“Me kill you? Nah, I like to have my gun handy when I’m with people I don’t trust, keeps them honest. No matter what you think you remember, I didn’t do anything wrong. Now, why don’t you get out of here.”
Martin said, “I know you killed my mother. I also know there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m not stupid. A little boy’s testimony about something that happened over thirty years ago against the revered Sheriff of Blessed Creek—who would pay any attention?”
“There you go again, making accusations.” He brought his gun up, aimed it at Martin’s head. “You know, I could take you out and your wife too, if you screwed with me.”
“I have no intention of screwing with you, Sheriff.”
Sheriff Harms took a step back, leaned against his desk, the gun still in his hand. “Like you said, Austin, no one would pay any attention to you if you shot off your mouth. But if you did, it would really piss me off. I’ll bet you it’d piss me off enough to come after you and kill you dead. You know that, don’t you, Austin?”
“Is there anything you’d flinch from doing, Sheriff?”
“I’m a lawman, and I’ve had the guts for thirty years to keep myself and this town safe from people like you. Don’t you think to fuck with that, Austin.”
“I’m asking you to tell me why you killed my mother.”
Sheriff Harms walked to the door, opened it, looked up and down Main Street. A few people he’d known for years, but not a stranger in sight. He turned, shut the door, locked it. He leaned once more against his desk and grinned. “You know, it’s just the two of us here. All my deputies are out patrolling. Grace is having her lunch.”
“Then tell me the truth. You said it wouldn’t matter.”
“You want the truth? All right. Why the hell not? You really surprised your daddy.”
“My father? Don’t you try to bring my father into this. It was you I saw.”
The sheriff laughed. “You really believe that? You lived another twelve years with your mama’s murderer, at least with the guy who paid for it. Don’t be stupid, Austin, of course your daddy was in on it. You know what else? After he left, Townsend called me once a week, told me how you didn’t have a clue, not even an inkling of what had happened, didn’t even seem to remember your mother, didn’t seem to care. I stewed over it, worried about it, but after a few years, ended up letting it go.
“Then he called me, what was it—oh yeah, must have been nearly twenty years ago, scared out of his gourd that you were suddenly asking questions, and he worried you were going to remember. Your daddy was always a pathetic excuse for a man. He knew what had to be done, but he didn’t have the guts to do it.” Sheriff Harms shrugged. “I knew I should go right up to Boston and shoot your ass. I was planning my trip, didn’t tell your daddy, of course, no telling what he’d have done, but then you just up and disappeared right after you graduated high school. I couldn’t believe you did that, neither could your father. But you were gone. Poof, gone. I thought maybe you’d come back, but you didn’t. I thought I’d find you. After all, you were only a kid, eighteen years old, and what did you know? I’ll tell you, I checked you out as if you were a fugitive, looked all over for you, but there wasn’t a single sign of you. No credit cards, no licenses, nothing at all.
“Then here came the Internet, every year better and better. It should have been a piece of cake, but it wasn’t. I still couldn’t find hide nor hair of you. How did you do it, Austin?”
“Actually, I bought an entire new identity, not all that hard when you hit the streets in Boston.”
“Not bad for a puling little rich kid.”
“Do you know I kept trying to make myself remember, but I couldn’t? Just shadows, voices, until this afternoon when I finally went into the house, and walked into the bathroom where you murdered my mother, and then I climbed up into the attic.
“All right, Sheriff, tell me you’re making this up about my father being involved. Tell me what happened.”
Sheriff Harms laughed, stroked his fingers over the barrel of his gun, and began to toss it from his right to his left hand, again and again, knowing that Austin was looking at it. He wanted to scare him, make him worry that he might not live through this little drama, at least not for long. Maybe a nice car accident off the cliff road into Long’s Quarry, with his wife in the car beside him.
Martin said, “There’s no reason for you not to tell me, no reason for you to keep saying that my father was a part of it. You’re just too chicken to tell the truth, aren’t you, Sheriff? All you can do is throw the blame on someone else.”
