Among the Dead

by J. R. Backlund

  “You’ve had quite a night, haven’t you, bud?”

  No response.

  “Wasn’t really a good idea to take off running like you did.”

  Gifford scratched his forehead again.

  “You didn’t hurt yourself or nothing, did you? I can have a medic take a look at you, if you want.”

  He shook his head quickly, looking annoyed at the question.

  “Okay. No worries.” Fisher sat back and thought for a moment, tapped his pen on the table, and said, “Your mom’s doing all right. In case you were interested.”

  Gifford looked into his eyes for the first time. “Why wouldn’t my mom be doin’ all right? What are you talkin’ about?”

  “I guess you didn’t know—”

  “Didn’t know what?”

  He raised a hand and said, “Take it easy, Dylan. She’s fine. She’s not hurt or nothing. She just got herself into a little trouble is all.”

  “What kinda trouble?”

  “Well, I hear she threw an ashtray at one of the officers.”

  Gifford smiled.

  Fisher let himself chuckle. “Yeah, I thought that was a little funny too. Lucky for her, she hit him in the chest and not his face, or she’d be in a lot more trouble.”

  “Wait. Did y’all arrest her?”

  “Had to, Dylan. She assaulted a police officer.”

  “She’s in jail?”

  “Not yet. She’s here right now, but she’ll be spending the night there.”

  “Where’s my brother?”

  Fisher shrugged. “Home, for all I know. We didn’t have any reason to arrest him.”

  Gifford’s eyes grew wide. He seemed to be staring through Fisher. “He won’t leave without her.”

  “Without who? Your mom?”

  Gifford’s knees began bouncing. He leaned back, looked at the ceiling, and said, “Aw fuck, man. Fuck . . .”

  “What’s the matter, Dylan? Talk to me.”

  He put his face in his hands. “I can’t, man. I can’t.”

  “Come on, bud. What’s going on?”

  “I ain’t sayin’ nothin’. Not another fuckin’ word.”

  Gifford kept his face covered and took long, shaky breaths through his mouth.

  “You know, Dylan, I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.” Fisher stood, gathered his pad and pen, and went to the door. “Think about it, all right? I’ll be back in a minute.”

  * * *

  “What the hell do you suppose that was all about?” Pritchard asked.

  Fisher shrugged. “Sounds to me like he’s afraid of something, and it ain’t us.”

  Rachel was watching Gifford on the monitor. “He’s afraid that something will happen to his brother if he talks.”

  “Yeah,” Braddock said. “His brother won’t leave without his mother? Seems like they had some kind of plan for the two of them to skip town if Dylan got busted.”

  Pritchard: “Does that mean the brother’s involved?”

  Braddock: “Maybe.”

  Rachel: “Or someone else is involved, and Dylan’s worried they’ll go after his family if he talks.”

  Pritchard rubbed his eyes. “What the hell kinda mess have we stepped in here?”

  Curtis stuck his head through the doorway and said, “Sheriff, we got three news vans setting up out front. They’ll be coming through the door any minute now.”

  “Jesus Christ,” he said. “Keep them outside and tell them I’ll be out in a minute to make a statement.” He turned to Braddock. “Do whatever it is you need to do in order to figure this thing out. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “Will do, boss.”

  Pritchard left, and Braddock said, “All right, now what?”

  “Maybe it’s time for a little confrontation,” Rachel said. “Let him know what we have on him. See if we can get him to worry more about himself than his brother.”

  “Want me to do it?” Fisher asked.

  “No. Let Danny do it. You’re still playing the good cop.”

  * * *

  Braddock went in and leaned against the table, looked down at Gifford, and said, “I’m sure you’ve figured this out by now, but you’re not just here because you beat the crap out of Bert Hood.”

  Gifford stared at the floor.

  “The woman who was in here earlier . . . the one who scraped the inside of your mouth . . . she was getting your DNA. Right now, she’s packing it up to send over to the State Crime Lab. You might think that’s no big deal, since you were so careful and all, but that’s because you don’t realize that you left one of your hairs on Andy Coughlan’s body.”

