Colde & Rainey (A Rainey Bell Thriller)

by R. E. Bradshaw

  “But you were not convinced of that, because of the first note,” Rainey said.

  Wise glanced around the filling diner. “I can’t afford to be wrong.”

  “You mentioned family therapy. Any specifics there?” Rainey couldn’t help but be intrigued.

  “Teddy, Graham’s father, came back from Afghanistan physically wounded and mentally—” Wise hesitated, casting a knowing glance toward Billy. “Let’s just say, PTSD is a family problem, but they are dealing with it head on, responsibly. Teddy and Susan are involved parents. They truly can’t believe this happened.”

  “You said the shooter was shy. All of his other writings indicate self-esteem issues and difficulty with interpersonal relationships. There is a wounded warrior in his home. I’m assuming he had access to firearms, since he shot his victims.” Rainey was beginning to see a familiar pattern. “Next you’re going to tell me he was bullied by the kids on that list.”

  Wise sat up a little taller in his chair, ready to defend his townspeople’s actions or non-actions, as was often the case. “He was not an outgoing kid. His shyness was debilitating according to his mother and his teachers. He was awkward socially, and yes, he was the object of some teasing and pranks. But the neighbor kids, Ellie and Ely, sheltered Graham when they could. Ellie said they had done that since his family moved next door in sixth grade. Until he walked in her house with a rifle and started killing her family, Ellie Paxton thought Graham Colde was her friend.”

  “Jesus, that’s rough,” Billy commented.

  Rainey concurred with a nod of her head. “Is her brother going to make it?”

  “Yes,” Wise answered. “His promising college basketball prospects are probably over, but he is alive.”

  Rainey summed up her observations thus far, “So, Captain, you have a suspect in custody, two living witnesses, and what’s bothering you is a note you found in the shooter’s pocket. The students on the list, have you talked with them? What do you know about this kid and his relationship to his actual victims?”

  Wise swept the room with his eyes and leaned in for his fervent but whispered delivery, “Graham was exceptionally smart with math and computers, an above average student in all of his other classes. He displayed advanced intelligence as compared to his peers, which also separated him from them more. Socially, he lagged behind his age group. You know the type.”

  Billy and Rainey nodded that they did and Wise continued.

  “If I read him right, after going through his online correspondence, his video game activity, his journals, listening to his music, interviewing everyone that knew him—I do not think this boy was about to pull off a school shooting alone. Had he committed suicide or become a famous computer genius, I would not have been surprised. Becoming a potential mass murderer on his own? That is a real stretch.”

  “But there is no evidence of a partner, other than that one sample of writing that seems out of place with the others. You’ve mentioned no substantiation of a planned attack. All you have is a list of names—a list that could mean anything. Maybe this kid isn’t a school shooter at all. He could suffer from a personality disorder and the girl next door was part of some fantasy or obsession. The parents may have been obstacles to his final goal, possession of the daughter.” Rainey concluded with, “It would take a lot of hours poring over evidence to give you any kind of real answer.”

  Wise had nothing more to offer than, “You’re right. I suppose I am making a lot of fuss over a done deal. That boy is going to be in a hospital or prison for the remainder of his days. I just had this gnawing at my gut that says there is more to this story.”

  Rainey understood the Captain’s need to comprehend. No one wanted to face the reality of murderous rage in a child, particularly one that lived down the street. People wanted to know why these things happened so it could be prevented. Sadly, there would be a next time and the warning signs would be clearly visible, yet no one would put it all together until it was too late—after the fact, when the bodies were counted.

  She cleared her throat and said, “The people out there in Colorado are still trying to understand how that happened, even though the shooters left video-taped confessions of their plan and the reasoning behind it. If your shooter comes out of his coma with any cognitive abilities remaining, you can ask him. Nonetheless, you may have to resign yourself to never knowing what he had planned and what finally set that plan in motion.”

  “That isn’t very comforting,” the dejected Wise said.

