Rising Spirit

by Wayne Stinnett

  The judge pondered that a moment as he looked out the back window. I followed his gaze, noting a beautifully landscaped backyard and garden with a patio of rough-cut stone and black metal furniture.

  “My wife and I used to spend hours out there,” Judge Whitaker said. “She tended the garden herself and I did all the lawn work. I hire people to do it for me now; I tell folks it’s mostly on account of my age. The truth is, it hurts in other ways to be out there with her flowers. But looking out there, I can almost see her smiling among the plantings.” When he looked back at me, I could see the sadness in his eyes. “I was elected over four years ago, less than a year after my wife was murdered.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Ollie. I know how you must feel.”

  “Do you, son?” he asked bluntly. “Do you know how it feels to lose the woman you’ve loved and would give anything to have back?”

  I took a slow drink of my coffee, then looked him straight in the eye. “I didn’t have the many years you and your wife had. But my third wife was murdered on our wedding night.”

  “Third wife?”

  “Sandy was my first,” I said. “She couldn’t cope with military life and I was a career Marine. I had a brief second marriage that ended in divorce. And then I met Alex a couple of years after I retired from the Corps. She was raped and beaten to death by arms smugglers just a few hours after we married.”

  The judge’s eyes moistened as he again fixed me with them, boring into my soul. “Josie meant everything to me, Jesse. She was killed in a drive-by shooting—never solved. The sheriff thinks it was gang-related.”

  We stared at one another for a long moment. Finally, the judge asked, “So, you’re here to gather evidence to have Lane arrested? He’s got quite a history with the law.”

  I continued to hold his gaze and didn’t blink. “Not just Lane.”

  “That would be an uphill battle,” Ollie said.

  “Sandy is staying with my oldest daughter. Do you have kids?”

  “Josie and I had a daughter and a son, both grown with families of their own now. Phil lives in Boston and Candice in Seattle. I rarely see my grandkids.”

  “Stuart Lane is on his way now to murder my ex-wife, Ollie. That puts my daughter and her family in jeopardy. I’m not here to arrest anyone.”

  The implication of my statement wasn’t missed, nor did he react. “Yet you’re here and they’re there.”

  “They’re safe. When Lane arrives, friends of mine will put him on ice until I return.”

  The judge drained his mug. “You must trust these friends a lot.”

  “With my life, many times over,” I replied. “Lane will most certainly fail.”

  “Why did you show me that second video?” he asked. “Do you want me to turn a blind eye?”

  “The sheriff and the ACA are working with three others. They make moonshine and distribute it all over eastern Virginia and don’t want people meddling in their affairs. Sandy and her boyfriend worked for environmental causes. They came to Staunton for that reason and would soon bring agents from DEQ with them.”

  “I’m aware of that,” he said. “I heard the preliminary injunction and found in their favor. That doesn’t answer my question.”

  “Besides Lane, there are two men by the names of Luke Wright and Jeb Long, who you mentioned. These men handle the deliveries. All under the protection of the law. There may be others.” I paused, then added, “I’m here to shut them down and if need be, administer justice.”

  “I think you and I have differing opinions on that word, son.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “I think we both feel very strongly about justice and the reality of what it takes to live in a just and fair society such as these United States. You and I administer it in different ways is all. Blind eye, or eyes wide open, it doesn’t matter to me. I’m going to stop them cold in their tracks.”

  I knew the judge could have me arrested for what I’d just said. It was a clear threat to his sheriff and assistant prosecutor. But I also felt there was more to the story of his wife’s death than he let on. I was gambling pretty heavily on that, in fact.

  “Where do you live, Jesse?”

  “I own a small island in the Florida Keys, where I run a fishing charter.”

  “Fishing? I hear that’s quite a fisherman’s paradise down there. Maybe when all this is over, I’ll go down there and you can take me out to catch a marlin. I’ve never hooked one of those before.”

  I took the last sip of my coffee. “I’d be honored to do that.”

  “I’m not going to offer to refill that mug, Jesse. In fact, I’d prefer if you didn’t come around here or my courthouse ever again. I’m sure you understand.”

  I did. Being a sitting judge, I knew he couldn’t take a stand in a law enforcement matter, and definitely not in a manner that might be seen as illegal.

  I nodded my understanding and slid a business card across the table with the skull and crossed fishing hooks logo of my charter service on it. “Come on down to Marathon some time, Ollie. I’ll see that you boat that marlin.”

  When I got back into the truck, I called Chyrel again.

  “How’d it go with the judge?” she asked.

  It didn’t surprise me that she knew I was at the judge’s house. The phone’s GPS worked both ways.

  “I laid it out to him,” I replied. “I get the feeling that he’s suspected the corruption all along. Would you dig into the death of his wife for me? Anything you can come up with might help. I think there’s something there.”

  “On it. And I emailed you a file on the sheriff, as you asked. He looks clean on paper.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “But who writes the paper?”

  “Good point. I took the liberty of listening in on the sheriff’s private cell phone. He’s meeting Pritchard at noon.”

  “Hm, I’d sure like to be a fly on the wall there.”

  “Where are you going now?” she asked.

