“That's old Bo,” Jim said. “He's my buddy.”
Dillon patted his head and scratched behind his ears. “Did he bark when we came up the driveway? I don't remember hearing him.”
Jim grinned. “No, he don't bark much anymore.”
The house had two spare rooms, so each man could have his own. Dillon felt vulnerable and isolated at the same time. As friendly as Jim was, he still felt out of place. And worse, neither he nor Christopher had any change of clothing. They didn't have any toothbrushes or deodorant, socks or underwear. He sat by Christopher at the table and drank Jim's strong coffee. “Let's go to a store tonight when we go into town and get some clothes and supplies.”
“Yeah, good idea,” Christopher said.
It was a long afternoon for Dillon. He hated sitting and waiting. He wanted to get this over-with. He wanted to settle this issue and get his life back, but he knew better than to go into town in the daylight. He was hungry and enjoyed the steak that Jim fried them for supper. He didn't like what Jim watched on television, but it helped pass the time. Finally, around nine, Dillon nodded at Christopher and they told Jim they needed to go into town. Dillon turned to make sure Jim wasn't watching, then picked up the shotgun and walked out with it, setting it between them in the front seat.
They spotted a dollar store and pulled in. Both men picked out supplies and a couple of cheap-looking sport shirts. Christopher threw a candy bar and flashlight on the counter.
They proceeded into town and drove cautiously toward the church. Dillon parked a block away behind a building so the car could not be seen from the road. Christopher had left his keys in his car in Denver, but he knew where one was hidden out in the rocks near the church office doors. The men stood in the shadows and watched the front for nearly ten minutes. Dillon clutched the shotgun as he strained to see into the dark. There was no movement anywhere near the church, so they slipped quietly into the building. Christopher didn't turn on any lights, but used the flashlight to sneak into his office.
When they got into the room, they knew they weren't the first to come after the file. The office had been ransacked. The chairs were overturned and the contents of his desk were scattered around on the floor. His computer was gone. Christopher went around his desk and opened the top drawer. It had been emptied out. He looked up at Dillon, standing in the dark. “They beat us.”
“Was that the last copy?” Dillon whispered.
Christopher thought a minute. “Yes, that was it.”
“Let's get out of here.”
The men slipped out of the church and climbed into the car. Dillon backed out onto the street and started forward. “Back to Jim's, then?”
“I guess so. We'll just have to show the police the second list.”
Dillon was nearly out of town when Christopher grabbed him by the upper arm. “Wait a minute. Phyllis Eastland.”
“Huh?”
“Phyllis Eastland may have copy on her computer. I think she said she made the thumb drive that she showed me. She still may have the original.”
Dillon braked and turned the car around. “I hope they haven't gotten there first.” He drove the rental to the Eastland house and was glad to see the lights still on. He glanced at his watch. “It's after ten, do you think she's still up?”
“I don't know.”
Dillon led the way to her door and knocked on it. She came after a few seconds, wearing her robe and with her hair in curlers.
“Well hello Dillon. Hello Christopher. What brings you guys here this hour of the night?”
“Can we come in?” Christopher said. “We need to see if you still have a copy of that file that you showed me at the church.”
“Oh that?” She stepped back and let them come in past her, then closed the door behind them. “Yes, I have it on the computer in Ronny's office.”
“Thank you,” Dillon said as he headed toward the office.
She followed behind them. “Dillon, I saw where there was a shootout at the store last week. And you were in on it.”
“Oh, yes Ma'am.”
“I'm sure glad you're okay.”
Dillon touched his ear. “Yes, thank you. They nearly got me.”
She went in and turned on the lights in the office. “The paper said a man was killed, but it didn't say his name.”
Christopher changed the subject. “Mrs. Eastland, would you turn on this computer and help us find the file?”
“Oh, of course.” She pushed the power button and waited for it to boot up. Then she clicked on my documents and scanned down for the file. “Here it is.”
