"Is he at his house?"
"How the hell should I know? Call his fucking house and ask his wife."
Before Ray realized what was happening, Redmond gripped the edge of the table with both hands and shoved it with tremendous force into Ray's ribcage, knocking the breath out of him in a sudden burst. He doubled over, almost hitting his chin on the table. The camera fell to the floor. A compartment sprung open and batteries scattered across the white linoleum. Gasping for air and clutching his ribs, Ray watched the sheriff stand and walk around to him. Redmond propped himself on a corner of the table.
"You need to watch your tone of voice, Raymond," Redmond purred. "It could rub a man the wrong way."
Ray waited anxiously and still, in fear of another attack. Instead, Redmond continued talking softly to him.
"This is an ugly game. You either joined it by your own choosing, or you got roped into it. Whichever is the case doesn't much matter to me. You're in it now and you are not abiding by the rules. I'm a simple man, Raymond. When I ask you a simple question, I expect you to give me a simple answer." Redmond hovered over Ray. "Where is my deputy?"
"I don't know," Ray quickly answered.
"When did you see him last?"
"At the funeral home this morning. He left by himself short before twelve." Ray watched Redmond closely just in case one of the man's meaty hands should suddenly take flight in his direction.
"Why did he bring you with him on Monday morning?"
Whatever answer it was Redmond wanted, Ray wished he could have given it, but he had no option other than to stick with the truth.
"I swear," he said with forced sincerity, "Billy said you gave permission for me to go."
He waited for something to happen. A slap. Having the chair kicked out from under him. Any number of possibilities came to mind. After several seconds, Redmond backed away and lumbered around to his end of the table where he collected his notepad and the paper bag. Without another word to Ray, he opened the door.
"Dean," Redmond said to Deputy Greevey, who had been waiting obediently outside the room. "Keep an eye on our friend here for a few minutes." He leaned close to Greevey and whispered something to him, then headed off down the hallway.
Greevey entered the room, closing the door behind him. His stupid, toothy grin cut his face in half as he walked slowly toward Ray. From his pants pocket, Greevey pulled a pair of thin leather gloves into which he began to wriggle his long fingers. Ray watched intently, the vague notion of calling out for help taking shape with each step Greevey took. When the deputy was within a few feet, there was a knock at the door. It opened and Detective Pritchard walked in.
"Sheriff Redmond said he wants to see you, Deputy Greevey," Pritchard announced. He pointed at Ray. "He told me to keep an eye on him for you until you get back."
"I just talked to the sheriff," Greevey said, confusion apparent in his voice and on his face.
"Well, I guess that makes you special, because he wants to talk to you again," Pritchard said. "He just passed me in the hallway on the way to the elevator and told me he wants you to meet him in his office immediately."
Greevey looked at Ray, then back at Pritchard, clearly frustrated at the interruption. "Why?"
"You seriously think he's going to tell me?" Pritchard laughed.
Greevey huffed loudly and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Pritchard cracked it open and peeked out. When the ding of an elevator sounded in the corridor, Pritchard shut the door and turned to face Ray.
"Let's go," the detective ordered.
"What?" Ray mumbled.
Pritchard marched over and pulled him up by the arm. "Gather your shit and get your ass in gear. You've got about two minutes before that moron comes back and we're both dead men."
Ray snapped out of his daze and sprung into action. He plucked the camera off the floor and followed Pritchard along the corridor in the opposite direction from which he had come to the interrogation room. After a few hasty turns and a half flight of stairs down, they exited into the back parking lot. Weaving between marked patrol cars, Ray close on his heels, Pritchard pressed a button on his key fob that unlocked the doors of a black Camry parked in the farthest row from the building. Ray stopped in front of the car.
"You've been following me?"
"No shit, Sherlock," Pritchard said. "Quit standing there gawking and get in!"
