55
Rachel heard Braddock and Jensen rush through the door, calling her name. The beams from their flashlights struck her a few seconds later. Braddock said, “Oh, shit,” when he saw her. He started to move forward, but Jensen grabbed him.
“Hang on,” he said and went searching for a light.
Rachel stood and stretched, felt her shirt and her hair sticking to her back. “They didn’t find him, did they?”
The lights above the island came on, and Braddock’s eyes went from Rachel’s head to her feet. “You sure you weren’t hit?”
There was urgency in his voice.
“I’m fine,” she said, looking down. She had been lying in a pool of Jones’s blood.
“Let’s get you out of here,” Jensen said.
Braddock reached out for her. She didn’t need his hand, but she took it anyway.
Outside, deputies crowded the driveway. An ambulance backed in, and a pair of EMTs jumped out and rushed over. They wrapped her in a blanket and pelted her with questions. Once they were convinced that she could do without medical attention, they followed Jensen and Pratt inside to make Jones’s death official.
Braddock led Rachel away from the crowd, found a short rock retaining wall to serve as a bench, and guided her to it. He sat beside her, rubbed her back, and stared at the ground in front of their feet.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “I mean, I know you’re not hurt, but . . .”
She leaned in and nudged him gently with her shoulder. “I’m good.”
“You’re tougher than I am. I’d be freaking out right now, if I were you.”
She laughed, heard her voice quiver. “I think it hasn’t quite hit me yet.” She looked at him and smiled nervously.
He pulled her close and held her for a moment. Then he let go and said, “Looks like you’ve got a couple of visitors.”
Carly jogged over and wrapped her arms around Rachel. “I should’ve known better than to let you do this on your own.”
Pritchard marched up, waited until Carly backed away, and said, “You gave us all a good scare, Miss Carver. Glad to see you made it out in one piece.”
“Thanks, Sheriff.”
“Course, when the call came in, the first thing I wondered was what the hell you were doing here in the first place.” He glanced at Carly. “I guess it didn’t take you very long to find another job, did it?”
Rachel opened her mouth to speak, but he held up his hand and said, “I’m glad you’re all right. That’s all that matters. We’ll talk about the rest later. Right now, I’ve got to think about what I’m going to say to those vultures up the street. I’m getting tired of seeing myself on the damn television every night.”
He hurried off to talk to a group of deputies. Braddock looked at Carly and said, “Carly, would you mind giving us a minute?”
She hesitated, said, “Sure,” and walked away.
“I guess I should apologize for not hearing you out yesterday.”
“Don’t,” Rachel said. “There’s no need for that.”
“Yeah, well . . . obviously, you were right. Jensen knows it too. He feels like a total jackass, and those are his words, not mine.” He leaned close and lowered his voice. “I was talking to him about it while we were waiting to get in there. He told me they’re all over Kevin Gifford’s buddies, but they had no indication that this was coming. Nothing. And not a peep about it from any of them since it happened. Seems like the only one who knows what’s going on around here is you.”
“It was Jones,” she said. “He was behind it all.”
Braddock’s eyes went wide.
Rachel was about to explain when her phone rang. She checked the screen, saw that it was Parker, and said, “Give me a sec.”
When she answered, Parker yelled, “What the shit, Rachel?”
“I guess you’ve heard the news.”
“Yeah, and I’ve just got one question for you: What the shit, Rachel?”
She couldn’t help but laugh.
“Oh, I’m glad you think this is funny. Meanwhile, I’m going out of my mind thinking I might’ve given you some piece of information that could’ve gotten you killed and . . . You’re all right, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she said in a reassuring tone. “I’m perfectly fine.”
“Good, then I don’t have to feel guilty about yelling at you.”
“Listen, Bryce, I appreciate you calling, but I’ve got a lot going on here . . .”
“Hang on, I got something for you.”
“What is it?”
