“Yeah, and it’s outdoors and wooded. Just exactly what appeals to Flash. I think Selma’s got herself a hostage, and Keaton’s gone to rescue his wife.”
Sam was nodding. “I’ll call Crick.”
“Do it from the, car. Let’s hit the road.”
“I’m driving.”
60
“It’s a big park,” Sam said.
“She’ll be by the water.”
“Fine, Sonora. That could be one of about five different places.”
“What kind of car did that teacher drive?”
“Sowder? Toyota Corolla.”
“Find the car, find Keaton.”
Sam drove past the conservatory and a rusted-out water tower. Sonora saw a pool of shallow greenish water next to an empty gazebo. Raindrops spattered the surface.
“What’s that?” Sonora asked. “A skating rink?”
“No, fountain. Turned off for the winter.”
The Taurus glided close. Made a shark pass by a lone car parked by the fountain—a shiny black Datsun Z.
Sam looked at Sonora. “You know the make of car Ashley Daniels drives?”
“Black Datsun Z.”
“Anybody inside?”
Sonora squinted through the rain-streaked window. “Hard to tell, the windows are fogged. I’m getting out.”
Her leg brushed the wet back bumper of the Datsun, and her jacket plastered to her back like a second skin. She shivered, looked in the window, knocked on the glass. Tried the handle of the back door and found it unlocked.
Sonora wrenched the door open and crouched close to the ground, gun at the ready.
Nothing but the sound of rain. Insurance manuals and a briefcase were scattered across the back cushions. A red leather purse lay on the front seat, passenger’s side. A console in the middle held a large paper cup from Rally’s and a mounted car phone. A dark stain ran down the side of the upholstery.
Sonora opened the driver’s door.
There were dark brown smudges on the rim of the steering wheel, and blood pooled over the accelerator and gas pedal. A black slingback pump, left foot, sat on the car dash.
Sonora heard footsteps and looked up into Sam’s face. Rivulets of rain ran down his cheeks. She took a breath.
“This does not look good.”
Sam grimaced. “Just talked to Crick. Park patrol did an extra round a few minutes ago, spotted the secretary’s car up the road, near the main park entrance at an overlook.”
“Anybody inside?” Sonora closed the door of the Datsun and headed for the Taurus.
“Guy wasn’t sure, he didn’t think so. Crick told him to glide in and out, business as usual.”
Sam backed the Taurus out of the circle drive and made quick work up the hill. Crick was there ahead of them, looking into the empty Toyota.
Sonora put a hand on the door handle.
“Wait till I stop, Sonora.”
Crick turned when he heard their footsteps.
“Nothing,” he said.
“Look in the trunk?” Sonora asked.
Crick shook his head. “Not yet. Crowbar’s in the back of my car.”
“I’ll get it,” Sam said.
Sonora paced the parking lot, went to the edge to look out toward the river. It was hard to see in the drizzle, and she held the palm of her hand up, shading her eyes from the rain. Concrete stairs led from the overlook to another parking lot below, where there were cars, a swing set, another fountain that had been turned off. An overlook at the end of the lot gave a less lofty view of the river, which was gray now, churning with rain.
The steps were steep, leading down the side of the cliff. A man and a woman slipped into view, then disappeared.
“That’s them,” Sonora said.
Sam and Crick were at her elbow. “Where?”
She wasn’t sure who had asked the question, maybe both. “On the stairs.”
“I looked when I got here, I didn’t see anybody,” Crick said.
“They passed into view just a second ago.”
“You sure?”
“Hell yes, I’m sure.”
Sam started for the stairs, but Crick held his arm.
“You go charging off after them, she’ll shoot him, and you.”
“I’ll shoot her first.”
“Let’s try to keep Daniels alive. We’ll drive down, then go on foot.”
Sonora looked down the cliffside, squinting. Something there, a path of some sort. Which made a certain sense. People never stuck to the stairs.
She pointed. “I’m going that way.”
“Sonora—”
“Just to keep them in view. Everybody gets in the car, they could go anywhere. They’re close to the bottom already. I won’t approach, Crick, I’ll just keep them sighted.”