Christopher clicked and opened it. “Good. This is it.” He looked at her. “Can I print this?”
“Sure,” she said. She turned on the printer and it whirred to life. “It should be ready.”
Christopher instructed the computer to print the file, then got the sheet of paper from the printer tray. He nodded at Dillon and headed toward the front door. “I'm sorry to come in like this and then run, but I'll explain everything later.”
“Well, okay,” she said. “I'll be here.”
“Thank you,” Dillon said as he opened the front door. He and Christopher jumped in the car and disappeared into the night.
When they arrived back at Jim's, Dillon put the shotgun back in its place and got ready for bed. He hadn't slept much in days and was beyond exhausted. He let the warm water run over him in the shower, soothing his tense muscles and making him even more tired. He told Christopher he would see him in the morning, brushed his teeth, and climbed under the covers. It was comfortable in his bed, with a big, heavy blanket covering him and blocking out the chilly night air. He immediately went to sleep.
He jerked awake a little after four in the morning. The rafter beams were popping as they cooled and startled him awake. His heart was racing. He lay there and listened for sounds in the night. A loud crash outside his window made him jump straight up. He slipped out of bed and peaked out the window. A raccoon was rummaging through a metal trashcan. He grinned and shook his head, but he couldn't go back to sleep. He took the blanket and the shotgun with him and sat on the front porch for more than an hour. Finally, convinced the guards hadn't found them, he went back to bed and dreamed of Jenny and Amy.
At morning light, Christopher came and woke him. “Breakfast.”
The men sat at the table. Jim asked about their venture into town the night before. He had been asleep when they returned and said he didn't hear them come in.
“Oh, we just needed some supplies,” Christopher said. “We sure appreciate you letting us stay here.”
“Yes, thanks,” Dillon said, raising his coffee cup.
“Well, I'll admit I'm a tad curious about all of this,” Jim said, taking a bite of biscuit. “I mean, Brother Chris, why aren't you at home with your family?”
“I want to go home as soon as I can,” Christopher said. “But I just can't right now.” He took a bite of biscuit. “Don't worry about Rachel and me. I just have something I have to do, and Dillon is helping me.” He sipped his coffee. “I promise to tell you everything when the time is right.”
“Well, okay.”
Dillon finished his breakfast. He hoped they weren't putting this nice man in peril. He reasoned he and Christopher should probably move on tomorrow. He tried to think of another place they could go. Probably somewhere far away. Someplace where Morgan would never count on them going.
A few minutes after eight-thirty, Christopher and Dillon told Jim goodbye and headed to town. Christopher drove and Dillon kept a wary eye as they pulled out of the driveway and headed to the police station. Dillon could feel his pulse elevated as they parked and walked up to the front door. Christopher carried the manila folder with the copy of Dead Peasants file they had printed the night before, and the second list of names they had brought from Denver.
Christopher turned and looked at him when he reached the doorway. “Ready?”
“Let's do it.” Dillon said, walking behind
him into the lobby.
A young receptionist in an officer's uniform sat behind a half-wall. She looked up at them over her glasses. “May I help you?”
“Yes,” Christopher said. “We need to speak to a detective please.”
“What's this about?”
He held out the manila folder. “We have a crime to report.”
She gestured to steel chairs over by a window. “Have a seat over there. Someone will be with you in a minute.”
The men sat and waited. Christopher clutched the folder. Dillon was every bit as nervous waiting as he had been when he first went into the Morgan headquarters. He went over in his mind what he wanted to say to the officer when he came for them.
Finally, an African-American man in a suit came into the lobby and stood in front of them. “You guys want to report a crime?” He was about six-feet tall and completely bald. He was wearing a sweet-smelling cologne. His eyes were alert and he looked like he knew his business.
Christopher and Dillon stood to their feet. “Yes, Sir,” Christopher said.
He reached out his hand. “Isaac Goodman.” He shook their hands and studied them for a second. “Okay, well, come back to my office.”
