Collins’ eyes narrowed. “Only if there was something in it for him. Eckles is slippery, especially if Sandra were making campaign donations to grease the process.”
I looked at Tommy Lee and saw his nod. He must have been thinking the same thing. One hundred fifty thousand dollars is a lot of grease. Kevin hadn’t stolen Tyrell’s payment for executing Panther. He’d taken the cash payoff for Senator Eckles and others like him. If Tyrell got that cash from his Boston loan sharks, then they would want it back with exorbitant interest. Everything depended upon winning that construction contract.
“Well, Darren claimed to have a connection to you,” I said. “Why wouldn’t Sandra also try to exploit that?”
Collins licked his lips. He seemed shaken to his core. “She’d be looking at the largest contract the Department of Transportation would award. The road and bridge expansions slated to improve access to the casino.”
“Millions?” I asked.
“Multimillions,” Collins said.
“All in jeopardy if the Catawba succeed or the new Cherokee site becomes mired in archaeological controversy.”
“Yes,” Collins said. “And I expect this state contract is crucial. If Tyrell and Sandra are laundering money, then the company has to have work to generate the reportable income. The recession years have been tough on all construction. They might be close to broke and owe money to the wrong people. They’re desperate.” Collins picked up Danny’s photograph. “What about this boy? What’s happening to him?”
His obvious concern lent credibility to his innocence. But he had the proven connection to Frankie Tyrell, and too much was at stake to take a chance.
“We have a plan,” Tommy Lee said. “At this critical point, I can’t let you out of my sight.”
Collins hung his head. “You still don’t believe me.”
“I believe you. But the circle of people involved is so small that if you’re outside that circle and something goes wrong, you’ll be vulnerable as the leak. This is for your protection as well as the operation’s.”
“So, what now?” Collins asked.
Tommy Lee smiled. “We order room service, we rehearse, and we send Barry out as soon as it’s dark.”
While we waited for dinner, Tommy Lee set things in motion to check Sandra Cransford’s and Collins’ phone records. He also instructed Deputy Wakefield to speak with the security guard at Luther Cransford’s gatehouse to let him know if anyone signed in or out as Luther’s guest. And to inform Wakefield whenever Darren’s, Sandra’s, or Luther’s vehicles came and left.
I called Detective Sergeant Romero and we tested the three-way conference feature merging Romero and me with Tommy Lee. Romero assured us he would be in position without being seen and set to move at my signal.
At seven, the room service cart arrived with our dinner. Tommy Lee and Mack Collins had ordered the prime rib. I was too nervous for such a heavy meal and ate a grilled chicken salad. I hadn’t wanted anything, but Tommy Lee told me the whole operation could be compromised if my growling stomach gave me away. I realized I was no longer a deputy. I was a member of his platoon.
Collins removed the silver cover from his plate. The prime rib and mixed vegetables steamed. “I must say you feed your hostages well.”
“You are a state senator,” Tommy Lee said. “And I hope you remain one.”
Collins sliced into the thick cut of meat. He looked up at me before eating. “When I saw you at the funeral home and asked for updates on the case, I set myself up, didn’t I?”
“Not at the time,” I admitted. “But as the politics of the casino and the Catawba petition came to light, yes, your name started surfacing. I had to wonder if your interest was more than concern for Luther.”
“Well, I hold no hard feelings. I was angry at Darren because I think the Catawba casino is a mistake and a dangerous precedent. It’s being spearheaded by a video poker mogul in South Carolina who can’t get what he wants in that state. We have a good relationship with the Cherokee and they have a good casino operator in Harrah’s. I have grave doubts about the direction the Catawba tribe is taking.”
I felt my phone vibrate. A four-word text message appeared. “It’s from Kevin,” I said. “He reports, ‘Tyrell checked bamboo, gone.’”
“Kevin?” Collins asked.
“One of my men.” Tommy Lee clearly chose not to tell Collins that Kevin was from Boston.
