But Not For Naught: A Clint Wolf Novel (Clint Wolf Mystery Series Book 5)

by BJ Bourg

  “If the door was kept locked, how’d Matthew eat or use the bathroom?”

  “There was a bathroom area down there.”

  “And how did he eat?”

  “We would bring him food.”

  “What about school?”

  “Oh, Foster enrolled him in a home-school program. He thought it would be easier for him to stay on the right track that way. You know, so we could keep an eye on him.”

  “How’d he graduate?”

  “I…I don’t really know if he did. He escaped—um, ran away—from home when he turned eighteen and I haven’t seen him until he came back to visit.” Her eyes misted over. “I missed him and Kimberly so much. It killed me not to have them home every day and not to be able to watch them grow up.”

  “It seems you have Foster to blame for your kids not being with you. First, he injures Kimberly and she goes off to live with your father-in-law, and then Matthew leaves because of the way Foster treated him.” I nodded. “That’s reason enough for any respectable woman to want him dead.”

  “I don’t want Foster dead. I might get mad at him from time to time and we might argue, but we do love each other.”

  I wanted to ask her how Foster could cheat on her if he loved her, but I didn’t. Instead, I asked if she had tried to shoot him Friday night and then again last night.

  “Dear Lord, no. I could never kill a person. I’ve gotten so mad that I wanted to divorce him before, but I never contemplated killing him—or anyone else, for that matter.” She grunted. “I can’t even kill a roach—and I hate the little bastards.”

  “What about Matthew? He’s obviously been harboring ill feelings toward Foster. Do you think he attempted to kill Foster?”

  She didn’t answer immediately. I could tell she was thinking, and I knew she believed her son was capable of killing Foster.

  “Has Matthew ever threatened to kill Foster?” I pressed.

  She finally nodded her head in slow motion, as though hating to admit it. “But that was back when he was younger. He’s been through the military since then and he’s a different kind of person now.”

  “Well, he did beat the tar out of Foster and then urinated on him, so I’m willing to bet there’s at least some residual animus still present.” When she again remained silent, I asked about her kidney. “Is it true you need a kidney transplant?”

  “No…who told you that?”

  “Matthew mentioned it on the swamp tour.”

  “Oh, yeah, they did go do the swamp tour after Foster left.” She waved a hand dismissively. “I might need one eventually, but my doctors believe it won’t be for many years.”

  “Then why’d you tell Matthew you needed one?”

  She lowered her eyes in embarrassment. “It was the only way I could get them to come down and see me. I knew how much they hated Foster and I didn’t think they’d come, so I told them I was sicker than I am.” She lifted her head and I could see her face light up. “Something good did come out of it, though, because we now know the truth about what happened to Kimberly.”

  “How’s that a good thing?”

  “It helped to clear the air and get everything out in the open. We can move on now and—”

  “Ma’am, I don’t know if you fully understand the gravity of the situation, but Matthew’s a suspect in one murder and two attempted murders. If he’s arrested and then later convicted, he’ll spend the rest of his life in prison. He’ll never be a free man again.”

  “I really don’t believe he did what you’re saying he—”

  A car rumbled down the street and Pearly stopped to look toward the sound. I turned and saw a vehicle roll by my Tahoe and park in the driveway. Foster was driving and he didn’t waste any time getting out of the car. He looked from me to Pearly as he approached.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. “I thought you were staying at the motel until Matthew and all left.”

  “I asked him to come back home,” Pearly said. “He apologized on the phone earlier and I forgave him. I just want us all to be a family again—to let bygones be bygones.”

  Foster nodded. “I’m ready to be the father my kids never had. Last night made me realize what’s important in life. I’m going to give Matthew what he wants—I’m going to apologize to him and he’ll forgive me.”

  I couldn’t hide the contempt I felt. “Are you serious right now, Pearly? You’re really going to let this asshole near your daughter?” When she lowered her head and remained silent, I turned to Foster. “And how do you know Matthew will forgive you? For all you know, he’ll shoot you on sight.”