  Rainey could not give him the answers he wanted, but she could offer him tools. “If there was a partner and a planned attack on the school, something went awry. It will be a person with whom your coma patient spent time alone. This person will show signs of distress right now, wondering if coma kid will wake up and expose him.”

  Wise listened intently to Rainey’s suggestions. His intensity convinced Rainey that his hunch was real and warranted.

  “Captain Wise, could you write down your address for me. I’ll send you a copy of the report from the school shooter conference. It will help you in your investigation. In the meantime, watch and listen for leakage. If there was a plan, it’s already been leaked. They truly cannot help themselves most of the time. They tell in words or deeds; it’s compulsory for the majority of these school shooters.”

  “I’d sure appreciate that report and thanks for talking with me. Knowing where that anomaly in the writing came from helps ease my mind some. He probably was just copying something he saw on the Internet. Still, I’d hate to miss a clue and leave these kids in danger.” Wise glanced around the diner again and then let out a sigh. He seemed ready to let the matter drop. “I’ve kept you from your plate long enough. Go on, eat up before your cabbage gets cold.” He nodded at Rainey, adding, “If Graham Dean Colde ever wakes up, you can bet your last dollar I’ll be there to ask him what in the hell he was thinking.”

  Rainey forked a piece of ham and smiled at Wise across the table. “If he has even the slightest clue, give me a call.”

  #

  Tar Heel Trace, Edgecombe County, North Carolina

  2:06 p.m., Mostly Cloudy, 63oF

  “Come here, you little prick.”

  Billy Bell grabbed the blue-haired young man’s leather trench coat lapels and bent him backwards over the hood of the truck. Rainey stood by watching, sipping sweet tea through a straw, and thinking how the constraints of constitutional law were not necessarily part of country road justice.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you old man?” The kid shouted, drawing the attention of others in the parking lot and those that had followed Rainey out of the store.

  She watched the young man’s friend carefully and inched closer to her father, in case he needed backup. Thus far, Billy had not asked for assistance and appeared to have things well in hand. Rainey had the advantage of being a bystander for now. No one noticed her. They were all too interested in her father and the spike-collared youth in his grasp.

  She saw the vein bulge in her father’s neck and heard him growl at his captive, “Where are your grandfather’s legs?”

  This all started because Rainey wanted something to drink on the way home from meeting Captain Wise. They had taken back roads, caught up on their separate lives, and ended up at a little crossroads store. The signage and appearance indicated a local hangout, where one could acquire essentials, such as fuel for any number of things, cigarettes and chewing tobacco, ice and beer, and some barbecue made from the pig roasting out back. What else could country folk need? The gravel and sand parking lot was wide and long, leaving room for the carpoolers that parked there every day. This place wasn’t in the middle of nowhere; it was just between somewhere and somewhere else.

  When he pulled up and parked, Billy turned to Rainey and said, “Don’t act like you know me. You’ll ruin my rep with that tee shirt.”

  “This from a man dressed like Magnum PI,” Rainey replied.

  Billy looked down at his clothing and comm
ented. “My shorts are longer and nowhere near that tight.”

  “Thank God for small miracles,” Rainey quipped.

  She teased him, but understood his warning. Billy was a bail bondsman. She probably shouldn’t have worn the Academy tee shirt, but she had been rushed and not thinking. Her father moved in circles that might be a bit suspicious of a federal agent. His network of informants, usually former clients, was vast and a valuable asset in the bond business. Billy was known for his fairness and ability to bring skips in without violence and with their dignity intact. Should he encounter a bond skipper or someone that knew how to find one, he wouldn’t want them to spook and run because of Rainey’s presence.

  In some instances he let a skip run, as he had explained to Rainey years ago, “That man was ready to die rather than let me take him back to face prison time. I know this guy. He’s a desperate man, not an evil one. I’ll keep him running. He’ll get no rest. He’ll see me on every corner. Eventually, the fight will leave him and he’ll be resolved to turning himself in. It’s important to know the difference between the scared rabbits and the cornered wolves.”