“Finish your meal and then change,” Tommy Lee told me. “Tyrell will be back early and I want you in place.”
I ate rapidly while Tommy Lee and Collins made small talk over their dinner. I set my empty plate on the cart, and said, “I’m going to step out and phone Susan. Back in a moment.”
Tommy Lee nodded. Collins looked grim. Both understood I might be making the final call to my wife.
I walked to the stairwell from where I’d seen Kevin break into Tyrell’s room. The Do Not Disturb sign still dangled from his door. On the fourth-floor landing, I leaned against the railing and speed-dialed Susan’s number. Seven thirty. She should be home.
“Barry. Is everything OK?”
I could hear the TV in the background. Then Democrat’s bark as he heard Susan say my name. I wanted to say no. I wanted to say I was scared. That I was going into the dark against a professional killer to help a rogue cop who had shot his own partner. And at the center of it all was a child I hadn’t met and didn’t know. But if “Protect and Serve” meant anything, it meant Danny Swift. I was ready and willing to lay my life on the line for him.
“Everything’s fine, honey. I hope to be home tomorrow.”
“So, you’ve had a break in the case?” She sounded excited.
“A real possibility. We’ve identified a company that stands to make a lot of money from the new casino construction. We’ve uncovered some questionable practices and we’re running phone and wire transfer checks that should tie everything together.” Truthful, yet vague enough to make the investigation appear to be nothing more than paperwork.
Susan audibly exhaled. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am. The cold-blooded nature of the murder has set me on edge. And then after seeing Tyrell in person. Barry, I didn’t want you to know how worried I was. I’ll just be glad when it’s over.”
“Me too.” I hadn’t told her about Eddie Wolfe or Danny Swift. If she was worried before, that knowledge would ratchet up her fear exponentially. “I love you, Susan.”
“I know. I love you, too.”
***
I parked my jeep behind the Cherokee museum where it was out of sight of both the main and side roads. Romero had lent me a camera and large camera bag, and I looked like a photographer interested in some night shots of the village and river.
At eight thirty, the full moon crested the eastern ridges, and even though my afternoon run to a discount store provided me with black jeans and a black turtleneck large enough to fit over a Kevlar vest, I would be visible as a three-dimensional walking shadow.
Fortunately, I didn’t stand out as an isolated figure because I wasn’t the only person outside. Cars drove by, some headed to the casino, others returning to one of the many mom-and-pop motels scattered nearby. Couples strolled along, enjoying the fresh air and moonlit landscape. I crossed the footbridge and stopped midway to take a high-angle picture down the length of the island. With the Carolina moon in the upper frame, the scene was quite nice and I took several shots.
The island park seemed deserted and I was careful to project no particular destination as I walked along the shore. Up ahead, the tall stand of bamboo cast a long shadow from the low-hanging moon, and when I stepped across its dark edge and into its depths, I was confident I had disappeared.
I stayed close to the left edge of the interior path where I would be a less visible silhouette if anyone happened to look through the bamboo tunnel. Feeling my way along the wall
of stalks, I trod softly on the carpet of brown leaves that had fallen from the canopy high overhead. As I reached the midpoint, I slowed, dragging my hand across the tightly packed bamboo. A gap opened just wide enough for me to slip through, and I left the path for the confines of a space not much larger than a casket.
I sat on the leaf-covered ground, opened the camera bag, and retrieved the camo-painted ground cloth Romero had supplied me. I set it aside and pulled out the nine-millimeter Glock Tommy Lee had given me. I’d brought a thirty-eight caliber service revolver for my shoulder holster, but he insisted I carry more firepower. Next I unpacked a high-beam flashlight, a black ski mask, and stick of black greasepaint both courtesy of Romero, and the coiled earpiece for my phone. Then I placed the camera into the empty bag and set it in a corner of my self-imposed prison.
Before donning the mask, I smeared the greasepaint around my eyes where the skin would still be exposed. With the earpiece and mask in place and the Glock and flashlight tucked close to my side, I lay down and spread the ground cloth over me.