“Nah, why would I even care what you thought? Hey, I know Townsend’s your dad, that you believed in him for eighteen years, but the fact is you must have known way down in your gut there was something wrong about your daddy, why else would you have skipped Boston, disappeared, never contacted him again?
“Yep, it was your daddy who wanted your mama murdered. He offered me a whole lot of money to off her. But you know, Austin, I was worried about keeping the money coming in since it was your mama who ran the business, and wasn’t that a funny thing back then, particularly thirty years ago? But your daddy promised me it wouldn’t be a problem, there was lots and lots of money, and he’d be in control again once she was out of the way. Your daddy liked to gamble, went off to Las Vegas at least once a month, and Sam was giving him grief about all his losses. Maybe he thought about divorcing her, I don’t know. But what happened was that your mama figured out he was cheating on her. She had him followed, and a private investigator caught him catting around with a couple of local women. He documented it with lovely big black-and-white photos. Your mama was going to divorce him, and he couldn’t have that. She’d take all his money, and you. I guess he figured he didn’t have any choice but to have me kill her, so your daddy promised he’d get me elected sheriff of Blessed Creek for life, if that’s what I wanted, and that’s what I did want. I’d just been elected by a real narrow margin with his help, and I knew I’d need really big bucks to keep this job come the next election. It’s amazing how well people treat you if you’ve got some money to spend, and your old man has paid me well over the years. It was sure a blessing for both of us that he married a rich woman in Boston, since he has no talent with money. His folks were right about that.
“You know something else, Austin? Your grandparents drowned in the lake, so drunk they couldn’t even swim back to the frigging boat. I’ve wondered if maybe your daddy made their martinis really strong, or maybe added a little something extra. You know, I think they were about ready to acknowledge to the world that he wasn’t quite right, that he was a real loser with money. But who cares when all’s said and done?”
“So you two planned to murder her the day of my sixth birthday party.”
“Everybody was there. It was a really big deal. There were so many people there, laughing, eating. After I made sure your daddy was surrounded by a dozen people so he’d have an alibi, I followed your mama to the bathroom and stabbed her in the heart. It was real easy.
“Only thing is, I looked up, and there you were, standing there, eyes wide as an owl’s.”
Martin said slowly, “And then you took my hands, told me Mommy would be all right, and you took me up to the attic.”
“Fancy you remembering that. Your daddy was really pissed that you’d witnessed the murder, didn’t know how you’d managed to slip away from all those kids you were playing with. That’s when I put you in the attic, told you to stay there or something really bad would happen to you. We decided to leave you up there in the attic, in a nice dark corner, let you think about things. We left you there for a good hour, until Old Emily found your mother’s body. That’s when I had to get you down, before people started looking for you. You were so freaked out I nearly had to drag you out of the attic. You didn’t say a word, just gave me this blank look.
“Your daddy got you out of there fast, right after the funeral. I think he was afraid I was planning how to kill yo
u, and he was right about that. I hate loose ends. Another accident, I would have come up with something. You didn’t speak for a month, and when you did, it was obvious you didn’t remember anything, you had amnesia and your daddy didn’t think you’d ever remember. And after a while I thought, Who’d believe a little kid anyway, without any proof? Why take the chance of another killing? So there’s your truth, but don’t ever think you can do anything with it. There wasn’t ever a lick of proof, I made sure of that since I was the sheriff, responsible for investigating Samantha’s murder. No murder weapon, no witnesses, no suspects. Well, the husband, there’s always the husband, but he was pouring drinks for a dozen party guests, a great alibi. Who killed her? Hey, I tried my best, but I couldn’t find the killer.”
Martin’s hands were tight fists at his sides. “I hope you got an ulcer worrying about me over the years.”
“Nah, you became ancient history. So you’ve found out what you wanted to know. Why not do us both a favor, get lost, and get over it. You’ve been someone else for nearly twenty years anyway. If I were you, I’d stay that person, and I’d stay away from your daddy. No telling what he’d do if you confronted him now he’s got that nice, rich wife and two daughters. He’d want to protect them from you. Hell, he might even kill you himself if you went to him and told him that you knew what he’d done.”