  Gifford looked up briefly, then leaned back and fixed his eyes on the wall.

  “When they match that hair to your DNA . . . well, that’s going to be very bad for you, Mister Gifford. And that’s not all there is. I can place your truck near the crime scene. I’ve got video of you driving it to and from the spot where you hid it, and I’ve got a tread impression that matches your tires. But the crown jewel . . . the thing that’s really going to do you in . . . is the baseball bat we found under your bed. It’s hard to believe, as careful as you were, that you would wipe it down with a bloody rag.”

  Gifford looked up. He couldn’t hide the panic in his eyes.

  “That’s right,” Braddock said. “We’re sending it off to the crime lab too. And I’m willing to bet a shiny new Chevy Tahoe that the blood we found on your Louisville Slugger came from Mister Dean McGrath.”

  The color drained from Gifford’s face. He slumped in the chair and stared into space, looking defeated.

  “Now you can sit there and keep quiet if you want to. Doesn’t matter one bit to me. Once those test results come back, we’ll have more than enough to convict you of two homicides. But if I were you, I’d think real hard about coming clean. ’Cause that’s about the only thing you can do right now to make your situation any better. And in case you didn’t already know it, the state of North Carolina has reinstituted the death penalty.”

  * * *

  When Braddock came back to the observation room, Rachel said, “That was a little harsh.”

  “You think?”

  “I almost felt sorry for him.”

  On the monitor, Fisher entered the interrogation room and sat down. Gifford was bent forward with his elbows on his thighs. He looked like he might get sick.

  “I guess you got some bad news, huh?” Fisher said. He scooted his chair closer and matched Gifford’s posture, lowered his voice. “Look, Dylan, you have a chance to help yourself. But the clock’s ticking, bud. Once those DNA tests come back, I don’t know how much I’ll be able to do for you.”

  “Damn,” Braddock said, looking surprised. “He’s a natural.”

  “Yeah,” Rachel said. “Kid’s got talent.”

  “I know you’re worried about your family,” Fisher said. “That’s because deep down, you’re a good guy. Okay? If you weren’t, you wouldn’t care nothing about them. But you do, and that tells me something about you. It tells me that you got caught up in something you shouldn’t have.”

  Gifford put his face in his hands and started to weep.

  “Help me understand, Dylan.” He waited while Gifford wiped his eyes. “Talk to me. Tell me how you ended up in this mess.”

  Gifford sniffed hard, looked at him with a fatalistic smirk, and said, “I already told you, man, I ain’t sayin’ shit to you.” Then he looked at the camera and shouted, “And I want all of you motherfuckers to know I ain’t sayin’ shit to none of you.”

  35

  “No, ma’am,” Pritchard said to the district attorney on speakerphone. “He hasn’t asked for an attorney yet.”

  Rachel sat on the same side of the conference table as Braddock, Fisher, and Pratt and listened in.

  “So right now,” the DA said, “we have him on the assault and battery and resisting arrest.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’d like to charge him with assaulting an officer too. Miss Carv
er took a couple of hits trying to get him under control.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “Oh, she’ll be fine,” Pritchard said, smiling at Rachel. “She’s pretty tough, as it turns out.”

  Braddock nudged her with an elbow, and she winced, suddenly feeling a tender spot on her ribs. She hadn’t noticed it during the struggle when the adrenaline had masked the pain.

  “That’s good. Unfortunately, I don’t know if I can sell it, seeing as she was hired as a consultant . . .”

  There was another voice in the background. Rachel thought it sounded like the assistant district attorney she had met at the Coughlan crime scene. She couldn’t make out what he was saying, but the DA responded, “Maybe . . . what the hell. Okay, Sheriff, let’s add that to the charges. How long before we can get the test results back?”

  Pritchard looked at Braddock, who answered with a shrug.