  Before he could answer, another car turned into the driveway. It was Matthew and he pulled up aggressively. I suddenly wondered if he’d been following Foster. His eyes were locked on his stepdad and I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I eased my hand next to my pistol. It looked like things were about to turn ugly.

  “Is it true?” Matthew asked as he stepped from his car and stormed toward Pearly and Foster. I relaxed a little when I saw his empty hands. “Jill called and said you were letting him back in the house. Is it true? After everything he did to Kimberly and me you’re going to let him back in the house?”

  “He apologized,” Pearly said weakly. “He apologized for what he did to Kimberly—just like you wanted him to.”

  “I don’t give a shit about his lame apology. It’s too little, too late. He has to pay for what he did to my sister and he has to pay for what he did to—”

  The storm door suddenly burst open behind me. Before I could turn around, gunshots exploded in my ears.

  CHAPTER 44

  “Get down!” I hollered, dropping low and jerking my pistol from my holster while pulling Pearly toward me and onto the ground. Several more gunshots erupted. Although they were loud enough to make my ears ring, I could tell they were from a handgun. Almost immediately after the initial shots, I heard the report of an AR-15 in the distance that was followed by exploding glass. Susan was returning fire!

  I turned toward the initial gunshots and broken glass, but I was too late to the party—Desmond Lemon was already on the ground and he was bleeding from several wounds, the most serious of which was to his right shoulder. I quickly moved in on him and stepped on his outstretched hand. A semi-automatic pistol—a black Glock that was chambered in nine millimeter—was still clutched firmly in his grasp and he was trying to bring it up.

  Aiming my own pistol at Desmond’s face, I ordered him to release his grip on the weapon.

  With a sigh, he opened his hand and I bent over to recover the Glock. Through clenched teeth, he asked, “Did I get the bastard?”

  I glanced toward where Foster had been standing a few seconds earlier, but he was no longer there. He was now crouched behind a small sapling that grew in the front yard and—other than being pale and trembling—he appeared to be unscathed.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, not really caring.

  Foster just nodded, and I could read from his expression that he was tired of being shot at. My chest fell when I scanned the front yard and saw Matthew lying on his face a few feet from his car. He had turned to run for cover and it appeared he’d been hit at least a couple of times in the back. Melvin materialized from the back yard with his gun in his hand and I directed him toward Matthew.

  “Can you check on him?” I tossed Desmond’s Glock a few feet away in the grass and dropped to my knees to handcuff him. Once he was secure, I began rendering aid to the old man. “You have the right to remain silent,” I cited as I worked, ripping the front of his shirt off and bundling it to place against his shoulder wound. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…”

  Desmond just groaned in pain as I finished reading his rights, but he was in no danger of dying. I looked up and my eyes locked on Melvin’s. “Well?” I asked. “How is he?”

  “He’s hit bad.”

  “Who’s hit bad?” Desmond asked, trying to sit up but failing. “Did
I get the bastard?”

  “No,” I said sternly. “You shot Matthew. What the hell’s wrong with you?”

  Desmond groaned and I didn’t know if it was because he was in pain or because he was angry at himself for not killing Foster. He stared wildly at the sky above, a look of despair spreading across his face.

  I shook my head as I examined his other wounds and wondered why I hadn’t considered him a suspect before today. The gunshot that killed Mitch had been an easy one to make. The shooter had only been a few feet away and Mitch was sitting still. Hell, a blind man could’ve hit him. But the distance from the doorway to Foster was too great for Desmond’s trembling hands. Anyone who knows anything about marksmanship knows it takes a steady hand to shoot accurately.

  “Don’t bother trying to save me,” Desmond said through the pain. Tears filled the man’s eyes and spilled down the sides of his face. “I don’t deserve to live for what I’ve done. Just go tend to Matthew. Please make sure he recovers. For the love of God, please help him!”

  I glanced to where Susan was standing over Matthew and Melvin, balancing on one crutch. She was on the police radio and I could hear her relaying information to our dispatcher. In the distance I heard sirens and I knew an ambulance was en route.

