Among the Dead

by J. R. Backlund

  62

  Tuesday

  It seemed like the whole town had shown up for the memorial service. Too many to fit inside the old Lowry County Courthouse. The stately, white, federal-style building had been converted into a museum of local history, and the fire marshal said it could only accommodate two hundred at a time. So the organizers moved everyone to the gardens out back, which worked out nicer anyway, save for the lack of seating. Those that could stand for the duration were asked to. Folding chairs were set out for the ones who couldn’t.

  Rachel stood in the back with Shipley, who sang her rendition of “The Star Spangled Banner” right along with the young girl on the PA, and Shipley’s was better. Then there were speeches. Pritchard went first, followed by the chairman of the county commission. Then they sang a hymn. Everyone but Rachel seemed to know the words to it. That was followed by a lengthy law-and-order-type speech from a congressman and a short address from the lieutenant governor.

  Together, they talked for more than an hour. Rachel spent most of it staring at the photographs of Fisher and Howard, official portraits standing on a pair of easels next to the lectern. Their faces were fixed with broad smiles. They looked far too young to be wearing uniforms.

  Rachel cried every time she thought about that.

  After the service, Chief Miller found an opportunity to break away from the crowd and wandered over to Rachel. “Didn’t take you long to cause a stir, did it?”

  “No, I guess not,” Rachel said.

  “Well, I’d say you earned your pay. There’s a check waiting for you at the office, if you feel like swinging by on your way out of town. Or we could mail it, whatever’s easier.”

  “Who said I was leaving?”

  “Aw, hell.”

  “Back off, Rich. I saw her first.”

  They looked over to see Pritchard and Curtis walking toward them.

  Miller nudged Rachel with his elbow and said, “I think he might want to fight me for you.”

  “You wouldn’t stand a chance, Rich.” Pritchard took his sunglasses off and put a hand on Rachel’s shoulder. “I just wanted you to know I think you’re one hell of an investigator, Rachel Carver.”

  “I appreciate that, Sheriff.”

  “Having said that, I thought I’d let you know my cousin has been chastising my ass all morning about the way you and Danny went over there last night without giving him a courtesy call.”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I guess we weren’t thinking.”

  “Uh-huh. Good thing you didn’t need backup to make it outta there in one piece. But I suppose you don’t let anything scare you anymore, do you?”

  “I wish.”

  “Well, all kidding aside, that was a hell of a thing you did last night. Keeping your head and getting Derek to incriminate himself . . . all while facing off with a damn firing squad. And I’m sure the SBI appreciates it too, though you probably won’t hear that from them. I understand Jensen is at the Buncombe County Jail as we speak. Having a little talk with our former chief deputy.”

  “Still can’t believe it turned out to be Derek Bishop,” Curtis said.

  “Hell, I can’t believe any of it,” Miller said. “Lawton Jones? Who the hell could’ve imagined that? Whole thing’s just so damn bizarre.”

  “Yep,” Pritchard said. “Sure is. I’m just glad it’s over. Course there’s still a lot of work to do to put it all together for the DA. Then we’ve got to figure out what, if anything, we can do about Caleb Rucker’s role in the Moody girl’s rape. And then there’s the matter of hunting down those three fellas who wanted to execute Derek.” He was looking directly at Rachel. “I don’t suppose you’d consider staying around a while longer to help out?”

  “I appreciate the offer, Sheriff,” she said, “but I think I’ve done all the good I can in these parts. Time for me to be heading home.”

  “I figured as much. Probably couldn’t afford you anyway.”

  She laughed. “Just wait till you see what you already owe me.”

  “Huh? What d’you mean?”

  Curtis flashed her a crooked smile as she walked past him.

  “Wait . . .” Pritchard said. “Hang on, now . . . how much are we talking about?”

  * * *

  Rachel packed up, thanked Shipley for her hospitality, and accepted a pair of homemade blueberry muffins in a paper bag for the trip home. Carly and Braddock were waiting outside by the Camry. He hefted her suitcase into the trunk while Carly gave her a long hug and whispered, “Thank you. For everything.”

  When she finally let go, she turned to Braddock and said, “See you back at the office, boss.”

  They watched her get in the Tahoe and pull away. Then Braddock said, “She’s in a little bit of trouble.”

  “Why?” Rachel asked.

  “She released Gifford’s truck yesterday. I guess she thought that since he was dead, we didn’t need it anymore.”

  “Rookie mistake.”

  “Yeah. Anyway, Jensen wants us to get it back. Shouldn’t be a problem, but still a pain in the ass. Oh, by the way, I think I know how Bishop got tipped off about the raid. As soon as Tina heard the news this morning, she broke down. Started crying hysterically. Turns out, they’ve been seeing each other for a few months. He asked her to keep it a secret, since there were some hard feelings between him and Ted after he quit.”

  “Was she feeding him information?”

  He shook his head. “I doubt it. Probably just gave it up by accident.”

  “Well, I feel bad for her if that’s the case.”