  “I’m gonna shake some trees and see if any snakes fall out.”

  “Be careful, Jesse. You’re a little out of your element there and you don’t have any backup.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said. “I’ll call you this afternoon with an update.”

  Backing out of the driveway, I headed toward the loop road around Staunton. I found I-64 and headed east toward Richmond. Soon the highway started up a long gradual grade, with a view to the southwest that was unbelievable. Shenandoah Valley stretched away to the far-off horizon and the autumn colors in the distance were diminished slightly by a light blue haze. It was that nearly ever-present haze that gave the Blue Ridge Mountains their name.

  Chyrel, and it seemed a lot of others, had the notion that because I lived in the Keys and was born in southwest Florida, that mountains weren’t in my wheelhouse at all. The fact was, I trained a lot in very similar terrain and often visited the mountains of western North Carolina when I was stationed at Camp Lejeune.

  Soon, I pulled into a small parking area on the Blue Ridge Parkway that allowed access to the Appalachian Trail. It was the same place where Kamren Steele was shot down.

  There were only three other cars parked there, one an unmarked police car.

  I parked in front of Sheriff Taliaferro’s cruiser and got out. Circling to the back of the truck, I nonchalantly dropped the tailgate and hopped up on it. I just sat there, looking back at the sheriff, and waited.

  The rental was in the name of my alias, Stretch Buchannan. Stretch was a rather colorful south Florida character involved in quite a few illegal activities. All created by Chyrel, of course. After hearing the message I’d left him, the sheriff probably knew all there was to know about Stretch and was calling in the truck’s tag number.

  Finally, he opened the door and got out, adjusting his utility belt and holster. It didn’t escape my attention t
hat the snap on the holster was released and tucked behind his belt.

  “Mister Buchannan?”

  I grinned at the man. “Guilty as charged, officer.”

  “That’s sheriff,” he corrected me. “Sheriff Louis Taliaferro.” He, of course, pronounced his name the Virginia way—Tolliver.

  “But it’s spelled like it’s an Italian name,” I said, still grinning.

  He walked up and leaned against the fender of the cruiser. “You left me a message that you had information about a shooting that happened here. You said to come alone. Well, here I am.”

  “Yeah, I did,” I said, dropping quickly to the ground, with my hands wide on the tailgate. The sheriff flinched ever so slightly, but other than that, he didn’t react.

  “What kind of information, Mister Buchannan?”

  “The expensive kind,” I replied, my voice low.

  “I don’t think I follow you.”

  “That’s probably on account of you being in front of me, Sheriff.”

  He straightened, resting his right hand on the grip of his pistol. While Sheriff Taliaferro might think himself a dangerous man, there was no doubt in my mind that I could close the gap before he could draw, disarm him, and slap him around a little, if I chose to. The good sheriff was the one who was way out of his league, and he had no clue about it.

  “What do you know about the shooting?”

  “I know Stuart Lane pulled the trigger.”

  That got his attention. His nostrils flared and his pupils dilated slightly. I wondered if he ever played poker with the judge.

  To his credit, he kept his cool. “And just how did you come up with that?”

  “Ah, that’s where things get expensive, Sheriff.”

  “You know I can arrest you right here, right now, for withholding evidence in a capital murder investigation?”

  I slowly took two, measured steps, closing the distance between us. My eyes never left his. “No,” I said flatly. “You lack that ability.”

  “Would you like to bet your freedom on that?”

  I was taller than Taliaferro by several inches. At six-three, I was taller than most people, and I used that to my advantage. He was looking up into my eyes as I scowled down at him. His downward peripheral vision was lessened and mine increased.

  “I’ve bet my life on that fact many times,” I said. “Against men who were far more competent; men who would frighten the hell out of the best of your deputies. And I’m still here.”

  He blinked, and before his eyes reopened, my left hand was already moving. The knuckles of my fist caught the inside of his right wrist, just above the palm. I knew from experience that the strike would cause momentary numbness in his whole hand. Before he even knew what was going on, I unholstered his Glock and had it leveled at his midsection.

  “You can’t—”

  With my free right hand, I slapped him hard across the face. “Oh, yes, Sheriff. I absolutely can.”

  Before he could utter another word, I pressed the release to drop the mag from the grip and stuck it under my arm. Then I racked the slide to eject the round that should have been in the chamber but wasn’t. In one fluid motion, I pulled the trigger, unlocked the slide and pulled it off. Dropping the lower assembly to the ground, I compressed the recoil spring in the slide, lifted it, and let it fly off into the grass. Removing the barrel, I tossed it into the ditch, and threw the slide over his patrol car.

  Taliaferro’s left hand went to his cheek. “I’ll see you rot in my jail, Buchannan.”

  I slowly thumbed the cartridges from the magazine, letting each one fall to the ground, where they rolled in different directions. “Is that any way to talk to a future business partner, Lou?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” he growled, watching his ammo roll under his car.

  “I want in,” I said, tossing the empty magazine over my shoulder. “You and your people are sloppy. Call Luke and ask if he knows my name. He’ll say no, but my number is saved on his phone and a quart of y’all’s moonshine he sold me is sitting on the front seat of my truck.”

