by Vicki Hinze
Mr. Martin sat back down beside his wife, taking her frail hand in his.
Beth wanted to smack Robert. What was wrong with him that he could be so self-absorbed and selfish when he had two people who obviously loved him dearly? Sara would have adored them, and they her. “For your sakes, I wish with all my heart I was wrong about him. But I’m not.” Beth teared up. She blinked hard to hide it, but their expressions revealed they’d seen her turmoil. “I’m so sorry.”
Beth glanced at the photographs littering the top of the piano—and stopped short. “May I look at those?” She nodded to the pictures.
Mr. Martin lifted a hand. “Of course.”
Beth lifted the one that had stopped her cold. Joe moved to her side and she tilted the frame so he could see what she did. Robert, Darla Green, Tack Grady, and Nathara.
“When was this taken?” Joe asked.
“Five years ago,” Mrs. Martin said. “Robert invited some of his friends for lunch in the garden. Nora loved the garden. She was fond of heather.”
“Nora?” Beth looked closely. That was definitely not Nora. It was Nathara. She signaled Joe to snap pictures of the photograph with his phone.
“An adorable woman, Nora. I so enjoyed her.”
Joe and Beth exchanged a loaded glance and reached the same conclusion. Enough harm had been done to the Martins. For now, they thought their son was dead, and it was best they continued to think it until his fate was fact.
“Thank you for talking with us.”
“I wish we could have been more help.” Mr. Martin sighed. “Take care, Miss Dawson.”
“I will.”
“Take care of Sara too.” Mrs. Martin blinked hard. “She seems like a lovely woman.”
“She is.”
Joe and Mr. Martin shook hands. “I wish the news had been better, Mr. Martin.”
“Me too.”
Beth and Joe left the library and Selina showed them out. When Beth heard both of the Martins collapse into sobs, she shot a worried look at their maid. “Will they be okay?”
“I’ll take care of them,” she whispered. “If you get a chance, spit on that ungrateful boy’s grave. The pain he’s caused his parents is unforgivable.”
Selina had heard every word. “Keep close watch on them,” Joe said. “Security for a time might be a good idea. Robert had some bad friends.”
“I’ll call right away.”
Beth patted her arm and then walked outside. Joe’s eyes were shining overly bright. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Just looking for justice where there isn’t any.” He opened the car door. “What I would have done for parents like that. They love that heartless wreck more than life itself, and he’s too warped to appreciate them. People like that make me crazy, Beth.”
“I know. Me too.” She meant it sincerely. “They seem like such good people. How did he become such a rat?”
“Choice. Every day when we get out of bed, we decide what kind of people we’re going to be, a blessing or a curse. He chose to be a curse—every day.”
Beth liked Joe’s armchair wisdom, and his appreciation for family. “Did you get the pictures?”
He pulled away from the curb, dialing his phone. “Sending them ahead now.”
She didn’t ask where. Didn’t have to; Jeff, and his friends still in the inner circle in Intel. Seconds later, he dialed again, paused, then said, “Jeff, it’s Joe. We’re on our way back to the plane. Robert Tayton III is definitely Robert T. Martin.” He paused. “Yeah, and we saw a photo of him with Darla Green, Tack Grady, and Nathara. Already e-mailed it to you.” A pause, then, “I agree. He’s NINA.” Another pause. “No, no way. He’s not Jackal. But he’s in the middle of all this.” Another long pause. “We’ll talk with her when we get back. We need them loose to see what they do. Just keep all three on a short leash—and tell Mark to get extra security on Sara. If what we’re thinking is right, she’s in lethal jeopardy.”
Those words hit Beth like a punch to the stomach. She closed her eyes, forced her muscles to relax. Things were finally starting to make sense.
“Beth and I will talk to them first thing in the morning.” He tilted the receiver. “Sha, write this down, will you?”
