Don't Say a Word

by Beverly Barton

  And yet, a demon lived in the penthouse in that high-end place with its spectacular view of the river and the Walnut Street pedestrian bridge. Yes, his next victim had a good life up there in the clouds, could afford anything he wanted, anything at all, and for what? For spewing nasty garbage over the airwaves about innocent people, every single day of the year. But it would all end soon. His victim had an old friend waiting to make things right. An old friend with a razor-sharp fillet knife.

  It took twenty minutes before Two showed up at his workplace. The slasher watched him climb out of a long black stretch limousine, his door opened by his personal chauffeur. He swaggered over to the doorman’s post, ignoring the poor guy’s greeting as if the doorman were a filthy insect to squash beneath his heel. What a condescending jerk, a loudmouth, a liar, a manipulator, one who lived only to hurt and humiliate people who couldn’t fight back. But not tonight. Tonight he would finally encounter somebody who knew how to fight back. Tonight he would die a horrible death.

  Closing his eyes, the Tongue Slasher again tried to relax, but his fingers were squeezing the steering wheel, harder and harder, until his knuckles turned white. His victim’s caustic, hateful language came back so clearly, echoing up from the deep, cold cellar of the past, each word like a stiletto jabbing into his heart. This man, this savage, was about to die. Lucien Lockhart had hidden his poisonous ways behind his black robe and ivory gavel and bought-off judgments, true. He’d had to die. But this man, this scum of the earth didn’t hide anything; he luxuriated, wallowed in his vileness. But he wouldn’t for much longer. His time on the Earth was almost done. It wouldn’t be long now. He started up the Fusion and pulled out onto the street. He took a deep breath, calming himself, and then flipped open his inexpensive, untraceable TracFone. He punched in a number and waited.

  Shock jock Roc VanVeter was having a very good day. He was sitting in his plush studio, waiting for the current round of commercials to finish so he could continue taking calls. The ratings of his radio talk show had gone through the roof since Lucien Lockhart had breathed his last. The news media had finally gotten hold of all the nasty details, and all day long Roc had managed to get Lockhart’s enemies on the air, deriding the judge as a liar, a corrupt and vindictive animal, and worse. Much worse.

  Of course, Roc knew that firsthand. He had often raked the judge over the coals for some of his rather, shall one say, questionable rulings. Yes, they had colluded illegally more than once, but this murder was fodder that would give Roc one good bump in salary in light of the recent through-the-roof ratings. He had been the one who had christened Lockhart’s killer, on air, coming up with the name Tongue Slasher after an anonymous caller had leaked the news about Lockhart’s severed tongue. Brilliant, sheer genius on his part, and the television and newspaper reporters had all picked it up and run with it. Sometimes his knack for creating chaos and notoriety surprised even him.

  A satisfied grin curving his mouth, Roc waited for the green light to come on so he could connect with the next caller. The last woman had gotten so irate that she had lashed out at him with a string of profanities so vulgar that his producer had to shut her down. Roc could do that to people—enrage them, make them totally freak out and lose all control. He loved it, too. And that was exactly what his boss wanted him to do, and what his listeners wanted to hear. He always gave it to them. The nastier, the better—that was his personal motto. He had talent, all right; he could find the tiniest chinks in people’s emotional armor and exploit the hell out of them. Oh yes, that was a definite skill he possessed. On top of that, he truly enjoyed infuriating people.

  Chuckling to himself, he saw the green light flash and punched the button. “Hello. You’re on the Roc VanVeter Show. How do you feel about Judge Lockhart? Do you think he deserved to have his tongue brutally slashed out of his mouth?”

  A short silence ensued. He had shocked the caller to silence. Good. That’s what he was here for, what he lived for. He just wished he could see the look on the listeners’ smarmy faces when he did it.

  “Hello, caller. You still there?”

  “I’m here.” The voice was muffled; sounded like the caller had his hand over the receiver. Roc wasn’t sure at first if it was a man or a woman. Probably afraid their spouse would hear and get ticked off that they called into a show like his.

  “Well, caller, tell my listeners: What’d you think of the judge’s murder?”

