A Killing Rain

by P J Parrish

  “Louis!” Joe called out.

  “Ben! Was he in the buggy?” Louis yelled back to her.

  “No. The box was empty.”

  Louis grabbed Ellis’s shirt. “Where is he?”

  Ellis moaned, his eyes rolling backward. He was dying. Louis knew it.

  “Where’s Benjamin?” Louis shouted, shaking him. “Talk to me, you son of a bitch! Where’s Benjamin?”

  Ellis’s gaze moved from Louis to Joe, now standing over Louis’s shoulder. Then his eyes fell shut. His breath was coming raspy and wet. The wound in his chest was oozing blood.

  “Answer me!” Louis shouted.

  “He’s dead,” Ellis wheezed.

  With a cry, Louis flung Ellis into the mud. Ellis sputtered, struggled to sit up, but fell back against the tree.

  Louis struggled to his feet, wiping his face. Joe was just a blur in front of him. His chest burned and he couldn’t pull in a full breath.

  Ellis coughed. “You killed him,” he said.

  Louis turned back.

  “What?”

  Ellis looked up at Louis.

  “You...you cops. The night you brought the money.”

  Louis dropped down next to Ellis in the mud. “What are you talking about?”

  Ellis spat out blood. “We didn’t kill the kid. You did. You cops shot him. We took him out of there but he died later.”

  Louis went numb, his mind racing backward.

  Setting Austin’s purse down in the dirt.

  The first shot hitting him in the chest, spinning him around. Then his own gun going off, jarred from his hand by the recoil. And a second shot slamming into his back. Then Jewell spraying the darkness with his bullets.

  Louis grabbed Ellis’s shirt, shaking him. “Where did you leave him?”

  Ellis didn’t answer.

  “Where did you leave his body?” Louis yelled.

  Joe was suddenly next to him, trying to get his attention, her hands on his chest.

  “Louis, Ellis is dead,” she said.

  Louis looked down at Ellis’s mud-streaked face and empty brown eyes. He felt Joe’s hands, gently prying his fingers off Ellis’s shirt. Finally, he sat back, his breath coming in hard, painful spurts.

  Joe knelt next to him in the mud. He felt her arms come around him. He buried his head in her shoulder.

  CHAPTER 34

  They had gone back in, guns drawn, but Louis had known the trailer would be empty.

  He had walked the narrow hall, pushed in the paper-thin bedroom doors and jerked open closets, but there had been no one there. Then he had started upending the few pieces of furniture, looking for that one little thing he was sure Ben would leave. A shoe string. A toy. A small dirty hand print placed deliberately on a wall.

  Nothing.

  Joe finally had to drag him outside, forcing him to sit in the Bronco and wait until the cops showed up. She had tried to tell him he shouldn’t believe a thing Byron Ellis said. He was a criminal, a killer who had nothing to lose by lying.

  But Louis had turned away in anger. Not at her, but at the idea that Ellis might be telling the truth.

  For the last hour, he had been sitting in the Bronco, rewinding that night over and over in his head, trying to remember if he had heard Ben’s voice after the shots, trying to remember seeing him fall, trying to remember anything that would prove Ellis wrong.

  The cigar ring in the motel. He was sure Ben had left it. But when? The drop had been Sunday night. If the ring had been left on Monday, that meant Ben had been alive after the drop. But if it had been left on Sunday...

  Louis shut his eyes.

  “Nice mess you made in there.”

  Louis looked up to see Chief Wainwright standing at the passenger window. There was a fleet of cop cars behind him from both Lee and Collier counties.

  “What were you looking for in that trailer?” Wainwright asked.

  “Something Ben might have left,” Louis said.

  Wainwright let out a sigh.

  Louis could tell Wainwright still wasn’t buying this trail of clues thing. But he didn’t care.

  Wainwright glanced at the trailer. “You find anything?”

  Louis shook his head.

  “Collier County is pissed, you know that.”

  “We had to go inside,” Louis said. “You know that.”

  Wainwright nodded. “But you didn’t have to contaminate the scene.”