She grabbed a pen and wrote on the back of a deposit slip from her checkbook. “Ken Matheson and Bill Conlee. Call Bill ‘Deacon.’ Millie, the dispatcher, will locate them for us.” Joe yielded to traffic and pulled into the right lane on the interstate, heading for the airport. “I won’t tell you not to worry, Jeff. But I’ve got a plan. After we talk to the officers, we’ll conference on it. Make sure Mark, Ben, and Roxy are briefed.” Soon, Joe pocketed his phone.
Beth clipped the pen to the slip of paper and set it in the console. “Ken and Bill. Why are we going to see the officers up north who found the mattress?”
“We need to get their impressions—the things that don’t make it into reports.”
Beth jotted another note. “We also need the original lab tests on that mattress.”
Joe glanced over. “Why? I’m ninety percent sure Robert’s alive. It’s a moot point.”
Her mind raced ahead. “Because it’s possible that the combination of the officers’ impressions and the lab test results prove Robert choreographed everything that’s happened.”
“How?”
Beth dipped her chin. “The truth is in his blood.”
19
Tack drained his glass, then looked at Darla. Uncertainty flickered in his eyes. “This Plan B isn’t a positive development.”
He wasn’t ordered to kill anyone. He had nothing to complain about. “Why is that?”
“I was supposed to be mayor. This new plan puts Phoenix in my slot.”
“So they have other plans for you.” Darla had known Tack Grady a long time and hadn’t been surprised to learn from Jackal he was a NINA operative. She was surprised Tack didn’t expect NINA to use and dispose of him.
“That’s what worries me.” He tugged a baseball cap down, shading his eyes.
“Don’t do anything stupid.” Darla felt compelled to warn him. “Jackal will kill you.”
“Don’t you get it?” Tack tilted his chin. “We’re both already dead.”
Chills seized her body. Darla watched him walk away, knowing he was right.
“Trust Me.”
God. If he hadn’t already abandoned her, He wasn’t going to. Okay. What do I do? Tell me. What do I do?
“Plan C.”
And it was there, fully blown inside her mind. She knew exactly what to do.
Hurrying inside, she fished her car keys from her handbag. Tack would follow her, of course. Or run for his life—which would be the human thing to do but also wasted effort. No one outran NINA. Darla learned that firsthand. She’d tried and tried. With John, she’d been content if not happy. For a woman like her, content was more than enough. Yet she’d been issued her orders: “Kill John or Karl Masson will kill John and Lance and you’ll watch.”
She drove toward Sara Tayton’s, doubled back, and stopped at Wal-Mart. Darla hadn’t spotted Tack but developed a cover story in case he followed and confronted her. Hopefully he was too worried about saving his own hide to worry about what she was doing.
She bought a prepaid mobile phone, activated it, returned to her car, and then dialed Jeff.
“Detective Meyers.”
“It’s Darla. Is your phone clean?”
“Secure, why?” Surprise rippled in his voice.
“Get Beth, Sara, Joe, Mark, Ben, Peggy, and Roxy to Sara’s now. It’s an emergency.”
“What emergency?”
“I’ll explain later. Just do it, Jeff.”
“Joe and Beth aren’t available right now.”
“Everyone else then—and hide their cars so they can’t be seen from the street.”
“Darla, this isn’t a time for games. I’m up to my eyeballs in alligators.”
“If you don’t meet me, odds are good Sara’s going to be dead.”
“Sara?”
“Yes.” That was Plan B. Clearing the deck for Phoenix required getting rid of Sara. Darla pulled out onto the highway and raced toward Sara’s. “If Tack Grady sees any of you there, I’m dead. You understand what I’m saying, Jeff?”
“NINA.”
He understood. And any chance for her fresh start was gone. But the only death staining her new soul would be her own. A tear slipped to her cheek. Let me die quickly, okay?
That’s all she had the right to ask, yet her deepest regret tore at her heart, demanding she ask one thing more. Protect my son. Let Lance be the kind of man his father was, good and kind and loving and strong. Let him be nothing like me.
Joe turned the Highlander onto Highway 90, heading north toward Magnolia Branch community. When he got off the phone with the Walton County sheriff’s office, Beth asked, “Where are they meeting us?”