  Melvin had retrieved his first aid kit from his truck and was applying pressure to one of the wounds in Matthew’s lower back. I heard shoes crunching on broken glass to my left and turned to see Jill Bernard ducking under the frame of the busted out storm door. She wore a loose-fitting shirt and tights and it looked as though she’d been napping.

  “Matthew!” she cried, breaking into a run. “Matthew! What’s wrong?”

  Melvin peeled away from Matthew and caught Jill before she could reach her husband. She tried to wrestle herself away from Melvin, but his thick arms had a death grip on her and he wasn’t letting go. He began speaking softly to her, trying to calm her down, but it was no use.

  “Medics are on the way,” he said. “If you want to be helpful, just stand to the side and give us some room to work.”

  “Why isn’t he getting up? Is he going to be okay?” She fired off at least a dozen more questions and Melvin continued speaking softly to her. Susan had finished reporting the shooting and she limped closer to Jill.

  “I’m fine,” Matthew mumbled, turning his head to see his wife. “Just do what they say.”

  “Yeah, why don’t you wait over here by me?” Susan offered. She had locked the AR-15 in my Tahoe and was leaning into her crutches a few feet away from where Matthew lay injured on the ground. “We’ll be out of the way, but close enough where you can see what’s going on.”

  Jill gave a reluctant nod and moved beside Susan, who wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “It’s going to be okay.”

  CHAPTER 45

  Desmond was still crying. Although he didn’t appear to be in any danger of dying, I wanted to take his statement in case he did—or in case he’d decide to get a lawyer later. Keeping one hand on his wound and wiping blood from my other hand, I dug out my phone and activated the recording feature.

  “Mr. Lemon, why’d you shoot Matthew?”

  He squeezed his eyes shut. “I…I wasn’t trying to shoot Matthew. I wanted to kill that prick, Foster Blake. He…it wasn’t an accident what happened to Kimberly all those years ago. Foster intentionally hurt Kimberly. Matthew saw it himself and told us the other night. Had I known about this shit years ago, I would’ve buried him back then, when I was younger and had a steadier hand.” Desmond opened his bloodshot eyes and stared up at me in desperation. “Please, officer, you’ve got to do something to him. At least lock him up for hurting Kimberly. Please, I’m begging you! He can’t get away with this.”

  “How many attempts have you made on Foster’s life?”

  The old man was thoughtful. “At least three times. I tried to take that son of a bitch out Friday night—the night we got here. Pearly and him got in a fight over this business with Kimberly and he high-tailed it out of here.”

  “How’d you know where to find him?”

  “I…well, Pearly said he worked over at the bar in town down the street from the police department.”

  “What made you think Foster was working that night?”

  “Pearly said so.”

  “Do you realize you killed an innocent man?”

  Desmond closed his eyes again and turned his head, wincing in pain. When he spoke, his voice was strained. “I heard about it on the news. I’m real sorry about that and I’ll take whatever punishment I’ve got coming to me, if only you punish Foster.”

  “You’re going to get what’s coming to you no matter what happens to Foster.” I glanced over at the Glock. “Is that the gun you used to shoot Mitch Taylor?”

  “I was trying to shoot Foster.”

  “Is that the gun you used?”

  He sighed. “It is.”

  “Who does it belong to?”

  “Me…it’s mine.”

  “Did you also take some shots at Foster last night?”

  “I…I did. I tried three times to kill that bastard, but he just won’t die. He’s like a cockroach.”

  “I understand your hatred for Foster, I really do, but the problem is you killed an innocent man and you shot your grandson. You see, it’s dangerous to go off—” I was about to lecture him on vigilante justice, but suddenly clamped my mouth shut, realizing I didn’t have the moral high ground on that issue. Instead, I told him I’d have to arrest him for the murder of Mitch Taylor, the attempted murder of Foster Blake, and the attempted murder of Matthew Bernard.