“The name you asked me to look up. Bishop? I think I found him. Looking at him right now, actually. Derek Bishop.”
“Tell me about him.”
“He’s the president of a company called Allied One Security. Looks like it’s only about a year old. They provide security guards for a lot of Jones’s properties. There’s a little bio on the company’s website. Let’s see . . . he served in the army . . .”
That got Rachel’s attention. “Really?”
“Yep. Eighty-Second Airborne. He was a cop too. Wait . . . damn.”
“What is it?” she asked quickly.
“This says he used to work for the Lowry County Sheriff’s Office.”
Rachel looked at Braddock with alarm in her eyes. He mouthed, “What?” but she didn’t answer. She scanned the scene in front of her, suddenly feeling exposed.
“You still there?” Parker asked. “Rachel . . . ?”
“I gotta go.”
She put the phone away and whispered to Braddock, “Take me to your car.”
He obeyed, wearing a confused look as they made their way through the crowd and up the driveway to the unmarked Crown Victoria parked on the side of the road. Rachel laid the blanket over the seat to keep the blood—most of which had already dried—from staining it. When they were in with the doors closed, she said, “Tell me about Derek Bishop.”
“Derek?” He looked surprised to hear the name. “He was the chief deputy before me. He quit after that thing with the kid from the high school I was telling you about.”
Rachel remembered the story. She looked around again at the uniforms milling about and said, “Can you take me back to Mrs. Shipley’s? I want to get cleaned up.”
“Yeah. Of course.” He started the car, shifted into drive, and rolled forward slowly, squeezing between the half-dozen patrol units lining the street in front of them. When they were clear and up to speed, he asked, “What’s going on? What does any of this have to do with Derek Bishop?”
“I don’t know yet,” she said. “I need to think for a minute.”
They were almost at Shipley’s when Rachel changed her mind and said, “Take me to Gifford’s.”
“Why?” Braddock asked. “He’s still at the jail.”
“Not Kevin’s. Dylan’s.”
“Uh . . . okay.”
Ten minutes later, they reached the intersection that had served as the staging area for the operation to arrest Dylan Gifford.
Rachel said, “Pull over.”
“But it’s up there another—”
“I know. Just pull over.”
He parked at the edge of the road and flicked on the hazard lights. Rachel was out of the car and walking uphill before he could shut off the engine.
“What’s up?” he asked, chasing after her.
“I want to see where the BearCat was when the call came in that Dylan was running.”
He pointed ahead. “It was right up there.”
As they walked past the spot, Rachel said, “This has gotta be it. I remember the driver saying they were twenty yards from the driveway.”
She stopped a few paces later, looked farther uphill, and said, “I can’t see the house from here. Can you?”
“No,” he said, rising up on the balls of his feet to look through the trees. “It’s up there a pretty good way.”
“Exactly. From what I remember the other night, you can’t see it until you’re about h
alfway up the driveway.”
“Okay?”
“So how did he know to run?”
Braddock looked at her, dumbfounded.
“If he couldn’t see you from his house,” she said, “how did he know you were coming?”
“I don’t know . . . a neighbor?”
They looked around. It was a rural road with only a handful of houses, acres of wooded hills between each one. There was another dirt driveway about fifty yards downhill, but the house was hidden from view.
“I don’t think so,” she said. “Bishop’s still talking to someone in your office. I think they tipped him off, and he told Dylan to run.”
Back in the car, Rachel explained her revenge-plot theory, trying to make it sound a little stronger than it was. She recounted everything she had learned about the joint-smoking incident and Jamie Moody, about the Newfield shooting and her conversation with Jones. When she repeated his final words, Braddock asked, “You’re sure that’s what he said? Bishop?”
“I’m positive. He kept saying it over and over again. Right up until he died.”
“Jesus Christ.” He looked dizzy. “Can we use it?”
“As an excited utterance?”
He nodded.
“Maybe,” she said. “But it won’t be enough on its own. We’re going to need a lot more.”