  “I think a fraudulent tongue shall be cut out.”

  Roc grinned. It was a guy, all right, and one Roc had a feeling he could make explode in a fit of crazy anger. “You’re saying the judge was fraudulent. Do you have any proof of that?”

  “The fraudulent tongue shall be cut out.”

  “Okay, okay, we got it. You think the judge deserved it. What? He mess with your wife or daughter? Or both at once?”

  Roc waited, thinking the guy had hung up upon the mention of his female family members. The low voice spoke again. “He deserved what he got. As you will deserve what you get.”

  “Uh-oh, now that sounds suspiciously like a threat. You threatening me, sir?”

  “The fraudulent tongue shall be cut out.”

  “Well, thanks for your call. Afraid we don’t have time to go on, if all you’re going to do is say the same thing over and over.”

  Roc flipped the switch and went on to the next caller. Some people were just so damn lame. Thank God, most of his callers had been out boozing and had a few too many drinks in them—that always loosened up inhibitions. He had to keep this Lockhart frenzy going. Maybe he should make up something to get the audience angry and vindictive. Maybe one of them would do something outrageous and cause headlines. That’s what Roc needed. Maybe he could play up that veiled threat he just got. Yeah, maybe if he was a target, he could get even more mileage out of it. Bump up his ratings even higher. That’s what he’d do. He laughed out loud. This murder couldn’t have happened at a better time. He was going to have a heyday with this one.

  As soon as the show ended, Roc wrapped up his instructions to his production assistant, summoned his limo, and headed home. There was a private party over at Studio Zero, and he intended to hook up for the night with an exotic dancer there, a woman with long, silky legs and big boobs and no morals—none whatsoever. His favorite type gal. As he arrived at his apartment building, he noted again that his doorman was a moron who grinned constantly and looked a lot like a grown-up Opie from that old Andy Griffith TV show. The man even had freckles. He rode the elevator all the way to the top, strode quickly down the hallway, and let himself into his apartment. He was in a big rush, for obvious reasons. He was horny as hell. And the naughty Aurora Bright was waiting for him with her whips and chains and full, ripe mouth.

  Flipping on the recessed lights along the hallway, he entered his bedroom, jerking his blue T-shirt off over his head. He would dress up a little, take Aurora out for drinks and dinner. God, he was so ready for her, and she was always just waiting to jump on him and wrap her legs around his waist. She was a slut, true, but she turned him on like no other woman he’d ever met.

  In the other room, the doorbell rang. Roc cursed under his breath and walked back through the foyer. He raised the shield on the peephole and saw a man wearing a UPS uniform.

  “Yeah, what d’you want?”

  “I’ve got a package to deliver to Mr. Roc VanVeter.”

  “Okay, wait just a minute.”

  Accustomed to receiving FedEx and UPS packages from fans and sponsors, Roc turned the dead bolt and pulled the door open. He barely saw the stun gun before the deliveryman jabbed it against his chest. He went into spasms, the pain excruciating, almost more than he could bear. He fell backward and hit the floor, his arms and legs jerking spasmodically. His assailant came quickly inside, shutting and bolting the door. He had some kind of club in his hand and a big pair of pliers. Roc saw them coming down hard. The blow hit the top of his head, and everything went dark.

  Later, when Roc began to
regain consciousness, he was so groggy that he couldn’t think, his head thudding like crazy. For a moment, he couldn’t remember what had happened. Something terrible, he knew that much, but what was it? He forced his eyes open and blearily made out the furniture in his bedroom. It was shadowy; only one light was on, a track light on the ceiling that was focused on him. His bedside table was pulled up beside him. Several objects had been placed on the table. What were they?

  Blinking his eyes, he tried to move and realized he was tied to a dining room chair. Panicking, he fought to focus his vision and saw that one of the objects was a small set of scales, a set of scales with intricate crossed swords on top. Beside the scales was a length of neatly coiled yellow ski rope, a large fillet knife, and a bloodstained pair of pliers. Oh God, oh God, were those the things the Tongue Slasher used on Lucien Lockhart? He began to struggle desperately against the bindings, but he was tied much too tightly, his neck to the back of the chair, his wrists to the arms, and his ankles to the chair legs. He could barely move. He froze when a low and muffled voice came out of the shadows. The voice from the threatening caller. The words were low and calm and deliberate.

