by Pratt, Scott
I dressed, made a pot of coffee, and turned on the small television that Caroline kept on the kitchen counter. Duane Scott called again and I gave him more specific directions to the house. A couple of minutes later, a young, stiff-haired talking head appeared on the television screen.
“We interrupt this program for a special news bulletin,” the young man said as an image of Jordan Scott’s booking photo appeared on the screen. “The Sullivan County Sheriff’s Department is reporting that accused cop-killer Jordan Scott has escaped from the Sullivan County Jail. Sheriff Raymond Peale tells News Channel Nine that Scott faked a medical condition less than an hour ago, overpowered a guard and took his keys. He locked the guard in his cell, used the keys to steal a service revolver and a cell phone from a desk on the cell block, and then escaped through a service entrance. Peale warns that Scott should be considered armed and extremely dangerous. He urges residents in the Blountville area to lock their doors and keep a sharp lookout for what the sheriff is calling a desperate, dangerous criminal.”
I knew from talking to Leon Bates about the association between Raymond Peale and Howard Raleigh, about the corruption within the Sullivan County Sheriff’s Department, and I knew I’d put myself in the middle of a dangerous situation. I called Leon and told him to come to my house and to bring the cavalry with him. Leon was groggy and it took him a few seconds to understand what I was saying, but he finally got the message. He said he’d be there as soon as he could. I just hoped it wouldn’t be too late. I shut the dogs in our bedroom and walked outside just as Duane Scott’s car pulled into the driveway.
“Come on,” I said. “Hurry.”
Jordan was wide-eyed, obviously terrified, and looked haggard. His father, a tall, solidly-built, proud man, looked even worse.
“Did you see anyone following you?” I said as we hurried toward the front door.
“I don’t think so,” Duane Scott said. “Have you heard what they’re saying on the news? The radio… they said Jordan overpowered a guard.”
I nodded and put my hand on Duane’s arm. “I’ve been watching. It isn’t good, but try not to worry.”
The news bulletin was blaring again as I led Duane and Jordan through the kitchen.
“These steps lead up to my daughter’s old room,” I said. “I want you to go up there, lock yourselves in the bathroom, and wait until I come for you.”
“What’s going on, Mr. Dillard?” Jordan asked. “What’s happening?”
“I’m not sure, Jordan. But I promise you that Raymond Peale will have to kill me to get into this house.”
I watched them walk up the stairs and then went to our bedroom. I pushed the dogs back, pulled a pistol from the drawer in the nightstand next to my bed and then went back to the kitchen and turned off the television and all of the lights. I walked to the front door and turned on the outdoor security lights, stepped through onto the front porch, closed and locked the door behind me, and pulled a wooden rocking chair over. I slid the pistol into my belt beneath the light jacket I was wearing, sat down, folded my arms across my chest, and started rocking.
Almost immediately, I heard the roar of the engines. Four police cruisers pulled into my front yard, blue and red lights flashing. I felt my heart begin to race, but I didn’t budge. I watched as car doors opened and men took cover behind the cruisers, pointing rifles, shotguns and pistols at me. High-powered spotlights blazed on, blinding me. No one said a word for thirty seconds; the night was still and cool and filled with tension. I heard another engine and a gaudy, black Crown Victoria with gold lettering that read “High Sheriff of Sullivan County” pulled up next to Duane Scott’s car. A man I assumed must be Raymond Peale climbed out. I could see the gleam off of his belt buckle and the outline of his cowboy hat. As he came closer, I saw a shotgun in his hands. Peale walked up onto the porch and stood less than five feet from me.
“You’re in the wrong county, sheriff,” I said. “My name is Dillard, Joe Dillard, and this is my property. I’m asking you to leave.”
“I know who you are,” Peale said. “I also know you’re harboring an escaped murderer and a dangerous fugitive.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Don’t play games with me, counselor. I know he’s here.”
“And how would you know that? Do you have some kind of tracking device on his father’s car or did you bug his father’s cell phone? Either of those things would be illegal unless you got a warrant. Did you get a warrant, sheriff?”
“Move aside,” Peale said. “We’re going in.”
“You would also need a warrant to go into my house. Can I see it?”
“I don’t need no warrant and you damned well know it! Now move aside!”
I thought about drawing the pistol but decided against it, at least for the moment. I stood.
“This is my home,” I said, raising my voice so all of the deputies could hear clearly. “This is my home, and I won’t let you invade it. If my client is inside, he’s there because he fears for his life. This is not what you men think it is. Your boss, your sheriff, wants to turn you into assassins. He wants you to kill Jordan Scott, most likely because his friend Howard Raleigh wants you to kill Jordan Scott.”
“Shut your mouth and get out of the way,” Peale hissed. He leveled the shotgun at my chest.
“Jordan Scott will turn himself in,” I said, “but not to you.”
That was when I heard Leon Bates and his men, sirens screaming, coming across the hill. I felt a tremendous surge of relief.
“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a real party now,” I said to Peale.
Within a minute, Leon, flanked by three of his own deputies, walked up the sidewalk. He stopped a few feet from Peale, who was still pointing the gun at me.