  “Could be a while,” he said. “I filled out a rush request, but it’s got to go to Raleigh. Apparently, they don’t do DNA at the lab in Asheville.”

  The DA sighed. “And if we want the hair tested, it has to go to the FBI?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m afraid so.”

  Rachel put her hands up by her shoulder and mimed taking a swing with a baseball bat.

  Pritchard nodded and said, “But that’s a separate deal from the bat. If they can match the blood and saliva we found on it, then we should have enough to charge him in the McGrath murder, right?”

  “Oh, absolutely,” she said. “And not just McGrath. We’ll charge him with both murders. Same MO, or close enough. You can place his truck near the Coughlan scene at the time of the murder. I’m sure the judge will let us hold him without bond until we go to trial for the other charges. As long as we get the test results on the bat back before then, and the FBI can get us the results on the hair before the murder trial, we’ll be good as gold.”

  “I like the sound of that.”

  When the call ended, Pritchard leaned back in his chair, put his hands behind his head, and said, “I think that was the most pleasant conversation the two of us have ever had.”

  “Yeah, you got her wrapped around your little finger now, boss,” Braddock said.

  “Was only a matter of time. Just don’t go telling her I said that.”

  Braddock smiled, and Pritchard got a worried look on his face. “I’m serious, Danny.”

  * * *

  Braddock asked Curtis for the keys to an unmarked Crown Victoria and waited with Rachel outside his office. He stretched and glanced at his watch and said, “It’ll be nice to get home at a decent hour tonight.” Then he looked around to make sure no one else was nearby. “I’m thinking a little celebration is in order.”

  Rachel’s mind was preoccupied. “Yeah . . .”

  “What’s the matter?”

  She thought for a moment and said, “I wonder if we shouldn’t pay Kevin Gifford a visit.”

  “Aw, Rachel, come on.”

  “Seriously,” she said. “If he knows something, maybe we can convince him that the best way to help his brother is to talk to us.”

  “Why don’t we have a chat with the mother first? She’s the one that lived with him.”

  “You have her in custody. She’s not going anywhere tonight. But after what Dylan said, I’m worried Kevin might take off.”

  “Dylan said he wouldn’t leave without his mother.”

  “You willing to bet on that? He might try to disappear for a while, then come back to get her when she’s out.”

  “You know, you have this way of making sense that can be really irritating sometimes.”

  Curtis walked up and dangled a set of keys. Braddock took them and asked him, “You think you can spare a deputy for an hour or so?” He looked at Rachel. “We’re not going out there with just the two of us.”

  36

  They parked in the driveway behind the F-250 and looked up toward Kevin’s trailer. Colored lights flashed through a window, which Rachel guessed were from a TV. There were no lights on outside, so the approach to the front door would be in the dark.

  “Maybe we should call him first,” Rachel said.

  “Yeah.” Braddock had gotten the number from Curtis before they had left the office. He typed it in, pressed call, and stared at the trailer while it rang. After several seconds, he shook his head and said, “Went to voice mail. I’ll give it another try.”

  He called again. As he raised the phone to his ear, Rachel saw movement outside the window beside him. She screamed, “Danny!” just as Kevin put the muzzle of a handgun to the glass.

  “What the fuck are you doin’ here?” Kevin shouted. “Who are you?”

  Rachel and Braddock raised their hands. “We’re with the sheriff’s office,” Braddock said.

  “Bullshit.”

  The side of Kevin’s face lit up. He recoiled and squinted to look at the light.

  “Sheriff’s office. Drop your weapon.” The deputy was moving up the driveway behind them with his sidearm and his flashlight trained on Kevin. He yelled, “Drop it. Now!”

  Kevin took a step back, looked like he might turn on the deputy. Braddock unclicked his seat belt and drew the weapon from his hip, groped for the button to lower the window. Rachel saw Lauren Bailey dying in front of her. “Kevin, don’t!” she screamed. “We need your help. We’re not here to hurt you.”

  He took another step back, raised his hand to shield his eyes from the flashlight but kept his gun low.