  Louis didn’t reply. He didn’t care about that either.

  Wainwright glanced down the scenic drive, where they had followed Ellis to the swamp. “Detective Frye told me what Ellis said, that you might’ve shot the kid,” he said.

  Louis watched the activity around the trailer. Sheriff Mobley and a man Louis guessed to be the Collier County sheriff were having words near the door. Someone was stringing crime scene tape. A tech pulled open the rear doors of the CSI van and hauled out a large black box.

  “You don’t believe him, do you?” Wainwright asked.

  Louis looked at him. He wanted to say hell no, I don’t believe him. He’s a lying ex-con who kills for the fun of it. But he couldn’t. A part of him couldn’t get the possibility out of his head because it made some kind of weird sense. Wainwright had said it. I’m not sure they ever wanted to kill Ben. I think they intended to kill Outlaw, take the money, and release him.

  And Louis had agreed with him.

  “Did they find anything out at the drop scene?” Louis asked. “Can they account for all the shots?”

  Wainwright looked away, then back. “No. We pulled two of theirs out of your car, and found one of Jewell’s in a stump. That leaves one of yours and three of Jewell’s unaccounted for.”

  There was another noise, something coming from overhead, a whoop-whoop noise Louis instantly recognized. He opened the door against Wainwright’s chest and got out, looking up.

  It was a helicopter, white with a big red seven on the side. A Fort Myers TV news chopper.

  “Damn it,” Louis said.

  “What?” Wainwright asked.

  “Susan,” Louis said. “What did you tell her?”

  “I haven’t told her anything. I was at the station when Frye called.”

  “I need to get back,” Louis said. “Susan can’t see this on TV. Where’s Joe?”

  “Never mind Joe.” Wainwright pointed to his cruiser. “I can get you back quicker. Let’s go.”

  Louis opened the door to Susan’s house and went inside, followed by Wainwright. Susan, Jewell, and Austin were standing in the middle of the room, eyes locked on the TV. A female reporter was standing at the turnoff into Copeland, the police cars and the trailer far in the background.

  Jewell looked over at them. Wainwright motioned for Jewell to follow him back outside. The young man locked eyes with Louis for a moment then walked past him out the door.

  Susan was looking at Louis, one hand closed over the other against her chest. Her eyes flickered between confusion and fear.

  He went to her, taking her shoulders.

  She pulled away from him. “What’s happened? They said one of the suspects is dead.”

  “He is. It was Byron Ellis. Joe had to shoot him.”

  She waited, silent, looking up at him.

  “We found Ellis in a trailer out near a preserve, but Ben wasn’t there with him.”

  “What about the other man?” Susan asked.

  Louis shook his head.

  “Did you find anything else? Was there any sign he was —-”

  “Susan,” Louis said. “Sit down. Please.”

  She didn’t move.

  “You, too, Austin,” Louis said. Austin knew what was coming. Louis could see it in his face.

  Austin reached out and put a hand on Susan’s shoulder, gently directing her to the sofa. She sat down, rigid, her hands clasped, her knees pressed together.

  Louis picked up the remote and switched off the TV. He sat down on the coffee table so he was level with them. They waited, Austin’s h
and sliding over to cover Susan’s. She didn’t seem to notice. She was staring at Louis, her eyes glistening.

  “Before Ellis died,” Louis said. “He...”

  The words caught in his throat and he looked away, feeling his chest tighten. He could hear Susan’s quickened breathing, smell the lingering smoke of Austin’s last cigar.

  Louis forced himself to look at them. Austin’s hand was clenched over Susan’s and they were both leaning forward.

  The words came out in a hoarse whisper. “Ellis said Ben is dead.”

  Susan let out a wounded cry, jerking her hands away from Austin, drawing them to her chest. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she clenched her eyes shut.

  Louis started to reach out for her, but Austin’s hand was there, on her shoulder, on her arm, on her face wiping her tears.

  Louis waited. Susan’s sobs were the only sound in the room. Finally, he touched Austin’s arm and nodded toward the door.