Buryin’ Barry was buried and would remain so for the next five hours.
Chapter Twenty-four
I never served in the military and so I’d never been posted to sentry duty or a sniper position or what I guess could have been a hundred other assignments requiring absolute silence and stillness. I’d been on a few stakeouts when I was a uniformed patrolman in Charlotte and done similar duties as a Laurel County deputy. But I’d never been entrenched so close to my quarry or under such dangerous circumstances.
My main concern was staying focused and not letting my mind wander. I didn’t have a bag of tricks like a trained soldier might have. In the funeral business, I tried to stay in the moment, listening for the cue words from a minister that would move the ritual onto its next event. The danger is I’m so primed for action that I’m listening only for those cue words and not the entire context.
Once, during a service at a small Baptist church in a mountain hollow outside of Gainesboro, I sat patiently on the back pew while the preacher’s remarks transformed into a full blown sermon. Suddenly, he shouted out the word, “Undertaker.” I leaped to my feet. The congregation turned around and the preacher’s face went red as he backed away from the pulpit. He said, “I’m sorry, Barry. I didn’t mean you personally. You’ll be there.” Laughter rippled through the pews.
I later learned the preacher had been extolling the virtues of eternal life and proclaimed with fervor, “Death will be no more. You’ll see no undertaker in heaven.”
Now, for five hours, I hoped no one would see this undertaker on the earth either. As the time passed, I felt my limbs grow stiff and the ground chill start to seep into my bones. Traffic noise diminished until only the occasional rumble of an engine rose above the river’s gurgle. Crickets, hoot owls, and sporadic dog barks replaced the human sounds.
My phone vibrated. To me it crashed like thunder. The screen glowed like a lighthouse beacon.
“Yes?” I whispered.
“How you doing?” Tommy Lee asked, tension flowing through the words.
“Good. Ready.”
“I’ve got Mack in the car with me. Kevin called a few minutes ago, checking in at midnight. As far as he knows, Tyrell hasn’t been back to the casino.”
“Hardly expect he’d keep Danny in his room.”
“He could be at one of the smaller motels with external doors,” Tommy Lee said. “Easier to get Danny in and out.”
“Any word from Wakefield?”
“No activity to or from Luther’s house. He and Sandra are still registered in separate rooms at the casino.”
“You’re able to see the spot where Kevin will enter the bamboo?”
“Yes. It’s a distance, but I’ve got a clear view. If there’s trouble, I’ll come in as fast as I can.”
“And Romero?” I asked.
“I haven’t heard from him.”
“That’s a surprise. You call him?”
“Yes. No answer.”
The chill from the ground was replaced with cold fear. If Romero was AWOL, who would cover Tyrell and Danny as they entered the bamboo? And where was Romero?
“I’ll call again in ninety minutes,” Tommy Lee promised. “That’s approximately one forty-five and we’ll keep the line open. Romero knows that’s when we’ll merge our phones.”
“And if he’s not there?”
“He will be. And you’d best not speak, just connect to my call.”
“Trust me. This is one time I won’t hang up on you.”
The next ninety minutes passed like ninety days. I slowly shifted position every five minutes as if I was engaged in some prone Tai Chi session. I would need to be ready to quickly get to my feet and shed the ground cloth, the flashlight in my left hand and the Glock in my right. I was counting on Kevin to leave his flashlight by the satchel of cash so that I would have a clear view of Tyrell. If I could avoid using my own light, then I would be a voice in the darkness and not a target.
My phone buzzed and I accepted the call.
“Tap the phone,” Tommy Lee said.
I drummed my fingers on the plastic casing.
“Good,” Tommy Lee confirmed. “I should be able to hear anything.”
I slipped the phone into the sheath on my belt.
“Barry, I still haven’t heard from Romero. Probably some glitch with his phone, but…”
He let the thought hang and I knew he was worried. Had we made a mistake in bringing the Cherokee detective into the exchange? The cards were dealt, and folding now wasn’t an option.
