Grave Undertaking

by Mark de Castrique

  Suddenly, a creak came from the other side of the door to the courtroom. The knob jiggled as someone tried to open it. I hopped down from the desk and grabbed my shirt from under the other door. The guard would have a key and possibly enter with his gun drawn. I wrapped my shirt around the book, unlocked the knob and started to slip out into the hall.

  “Barry, it’s me,” called Susan.

  The unexpected sound of her voice stopped my flight. Why was she here? Had the guard figured out he was being duped? Was he out at the jeep and had told her to stay in the warmth of the courthouse?

  “Barry?” she called again, this time louder.

  Whatever had happened, I couldn’t ignore her. “Just a minute,” I said. “I’m coming.” I removed the cassette from the book and stuck it in my back pocket. I tossed Poe up on the top shelf, turned out the light and opened the door.

  The courtroom was silent and dark. Susan must have retreated somewhere into its midst.

  I went halfway down the aisle and stopped. “Susan?” I called softly. There was no answer. Had she already left?

  Overhead, the lights blazed to life, blinding me for an instant. Then I saw Susan at the back of the room. Her face was bloodless and winced with pain. Shielded by her body, a man stood grinning at me. I had seen him on television. We had met in person, and I had no reason to believe he hadn’t been pursuing justice. That was his job. He was District Attorney Darden Claiborne.

  But the smile on his face was as cold as the blue steel revolver pressed against Susan’s temple.

  Chapter 23

  I raised my hands. “She has nothing to do with this. Call the guard and he can escort me to the Sheriff’s Department.”

  The gun didn’t waver from Susan’s head.

  “I’m unarmed. I was just looking for something.” I started walking toward them.

  “Stop!” shouted Claiborne.

  “He knocked out the guard,” said Susan.

  Claiborne wrenched her arm higher behind her back and she cried out in pain. I dropped my hands and the D.A. swung the pistol toward me.

  “Back in the judge’s chamber,” he said. “You can show me what you’ve found.”

  I walked slowly, but my mind raced. The pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Darden Claiborne linked them together. Like random dots that suddenly coalesce into a recognizable pattern, and then you can never see them as individual dots again. In the time it took me to return to the judge’s chamber, I understood the clues that had been right in front of me.

  Claiborne had given the cozy interview to Cliff Barringer that first night after the skeleton was discovered. I should have seen their relationship from the start. Claiborne had access to all the damning information leaked to the former court reporter that put Walt and then Susan under suspicion. During my ride in his car, Claiborne had convinced me he was as angry about Barringer’s revelations as Ewbanks was. Now I saw how he had zealously pursued and publicly fingered anyone who could be remotely charged for a crime he committed. He even held out the carrot of a reduced sentence to a convicted felon if he would accuse Susan’s father of murder.

  After Skeeter Gibson’s death, Claiborne had appeared so quickly at my interrogation, not because he heard it on the police radio, but because he had pulled the trigger. He was the one who had washed up in the courthouse lavatory and then tried to project that action on me. He had also been careful to ensure no one saw our clandestine conversation in his car. He wasn’t worried that Ewbanks might think he was meddling; he didn’t want any visible connection to me in case I had to be eliminated. That thought sent a chill down my spine.

  “Come on, move it, Clayton. I don’t have all night.”

  “Got a date with a prisoner?” I said. “A junior high girl?”

  “Shut up,” he said.

  The big shot with the big gun. Skeeter had told me he had covered his ass with someone who had farther to fall. That was not the sheriff but the D.A. who would have also overseen juvenile prosecutions. Who better to exploit teenage girls looking for an easy way out? Who better to expunge the records of Gentle Deal’s arrest and his involvement with her case?

  And now the politically ambitious district attorney had farther to fall than ever. The discovery of Calhoun’s body must have been a shock to the arrogant bastard. He had thought he had gotten away with murder. I knew he would not hesitate to kill again. All I had to bargain with was the videotape in my hip pocket. Claiborne would shoot us as soon as he had it. He’d concoct some story to explain everything. If the guard hadn’t seen him, I’d be the one blamed for the attack.