“I know Derek. He was a good detective. He’ll have thought of everything.”
“I guess that explains how someone like Dylan Gifford could cover his tracks so well,” she said. “He had a good teacher.”
Braddock looked out at the road, gritted his teeth, and said, “That sorry motherfucker. He killed them.”
Rachel got the impression that he was thinking more about Fisher and Howard than about the other victims. She reached up to scratch her scalp, felt the hair on the back of her neck matted by a mass of dried blood. “Maybe we should go,” she said. “I really need to get cleaned up.”
* * *
The shower felt good. Even after the water turned tepid, Rachel lingered. When she finally got out, she was shivering. She dried herself quickly, dressed in a sweat shirt and jeans, and went downstairs. Braddock was waiting in the salon. Shipley was fussing in the kitchen, heating up leftovers.
“Feel better?” Braddock asked.
She smiled, still towel drying her hair.
Shipley brought out two bowls of stew and thick slices of homemade bread. “I’m so glad you didn’t get hurt, Miss Rachel. I just don’t know what to think about all this insanity.”
They ate while Shipley talked about the Lord and the power of prayer to heal grieving hearts. When they were finished, she collected the dishes and the wet towel and took them to the kitchen. She came back out long enough to wish them a good night, then retired to her room.
Braddock got a call from one of his deputies. Rachel used the time to look up the Allied One Security web page on her phone. She studied it while he rubbed his eyes and said, “Mmhmm,” nearly a dozen times. A few minutes later, he was off the phone, and Rachel said, “Let’s take a walk.”
He nodded and followed her outside. They strolled along the edge of the road, heading away from town. She hugged herself against the cold wind and said, “He’s going to get away with it.”
“Don’t say that,” he said without confidence. “There’s got to be something, right? A money trail? He didn’t do this for free.”
“There is,” she said, “but it won’t help.”
“What are you talking about?”
“That security company he owns. I’d bet my life that Jones was his partner in it. Not to mention the fact that he gave Bishop the contract to provide guards for all of his properties. It’s become a million-dollar business in less than a year.”
“And you think there’s nothing for us to find there?”
“Why would there be? It’s the perfect deal. Looks like a legit investment from Jones’s standpoint. But as far as Bishop is concerned, he might as well have won the lottery. I bet he’ll be able to pay himself a hundred thousand in salary this year.”
Braddock shuffled along with his hands buried in his pockets, a pained expression contorting his face. “You’re right. He’s going to get away with it.”
They followed the road down to a turnoff and stopped at the river’s edge. Stared at the water and the town beyond. The lights looked like fireflies hovering just above the ground, frozen in the night.
“I stayed behind to solve this thing,” she said, “because I knew everyone else had it wrong. I thought I was trying to do what was right by the victims. By Shane and Melissa. Even Dylan Gifford . . . and Lauren Bailey. But now I think maybe I was looking for a little redemption too. Trying to fix something that was broken in me.”
“How’s that working out for you?”
“I should’ve gone home when I had the chance.”
They gazed at the lights across the river for another minute, then Braddock said, “Seven people, Rachel. That sonofabitch killed seven people.”
“Yeah.”
“Shane and Melissa . . . Christ, he used to work with them.” Rage was building in his voice. “I’m going to kill him.”
She turned to him, tried to study his face in the dim light of a streetlamp. “No, Danny,” she said weakly. “We can figure this out. There’s got to be something—”
“No. He beat us. Plain and simple. There’s nothing else we can do. Nothing legal. And you know I’m right.”
“Yeah.” Her voice melted into the churning water. “I do.”
“I’m going to take care of him myself. It’s the only way to make him pay. Not right away, but . . . someday soon. I’ll catch him when he’s not ready. After all this has blown over, and he thinks he’s safe.”