Wednesday, Part IV
They were five miles from the sheriff's department, on the outskirts of Whitlock, before either of them said anything. He spent those first minutes warily eying the detective and peering through the back window to check if they were being followed. Leaving Whitlock with no pursuer in sight made him feel marginally more safe.
"What happened back there?" Ray said as Pritchard merged the Camry with traffic heading south on Highway 31. "I don't understand anything that just happened."
"You can't even hazard a guess?" Pritchard asked.
No immediate answer presented itself. The spreading tenderness in his ribs and the adrenalin still flushing from his system kept Ray from focusing too long on any one thought.
"I guess Redmond thinks I'm somehow involved with the death of Evan Wallace," he said. "He said he didn't give permission for me to ride along with Billy on Monday, which makes my being there look suspicious."
"Why were you there, Raymond?" Pritchard asked.
"Billy called me last Thursday and asked me to come with him!" Ray said, piqued at being asked the same question Redmond kept throwing at him.
"And you went," Pritchard said in a tone of disbelief.
"Why wouldn't I?"
Pritchard shook his head. "What else did the sheriff want to know?
"He kept asking where Billy was. 'Where is he? Where is he?' How the hell am I supposed to know? He's been at the hospital once or twice, checking up on Correen Wallace, and the last time I saw him he was turning our friend's funeral into a cage match. For all I know, he went home to rest up for the next round."
"Did he say why he was looking for Deputy Merrill?" Pritchard asked.
Ray thought back to the conversation in the interrogation room. The entire experience had been so surreal, it was like trying to remember details from a dream. "He said Billy didn't show up for his shift today. He kept asking me where he was and if I would help Billy if he was in trouble. He started asking me about Jake..."
"Your friend that committed suicide?"
"Right," Ray said. "I thought that's why he wanted to talk to me in the first place, about whether or not Jake had anything to do with what happened to the Wallaces. But just when we were getting into it, out of nowhere he starts asking about Billy. I don't get it. So Billy's a few hours late for work. Jake might have killed a man and tried to give his wife a flying lesson, and he's more concerned about what time Billy punches the clock?"
"Jake doesn't concern him," Pritchard said. "Your friend was out there Sunday night, there's no mistaking that, but I highly doubt he killed Evan Wallace."
"But the broken glass, the mud, his pocket knife," Ray pointed out. "I'm sure his finger prints are all over their house."
"They are," Pritchard said. "And there's probably gunpowder residue on his hands, and strands of Wallace's hair on his shirt, and all kinds of additional evidence to tie him to the crime."
"Billy said he was out of his mind, ranting about getting even with Wallace for not giving him some job at the new country club they're putting up at Lonesome Pines," Ray said.
"They just had the groundbreaking on Sunday," Pritchard said.
"I know. I was there."
"Then you know they haven't even begun construction," Pritchard said. "Those kinds of communities take months to build, sometimes years. You really think Evan Wallace's first priority is going to be staffing a non-existent clubhouse to serve a community that hasn't even been built yet?"
That made sense, Ray thought. Jake hadn't said anything to Ray about applying for a job at Lonesome Pines, and Jak
e told Ray everything, even the things he didn't want to hear about. In the midst of all the drama of the past few days, it hadn't occurred to him he would have known about a job interview if there had been one. If anything, Jake was happy tending bar at Marco's.
"If what you're saying is true, then Billy lied to me about Jake," Ray said. He held up his hands in confusion. "Why would he do that? If Jake didn't kill Wallace, then who did?"
"There are several possibilities," Pritchard said. "Try thinking it through. Start with the people most closely associated to Evan Wallace."
Ray stared blankly ahead at the road before them, trying to get his brain to work.
"Think it through," Pritchard prompted. "Who is Wallace related to?"
"His wife, of course," Ray started. "And Avery Lowson is his father-in-law."
"Do you know much about Avery Lowson?" Pritchard asked.
"Just that he's richer than me," Ray said. "And that he stepped down as chairman of the county commissioners short after I came to work at the Citizen-Gazette. He used to own a few quarries in the area, I think, and rumor has it he's pretty much a hard-nose bastard."