  As soon as I entered the judge’s chamber, he shoved Susan toward me and turned on the lights. Then he switched off the ones in the courtroom and closed the door.

  I pulled Susan behind my back.

  “He found me in the jeep,” she said. “The guard had fixed the loose wire and gone inside.”

  Claiborne looked at the open ceiling vent. “What did you find?”

  “The place where Sammy Calhoun mounted the camera,” I said. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

  “You’ve stuck your nose in once too often, Clayton. You and that one-eyed excuse for a sheriff.” He chuckled to himself. “I was damn lucky to be working late that night you came looking for Skeeter. Heard you call and then jiggle the doorknobs. But I couldn’t count on luck twice, so I told the new guard to call me direct if anybody he didn’t know came in after hours. Nice of you to flash your ID, Dr. Miller. Got me over here real quick.”

  “Why’d you have to kill Skeeter?” I asked. “He didn’t tell me anything.”

  “I should have done it seven years ago. Never trust a drunk. Eventually he’d have sold me out for another bottle of Wild Turkey.”

  “You didn’t kill him because he’s Sheriff Ewbanks’ cousin.”

  “I don’t give a damn about Horace Ewbanks. He’ll go along with what I say. I’ve got the killers right here in this room, returning to the scene of the crime, trying to break into my office to see what kind of case I’m putting together. You had means, motive, and opportunity. I’ll make sure it’s an open and shut case, and you won’t be in any condition to mount a defense.”

  The smirk on his face told me he was enjoying describing his plan. Otherwise, he’d have already shot me. He walked over and sat on the edge of the desk. He held the pistol level with my stomach. I pivoted to keep between him and Susan.

  “And that story you told me about Nick Garrett. Was he in it with you?”

  “I canned Nick Garrett because he was stupid enough to say he planned to challenge me for district attorney. I threw him to you because I knew you couldn’t interview him. Skeeter either. What’s the old expression? Dead men tell no tales?”

  Claiborne’s skill at mixing truth and lies during our car ride had been masterful. Now I had to beat him at his own game.

  “All right,” I said. “I lied to you. I do have proof and killing us will only ensure you get the death penalty. We found the camera.”

  The smirk wavered. “It wasn’t up there,” he said. “I looked seven years ago.”

  “No, it was in Gentle Deal’s trailer. The table was a footlocker. You should have looked inside it. Eight millimeter extended play with a fisheye lens. You couldn’t find it when you cleaned out Calhoun’s apartment because he’d given it to the girl.”

  For the first time, I saw a hint of fear in Claiborne’s eyes.

  “Where is it?”

  “With that one-eyed excuse for a sheriff. I’m just too curious. Susan and I dropped by to see where it had been mounted. The angle on the video matches the vent’s location. Tommy Lee’s holding back. It’s a little tricky arresting a hotshot D.A. and he’s making sure everything’s buttoned down. You can appreciate that.”

  “You’re bluffing.”

  “How’d I know about the camera? Why am I here? You had Skeeter Gibson bring an underaged girl to this room, but Sammy Calhoun got you on tape. The quality of the picture is qu
ite good.”

  “Me and who else?” asked Claiborne.

  His question threw me. Someone else was on the tape with him and Gentle. Sheriff Ewbanks? Bridges? I could take a guess, but if I was wrong, my bluff was over. He read the uncertainty on my face.

  “You know who,” I said.

  Claiborne stood up and smiled. “I’m not buying it. I know what’s on the tape. Calhoun showed us a copy when he made his demand. The prick thought he could blackmail me.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “There’s no tape with just me on it,” he said, “because Skeeter didn’t bring that piece of white trash here for me.”

  “But Calhoun came to you, didn’t he?”

  “Yes. He thought he’d struck it rich. Gave me this bullshit about wanting money for the girl. Showed us a copy and promised to tell where the master was after we gave him fifty thousand dollars, but I knew he’d be a leech on me the rest of my life.” He looked at Susan. “We met right here in this room. Your boyfriend didn’t like it when I said we’d take our chances without him. He reached for that little popgun of yours, but he was too slow. I knocked it out of his hand and shot him with his own gun. He should have read my campaign literature. Four years in special forces. Amazing how that military training stays with you.”