  Other times, things did not go so well. If a criminal were bad enough to require deadly force to bring in, Billy would say, “I shouldn’t have bailed him out.” Still, Rainey had seen skips run for their lives or attempt to scratch her dad’s eyes out over a three-month stint in jail for shoplifting. Force was the last resource Billy Bell would choose, but it was often chosen for him.

  Rainey went into the store before her father, who said he needed to check on a pickup he saw in the parking lot. She found the drink dispenser and filled a large white foam cup with crushed ice and sweet tea. The shopping area and cash counter were crammed into the front of the store with the beverage coolers. A few old rickety men played checkers at the back of the store, seated at wooden tables in not much better physical condition. Through the screened door at the rear of the store, she could see several men drinking out of plastic cups near a smoking barbecue made from a fifty-gallon drum. Rainey thought they were probably consuming an alcoholic beverage of the illegal variety. She made her way to the counter and paid for her tea.

  A kid with earrings and other shiny objects sticking out of his nose, lips, eyebrows, and even his ears came rushing in. “Hey, there’s some old dude out here threatening to kick Squib’s ass.”

  The alarm sounded; the store occupants, including Rainey, rushed into the parking lot. Squib turned out to be the young man Billy held in his grasp.

  “I asked you a question,” he said, smacking the kid’s head on the hood of the truck for emphasis. “Where are your grandfather’s legs?”

  “At home, dude, chill.”

  “You piece of shit,” Billy snarled. “That man lost his legs defending your country and you steal his money and meds. I ought to rip your throat out.”

  Billy put the fingers of his right hand under the boy’s jawbone and squeezed. The boy gasped and fought. Billy gripped tighter. He whispered, making it hard for anyone other than Rainey to hear.

  “If you fuck with Corporal Darden again, I will hunt you down. There will be no place you can hide. Do you understand me, you little prick?”

  Rainey took a step forward, but she stopped when Billy slowly relinquished his grip on the boy’s throat. If scaring this kid was Billy’s intention, she was quite sure that had been accomplished. She also knew the mistreatment of a veteran was one of the few things that could make Billy Bell angry enough to show it.

  “Where are the keys to your grandfather’s truck?” Billy demanded.

  “In m-m-my pocket, sir,” the kid said in a shaky voice. The cocky punk attitude was gone.

  Billy let him up and held out his hand, palm up. The kid produced the keys quickly, his face white with fear.

  “The money too,” Billy said.

  The kid turned out his pockets and gave Billy a wad of bills and every coin he had.

  Billy looked at the crowd. “If this boy comes up here to cash another check from Steve Darden, call the police.” He pushed the kid away. “Get the fuck out of here, before I change my mind about letting you breathe another day.”

  “How are we supposed to get home?” Dog-collar-boy’s pierced friend asked.

  Billy turned and glared at him. “Walk, you fucking cowards. You’ve got two legs.”

  The boys took off running and the crowd dispersed. A couple of the old checker players, one sporting an Army veteran’s hat, shook Billy’s hand and thanked him. Rainey stayed back, out of the way, until everyone was gone. When her father finally acknowledged her presence, he was smiling again, the anger having subsided. He tossed her the keys to his old truck.

  “Sorry to interrupt our father-daughter day, but I need to drive Darden into the VA hospital. He’s in pretty bad shape. Take the truck home. I’ll get Mackie to come pick me up.”

  “Do what you need to do,” Rainey said, and then spontaneously hugged him. “I love you, Dad.”

  “I love you, too, Rainey Blue. I love you, too.”

  Some girls loved their fathers for what they could provide for them. Rainey loved hers because of the character of the man. At that moment in time, standing in a parking lot just south of somewhere, sipping sweet tea through a straw, she could not have loved Billy Bell more. He was her hero and always would be.

  Chapter Two

  Fourteen Years Later,

  Tuesday, February 11, 2014

  The Bell-Meyers Home

  9:00 p.m.

  Mostly Cloudy, 30oF, Windchill 23oF

  “Rainey, what are you doing?”