  “Yeah.” They stood quietly for a moment, then he said, “Oh, shit, I almost forgot.”

  He ran to the Crown Victoria, stuck his arm inside, and returned with a four pack of sixteen-ounce cans of Monster Energy.

  “Aw, Danny, you didn’t have to do that.”

  He set the drinks in her passenger seat. “There. All set and ready to roll. Unless you wanted to change your mind. We’ve got an opening for a detective, if you’re interested. I’d be willing to put in a good word.”

  She smiled and hugged him tightly, kissed him on the cheek, and said, “I’m glad we got to work together again.”

  “Yeah, me too.” There was a little sadness in his voice. “Hopefully it won’t be the last time.”

  “I’m sure it won’t,” she said.

  That brought a smile to his face. “You take care of yourself, Miss Carver.”

  * * *

  A few miles away, Kevin stopped in at his brother’s house. Bert had been by the previous afternoon to fix the door the cops had kicked in. It would hold for a little while, but Kevin figured they would need to put in a new one before trying to sell the place.

  He cooked eggs and sausages for a late breakfast and sat Linda down to talk about the future.

  “I talked to Clayton yesterday,” he said. “He told me he thinks he can hook me up with a pretty good lawyer.”

  “Why would he do that?” she asked.

  “’Cause he wants to help, I guess.”

  “You really think he wants to help you after the way he and your brother got on?”

  He shrugged and rolled a sausage link around with the tip of his fork. “I dunno. He’s still family.”

  “Mmhmm.”

  “Anyway, he says we’ll probably get community service or somethin’, since we ain’t ever done nothin’ else wrong. And I was thinkin’, when it’s done, maybe we oughta think about gettin’ outta this shithole.”

  “Watch your mouth, boy. I didn’t raise you to talk like that.”

  “Sorry.”

  He went back to eating, figuring he could bring it up again later. But after a minute, she asked, “Where was you thinkin’ about goin’?”

  “Arizona maybe.”

  “Hmph.”

  She stood up and went to the living room, sat on the sofa, and turned on the TV. He gathered the dishes and brought them to the sink, cleaned up a bit, then joined her to watch a reality court sh
ow. They laughed at other people’s misery for a while, and Kevin tried not to think too much about anything.

  During a commercial break, Linda lit a cigarette and said, “I always wanted to see the Grand Canyon.”

  * * *

  On the drive home, Rachel called Parker and made good on her end of their deal. First, she filled him in on all the developments in the Lowry County case. Then the conversation turned to Lauren Bailey. She told him her doubts about the official version, how she had come to believe that Bailey was innocent. She answered his questions and gave him as much detail as she could while trying her best not to blame the special agent in charge—the soon-to-be assistant director of field operations, Ross Penter.

  “So even though you had doubts, you still decided to arrest her?” Parker asked.

  “It wasn’t my decision alone,” she said, “but, yes, I did.”

  “And because of that decision, you ended up in a standoff in Bailey’s house that ultimately led to her death.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think another agent . . . had they been in your shoes at the time . . . do you think they would have fired on Bailey?”

  “Yes, I do,” she said without hesitation.

  “Okay. Do you think that another agent . . . had they been in your shoes . . . would have made the decision to arrest Lauren Bailey in the first place?”

  She thought for a moment and said, “I . . . I don’t know.”

  The question stuck with Rachel after they hung up. Her honest answer would have been no, but she hadn’t been able to say it. It shined a light on what had been her biggest weakness as an agent—her devotion to Penter. It had allowed him to take advantage of her, to push her aside for political expediency. During the past week, she hadn’t felt that weakness. She had been free to tackle the case on her own terms or not at all. And that was exactly what she needed.

  Her mind was made up—she would not return to the SBI. She cracked a can of Monster Energy and thought about what career might offer her the freedom she desired. It didn’t take her long to settle on becoming a legal investigator. She could work for defense attorneys and set her own hours, take the cases she wanted and ignore the rest. It might even be better pay. Penter would call her a traitor, of course. He would accuse her of using her expertise to help criminals go free instead of putting them behind bars. That thought should’ve bothered her, but it didn’t. In fact, the more she considered it, the more it appealed to her.

  Rachel Carver, legal investigator.

  She liked the way that sounded.

  Acknowledgments

  To the following, my sincere gratitude:

  The entire team at Crooked Lane Books. Especially Matt Martz, for seeing the potential in this novel and for pushing me to make it better. Peter Senftleben, my editor, for keeping me focused on what makes a good story. Sarah Poppe and Jenny Chen, for their efforts and patience as I learn what it takes to produce a book.

  Every great journey needs a guide, and without Rachel Ekstrom Courage of the Irene Goodman Literary Agency, my agent, I would be lost.

  Eric Weaver, for his counsel. Sean Wiggins, for his expertise in all things prosecutorial. And Officer Katie Anderson, for teaching me about law enforcement in North Carolina.

  My wife, Thu Ngo, for her unwavering support.