  “Do whatever you’ve got to do. I don’t care. Just don’t let Foster near Kimberly.”

  I surveyed the front yard. Pearly was holding Foster and they were both crying. I didn’t like that she stood behind her man even though she knew what he’d done to Kimberly. Melvin had thrown a blanket over Matthew and was trying to keep him from moving. Susan and Jill were standing near my Tahoe and they were facing the front of the street, where a fire rescue vehicle was approaching rapidly. I heard more sirens in the distance.

  “He gets help first,” I said, pointing to Matthew when the rescue vehicle had pulled into the driveway and the two volunteer firemen had hurried toward us. “He’s an innocent victim.”

  Melvin stepped back and allowed the firemen to get close and do their jobs. Matthew craned his neck and froze when his eyes locked on mine. “Don’t arrest my grandfather,” he said through clenched teeth, obviously trying to fight through the pain. “It was an accident and I’m not pressing charges.”

  We were only about a dozen feet apart, but it was hard to make out what Matthew was saying. His words rolled out like grunts and I had to focus on reading his lips. I scowled when I realized what he’d said. The firemen were strapping him to a spine board, but he wasn’t paying attention to them. He was focused like a laser on me. When I didn’t respond, he spoke again. “Please don’t arrest my grandfather. He can’t handle prison.”

  I could tell he loved his grandfather and I felt bad for him, but I shook my head slowly. “Sorry, but he confessed to killing an innocent man, so he’s going to have to get used to prison life.”

  “Confessed?” Matthew twisted around to look in the direction of Desmond. Matthew’s face was pale and it appeared he was growing weaker. “He would never kill an innocent person. Hell, he…he never hurt anyone in his life.”

  “His intent was to kill Foster, but he accidentally killed Foster’s boss instead—a man named Mitch Taylor.”

  Matthew started to respond, but cried out in pain when the firemen moved him toward the ambulance that had just arrived. His eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out from the pain of his injuries. That brought a reaction from Jill, and Susan had to grab her arm to hold her back. “It’s okay, he’s in good hands. He simply fainted. Look at his chest, he’s still breathing.”

  Jill wrung her hands and nodded, but the worry lines in her face were deep.

  When a
second ambulance arrived, I helped them load Desmond into the back of the unit and asked Melvin to follow it to the hospital.

  “Want me to get with the sheriff’s office to set up round-the-clock guard duty?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Let them know he’ll be arrested once he’s released.”

  Melvin spun and jumped in his truck to follow the ambulance. I felt someone moving beside me and turned to see Susan. I asked if she was okay and she nodded.

  “I feel bad about shooting that old man, especially since he was going after Foster. I know he’s wrong for the shooting, but I feel Foster would deserve some bad karma for what he did to that poor girl.”

  I nodded my agreement, wondering if we’d be able to exact some form of justice for Kimberly.

  CHAPTER 46

  It was three hours later and Doug Cagle—who, at my request, had been assigned to handle the shooting—and I had just finished interviewing Pearly and Jill at the police department when Melvin called me.

  “He didn’t make it,” Melvin said.

  “Matthew?”

  “No, the old man.”

  “What do you mean?” I glanced at Susan. She had just walked into my office as Pearly and Jill were leaving, and I wondered how she’d take the news.

  “He coded on the operating table during surgery. They weren’t able to revive him. The doctor said he suffered a massive heart attack.”

  “So, it wasn’t the gunshot wounds that did him in?” I was speaking low enough so Pearly and Jill couldn’t hear, but Susan’s head snapped around.

  “What’s going on?” she asked as she closed the door behind the two women.

  I held up a hand as I finished my conversation with Melvin. Once I ended the call, I shook my head. “He didn’t make it.”

  “Desmond Lemon?” Doug asked.

  I nodded, studying Susan’s face. “You okay?” I asked after a moment of silence. “With the shooting, I mean?”

  “Yeah, I know it was justified. I don’t like that he was an elderly man who was doing what he thought he had to do to avenge his granddaughter, but he endangered all of our lives. It was unavoidable.”