  “Are you going to say Susan dug up Pearly’s grave and buried Calhoun?” I asked.

  “I don’t have to say anything. Explaining how is Ewbanks’ problem. Besides, Cliff Barringer will report whatever I tell him as long as it’s an exclusive.” He laughed and waved the gun. “Let’s stroll over to my office.”

  “I can take you to the tape,” I said, desperate to get us out of the courthouse. “I just haven’t had the equipment to look at it.”

  “If you have it, I’ll find it on my own. Time for talk is over.”

  “Time for talk is over all right,” said Susan. “You’ve said enough.” She stepped from behind me and held up her cell phone. “You should have patted me down. All I had to do was punch redial. I phoned Sheriff Wadkins from the parking lot. Woman’s intuition. He’s heard everything you’ve said, Claiborne.”

  Claiborne’s face turned livid. “Give me that,” he ordered.

  Toss it and run, I wanted to say, but I knew the odds of beating a bullet out the door were slim to none.

  Susan threw the phone toward the ceiling over Claiborne’s head, but his eyes never left us. His expression hardened and I expected him to pull the trigger.

  “Claiborne!” The voice of Sheriff Horace Ewbanks echoed from the rotunda.

  Claiborne glanced back at the closed door to the courtroom. I grabbed Susan by the arm and dove for the light switch. The room went pitch black. Claiborne didn’t fire. I pulled open the hall door and we stumbled through it. Behind us, a pistol roared and the plaster wall exploded over our heads.

  An exit light shone at the far end of the corridor, but if we ran that direction, we would be silhouetted against its blood-red glow. That way also led to Sheriff Ewbanks, a man who likely was also on the videotape in my pocket. We had no choice but to run for the safety of the shadows at the opposite end.

  “Stay low,” I whispered, and pushed Susan ahead of me.

  Again, I heard Ewbanks shout Claiborne’s name. When they found each other, they’d make a systematic search of the courthouse. I could only hope we would find an outside exit before then.

  The hall made a sharp left, taking us out of Claiborne’s line of fire. A set of double glass doors promised a retreat from the shooting gallery of the narrow corridor. REGISTER OF DEEDS appeared in black lettering on the frosted pane. We found ourselves in a maze of cubicles and filing cabinets.

  “We should split up,” said Susan. “That doubles our chances.”

  As much as I hated to leave her, I knew she was right.

  “Okay. Head for the back corner. Maybe there’s an exit. If you can’t find one, hide in a closet.” I pulled my cell phone from my pocket. “Call Tommy Lee again and tell him where you are. I’ll try to keep them after me.” I handed her the videocassette. “I found the tape. If something happens to me, get it to Tommy Lee.”

  She gave me a quick kiss and scooted behind a row of file cabinets. I heard footsteps running down the hall and took off in the opposite direction, banging a few drawers along the way.

  My sense of direction told me to keep moving to my right, hugging the wall that enclosed the department. I could hear Claiborne’s footsteps on the terrazzo floor behind me, but my speed was limited by the unknown location of Ewbanks. I didn’t want to be driven into the muzzle of his gun.

  The seam of a door appeared at the end of a row of cubicles. I could only guess where it emerged in the layout of the courthouse. Instead of bolting through and into the unknown, I pushed it open, and then retreated along another line of file cabinets. If Claiborne had seen the door move, he should go through it, leaving me in the office alone. I crawled along the floor, circling like a fox behind the hounds. My safest exit lay in the route he had already searched.

  I heard the door slam. Claiborne had taken the bait and headed down a wing away from me. There was only a moment or two at best to double back and run through the courtroom, cross the rotunda, and flee through the front doors. Maybe Susan had made it to the jeep and we could escape together.

  I stopped at the door to the Register of Deeds before darting into the hall. The way seemed clear. Then just as I started forward, a wheeze came from the shadows. Too many years of cigarettes had marked Ewbanks. Like two wolves hunting, he followed Claiborne’s trail, waiting for their quarry to double back.

  I knelt behind the filing cabinets. The cold hard floor bit into my knees. At last I heard Ewbanks’ labored breathing pass me as he moved on.