“What in the dickens is going on here?” Leon said. I noticed that Leon’s right hand was resting on the butt of the nine-millimeter pistol holstered at his side.
“He’s harboring an escaped convict. We’re here to take him back into custody,” Peale said.
“Without so much as a courtesy call to my department? Lower that weapon and tell your men to stand down.”
Peale turned toward Leon. I don’t think I’d ever seen such a look of unadulterated contempt.
“No,” Peale said. “He’s in there, and he’s going back with me.”
“Sheriff Peale,” Leon barked, “if you think I’m going to let you come into my county and act like a Nazi, you’re a fool. In ten seconds I’m going to draw my weapon, and if that shotgun isn’t stowed and your men aren’t packing up, I swear on the blood of my beloved lord and savior Jesus Christ I’ll shoot you where you stand.”
Leon’s deputies, as though on command, fanned out, put their hands on their weapons, and faced Peale’s deputies. My throat tightened and my stomach cramped ever so slightly. If this turned into a shootout, Leon and his men would be slaughtered. I looked at Peale, at the barrel of the shotgun. It was shaking.
“Ten,” Leon said, “nine, eight, seven…” I watched as Leon’s fingers wrapped around the pistol grip. “…six, five, four—”
Peale lowered the shotgun.
“Leon, this is crazy,” he said. “You don’t want to shoot me and I don’t want to shoot you.”
“Tell your men to stand down,” Leon said. “Right now. Tell them to get in their cars and leave.”
“I want that boy, Leon. He’s my prisoner and I want him.”
Leon stepped to within a foot of Peale and said, “Hell will freeze over before you take him.”
“But he murdered one of my deputies! He escaped from my jail!”
Leon removed his pistol from the holster, but kept it pointed toward the ground.
“Go back to Sullivan County where you belong, sheriff. Right now.”
Peale’s shoulders slumped. He muttered something under his breath and started walking away. The spotlights were turned off, the deputies got into their cruisers and quietly backed out onto the road. When the sounds o
f the engines faded, I looked at Leon’s deputies. All three of them were young, mid-to-late twenties. Their faces revealed neither fear nor relief. The air suddenly seemed fresh, cool and glorious. I turned my attention to Leon, who had holstered the pistol and was now standing with his hands on his hips, staring in the direction of the disappearing cruisers.
“You, my friend, have cojones the size of church bells,” I said.
“And you, my friend, have an accused murderer and escapee in your house.”
I nodded and smiled. “Yes, yes I do.”
“What are we going to do about that?”
I sighed, sat down in the rocker, and rocked a few times.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Why don’t we go inside? I’ll introduce you to the crazed murderer and his father.”
“You know I can’t guarantee you I’ll be able to keep him,” Leon said. “As soon as he’s arraigned on the escape charge, they might send him back to Sullivan County.”
“Let me worry about that. Listen, are you and your guys hungry? I have some fresh sausage and some beautiful brown eggs one of my neighbors gave me. I make a mean pancake. I’d consider it an honor to fix you breakfast.”
Leon took his hat off, turned to his deputies.
“I don’t know about you boys, but after all this, I’m starved.”
“So am I,” I said as I got up from the chair. “Nothing like a near massacre to fuel a man’s appetite.”
Chapter 40
JASPER was whistling “Skillet Good and Greasy” as he pulled the skin out of the tanning solution. It was about the size of a hand towel, and was all that was left of Clyde Dalton. The rest of Clyde, along with his clothing and shoes, had gone into the incinerator. A ring he was wearing and his gun had been tossed into Watauga Lake off the Butler Bridge the night after Clyde died. Jasper had hosed down the spot where Clyde had fallen and the blood trail he’d left when Jasper dragged him to the shop. Whatever blood Jasper had missed, Biscuit had taken care of, and Peanut didn’t suspect a thing. Jasper smiled to himself as he looked at the soft, pliable skin. What he was planning would make a heck of a gift to Peanut, though he knew he’d probably never find the nerve to give it to her.
Fifty-six hours had passed since Clyde Dalton’s death. It was 8:20 a.m. A summer rain had started falling a few hours earlier and was cleansing the mountain. Jasper enjoyed the steady percussion of the rain dropping on the roof. He liked the smell of the forest after a shower. He thought about Peanut’s question about him leaving the mountains. He truly did love it here. He’d never leave.
Biscuit started barking outside and Jasper heard the hum of an engine and gravel crunching beneath tires. He removed his rubber gloves and walked outside. There was virtually no breeze. The rain was heavy but quiet, the drops falling straight down from the clouds. The car was a white Ford Crown Victoria. Behind it was a cruiser from the Carter County Sheriff’s Department. Jasper spoke to the dog and he went silent. A man got out of the Crown Vic, popped open a black umbrella, and started walking toward Jasper. He was shorter than Jasper, barrel-chested, with short, black hair. He was wearing a short-sleeved, white shirt, open at the collar, and gray dress slacks. There was a gun in a shoulder holster beneath his left arm and a badge attached to his belt.
“Morning,” he said as he approached.
“Morning.” Jasper took the hand he offered.
“Name’s David Delaney,” he said. “I’m an investigator with the Carter County Sheriff’s Department. You must be Jasper Story.”