“On the property, at the rusty shed.”
“I should have brought flowers for Clyde’s grave.”
“Next time.” Joe squeezed her hand. “We’d better get sharp on their report.”
She pulled out their findings notes and read aloud the report Ken Matheson and Bill Conlee, the officers who’d found the bloody mattress, had filed. When she was done, she glanced over at Joe. “Hear anything unusual?”
“No, but didn’t expect to. Their impressions don’t get into the reports.”
Again, a worry nagged at Beth. “Do you think we can trust them? So many are in with NINA—people we didn’t think could be.” Doubt about Darla speared her, and she hoped her instincts were wrong.
“Jeff says we can.”
“That’s hedging.” Beth dipped her sunglasses down on her nose. “What do you say?”
“We’ll see.”
“That’s what I thought.”
He smiled. “You know me too well, sha.”
That thought should have scared her right out of her shoes. Instead, it comforted her. She smiled back. “I do, don’t I?”
“Ah, she loves me. I can see it.”
“Don’t tease me, Joseph. I might be falling in love with you just a little, but that doesn’t mean I trust you.”
“You trust me, gorgeous.” He kissed her wrist. “It’s yourself you don’t trust.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but before a word left her mouth, she realized he was right. “I hate it when you do that.”
“What?”
“Know my mind before I know my mind.” She frowned. “It’s just wrong.”
“Blame it on love. It makes me look harder, notice more. It makes me eager to know everything.”
Any second her heart was going to rocket right out of her chest. “Even the bad stuff?”
“Especially the bad stuff.”
She looked out the window, insanely content. A man who knew the bad stuff and loved her anyway. Amazing—and nothing at all like Max. Spotting the mailbox post, she pointed. “Is that it?”
He checked the GPS coordinates on his phone app. “Looks like.”
The washboard dirt road had dust lifting into a cloud behind them. Joe drove on and the rusty shed came into view, looming like the remains of a life. With all the weeds and twisted trees, knowing what was found in that shed and what had been done there had Beth’s skin crawling.
“You okay?” Joe scanned her face.
“Creeped out, but fine.”
“Considering the history here, being creeped out is sensible.” He parked near the rusty shed beside Bill and Ken’s police cruiser.
“Owning it is worse. We’re ditching it. I might burn this shed down.”
“Couldn’t blame you.” He winked. “Ready?”
She nodded and they got out of the SUV, then greeted Ken Matheson and Bill Conlee. Both were in uniform. Matheson was young and brash, and Bill carried the weariness of a more seasoned cop. She liked him immediately and in their discussion pegged him as a teddy bear of a man: respectful and very careful to be precise and accurate. Matheson called him Deacon, and Joe asked how he’d gotten the moniker.
Ken gave Joe an odd look. “He’s a deacon.”
Beth bit back a smile and listened to all they had to say about the discovery and everything that had happened afterward. When they were done, Beth still wasn’t convinced. “Bill, how could Robert Tayton, med student or no, lose all that blood and survive?”
Squinting against the late afternoon sun, he seemed lost in thought. “That’s troubled me too. The heat in the shed that day stole my breath away.”
“What the heat didn’t take, the stench did.” Ken scrunched his face. “It would’ve gagged maggots.”
Bill shot him a look to keep his comments to himself. “Yet the blood was cold. I still haven’t figured that out.”
Joe’s eyes narrowed. “Cold? In that heat?”
“In that heat.” Bill nodded. “Figured the blood might be stage props because of it, but forensics don’t lie. It was Mr. Tayton’s blood.”
Joe rubbed at his temple. “I don’t remember cold blood being in your report.”
Bill looked to his partner.
Ken shrugged. “My fault if it’s not. I wrote it up.”
“Better check it again and if it isn’t, file a supplemental correcting that.”
“Will do, Deacon.”
Bill remained thoughtful. “I remember stooping down by the mattress—it was pretty disconcerting to see that much blood, you know—and spotting a glint. Looked like a glass shard until it disappeared right before my eyes.” He shrugged. “I put it down to a trick of the light, but now, I wonder.”