They followed him through a steel door into a hall that had offices on either side. He led them into his. “Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to two chairs in front of his desk. “Do you want something to drink?”
“No thank you,” Dillon said, speaking for both of them. His mouth was dry with anxiety, but he couldn't stand the idea of drinking anything.
“None for me,” Christopher said.
Isaac sat at his desk and took out a yellow pad. He clicked a pen with his thumb. “So, tell me about this crime.”
Christopher took a breath. “I don't know where to begin.” He held up the folder. “We have a couple of lists here that show that Morgan Retail is murdering its workers to collect their life insurance.”
Isaac reeled back and cocked his head. “Let me see.”
Christopher handed him the folder and he and Dillon watched him look over the sheets.
“Interesting,” Isaac said. He looked up at the men. “This is just a list of names, though. Have these people been murdered? Is that what you're saying?”
“Notice Ron Eastland's name,” Christopher said, pointing. “He died of a heart attack at the Morgan Retail Store last fall.”
Isaac shrugged. “Heart attack? I don't get it.”
“Well, I know you know about the shooting at Morgan last Friday,” Dillon said. “I was the one they were trying to kill.”
Isaac nodded. “Sure, I know about that.” He looked at Dillon. “Tell me again what that had to do with you?”
“Morgan wants me dead. That company will kill you if they want you dead.” Dillon paused, collecting his thoughts. “I work at Morgan. They want me dead, so they sent a couple of hit-men to take me out.”
“Yeah, I know, one man was arrested and one was killed,” Isaac said suddenly pointing at Dillon. “So, you're the one who killed that guy?”
“Yes, Sir. I'm a Marine. I'm – ”
“But I don't understand why you're here today. You said Morgan is killing its people to collect their insurance?”
“Yes,” Christopher said. “We think Ron Eastland didn't die of a heart attack. We think he was murdered.”
Isaac shook his head and frowned. “That would be hard to prove.”
Dillon leaned forward. “I know they murdered Joseph Wilson. I saw his body.”
“Really,” Isaac said. “That is an unsolved case for us. I've been looking for him for two months.”
Dillon nodded. “I know where he is.”
“And you didn't tell anyone?” Isaac pointed at him again. “Do you realize that makes you an accessory?”
Dillon didn't answer.
Isaac stood to his feet. He opened his door and called across the hall. “Ken, come help me for a moment.”
Another detective came into the office. Isaac walked over to Dillon. “Sir, please stand to your feet.”
Dillon stood up.
Isaac took Dillon's arms and put them behind his back, then put handcuffs on his wrists. Dillon didn't resist. Isaac frisked him and ran his hands into his pockets. He pulled out the keys and set them on his desk.
“You have the right to remain silent,” Isaac said. “You have the right to legal counsel and if you cannot afford it, it will be assigned to you. You should know that anything you say can and will be held against you in court. I am placing you under arrest for the murder of Joseph Wilson.” He took Dillon out of the room, leaving Christopher sitting there.
Isaac took Dillon to a cell, removed the handcuffs, and closed the door behind him. “I'll be back in a little bit,” he said.
Dillon sat in the cell, rubbing his wrists. He couldn't see or hear what Christopher was doing. He hoped Christopher was defending him and someone would come and get him and set him free. He listened, but couldn't hear anything except another prisoner crying out down the hall.
An hour later, Isaac came and opened the door. He had three officers in uniform with him. One was a police officer and two were sheriff's deputies. They came into the room and stood in front of Dillon. Dillon stood to his feet.
“I want you to take us to Joseph's body,” Isaac said. “Will you do that?”
“I'm not sure I can,” Dillon said. He didn't know for sure if there was even a way down to where Joseph was. And he had gone there in pitch blackness so he wasn't sure he could find the place again. “What about Morgan – the murders?”
“We'll talk about that later.” Isaac sounded impatient. “Right now, I've got a cold case to solve. If you know where Mr. Wilson's body is, I need to know. They're breathing down my neck about this one.”