“Okay, go.”
“I’m with her.”
Sonora headed for the path, Sam at her heels. The closer they got, the steeper it looked.
“Shit, Sonora, we’re never gonna make this.”
Sonora grabbed the trunk of a tree, knees aching at the incline of the hillside. The dirt had turned gluey in the rain, slippery on the top. Her shoes sank in the brownish black sludge.
Six feet down the slope her feet stuck, then slid. She landed on her knees in the mud. Sam grabbed her arm and pointed. Spoke in a whisper in spite of the distance and the rain.
“Look, see? There they are.”
Two drenched figures headed toward the river overlook.
“Run, Sonora.”
Once they got their momentum going there was no way to stop. Rainwater pooled at the base of the cliff, and Sam and Sonora splashed through. Sam looked toward the parking lot.
“You see Crick?”
“No, and I don’t see Keaton either.”
“Must have gone over the guardrail.”
“Okay, Sam, you circle left, I’m going behind them that way.”
Sam looked one more time for Crick. Nodded. “Go, girl.”
Sonora straddled the railing, climbed over the hill to the brush. On her left was the Kentucky River. She could see Barleycorn’s Floating Restaurant and knew that if she went the other way she’d find the remains of the Sundown Saloon.
There was grass underfoot, waist-high weeds. Her shoes were heavy with mud. The rain picked up, her clothes streamed water. She half-ran half-walked, moving down the path. Rounded a bend. And there they were, no more than three yards ahead. Just out of reach.
Sonora stood still for a moment, catching her breath. Her spine felt tingly, palms suddenly wet. It was almost absurd, the tiny blonde next to the large, broad-shouldered male.
In her mind’s eye she saw the bloodstained shoe in Ashley Daniels’s car, the fan of blood-soaked upholstery.
She raised her gun, aimed with the utmost care. Keaton was still too close, but he was pulling ahead. She waited till he was clear. Held her breath and fired.
Selma Yorke flinched and turned around, blond hair dark with rain. No hit.
“Police,” Sonora said. “Selma Yorke, you are under arrest. Stand aside, Mr. Daniels. Move it, move now, drop that gun—”
“Sonora, she’s got Ashley stashed out here in the woods. She’s hurt, but she’s still alive.” Keaton held up a jacket, sun yellow around splotches of blood.
Selma looked at Sonora. “You found me.”
That first time Sonora had seen her, there in the cemetery, it had been a letdown, how drearily normal Selma looked. Today, even with the short blond hair plastered with rainwater, she was oddly pretty—cheeks pink and flushed, an edgy air of energy and purpose. She met Sonora’s eyes just for a moment, then looked away, gaze shifting like a lightning flash. Sonora had seen it twice before, this inability to focus and meet a gaze. Both times from someone on the verge of major breakdown.
“Put the gun down, Selma.”
Selma cocked her head to one side. “You’uns could have shot me right in the back. How come you didn’t?”
“I tried, I’m a
bad shot, that’s all.”
Selma laughed, but Sonora registered the flicker of pain that came and went.
“Come on, Selma. Put it down, and we can go somewhere dry and warm and talk.”
Selma shook her head. “This isn’t about us, Detective. This is about me. Me and him.” She put her gun to Keaton’s head.
The nightmare, coming true. Sonora gritted her teeth. “Let it go, Selma. You don’t have to do this.”
“I do have to.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I want to.”
Sonora steadied her aim. “Out of the way, Keaton.”
“Don’t move,” Selma told him.
Keaton looked at Sonora. “Look, if there’s any chance—”
“Ashley’s dead, Keaton. Her car’s full of blood.”
“You know she’s dead?”
“I saw her body, now move. Go!”
“Girlfriend, you’uns are fibbing and you know it.”
Keaton looked at Sonora and she knew, from the expression on his face, who he believed.
“Keaton, she’s playing with you.”
He shook his head. “I’ve got to see her. I want to see Ashley.”
Selma looked at Sonora. “Want to?”