"Avery Lowson owns one quarter of all the land in Tramway County," Pritchard said. "And hard-nosed bastard is putting it lightly. Back in the late seventies and early eighties, he had a man that worked for him whose job it was to keep all the other employees toeing the line. There were some questionable happenings that never were properly followed up on because of Lowson's political connections. After that, he must have decided it would be helpful to have friends in law enforcement. Can you guess what became of his chief enforcer?"
"Not Redmond?" Ray guessed.
Pritchard nodded.
"Why are you telling me all this?" Ray asked. "And why bother springing me from the Sheriff's Department? You work for Redmond."
"Things are not always as they seem, Raymond," Pritchard said. "I sprung you because I know how the sheriff works. You'd be heading to the hospital right now to share a room with Mrs. Wallace if I hadn't stepped in, but don't go thinking of me as your guardian angel. The only reason your in this car with me right now is because I needed to know what Redmond wanted from you."
"So, now you know," Ray said. "What do we do now?"
"We don't do anything. Something you said a minute got me thinking it would be a good idea to check on Mrs. Wallace to make sure her security is being taken seriously."
Ray thought back through their conversation. "All I said was that Billy's been to see her once or twice. Why would that concern you?"
Pritchard didn't respond. Several minutes later, he pulled the car into the visitor parking lot at the hospital.
Wednesday, Part V
Pritchard slowed as they approached the information desk, but Ray scooted around him and made for the green elevators. Ray was already in the car and pressing the fifth floor button when the detective caught up to him.
"I take it you know where we're going?"
"Fifty-two-oh-three," Ray said. "Unless they've moved her to a new room."
The car stopped almost as soon as it had begun moving. The doors opened on the third floor to reveal a woman with greasy blonde hair in a hospital gown gripping a rolling intravenous pole in one hand and a pack of cigarettes in the other. She shuffled into the car and pressed the button for the lobby level several times. Each time she pressed it, the light lit while she held the button and went off the second she removed her finger.
"We're going up," Ray said impatiently. "You can't go down until we're done going up." He reached around her to press the door-close button. The woman grunted.
Pritchard burst out of the elevator once the doors opened wide enough to allow him through. With Ray tight on his heels, they almost collided with Officer Hussey, who spun in a graceful circle to clear a path for them and avoid spilling the contents of his cafeteria tray.
"What the hell, man! Slow it down!"
"Sorry, Jason!" Ray said as he ducked out of the way of the swinging tray. Hussey came to a stop and the three men stood facing each other. Ray informed Pritchard that Officer Hussey was one of the men standing guard over Mrs. Wallace.
"Has anyone been to visit Mrs. Wallace today?" the detective asked.
Hussey was about to answer when he suddenly focused intently on Pritchard. He screwed up his face and tilted his head. "I know you."
"He's a detective with the sheriff's department," Ray said hurriedly. "Detective Pritchard. Daniel Pritchard. He ran for sheriff last year against Redmond."
"Oh, yeah," Hussey said, his face relaxing. "I almost voted for you."
Pritchard glared at him, which seemed to please Hussey.
"Okay, enough with your cutesy, country, folksy bullshit," Ray barked. "Has she had any visitors?"
"Only Billy. You just missed him," Hussey said. "I told you last night, you two really ought to time your visits better."
"What was he doing here?" Pritchard said.
The sound of Pritchard's voice distracted Hussey for a second. "Just sitting with her..."
"Praying at her bedside again?" Ray asked.
"I gave the man his privacy."
"Who is watching Mrs. Wallace right now?" Pritchard stepped uncomfortably close to the officer.
"Billy said he'd keep an eye on her so I could go get a bite," he said. "It is almost dinner time, after all."
Hussey and Ray followed as Pritchard scurried out of the waiting room and headed off to room 5203. A heavy set nurse with short dark hair called after them as they passed. Hussey dropped his tray on the station desk and told her not to worry, then hurried after Ray and Pritchard who were just entering the room.