  “Don’t say a word . . . don’t tell more lies . . . for the fraudulent tongue shall be cut out.”

  When the killer moved into view and picked up the knife and the pliers, Roc began to scream . . .

  Julia didn’t think she was ever going to find Charlie Sinclair’s new place. Was it out in the boondocks, or what? She had the directions, but it was high up on the mountain somewhere. She was going out there to pick up Jasper and to visit with Charlie. It had been great to see him the other day. Too bad he hung around with Max Hazard. Max was incorrigible. And a pest at times. Other times, he could be charming; yes, he could.

  Charlie lived on Lookout Mountain, across the Georgia state line. It was quite a drive. No wonder Charlie liked to come visit her in his boat. She had no idea where he put into the river, but he certainly had enough choices. When she finally found the right dirt road and wound her way through a heavily wooded tract, she glimpsed a couple of spectacular views of the tranquil valley lying below. The A-frame house came into view after about ten minutes. Charlie liked isolation for himself and his dogs, but this was downright ridiculous.

  Julia pulled up at the rear of the structure and parked. The back of the house had an entrance, but the door was locked. She walked along a large, planked deck that was built around the cabin. She ended up at the front porch and found herself pretty much perched atop a cliff. But the view, oh my God, it was beautiful. A lovely patchwork of green fields and woods below, with the shaded blue mountains of Tennessee in the background.

  She looked around. The house itself was rustic, something else right down Charlie’s alley. There were six large plate-glass windows set in the A-frame that faced the valley, and she could see a giant stone fireplace inside the front room. Wow, how gorgeous would it be up here during the winter snows?

  Trying the storm door, she found it locked, too, so she headed back around to the back porch. Realizing that Charlie was probably down at his clinic located somewhere out back, she headed off toward where she heard dogs barking. She could see the structure in which he had his veterinarian business in a clearing at the edge of the trees. Long, shaded dog runs stretched into the woods behind it.

  The door had a WE’RE OPEN sign, so Julia walked inside and called out Charlie’s name. He was nowhere to be found, but her voice brought out the loud baying of Jasper. Smiling, she headed into the back. Man, had she ever missed her dog. He was going crazy in his pen, and she unlatched it and let him out. They spent about five minutes loving on each other, and then she snapped on his leash and began to wonder about Charlie.

  Outside again, she called out Charlie’s name and listened. Only stillness, except for the barking of the penned dogs. It was strange. Charlie wasn’t one to leave his dogs untended, and his Ram truck was sitting right outside, his bass boat still on a trailer behind it. Jasper was pulling her in the direction of the woods, and she gave him his head. What if Charlie was hurt? Lying somewhere in the woods with a broken leg?

  Worried, she followed Jasper across the rocky ground and down a dirt path that led deeper into the woods. Jasper stopped where the mouth of a cave gaped in the leafy greenness of the woods. It was part of a high craggy outlook, but Jasper only sniffed momentarily at the entrance and then moved on down the trail. After about ten more minutes, Julia breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Charlie walking toward her, his red T-shirt vivid against the green undergrowth.

  “Hey, Charlie. I was getting worried about you.”

  Charlie looked up and saw her where she stood at the top of the trail. He was carrying a little puppy in his arms. “Hey, Julia. I’ve been out huntin’ for this little rascal here. He decided to do a bit of explorin’ on his own.”

  When Charlie got up to her, Julia took the brown-and-black sheltie pup out of his arms. “Well, aren’t you the cutest little thing in the world? I bet you were scared when you couldn’t find your mama, weren’t you?”

  “Not to mention facing the bobcats around here.” Charlie looked at Jasper, who was sitting contentedly at Julia’s feet. “I think Jasper is ready to go home. Those sad eyes of his nearly got to me. I almost brought him back to you yesterday.”