  “I need to talk to you,” he said quietly.

  Austin looked confused, but started to move away from Susan. She grabbed Louis’s wrist.

  “What else?" she asked.

  “Susan, let me handle this,” Austin said.

  Susan tightened her grip. “What else is there? What were you going to tell him that I couldn’t hear?”

  Louis looked down at her. “You’ll probably hear a report about this later on tonight and I wanted you to hear it from me first.”

  She stood up, her fingers still curled around his wrist.

  “Ellis said something else, too,” Louis said. He could hear himself say it but it didn’t sound like him. The words came out hollow and flat. “He said Ben was shot the night we tried to deliver the money. By one of us.”

  A second passed.

  “Us?” she whispered. “Us? You mean...?”

  Then, slowly, she shook her head. She let out another cry, this one from deep inside, a low guttural sound that came from rage. She jerked her hand from his wrist and pushed him away.

  “No,” she cried. “No, No. Not this way! Not by you!”

  She came at him, pushing him backward, her hands pounding against his chest, her cries now like a wounded animal.

  “Get out!” she cried.

  “Susan --” Austin said.

  “Get out! Get out now! All of you!”

  Louis tried to catch her flailing arms, but she tore from his grasp, spinning away. Austin grabbed her so she wouldn’t fall. She fought him, until he wrapped his arms around her so tight she couldn’t move. He was holding her up as she sobbed.

  Austin looked at Louis over Susan’s head. “Go,” he said.

  Louis turned and opened the door, stepping out onto the porch. He closed the door behind him.

  The street was dark and quiet. It was sprinkling, small, light drops that pinged on the cars and windows. Crime scene tape flapped in the breeze at the old folks’ house across the street. A lone Sereno Key cruiser was still parked at the curb. Wainwright’s cruiser was parked in front of the house next door. The chief was sitting in the driver’s seat, head back. Louis knew he was waiting to give him a ride home.

  Louis saw someone standing off to the side, in the driveway near Susan’s old Mercedes. It was Jewell. He was just standing there, looking back at Susan’s front door. His black cap was beaded with rain, the brim shadowing his eyes.

  Louis went to him.

  Jewell looked up. His face was wet, his eyes red-rimmed and weary.

  “How you doing?” Louis asked.

  Jewell’s voice trembled. “Fine, sir.”

  “Look...” Louis began.

  “Sir, can I say something?” Jewell interrupted.

  Louis nodded.

  “It wasn’t you,” he said. “Your shot went into the dirt. It had to have been me.”

  Jewell’s blue eyes never wavered from Louis’s face, and his mouth was drawn tight into a line that quivered at the edges.

  Louis put a hand on his shoulder, over the Sereno Key patch on his sleeve.

  “Thank you, Jewell,” Louis said.

  Jewell glanced at Wainwright’s cruiser sitting at the curb, waiting for Louis. “The chief has relieved me of duty.”

  “Then go home,” Louis said.

  “I can’t, sir. I can’t —-”

  “Jewell, go home.”

  Jewell hesitated then nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Louis watched him walk down the block and get in his cruiser. A moment later, it disappeared down the dark street. With a final look back at Susan’s door, Louis started toward Wainwright’s car.

  CHAPTER 35

  It was near nine by the time Wainwright dropped him off at the cottage. Wainwright had told him Collier County wanted him back first thing tomorrow to do his statements. But for now, the only thing Louis wanted was to be alone.

  He trudged up the sandy drive to the screened-in porch. The door was locked and he fumbled for his keys and went inside.

  For a moment, he stood in the dark. He could smell the dank stink of the swamp rising up from his clothes but he didn’t care. He could feel the steady throb of pain in his chest but he didn’t care about that either.

  He went to the refrigerator and opened the door. The light made a slash through the dark kitchen. Louis stood there, leaning on the refrigerator door, staring blankly at the nearly empty metal shelves.

  Something soft touched his leg. He looked down. Issy was sitting there, looking up at him. He blinked, trying to remember the last day he had been home, the last time he had fed the cat Sunday? Saturday? He shut his eyes, dropping his head.