The blinds had been pulled closed over the window that looked out onto the parking lot. Slivers of golden light penetrated through tiny gaps between the vertical slats. A single fluorescent bulb on the wall above the bed cast a harsh light over the patient. Correen Wallace lay still, one eye swollen shut, the other closed. Ray watched her chest until he could tell it was rising and falling ever so slightly. Ray and Pritchard stood on either side of her. Hussey remained near the door. The nurse appeared in the doorway.
"What is going on in here?" she hissed.
Pritchard responded in a hushed, yet urgent, tone. "Where is the man who was in this room a few moments ago?"
"The big guy?" the nurse asked. "I thought he was still here."
Pritchard cursed and headed for the hallway, dialing a number on his cell phone as he went. Ray checked the bathroom, but didn't find anyone. He decided to follow Pritchard out and search the hallway. He left Hussey in the room with the nurse, who continued fussing about the disturbance. To his right was the nurse's station with rooms and the elevators beyond it. To his left, the hallway continued another twenty feet and dead-ended at a window. Near the window was an entrance to a stairwell. Ray pushed open the stairwell door and poked his head through. He saw and heard nothing. Stepping all the way out onto the landing, he looked over the railing. Quiet as a church, he thought.
When he turned to leave, a figure that had been hiding in the shadows behind the door stepped quickly toward him. Ray jerked back from fright. The big man grabbed him before he could react and spun him around. One thick forearm forced Ray's head forward as the other reached around and pressed up into his neck. The force was intense. It felt like his collar bone was ready to snap under the pressure. Ray flailed his arms uselessly. He couldn't break Billy's grip. Panic overwhelmed him as he struggled to breath. The lightbulb on the wall ahead of him began to blur and grow dim, and then everything went black.
Wednesday, Part VI
Someone far away was calling to him and pulling him closer. It wasn't an entirely unpleasant feeling, at first, yet it was accompanied by a dull aching in his temples. The throbbing in his head rapidly became more intense. He realized the voice wasn't part of a dream. Someone actually was calling to him. It just seemed to be coming from far away.
As he came to, Ray found himself lying on the floor in an empty
hospital room that appeared to be under renovation. Paint buckets and dirty tarps were stacked to his left near the window. To his right was a ladder and lengths of two-by-four. With his head lifted for a quick look around, he saw Billy sitting in a folding chair near his feet looking down at him. It took Ray a minute or two to recall enough bits and pieces of what had just happened to know he should be angry. He dropped his head back and rubbed his temples.
"What the hell?" Ray groaned.
"Sorry, cuz," Billy said. "How's your head?"
"It fucking hurts."
"What are you doing here, Ray?"
Ray clumsily pulled himself up to a sitting position. The sharp pain in his ribs made it a difficult procedure. "I should be asking you the same thing. I showed up here with Pritchard. He freaked out when Hussey told him you were here."
"I like Pritchard," Billy said. "He's honest. What'd he say about me?"
"About you?" Ray was trying to shake off the effects of having been choked to the point of passing out. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes to try driving back the pressure. "What should he tell me about you, other than the fact that you're an asshole?"
Billy stood and walked over to the window. Squinting into the late afternoon sun flooding through the window, he rubbed his face and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.
"I'm sorry I got you sucked into this mess," he said. "I honestly thought I was doing you a favor. Get you a hot story. Get you in good with your boss. You always say nothing big ever happens around here."
"What are you talking about?" Ray asked.
"The Wallaces," Billy said, as if it explained everything.
"I don't understand," Ray said. "We went out there because somebody complained about the noise from the car stereo."
Billy turned to face him. He opened his mouth. No words came out. His shoulders dropped and he lowered his eyes. "It was supposed to look like that. The neighbors even called in the complaint like I'd hoped they would, otherwise I would've had to have done it myself."
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