  Braddock got the window down and said, “Lowry County Sheriff’s Office, Kevin. Drop the gun. Now.”

  Rachel heard it hit the ground, saw Kevin move away from it. Then the deputy threw him down and put a knee on his back to pin him. Braddock jumped out to help, and she fell back in her seat and clenched her hands into fists to keep them from shaking.

  * * *

  Fisher waited until Gifford had calmed down before he went back in. “All right, Dylan, I just wanted to let you know that your mom’s on her way over to the detention center.”

  Gifford didn’t react.

  “Okay, then,” Fisher said. “I’ve got a few things to finish up here, and we’ll be heading that way ourselves.”

  He turned to leave, was in the doorway when Gifford said, “Detective?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Is there any way you can look in on my brother?”

  “I might be able to send someone by to check on him, if you give me a good enough reason why I should.”

  Gifford lowered his head. “I’m just worried about him is all.”

  “That’s not gonna do it, Dylan. You want me to help, you need to give me something.” He waited for a few seconds, then said, “Think about it while I’m gone.”

  He stepped out and went down the hall to the bullpen where the detectives shared an open office space with shift supervisors and the sheriff’s administrative assistant. Pratt was at her desk filling out a report. He went over and said, “Hey, Tina, have the chief and Rachel left yet?”

  She looked up. “Yeah, about ten minutes ago. They should be there by now.”

  “Thanks.”

  He went to his desk, dropped into his chair, and called Braddock.

  “Hey, Chief. Any luck finding him?”

  “Sitting on top of him right now,” Braddock said. He sounded out of breath.

  “Did I call at a bad time?”

  “Oh, we’re just explaining to Gifford junior here that it’s not nice to point guns at people.”

  “Damn. He pulled a gun on you?”

  “Yeah. He seems a little high strung at the moment.”

  Fisher could hear a voice pleading in the background.

  “Shut up,” Braddock said. “Can’t you tell I’m on the phone? Anyway, what’s up, Shane?”

  “I just wanted to let you know I’m getting ready to carry Dylan over to the jail.”

  “Okay.”

  “He asked me if I’d check in on his brother. I didn’t tell him you all were headed o
ver there, but . . . he seems pretty worried about him. Wouldn’t give me any details, but he’s definitely afraid the boy’s in danger.”

  “Yeah, this one seems pretty worried too.”

  “Well, you watch your back, okay, Chief?”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  * * *

  Braddock put his phone away and helped the deputy pull Kevin to a seated position. Rachel walked around the car to stand next to Braddock and asked, “Everything all right?”

  “Yeah. That was Shane telling us to be careful. Says Dylan’s really worried about his brother.”

  “Man, this is a bunch of bullshit,” Kevin said. His hands were cuffed behind his back, so he tried to use his shoulder to wipe the sand off his face. “I swear I didn’t know y’all were cops, man. I was just tryin’ to defend myself.”

  “Defend yourself, huh?” Braddock said. “I hate to tell you this, but pointing a firearm at someone because they’re sitting in your driveway doesn’t qualify as self-defense, as far as I know. What the hell are you and your brother so afraid of, anyway?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, man.”

  “You don’t know? You’re out here in the middle of the night about to have a shootout with law enforcement, and you don’t know why?”

  Rachel squatted down to put herself at Kevin’s eye level, pointed a thumb at Braddock, and said, “My friend’s not having a very good day. He’s been up since before the crack of dawn. Someone went and wrecked his car, which the sheriff expects him to pay for . . .”

  “We’ll see about that,” Braddock muttered.

  “And now you go and point a gun at him . . . Just a word to the wise: you might consider toning down the attitude a little.”

  * * *

  Deputy Melissa Howard pulled her patrol car around to the rear entrance and waited with the engine running. A minute later, Fisher escorted Gifford outside and loaded him in the back, then walked around and dropped into the passenger seat. Howard drove out of the parking lot, headed for the expressway.