“Mind if I take a look in the shed?” Joe asked.
“No reason not to. Coroner’s released it and Beth owns it.” Bill cocked his head. “The lock’s busted …”
“Thank you, Bill.” Joe extended his hand.
He clasped and shook. “You thinking that blood was on ice?”
Joe nodded. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“Could be right.” The deputies retreated to their cruiser, then headed to the highway.
“You can wait out here,” Joe said. “I won’t be long.”
Gathering his own impressions. Beth’s instincts hummed. “Thoughtful, but I’m coming. Just stay close.”
“For as long as you like, sha.”
They walked through the dark shed with flashlights. “Ugh. Ken wasn’t joking about the stench.” She gagged.
“Go back outside.” Joe looked closely. “I’ll be just a second.”
Not waiting to be told twice, Beth stepped out the door and gulped in fresh air. Horrible place. Definitely razing it.
When Joe came outside, he looked green. “Man, that’s raunchy.” He kept walking toward the Highlander.
Beth stepped lively to catch up, slid into the car, and as soon as Joe started it, she turned up the air full blast to blow off the stink and cool down. “We need to look hard at the forensics report on that mattress.” She reached for the findings file.
“What are you thinking?”
From his expression, he knew exactly what she was thinking. He was testing her, pure and simple. “That I was even more right than I originally thought. The truth really is in Robert’s blood.” She flipped open the file. “Forensics estimated the loss at six pints. That’s more than enough to kill a man and end any further investigation.”
“Not without a body.” Joe glanced her way. “They had to prepare to go before a judge and declare no doubt that the man was dead.”
Hope sparked. “So they ran other tests immediately, while the blood was fresh and accurate results could be obtained?”
“A variety of them.” Joe glanced at Beth. “What are you looking for?”
Another test. Hand to her face, she admitted, “I don’t know.” Obviously Robert hadn’t lost all that blood at one time or he’d be dead. “Did you personally review the report?”
“He was dead—case closed.” Joe shrugged. “Come drive and I’ll look at it no
w.”
They switched seats and he dove into the report. Several page flips, then suddenly he stopped. “Whoa.”
“What?”
“The samples tested from different areas of the mattress have different glucose results.”
“Sugar levels change, depending what you eat or drink, whether or not you’re exercising—all kinds of things affect that.”
“Yeah, but not this substantially, this short-term,” Joe said.
“Which proves …”
Joe’s expression flattened. “The blood came out of Robert but over time. Not in a single, violent bleed-out incident.”
The little hairs on her neck lifted. “I hoped you’d say that.” Beth signaled a left turn back onto Highway 331. “A med student could draw blood. If he did it over time, then he had to preserve it.” She glanced at Joe. “Freeze it?”
“Thaw it at one time, it decomposes at one time.” Joe nodded. “Forensics was first interested in quantity to see if they were looking for a wounded or dead man. Once they determined he was dead, they’d run the battery of tests, but why bother with more than a cursory review of the results? The guy had to be dead.”
“Bill Conlee said the blood was cold—and that disappearing glint he thought was glass could have been ice.” She reached for her phone. “I’m calling Jeff to search Sara’s freezer.”
“He’s already checked hers and Darla Green’s and Nora’s.”
“You’ve already thought of all this.”
He smiled.
“Why are you testing me?”
“You’re smart, Beth. It’s helpful to know how smart.”
“So how am I doing?”
“Great.” He gave her a dreamy smile. “I’m enchanted.”
She snorted and smacked his thigh. “Focus, Joseph.”
“I am, sha.”
“Not on me. On where else Robert would hide frozen blood and the stuff he needed to draw it.” Beth tapped the steering wheel. “He’s taken extreme measures to point blame elsewhere. If he’s alive, he had to know someone would look into how he dropped six pints of blood and lived. He’d be prepared.”
“What aren’t you saying?”
He read her like a book. “It’s a game to Robert and he means to win. He’d blame me.”