  “I don’t know anything about that,” he lied. “And I don’t know anyone named Luke.”

  “You’re a liar,” I said, spitting venom. “After you talk to Luke, call Pritchard and tell him I’ll be wanting to meet him, as well. In fact, I think I’ll just drop in on your twelve o’clock meeting and we can all talk about how sloppy you people are. How’s that sound?”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “See ya around, officer,” I said, walking around and getting back into my truck.

  I knew there was a chance that he had a backup weapon. But I also knew that as dirty as he was, he was now more curious than angry. I got in, started the engine and turned directly through the grass, the rear tires kicking up sod as I headed back toward the interstate. It’d take him a few minutes to gather up the pieces of his Glock and by then I’d be miles away. But I didn’t know where the meeting was to take place.

  When I turned west on the interstate, I gunned the engine and headed back toward Staunton as I called Chyrel. She was already listening to his phone, so tracing it wouldn’t be any trouble at all for her.

  She was laughing when she answered. “It sure doesn’t take you long to shake out the snakes.”

  “It’s a gift,” I said. “Some people just take me the wrong way.”

  “I’ll say. The sheriff just talked to Pritchard and told him all about Stretch, including his colorful background.”

  “Did they say anything about where they were meeting?”

  “No,” she replied. “But Pritchard sounded interested in meeting you and told the sheriff they’d keep the appointment, but to have Luke across the street with a rifle just in case.”

  “That won’t leave me much time. Can you send both their GPS locations to my cell phone? I’ll get to where the two converge at about the same time and then locate Luke before I meet with them.”

  “Pritchard also mentioned that the manufacturing process was going well in his old barn.”

  “Ah, so that’s where they’re making your white lightning, huh?”

  “You’re really nuts, you know that, Jesse?”

  “I blame Paul,” I countered. “He’s given me a very good understanding about how these people think.”

  Besides being a former agent with the U.S. Secret Service, Paul Bender had a PhD in forensic psychology and had shared his vast knowledge of the inner workings of the criminal mind.

  “The sheriff’s moving,” she said. “He’s headed toward Staunton about ten miles behind you. Sending the GPS info to your phone now.”

  I thanked her and ended the call. Modern technology was a wonderful thing. I’d once shunned it, but over the last few years, I’d found how useful something as simple as a cell phone could be.

  There were two blinking bull’s-eyes on my screen. One was behind me on I-64, and the other was north of Staunton. The one to the north was moving slowly toward the southwest. The GPS didn’t show it to be on any named road, but I knew there were a lot of 4x4 trails up in those hills.

  My cell started playing the Bad Boys song. I clicked the Accept button and held the phone to my ear, hoping Chyrel was right and the highway noises couldn’t be picked up.

  “Hello,” a voice I recognized as Luke’s said.

  “It’s Lou,” the sheriff replied. “Who is Stretch Buchannan?”

  There was a moment of silence before Luke answered. “Never heard of him, Sheriff.”

  “You sure about that?” Taliaferro yelled. “Because he just disarmed and belted me, saying he bought a quart of ’shine from you this morning.”

  “Oh,” Luke said, sheepishly, “that guy. I’m sorry, Sheriff. It was—”

  “Never mind! We have a job for you. Drop whatever it is you’re doing and bring your huntin
g rifle to the stadium. Do you know where the new townhouses are being built near the south end of the ball field?”

  “Yeah, I know where it’s at.”

  “I want you to go there and get up on the second floor of the easternmost townhouse. It faces the field and it’s the only one where you can see the infield clearly. Aiden and I are meeting this Buchannan guy there. If he gets a wild hair, I want you to drop him. Can you do that?”

  “Whatcha mean by a wild hair?”

  “I’ll signal you by taking my hat off. When I do that, shoot him in the leg.”

  There was a moment of silence. Then Luke said, “Okay, Sheriff. But it’ll take me thirty minutes to get there.”

  “That’s perfect, Luke. The meeting isn’t for an hour.”

  There was silence for a moment and I thought I’d lost the call. Then Luke said, “There’s one thing, though.”

  “There’s always one more thing with you,” the sheriff said.

  “If I gotta pull the trigger,” Luke began, “even if it’s just a shot in the leg, I’ll want a grand.”

  “Five hundred and not a penny more.”

  “Okay,” Luke agreed.

  The call ended and I pulled up Chyrel’s number. She answered almost instantly. “There are two ball fields there. Only one would qualify as a stadium. Sending the directions to your phone now.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’m headed that way. I should have plenty of time to find and incapacitate Luke.”

  “Be careful,” she said.

  I chuckled. “Five hundred dollars is an insult. He should have asked for five thousand.”

  Ending the call, I pulled up the navigation app and found that the stadium was less than ten minutes away. I could get there ahead of any of them.

  The map on my phone showed identifying tags for roads and landmarks. It showed the baseball diamond, a quarter mile ahead. The stadium was the home of the Staunton Braves, a collegiate baseball team. There was also a football field and track to the east of the diamond, but it had a different name. The GPS told me to turn right just before the football field, but I continued ahead to get the lay of the place.