  “He’s all done, then?”

  “Yep, he’s ready to go. I’m gonna miss him. I tell you, I love that dog.”

  They walked together back to the house, first dropping off the puppy at the clinic.

  “C’mon in, girl. Sit awhile. Can I get you something to eat or drink?”

  “I’ll take some of that homemade lemonade you always used to have.”

  “You got it. Go sit down while I rustle it up.”

  Julia moved into the living room with Jasper. As usual, Charlie had a swing hanging in the living room, one that faced the view. Julia sat down in it and swayed back and forth, warmed by the sunlight flooding into the living room from the large front windows. Charlie had sold his former home because everything in it reminded him of his deceased wife. He had simply worshipped the ground she walked on and mourned her still. On the fireplace hearth, she could see that he’d set up a little altar with a silver-framed photograph of Sonia, a crucifix, and a white pillar candle.

  “Here you go, kiddo.”

  Julia took the glass he held out to her and tasted the sweet and tangy lemonade. It tasted good after the trek in the heat to find Charlie. “So how do you like it, way up here on the mountain?”

  “I like it fine. Like to look out over the view. I feel at home.”

  “So do I.”

  They shared a smile.

  “It’s good to see you again, Charlie. Even if you did sic Max Hazard on me.”

  “I like old Max. He makes me laugh. He’s still got the hots for you.”

  “I don’t think so. He pretty much has the hots for everybody.”

  Charlie laughed. “He’s coming up here for some hunting later today. Want to hang around and see him?”

  “I guess I’ll be leaving now.”

  Chuckling, Charlie shook his head. “He’s not so bad. He likes to go down in those caves out back with a twenty-two and hunt for bears. He’s going to find one someday, and I’m afraid of what’s gonna happen then.”

  “God, I hope he doesn’t find one.” She smiled but grew serious. “Charlie, have you heard anything else about the judge’s murder? Anything that could help our case?”

  “I’ve been listenin’, trust me on that. It’s just that nobody seems to know anything. It sure has thrown all of us down at the criminal courts for a loop.”

  “I know.”

  “You got any suspects?”

  “Yeah, a few. I can’t discuss it with you, though. Sorry.”

  “I know that. I need to ask around among some of the troopers I used to work with. They all agree with my opinion of Lucien, and they all had their stories about trials they’d been involved with when he was in charge.
Not one of them had a good thing to say about him. That’s awfully sad, in a way, don’t you think? A guy dies, is murdered, and nobody can think of one nice thing to say about him.”

  “Yeah, this whole case is sad. Brutal and sad.”

  Charlie changed the subject. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you. How would you like to train some of my dogs for me—you know, part-time? Maybe later, after you’re done with this case? What d’you say?”

  Tilting her head, Julia considered the idea. “Maybe. On the weekends. I certainly don’t have time now. No way. I barely had time to come up here and get Jasper. I just missed him so much, I couldn’t wait any longer.”

  “You’ve always been a softy.”

  “With Jasper? You bet I am.”

  They talked some more while they finished their lemonade, but soon after, Julia gave him a hug and loaded Jasper into the Charger. She waved to Charlie where he stood on the porch, watching her. Somehow, she felt he was still very sad over his wife’s death. How lonely it must be so far up in the mountains. Then again, Charlie had all his dogs to keep him company. And his old bud, Max Hazard. And that was one guy who could keep a person from getting bored.

  Chapter 11

  “You sure he said to meet him at the Read House?” Will asked Julia, pulling into the parking lot of one of Chattanooga’s most popular places.

  “Yes, this is it. He said he and Audrey want to treat me to dinner.”

  Will said, as nonchalantly as he could manage, reluctant as he was to have a hand in Audrey’s little plot, “Mind if I come in with you? I need to talk to J.D. for a minute.”

  “Sure, if you want to.”

  Will was not a good liar, and he didn’t like helping to pull this stunt on Julia. As he’d told Audrey at the Cracker Barrel, he didn’t think Julia was going to like it, not at all. He opened the door. “It looks pretty busy tonight. Hope they got reservations.”