Braddock’s face had turned resolute. Rachel had no doubt that he would go through with it. Or that he would try. Bishop was a cold-blooded killer. He had already proven his willingness to take out anyone who got in his way. And he wouldn’t hesitate to do it again. One misstep, and Braddock would become his next victim.
Rachel couldn’t let that happen. She had been the one to discover Bishop and convince Braddock of his guilt. If he died, it would be her fault. And she wouldn’t be able to live with that. She had to find a way to protect him.
“Jensen’s going to want to talk to me,” she said. “Soon. Do you want me to tell him what I know about Bishop?”
“I’ll talk to him. Him and Ted both. I’ll pull ’em aside and make sure they keep quiet about it. At least until we can figure out who Bishop’s source is in our office.”
56
Monday
Rachel woke up before the alarm went off and got ready in a hurry. The sun was just coming up as she stepped out of her room and padded barefoot down the stairs, hoping not to wake Shipley. She tiptoed through the door, closed it behind her as gently as she could, then slipped on her shoes. Feeling safe, she started for the driveway. She was nearly at her car when she spotted a black sedan parked on the street and froze.
Ross Penter, special agent in charge of the SBI’s Capital District, stepped out. “Good morning, Rachel.”
She approached him slowly, trying to keep her emotions in check. Anger, resentment, admiration, affection . . . all boiled up within her. Penter had been much more than just her superior. Even more than a mentor. He had been a surrogate father, replacing the one she hardly knew. He had been there for her since the moment she had joined. Had ushered her through the difficult times when she had let her work overtake her life, completely engrossed in her cases, living among the dead. He had always been the one to bring her back. And she had depended on him for that, right up to the moment when he had asked her to betray her duty. To lie to Lauren Bailey’s family. And, worst of all, to herself.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I was worried about you.” There was real concern in his eyes. “For Christ’s sake, you almost got shot yesterday.”
“Yeah, well . . . it happens.
But I’m fine.”
He laughed, took a step closer to her. “I’m glad. I’ve missed you, you know. Are you doing okay otherwise?”
She had to look away. “Yeah. Everything’s great. Sorry you wasted your time coming all the way out here.”
“Actually, I was in the neighborhood, as it turns out. I was in Asheville yesterday, getting to know the Western District office a little better.”
“Why is that? You thinking of transferring?” she asked, though she tried not to care about the answer.
“I’m getting promoted. Starting in two weeks, I’ll be the new assistant director for field operations.”
She looked up and offered him a smile. “Congratulations, Ross. That’s great.”
“Thanks.” He held her gaze for a moment and said, “You know, there’s still a spot for you, if you wanted to come back.”
“I don’t think so. It’s not where I belong anymore.”
“Come on, Rachel. Where else are you going to go? You were born to do this, but you need someone to keep you in check. To keep you from getting lost again. And who’s better at that than I am?”
Rachel shook her head in disbelief. “Good-bye, Ross.”
She turned to go to her car, but he grabbed her by her arm and spun her around to face him. “Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you’d rather waste away in some trailer park stalking a little boy whose mother you shot?”
She wrenched her arm from his grip. “Fuck you. How dare you say—”
“What? The truth?” he yelled.
“Truth? You weren’t so concerned with the truth when you asked me to lie under oath. To tell everyone that I believed Lauren Bailey killed her boyfriend.”
“Lauren Bailey did kill her boyfriend.”
“Bullshit, Ross. No matter how much you want to believe that, you know it’s bullshit.”
“And you’re so sure of that, you would have ruined our careers? Not just yours, which you obviously don’t care about anymore, but mine too?”
Rachel wanted to scream yes at the top of her lungs, but she held it in. In spite of all the pain and disappointment, she had never wanted to hurt Penter. But that’s exactly what she would have done had she told the truth about the Bailey case. Penter had pushed Bailey as a suspect from the beginning. He had insisted that the investigation be focused on her. And when he was certain that they had gathered enough evidence, it was his order that sent Rachel out to arrest her.
Among the Dead Page 24