might have been kindly in other circumstances. “The poncho this man was wearing and the knife he had and gave to the Fallon woman. The man who was seen roaming the woods in the vicinity of the Barres’ around the time they were murdered.”

  “That’s impossible,” said David. “Those things are still in the vault in our lab, and they were as clean as a whistle, as far as blood is concerned.”

  “What are you talking about?” said the sheriff, silent up until now.

  Diane noticed he hadn’t made eye contact with anyone since the doctor dropped hi
s bombshell.

  “Fallon turned them over to me,” the sheriff said.

  “Really?” said David. “Or did you forcibly take envelopes containing the items from Dr. Fallon and stomp off? Anyway, you had to notice that the envelopes were not the official chain-of-custody evidence envelopes we use, and the knife was wrapped in a lace handkerchief. Not our crime lab protocol at all.”

  The sheriff said nothing. Dr. Linden looked a little confused and not quite so puffed up in the chest.

  “What are you saying?” said Dr. Linden. “The woman handed over false evidence?”

  “No, she did not,” said David. “The poncho and knife the sheriff took were gifts to Diane—a joke Neva and I cooked up for her. We do that on occasion. In recognition of her notable experience in the woods, we thought it would be funny to give her her own rain poncho and woodsman knife. You know, in case it happened again.”

  Neva nodded in agreement. “We wondered why she hadn’t mentioned our little gag,” she said.

  “We can, of course, prove it,” said David. “We have the receipt for our purchase. And I’m quite certain the checkout clerk, a charming woman who sold it to us, will remember. And, of course, the bar code on the label of the poncho will match the items sold by the store. We have Liam’s things in our vault and they have not left the chain of custody. I had an officer of the Rosewood Police Department watch as I did the testing for blood immediately following Dr. Fallon’s arrival from Rendell County with them, and that officer signed an affidavit as to the procedures I did and the resulting negative findings. The knife, in fact, is still in pieces where we took it apart and still has Liam Dugal’s initials carved into the handle. I think, Sheriff, if there is blood from the Barres’ murder on the knife you have, then you or your people are the only ones who could have put it there. You had custody of the items, the bodies, and the crime scene with all the blood in it.”

  Liam looked toward the ceiling and breathed out. Andie grinned.

  Dear, paranoid David, thought Diane. He plans for disasters.