The crickets abruptly ceased chirping. Somewhere to my right a twig snapped. I lifted a corner of the ground cloth and peered through the vertical bars of bamboo. The pathway ended in a cool blue oval of moonlight. Glints reflecting off the shore rocks and river were visible beyond.
A shadow moved across the opening. A shadow with a briefcase. The figure flattened against the stalks. Kevin Malone had arrived ten minutes early, maybe to check that I was well hidden, maybe to be in a position where he could watch his back.
I turned my head to the opposite end of the path. That opening was brighter with an unobstructed view of the river. If Tyrell stayed with the plan, he and Swifty would be clearly silhouetted against the moonlit background—not necessarily two distinct silhouettes because I expected Tyrell to hold the boy in front of him as a shield.
“Figure approaching footbridge.” Tommy Lee’s alert meant either Tyrell was coming alone or an unknown person was making an inopportune visit to the island.
A few minutes later, Tommy Lee added, “Definitely a man looping around the island to the far end of the bamboo. Should be coming into Hector Romero’s view.”
Romero. Who wasn’t with us.
The man suddenly appeared in the opening. He wore a dark windbreaker and his ball cap was pulled low on his head. His arms were out to his side at forty-five degree angles. His left hand held an envelope or sheet of paper. I looked back at Kevin. He had moved to an identical position with the briefcase in one hand and flashlight in the other. The scene was a bizarre parody of an Old West duel on Main Street in Dodge City.
Kevin started walking at a slow, measured pace. Tyrell stood motionless. It became clear to me that Danny wasn’t with him. Tyrell had changed the rules and I had no idea what new game we were playing.
When Kevin was about a quarter of the way into the bamboo tunnel, he stopped. “Where’s the boy, Tyrell? Produce him or I’m walking away with my money.”
“I’m not a fool, Malone.” Like Kevin, Tyrell spoke in a calm, relaxed voice. “He’s safe and you’ll get him. Here are the terms.” He strode forward, arms still away from his side. “You give me my money that you stole, and I give you the address where you’ll find the kid.”
He stopped and waved what I now clearly saw was an envelope.<
br />
“How do I know the boy’s alive?” Kevin asked.
“I don’t kill children.”
Kevin moved forward again, I thought for a second he might rush the other man but he stopped beside me. Tyrell was still fifty feet away. From ground level, all I could see of Kevin were his shoes.
“Tell that to Erin Malone.” Kevin’s voice constricted with rage.
“Who?”
“The ten-year-old girl passing by in a car when you gunned down Paddy Connelly.”
“Erin Malone.” Tyrell emphasized the last name, recognizing the significance. “Sorry. I was three hundred miles away in New York when that tragedy happened.”
“Yeah. Playing cards with the Lombardi goons. How convenient.”
I kept my eyes on Tyrell. He was far enough away that I could see him without lifting my head too high.
“If this is about misplaced revenge, Malone, then you’re going to get the kid killed. If I don’t walk out of here in ten minutes or if you fire your gun, he’s dead. My associate is close enough to hear a shot.”
Associate. Like he was talking about a damn business partner.
Tyrell started walking closer. “So, set down the briefcase and back away like you planned.”
We had run out of options and the clock was ticking.
Kevin set the satchel in front of him and then angled the flashlight against it, throwing the beam toward Tyrell.
Safely out of the light’s backwash, I slowly rose to my feet. Tyrell’s eyes were locked on Kevin and he kept coming.
“The child will be dropped five minutes after I leave you. You’re a good cop, Malone.” He tossed the envelope toward Kevin. “And the only good cop…” His right hand whipped to the small of his back.
The bamboo behind him rattled like a discordant wooden xylophone as a wall of stalks crashed across the path. Whirling around, the mobster raised a pistol with a suppressor. I lifted the Glock just as a sharp cough pierced the air. I thought Tyrell had fired a silenced shot, but the gun fell as he threw both hands to his head and collapsed to his knees, twisting toward me. A fluff of white stuck to his right eye.
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