Golly gee, Mom, look what I did. Sonora knew better than to refuse.
“Come on, Detective. You first, then him and me. And you lose your gun now, or I’ll shoot him right here.” She put the muzzle of the gun at the hollow of Keaton’s throat, and Sonora remembered kissing him there, and the way his arms felt when he pulled her close.
She blinked, set the gun on the side of the path. Wondered where the hell Sam was.
Selma motioned with her head. “That way. Toward the river.”
Sonora turned her back and walked.
She waited for the gun to go off, another little game, but the sound of footsteps and heavy breathing let her know they were no more than a few feet behind. Up until now, all her energy had been focused on the chase, bringing Selma in. She would be grateful, now, if she could bring Keaton out alive.
She picked up the blood trail as they moved downhill, a rusty smear on a sapling. She imagined Ashley Daniels stumbling down the path, thought of the blood-soaked shoe in the car, the forced march through the rain. She wondered if there was the smallest possibility Keaton’s wife was alive.
The mud caked on the hem of her jeans slowed her down. Sonora smelled the river, the rain, realized that if she lived, she’d never be able to look at the muddy waters of the Kentucky without remembering. She saw the footprint out of the corner of one eye, a long smear where someone had fallen. Saw Ashley Daniels’s black slingback pump lying on one side, caked with mud. Sonora turned and faced Selma.
“Where is she?”
Selma pushed hair out of her eyes. “Keep on going and I’ll show you.”
“I don’t think so.” Sonora pointed to the shoe. She heard Keaton’s intake of breath, saw him surge toward the edge of the path.
“No.” Selma had the gun up.
He’d never survive a shot that close, Sonora thought.
“She goes,” Selma said.
Sonora moved to the edge of the path. Looked over her shoulder. Keaton was white, rain running down his cheeks. She was afraid to turn her back, afraid he’d be dead if she moved too far away.
Selma moved the gun. “Right down there.”
There would have been more blood, Sonora decided, if not for the steady drum of rain. The ground sloped steeply, and she braced herself by hanging on to the thicket of trees. She could see Selma and Keaton when she turned her head, knew they were watching.
A patch of yellow caught her eye, sunny yellow showing behind a fallen tree. Sonora slid down the slope to look.
It was the feet that bothered her the most, the ripped stockings and torn flesh. She imagined Ashley Daniels, bleeding and afraid, stumbling through the woods to her death.
Her manicure was intact, she had not fought. Her white silk shirt was sodden, showing the outline of the lace demicup bra, pink flesh beneath. Her shirt was liberally stained, as if she’d had a lapful of blood.
She’d been shot once, in the stomach. Sonora looked at the black gaping wound, surprised that Ashley had lived as long and walked as far as she had. There were drag marks through the leaves. Ashley had likely collapsed on the path, losing the shoe, and Selma had dragged her a few feet into the woods—not far—hiding her behind the rotting tree.
And now Selma was marching them right past the body; to where? The river, no doubt.
Sonora went through the motions, touching the cold wet hand, the side of the neck, avoiding the wide-open violet eyes, the oddly grumpy look on Ashley Daniels’s face, as if she had merely been inconvenienced rather than in exquisite pain and fear.
Sonora looked back up to Keaton and Selma. She could make a break and run. She knew it and so did Selma. Might even catch Selma—should be cops everywhere by now. But she’d never get Keaton out alive.
Sonora headed up the slope, saw Keaton watching her, a hungry look. She avoided his eyes, grimaced at Selma.
“Now what?”
“The river,” Selma said. She pointed with the gun. “Let’s go.”
Sam would be close, Sonora thought. Crick, and uniforms, and reinforcements. Time was on her side.
“Okay, the river.”
“Wait a minute.”
Sonora and Selma looked at Keaton as if they’d forgotten he was there.
“Did you … what did—”
Sonora touched his arm. Selma flinched and moved in closer. Sonora kept her voice low and calm.
“It wasn’t her, Keaton. She’s down by the river, probably, like Selma says.”