“Are you planning to kill me, Sheriff Harms? Not here, you wouldn’t be that stupid. But you’re afraid I’ll tell someone, aren’t you? You wouldn’t like that, it would mean a scandal, wouldn’t it, open everything up again? And there’s my father. You think I’d let him off the hook? Because of my half-sisters?” Martin walked up, grabbed the sheriff’s shirt collar in his fists, and shouted right in his face, “For the love of God, you crazy hick, he hired you to kill my mother! My mother!”
Sheriff Harms said very quietly, “Step away from me, boy, or I’ll heave you out the door. Believe me now. If you do ever say anything, ever lay your hands on me again, I’ll kill you and your wife. Count on it. Now get out, Austin.”
Martin stepped back, lifted his right arm, and unbuttoned his cuff. He shook his wrist, and Sheriff Harms saw the small gold medical alert bracelet. “This is my wire, Sheriff. Things have progressed, haven’t they? Everything you’ve said is crystal clear, for the future jury, on a tiny recorder in here. You’ve been had, Sheriff.”
“I see you think you’ve been pretty smart about this, don’t you,” Sheriff Harms said, eyes hot and dark. “But it won’t do you any good, you fucker. Your little wife either, if there even is a wife.” He looked again into the deserted street outside and raised his gun. “Okay, Austin, I don’t want to do it here, but it looks like I have to. What could I do, what with you coming in here and going crazy on me?”
A man’s deep voice said from behind him, “I don’t think so, Sheriff Harms.”
The sheriff whirled around to face the man he’d worried himself nearly sick over since that snowy night two and a half weeks before, the man who’d claimed to have seen Samantha Barrister. “You!” He started to raise the pistol, but Savich was faster. He turned, kicked out his leg so fast it was a blur, and sent the pistol flying into the front window with such force it shattered the glass and skidded on the sidewalk in front of the sheriff’s office.
Sheriff Harms yelled from the pain in his wrist, at the unfairness of it all, and lunged toward Savich.
Martin grabbed the sheriff’s injured arm, jerked him around, and sent his fist into his jaw. The sheriff staggered, but didn’t go down. Martin hit him against the side of his head, then landed a punch in his belly. The sheriff fell hard against his desk, landing facedown on the floor.
Savich stepped over him and tapped Martin’s shoulder. “Looks like you laid him right out. Good job.” He was grinning as he shook Martin’s hand. “Well done, Martin. Do you feel you got everything we came for?”
Martin grinned back as he rubbed his knuckles. “Yeah, I do.”
A Pennsylvania state trooper, Sergeant Ellis Wilkes, stepped in from the back of the office where a door led to three jail cells, then three more state troopers crowded in behind him. He stared down at the sheriff. “Imagine,” he said, “this man has been the sheriff of Blessed Creek for more than half of his life, and all of it because of a vicious, cold-blooded murder.”
Martin said, “Are you sure we’ve got enough on him?” He handed the small gold bracelet to Sergeant Wilkes.
“With the witnesses we have here today and that recorder, Sheriff Harms is toast. Oh yeah, he’s going down big time.”
“Good,” Martin said. “Good.” There was more relief in his voice than satisfaction. Finally, for him, it was over. Except for his dad.
He and Savich watched the state troopers haul out Sheriff Harms’s unconscious body. When they were alone, Savich laid his hand on Martin’s shoulder. “Your father, Martin. I spoke to the Boston police yesterday. In addition to everything else, they also have the evidence of over twenty years of payments to the sheriff. You can bet that Sheriff Harms will roll hard on him.
“The Boston police are waiting for me to call again before they pick him up.”
“You knew my father had to be in on it, didn’t you, Dillon?”
“Yes, it was the only thing that made sense. I have to call them, Martin.”
“But you didn’t say anything about it to me.”
“No.”
“Because you didn’t think I could handle it.”
“No, I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d have doubts. It had to come from Sheriff Harms.”