  From her vantage point, Rainey could only see her wife’s thighs. She raised her head to see more, saying, “I’m trying to make you a happy camper.”

  “I can think of other ways to get that done. What are you doing down there?”

  “I’m almost there, hang on.”

  “I’m hanging, but you better hurry up. I hear the pitter patter of little feet.”

  “I thought they were in bed,” Rainey said with a grunt. The sound of a splash followed immediately and then a, “Yuck!”

  Katie squatted down, blocking the light under the master bathroom sink, where Rainey’s shoulders and head were. “I told you I called a plumber,” she said, holding out a hand towel.

  Rainey took the towel and used it to wipe the dripping water from her chin, as she slid out from under the sink. She held her closed fist in front of Katie. “Yes, but you wouldn’t want to have to kiss the plumber.” She opened her hand to reveal Katie’s ring in her palm.

  “I can’t believe it was still in there,” Katie exclaimed, and threw her arms around Rainey’s neck.

  They had no time to celebrate further, because their two-year-old triplets crashed into them, forming a giggling dog pile in the bathroom floor. Freddie, Rainey’s cat, who had been observing from the sink above, bolted at the triplet’s appearance.

  “What are you guys doing up?” Rainey asked, laughing too. “Look, I saved Mommy’s ring.”

  Weather came toward Rainey, opening and closing her little hands. “Ring, ring,” she whispered, like Gollum.

  “And I have a good idea who put it in there,” Rainey said, profiling the culprit’s obsession. “Miss Lord of the Rings here.”

  Timothy lost interest in the dog pile and was halfway under the sink. Mack, who was hopelessly devoted to Katie, clung to his mother, pointing at his sister.

  “Wedder. Wedder,” at least that is what Rainey thought he said.

  Katie chuckled. “She’s going to be called Wedder her whole life.”

  Weather repeated her new favorite word, “No, no, no,” for no particular reason, other than she heard it often, and Rainey assumed the little klepto knew she wasn’t getting the ring back.

  Rainey held the ring out to Katie, “Here, put this on.”

  Katie took the ring, while Rainey towel dried her hair and watched Weather follow the ring.

  “Where does she get this obsession with sparkly th
ings?”

  Katie corrected her, “Expensive, sparkly things.”

  Rainey chuckled, knowing exactly where their daughter acquired her eye for the finer things in life. She needn’t point that out to Katie though. Instead she asked, “Did you ever find your diamond earrings or the necklace?”

  Katie slipped the engagement ring back over her wedding band, saying, “No, I haven’t and since we know from the x-rays she didn’t swallow them or feed them to her brothers, I’m assuming I’ll find her nest one day.”

  “Quite the haul she’s made so far,” Rainey commented and pointed at Mack. “You could always get him to rat her out. He’d do it for you.”

  The sound of banging came from under the sink. Rainey turned to see Timothy with the channel-lock pliers, preparing to take another big swing at the cold-water valve.

  “Whoa there, Mr. Plumber-man,” she said, removing the tool from the toddler’s hands. “We don’t need to knock that off the wall.”

  “Okay, back to bed,” Katie said, trying to pry Mack off her shoulder so she could stand. “Let go, honey. Mommy needs to get up.”

  “I read the clingy stage only lasts a few months,” Rainey offered as solace for Katie, who though extremely patient, looked tired these days. “At least it’s not all three of them at once.”

  “My mother says there will come a day when I’ll wish they clung to me more. At this point, I really don’t see how that could be possible.”

  Rainey pulled Mack away from Katie, tickling his ribs to distract him from his true love. The largest of her children, Mack weighed in at an astounding thirty-three pounds at twenty-six months, large for his age, especially for a triplet. His siblings were smaller, but all were very healthy and advancing normally. The Bell-Meyers triplets were doing well, even if their parents wore thin.

  Katie took only one step after standing, before Mack tore away from Rainey to attach himself to his mother’s leg. “Come on, baby boy, let’s get you in bed,” Katie said, with no hint of aggravation.