“I am. What can I do for you?”
“Is Charleston… is Miss Story around?”
“No sir, she ain’t here,” Jasper said. Charlie had gotten on her horse early in the morning and headed off up the mountain with Jack Dillard. “She went on a little vacation.”
“Is that right? Where’d she go?”
“I don’t believe she wants anybody to know.”
“That her Jeep over there?”
“Belongs to a friend of hers. He went on vacation with her.”
Delaney nodded. “That’s probably a good idea.”
“Have y’all had any luck finding the feller that tried to kill her?”
“That’s why I’m here. We found his car a little while ago.”
“Is that a fact?”
“It’s less than a half-mile down the road, parked in some trees. Your neighbor ran across it and called it in.”
“So you think he’s around somewhere?”
“It looks that way. We have dogs coming, but with all this rain I don’t know if it’ll do any good. We have men in the woods already.”
“Y’all want some help? I know these woods better than anybody.”
“I appreciate that, but we can handle it. Our guys are well-trained.”
“You reckon I should arm myself?”
“That might not be a bad idea, Mr. Story. And it would probably be best if you stay in the house until we find him. I’d hate to see anybody else get hurt.”
Jasper shook his head. Droplets of water fell from the bill of his Atlanta Braves cap.
“No, sir,” he said. “We don’t want nobody getting hurt. We don’t want that at all.”
Chapter 41
JACK Dillard’s left arm was wrapped around Charlie’s waist while the sling held his right arm close to his body. He squeezed Sadie’s hindquarters tightly between his thighs as she climbed yet another steep ridge. The pills he’d been given had reduced the sharp pain in his collarbone and shoulder to a dull ache, but he was struggling to stay on the back of the horse.
“You all right?” Charlie asked over her shoulder as Sadie finally topped the ridge and started down the other side.
“I’m great,” Jack said.
“You sure? I thought I heard you groan a second ago.”
“Must have been the saddle creaking. I’m fine.”
They’d been on the horse for nearly an hour. The doctors had kept Jack at the hospital until late yesterday afternoon, and Charlie had spent the entire day with him. When he had finally been discharged, she’d pulled him into the hallway and asked him to come up to her place early the next morning. She wanted to take him riding, to show him the cave. She’d asked whether he felt up to it and he’d enthusiastically said yes. Of course he was up to it. He was Jack Dillard, destroyer of baseballs, tougher than a pine knot. He had failed to mention to his parents that he was going for a ride through rough terrain on a horse. He’d simply told them he was going to visit Charlie, and neither of them had voiced any opposition.
The hospital stay had been like a reunion. Once word of the shooting got out, a steady stream of family and old friends had descended upon his small room. His sister, Lilly, had been among them and had spent a couple of hours there early on the second morning. Joe and Caroline had gone home for a little while, and they’d been alone in the room. Lilly had asked him about Charlie, and he’d talked for fifteen minutes straight before he realized that Lilly was grinning widely at him.
“You’re in love,” she’d said.
“Maybe. I think it’s a little early for that word.”
“You’re in love,” she said again. “I can tell by the tone of your voice, the look on your face when you talk about her.”
“You sound like Mom.”
“Of course I sound like Mom. I’m her daughter, practically her clone. I’m also a woman who knows what it’s like to be in love, and you, young man, are in love. I’m happy for you.”
“Does being in love mean that your skin tingles and you stomach tightens every time you see someone? That you can’t stop thinking about them? That you lose your appetite when they’re not around?”
“All of those things,” Lilly said, “and much more.”
“I don’t know what I’ll do when the time comes for me to go back to school in Nashville,” Jack said. “I’ll starve to death.”
“What do you like best about her?”
“Everything.”
“Come on, give
me one thing.”
“Her smile. No, her wit, maybe. She’s really sharp. I also like her eyes, the way they change color in different light and the way they sparkle. Her hair is beautiful, her skin is clear and smooth, and the way she carries herself is—”
“I said one thing, Jack. Have you slept with her?”
“That’s none of your business. But no, I haven’t slept with her.”
“Why not? Aren’t you attracted to her?”
“I’m a gentleman. You should know that as well as anyone.”
“But you’d like to rip her clothes off and ravage her, wouldn’t you?”
“Absolutely. Damn, Lilly, what am I going to do when I have to go back to law school? I’ll go completely bonkers. ”
“You’ll be fine. Maybe Charlie can find a job down there after she passes the bar. When does she take it?”
“In a month. She’ll get the results in October.”
“It’ll work out,” Lilly said. “If it’s really love, and it sounds to me like it is, everything will work out fine.”
Charlie pulled back on the reins, slipped her leg over the saddle horn, and slid to the ground.
“This is it,” she said. “We’re here.”
She reached up, took Jack’s left hand in hers, and helped him slide out of the saddle. Jack watched and listened as she spoke in a soothing tone to Sadie and led her to a laurel bush near a creek a few yards away. She wrapped the reins around a branch, retrieved something from a saddlebag, and walked back to where Jack stood.
“It’s there,” she said, pointing to a large rock. “Across the creek and behind that rock, the one shaped like an hour glass. Come on.”