  “I fed her.”

  Louis looked up.

  Joe was standing there, just on the other side of the bar. There was a blue towel wrapped around her head and she was wearing a robe. His robe.

  “When’d you get back?” he asked.

  “About a half-hour ago. Collier County sheriff kept me pretty busy for a while.”

  She came forward out of the shadows. “You told Susan?” she asked.

  Louis nodded slowly. He looked back at the inside of the refrigerator, decided he didn’t really want a beer, and shut the door. A moment later, the lamp in the living room came on and Joe straightened, looking at him from across the room. Her face was shiny and red from the heat of her shower. He could see questions in her eyes, and he was grateful she wouldn’t ask them right now.

  “I need a shower,” he said quietly.

  She nodded, reaching for the towel around her head. “Give me a minute and I’ll get out of your way.”

  Joe disappeared into the bedroom, shutting the door. Louis sank down onto the sofa, his head falling back against the cushions, closing his eyes. He had no idea how much time had passed when he heard her return. She was wearing a huge T-shirt and clutching a blanket. Her hair was wet, combed back from her face, accentuating the angles.

  Louis got up, wincing slightly. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

  “Do you want something to eat? I can —-”

  He held up a hand and walked slowly into the bedroom. He closed the door and stood there a moment, looking around. Her suitcase was open on the floor, clothing spilling out. Her mud-stained black jeans and cinnamon sweater lay in a small heap in a corner. Her leather coat was hanging on the knob of the closet.

  The bedspread was pulled up, like she had hastily tried to straighten things up. Louis went into the bathroom.

  Strange things on the sink. A plastic leopard-print toiletry bag. A bottle of Tylenol. A big round hairbrush. A pink plastic razor. A blue Secret deodorant. A spray bottle of something green. He picked up the bottle, looking at it. Jean Naté After Bath Mist.

  He brought it up to his nose. It smelled like a man’s cologne but softer, creamier.

  He set the bottle down and stripped quickly, getting into the shower. He turned on the water. It was cool but he didn’t even notice it, and he just stood there under the hard spray, eyes shut, waiting until it turned warm.

  Hot water now. Slowly,
very slowly, his muscles unknotted, his body relaxed, his mind let go. He just stood there, head bowed, arms braced against the walls, letting the water wash over him. The hot water was almost gone by the time he finally grabbed the soap and washed himself.

  Switching the shower off, he got out and went back into the bedroom, toweling off. He hadn’t noticed it the first time he came into the bedroom, but now he saw his robe there on the end of the bed where she had left it.

  He tossed the towel aside and picked up the robe. He started to put it on but then he paused.

  She was there. Her smell was there in his robe. That man-woman creamy smell from the green bottle. And something else that was just her.

  He put on the robe and went out to the living room. Issy was curled up on the sofa but Joe wasn’t there. The front door was open, letting in the cold. Louis went out onto the porch.

  Joe looked up at him from the wicker chair. She was bundled in the blanket, her hands wrapped around a coffee mug.

  “Where’d you find the coffee?” he asked.

  “Didn’t. It’s brandy.”

  She was looking up at him. “I don’t drink much,” she said. “But I found this in your kitchen and thought it might help. I can’t...”

  She looked away. “I can’t...get warm,” she said softly.

  He went over to her, gently pulling her up from the chair, wrapping his arms around her. He could feel her shivering through the blanket. He could feel her wet hair against his cheek.

  Something broke inside him, flooding him with need. A need to touch and be touched. A need for something good, something clean and something warm.

  She drew her head back and he could see her eyes, teary in the cold.

  He brought his hands up and cupped her face, kissing her, gently at first then more deeply as he felt her body respond to his. She tasted warm, her lips sweet with brandy.

  The blanket fell off her shoulders as his lips moved down her neck, over her collar bone and back up again, to her cheek, her eyes, and her mouth. His hands found her body under the T-shirt. Smooth, warm curves he wanted to explore forever.

  Her hands were inside his robe, over his shoulders, on his back, pulling him closer and harder against her.