“She’s over there,” Selma said. Flatly. A dangerous tone in her voice.
Sonora swallowed, mouth so dry she wanted to stick her tongue out and catch a drop of rain. Keaton shook his head, eyes taking on a flat glaze that made Sonora reach for him. He twisted sideways, a fast graceful pivot, and grabbed Selma by the throat.
Sonora surged toward them, saw the frown on Selma’s face screw into a mask of rage, knew she would be too late. The shot was deafening, and so close Sonora almost felt the impact.
There was a moment of quiet as they stood together, like a trio of close friends, Keaton and Sonora shoulder to shoulder, Selma small and clutching the gun, the ragged fringe of short wet bangs like spikes across her forehead.
Keaton did not fall or groan or even seem to be aware of the crimson blossom spreading across his chest. He kept his grip on Selma’s throat.
Sonora felt rather than saw the gun come back up. She shoved Keaton sideways, and he let go of Selma and fell. Sonora landed hard on his chest, waiting for the bullet that she knew would come.
But it didn’t. She felt Keaton’s blood warm his shirt and hers, felt the swift hard beat of his heart.
“Get away from him.”
Sonora turned her head sideways. Selma was still on her feet, legs apart, bottom lip caught beneath little white teeth.
“Out of the way, girlfriend. Bullet go right through you into him, no difference to me.”
“I thought he was different, Selma.”
“You’uns thought wrong, we both did. I need to keep looking, that’s all. Now you got about thirty seconds to move.”
Sonora hung tight to Keaton, warm, solid, and wet under her chest. “No.”
“You’uns don’t believe I’ll shoot.”
“Yeah, I believe it.”
Selma looked at her. “So now what?”
“You’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent—”
They said Selma never smiled, and it came and went so quickly Sonora wasn’t sure it was ever there. And just like that Selma was gone, running toward the river in the rain.
Sonora moved off Keaton, put a palm flat against the hole in his chest. The bleeding had stopped, the pressure of her chest against his cutting the flow. His face was white, lips purple.
&nb
sp; He opened his eyes. “Why’d you stop me? I could … I could have had her.”
“Keaton—”
“Don’t touch me.” He jerked suddenly, eyes fierce. “Did she suffer? My wife?”
“No,” Sonora said.
“You always tell me lies, Sonora.”
She left him, chest trickling blood in the mud and the rain. Later, when the nightmares came, she would dream of him there, chest rising slowly with each painful breath, yards away from Ashley’s body.
Sonora ran down the path toward the river, wondering why Selma hadn’t shot her when she’d had the chance.
Rain pelted her head, and the drenched jacket slapped her thighs. Her breath came hard. She ripped the jacket off as she ran, threw it down on the pathway, ran harder.
Sonora heard the gun go off just as she caught sight of the river, water swirling around Sam’s and Selma’s knees as they struggled for control. Sam fell backward, taking Selma with him, brown droplets spattering Sonora as she ran full tilt into the river.
Selma came up first, small blond head like a seal. She looked like a very little girl, wet, angry, and afraid. Sonora felt the shock of water, warmer than she’d expected, and she wrapped her arms around Selma’s shoulders, thinking with surprise how small boned and fragile she felt.
“Sam!”
He surfaced just as Sonora called his name, still alive, strong, in one piece.
“Thank God,” Sonora muttered.
Selma screamed and Sonora tightened her grip, but Selma bucked sideways and slipped away. Sonora pitched forward after her, missing and going under. She was back up in a second, coughing, rubbing her eyes.
“I got her,” Sam said, and he pulled Selma up out of the river, one hand on her neck, the other a tight fist in her hair.
61
The basketball goal had not been in the budget but had proven to be a good investment. Sonora threw shot after shot. She was getting good. She played every time she saw Selma in her head. She played a lot.
Sometimes, late at night when she could not sleep, she wondered what would happen if she and Selma were merged into one—wondered which side would dominate, the good or the bad. Did she have enough good in her to balance Selma’s bad? Was there a good part of Selma—or could there be? What would a good Selma be like?
Flashpoint Page 29