Martin Thornton nodded as he said without hesitation, “He paid this man to murder my mother. Make the call, Agent Savich.” Martin heard Janet’s voice, and turned to see her running ahead of Sherlock into the sheriff’s office. He was smiling as he caught her up in his arms.
EPILOGUE
GEORGETOWN WASHINGTON, D.C.
END OF JANUARY
SAVICH SAID, “Who was that on the phone?”
“Lily. She and Simon have decided to get married in March.”
“Why March, for heaven’s sake?”
Sherlock shook her head, smiling. “She said it just felt right and besides, she’s made him suffer enough. She laughed, said Simon’s agreed they’ll live here in Washington for six months and New York for six months. We’ll see how long that lasts. Oh yes, No Wrinkles Remus has been picked up by Newsday.”
“Good. Someone there’s got a brain. It’s one of the best political cartoons I’ve ever seen. And what a relief. She’s finally picked the right man, thank the good Lord.”
Sherlock handed him a sleeping Sean, who gave a little snort when he felt his father’s big hand stroke his back.
“I heard from Janet and Martin Thornton today. They’re doing fine. Martin’s on some meds, as you know, but he said his shrink doesn’t think he’ll need them for much longer, given what’s happened. I think he’s smart and insightful. Best of all, he’s got Janet. She’s working on getting him to contact his stepmother and his two half-sisters. Maybe they can help each other. Hey, sweetheart, you ready for bed?”
“Well,” Sherlock said, “Sean certainly is. I was thinking about a nice hot shower. You know, I haven’t scrubbed your back in a while. Not since Wednesday night when you came in all sweaty from the gym. What do you think?”
Savich kissed her ear. He was whistling quietly as they walked upstairs. In the shower, Sherlock soaped up her hands and washed his back. He was leaning against the tiled wall, feeling almost relaxed enough to collapse and drown, when she said, “Are you satisfied we did the right thing about Günter?”
Savich stilled a moment. “Yes. I’m very glad you suggested we discuss what happened before we talked to anyone else. We saved Margaret Califano and Callie endless pain, and protected Justice Califano from a scandal that would have destroyed his name and harmed the Supreme Court itself.”
She nodded against his shoulder. “I still wonder, though, if Günter acted alone.”
<
br /> “Remember Günter said he’d tell us a bit of truth? And so, I think, he did. Let it go, sweetheart. I have.”
He turned around to face her. Hot water cascaded down over them. “I decided to label that file Pandora’s box to remind me that Mr. Maitland is satisfied that Günter acted alone. So, yes, I’m going to keep that box tightly closed.”
She let the water pulse against her back as she lathered her hands to scrub down his chest. She raised her face. “I sure don’t want the key to that box. Let’s forget there is one, Dillon, okay?”
IT WAS LATE, deep in the night, when Savich shook his wife’s shoulder. “Wake up, Sherlock, wake up. You’re dreaming.”
Sherlock jerked awake, blinked at his face above hers. “What? Dillon? What’s the matter?”
“You were moving around, dreaming. A nightmare?”
Sherlock shook her head back and forth on the pillow. “No, no nightmare. Actually, for the very first time, I dreamed about Samantha.”
He pulled her tightly against him, and said against her hair, “I dreamed about her as well. Did she say or do anything in your dream?”
“No, she was there, in my line of sight, and she was smiling. What was your dream about Dillon?”
He turned over on his back, his arms crossed under his head. “She gave me a beautiful smile, too, and then nodded to me and patted my arm. I felt this wonderful feeling of warmth and contentment come over me. Then she was gone, and I woke up to hear you thrashing about.”
“Do you think you’ll tell Sean about her someday?”
Savich laughed. “Doubtful, but who knows?”
“I wonder if there were things your father never told you that happened to him.”
“I’d bet the bank on it.”
Sherlock settled back down for sleep, her head on her husband’s shoulder. “The oddest thing, Dillon, I think I smell jasmine.”
Savich didn’t say anything. He wasn’t about to say the words out loud. He breathed in the subtle scent, and closed his eyes.
The FBI Thrillers Collection Page 123