“I didn't murder Joseph,” Dillon said.
“That doesn't matter,” Isaac said. “You know where he is. That's all I care about right now.” He gestured toward the door. “Are you going to show us or not?”
Dillon was more than happy to get out of the cell. “Yes, I will.”
They led Dillon out to the sally port and loaded him into a police car. Isaac put Dillon into the back seat and shut the door. Then he went around and sat across from him. The other police officer climbed into the driver's seat, and the sheriff's deputies got in their car.
“Go wherever he tells you,” Isaac said, putting a stick of gum in his mouth. He looked over at Dillon. “Gum?”
Dillon shook his head, then directed the driver to head south into the Ozarks. The sheriff's vehicle followed them. They got high up on a mountain and Dillon instructed them to turn onto a secluded, dirt road. He watched until they came to the spot where he had seen Matt push the truck over the side. “There,” he said. “Pull over right there.”
The men got out of the car and looked over the side. Dillon could barely see what was left of the truck down below. “That's it down there.”
“I'm not sure we can get down there,” one of the sheriff's deputies said.
Isaac smacked his gum. “Oh, there's always a way down.”
The men searched for several minutes and found a trail that led part of the way. They had to climb the rocks for the last hundred feet or so. Soon, they were standing beside the burned-out truck. A fly was buzzing in and out of the open window and Dillon could faintly smell death. He eased close with Isaac staying next to him. He could see Joseph's charred, skeletal body, mangled in the front seat. He felt sick. The memory of the night of the murder rushed back to him and waves of nausea and sadness, guilt and fear overcame him. He thought he might vomit, but he didn't. One of the officers took photos of the scene. A sheriff's deputy called for a crane to come retrieve the truck.
The officers took Dillon back to the county jail and booked him, charging him in Joseph's murder. He didn't resist. He sat alone in a cell the rest of the afternoon.
That evening, he was summoned to dinner and stood a few people back in the line from Matt Douglas. Matt turned a
nd glowered at him, lowering his eyes to slits and running his thumb across his neck in a threatening gesture. Dillon asked the jailers to keep him separate from Matt, and to his relief, they agreed.
Just after it had turned dark out his window, two Morgan security guards came into his hall and stood outside the bars of his cell. They were wearing button-down shirts with the Morgan logo on the breast. “Hello Dillon,” one of them said.
Dillon barely glanced at them.
“We need to talk to you.”
Dillon continued to look forward at the wall in front of his bunk.
“We know you came into town with that preacher. We just need to know where he is. If you'll cooperate, we'll go easy on you. If not, we're going to bribe the jailer to put ole' Matt in here with you for the rest of the night.”
Dillon looked up at them and squinted in a menacing way. “Go get him.”
“I don't think you really want that. Just tell us where the preacher is and we'll leave you alone.”
The other guard spoke. “We know you rented a light blue Chevrolet in Topeka. We know the license number and we know the preacher left the police station and headed north. We will find him.”
“Well, good luck with that,” Dillon said, standing. “Now go bring Matt to me and I'll finish him off like I'm going to do to you as soon as I get out of here.”
The guards backed up. A jailer came and took them out of his view. Dillon prayed they were bluffing like he was, and Matt would not show up in his cell in the night. Just the thought of that gave him nightmares. He lied down on the thin mattress and tried to sleep. But he was cold and uncomfortable, frightened and alone, and sleep would not come.
Chapter Eighteen
Christopher sat in Isaac Goodman's office at the Springfield police station. He was stunned that the detective had taken Dillon and had completely lost interest in him and his incredible story of a huge company murdering its people. He sat there for nearly an hour, but no one came in and spoke to him. He didn't want to go back outside because he felt safe in the police station. He wanted to tell his story and, hopefully, stop the men who were hunting for him. But after a while he began to realize no one was coming back into the room.
The Dead Peasants File Page 16