  Cautiously, I retraced the path to the judge’s chamber. The room was still dark. I knew it well enough to cross and enter the courtroom. The double doors at the other end were open wide and the light from the rotunda reflected on the polished surface of the hall floor. I was halfway there when the voice of Sheriff Ewbanks whispered from behind me.

  “Clayton, stop.”

  Before I could run, Darden Claiborne stepped into the doorway, blocking my path. No matter where I turned, I faced a bullet.

  “It’s over,” he said, and raised his pistol.

  Suddenly a shot fired from behind him and he pitched forward into the courtroom. Lights came up, illuminating the shock and disbelief on Claiborne’s face. He staggered against the back of a pew and lifted his gun again. A second gunshot exploded, this time from the judge’s chamber. The impact knocked Claiborne to the floor. I turned to see Ewbanks at the door, pistol in one hand, the light switch under the other.

  “The filthy son of a bitch,” he said. “You okay?”

  I was too stunned to answer. I looked back at Claiborne and saw Susan standing over him, a gun gripped tightly in both hands, her face etched with conflicting emotions of shock and relief. I ran to her and took the gun.

  “Susan?” I whispered.

  “I couldn’t let him hurt you. I had to shoot.” She kept her eyes glued on Claiborne. Blood gurgled from his mouth and chest.

  “It’s all right,” I said, holding her tightly to my body. “It’s all over now.”

  But my words were wrong. It wasn’t over. I released her, ran past Ewbanks to the judge’s chamber and grabbed the volume of Poe from the shelf.

  “It’s here,” I said, hurrying back into the courtroom. “It’s been here all along. Sammy Calhoun put the videotape right under your nose.”

  I took the cassette from Susan, placed it in the book and held it in front of Claiborne. Yes, it was cruel, but I did it for Gentle, and for Skeeter, and for Sammy Calhoun. Claiborne’s mouth opened and his eyes fixed on the black cassette. Then his focus wavered and his chin sank on his chest. If there was a Hell, I knew Darden Claiborne entered it with that final vision burned into his soul for all eternity.

  Ewbanks took the book from my hands and then stooped down
to check Claiborne’s carotid artery for a pulse. He shook his head and stood up.

  He turned to Susan. “There’s nothing you can do for him, doctor. Pretty fair shooting. Where’d you get the gun?”

  “It’s the guard’s,” she replied in a shaky voice. “He’s injured in a hallway near the restrooms.”

  The sheriff grabbed the walkie-talkie from his duty belt. “Get an ambulance and some patrol units over to the courthouse as soon as possible,” he ordered. “Take me to him,” he told Susan. “We’ll care for him and then go to my office and sort this all out.” He looked down at Claiborne’s body. “Kinda fitting he died in here. And people say the court system doesn’t work.”

  When we reached the security guard, he was regaining consciousness, dazed and unsure about what had happened. Susan examined the gash on the back of his head.

  “A few stitches,” she said, “and probably a mild concussion. He’s earned some leave.”

  “That was quick thinking redialing Tommy Lee,” I told her. “I hope he heard it all.”

  She smiled. “He didn’t hear a word. The battery was dead.”

  “That was a bluff?” I said, staring at her as if she were a stranger.

  “I did reach Tommy Lee from the jeep before it died. Someone needed to know where we were. For seven years we thought Sammy Calhoun had gone to Texas. If things went wrong, I didn’t want to just disappear without a trace.”

  I turned to Ewbanks. “And Tommy Lee called you?”

  “No, I didn’t,” said a familiar voice. Tommy Lee came up along with several Walker County deputies. “When Susan’s phone died, I hightailed it over here. Looks like I missed all the fun.” He spoke to me, but kept his one eye on Ewbanks.

  I showed him the book and cassette. “We found the tape. Claiborne admitted he killed Calhoun because he tried to blackmail them.”

  “Them?” asked Tommy Lee. He again looked at Ewbanks warily.

  Ewbanks stared back, a wry grin on his face. “Don’t worry, Sheriff. I ain’t the other man on the tape if that’s what you’re thinking, but I can tell you who it is.”