“I may need you to catch him,” I explained. “If you come with me to the police, I will protect you from ICE.”
She smiled, and I sensed a wisdom beyond her years. “I will not talk to the police. You cannot protect me.”
“Deals can be worked out in exchange for information,” I countered, but it was clear she wasn’t going to cooperate. Finally, I turned to Nando. “We’re done here.” As she and her male companion were leaving, I said quietly to Nando, “Have Miguel keep tabs on them. I think I can talk the McMinnville Sheriffs into bringing her in as a material witness in the Delgado case. She might finger Abernathy under the threat of deportation.”
Nando and I walked across the street and ordered coffee and croissants at a little shop that was holding its own against a Starbucks two blocks away. Like most of southeast Portland, Lents residents were loyal to their indie businesses. “Aaron Abernathy,” I said after we sat down. “It fits. His only cover for the night Lori was killed was Irene Halstead, his stepmother, and when I talked to her, she seemed ambivalent.” I grimaced. “She died in his presence shortly after that.” Nando raised a thick eyebrow. I nodded. “He could have easily smothered her to keep her quiet.” I sighed and opened my hands. “But for what end?”
“What about this Blake Daniels fellow? You suspect he lied about his whereabouts the night of the murder. Maybe he was involved.”
“Yeah, maybe he put Abernathy up to it and helped him somehow.” I nodded and smiled grimly. “Maybe he promised him a pot shop. That’s probably the one thing Abernathy would kill for.”
Nando shook his head. “If I were Daniels, I would have given myself a better alibi for murder.” Then he chuckled. “But we know this man is not the bright light.”
I left Portland feeling elated that I now had a good fix on who really killed Lori Kavanaugh and, probably, Richard Amis, as well. But, at the same time, I felt deeply troubled. First of all, I still had no forensic evidence connecting Abernathy to either crime, just a solid theory. Second, his motives were unclear, and other pieces of the puzzle, including whether Blake Daniels was involved or not, didn’t seem to fit together very well. More work was needed, which seemed to be my mantra these days.
The monster storm was beginning to live up to its billing. On the return trip the going was slow on the I-5 as gusts of wind and sheets of rain buffeted my old Beemer. When I reached Dundee, I stopped at my office to empty the leak bucket in the washroom, which was a quarter full of rainwater. I made a mental note to remind Nando to send his roof man as promised. I was hungry, so I dashed across the 99W for a sandwich at the bakery and then stopped off at the B & S Grocery to stock up before I headed into the Red Hills. Once on Eagle Nest, I cruised by my gate only to find a large tree branch across the road, blocking the way to Gertie’s house. I called her and said I’d walk over to get Archie and clear the branch with my chain saw on the way back.
I pulled into my garage, and when I got out of the car I heard a noise behind me and then a voice. “Put your hands up where I can see them, Dude, or I’ll blow a hole in your back.”
My stomach dropped, and a chill shot down my spine. I thought of my promise to Winona to watch my back. I hadn’t.
Chapter Fifty-two
I didn’t have much experience with guns, but I knew the metallic double click I heard was a round being injected into the chamber of a handgun. “This thirty-two’s trained on the middle of your back,” Aaron Abernathy said. “If you try anything I’ll kill you right here. Your timing’s sweet, Claxton. I just got here a while back myself. Thought I might have a long wait. And no dog, either. Too bad, I was going to shoot the mutt this time.”
“Confirming what a pitiful coward you are.”
He slammed the sole of his shoe into the small of my back, and I stumbled forward. “Shut the fuck up. I’m so tired of hearing you drone on. If you’d just left things alone, you probably wouldn’t be in this mess. But you had to keep poking your nose into everything. Now, get your ass in the house. This needs to look like another burglary. Move.”
He followed me to the front door, and when we entered the hall a strong gust of wind pinned the door open and flooded the entry with a blast of cold air. I moved down the hall and stopped just past the big radiator and the thermostat that rested above it.
“Keep moving, dude. Into your study where your computer is.”
“Okay,” I said, but turned partway so that I could see him.
He raised the pistol so that it was pointing at my face. “I said—”
CLUNK. The radiator belched right on cue. The sudden noise startled him, and his eyes pivoted involuntarily from me to the direction of the noise. I lunged for the gun, grabbed it with both hands and managed to twist the barrel away from me. Two shots rang out, and hot water spewed from the radiator and ricocheted off the wall, spraying us both. I slammed his hand down hard against the iron fins. He cried out and another shot boomed in the hallway, the bullet drilling into the oak floor. I slammed his hand again and felt something give—a bone, I hoped. He cried out as the gun slipped from his grasp and lodged itself behind the iron behemoth.
I let go of his hand and threw a straight right that caught him flush on the eye and then a roundhouse left that caught him in the ear. Pain shot through my fist as it connected with one of the gauges embedded in his earlobe. He cried out and spun away from me, and when I stepped forward, he kicked me in the knee, a sharp, withering blow. My knee buckled but I managed to keep my balance. He launched another kick, at my groin this time, but I twisted away and the blow smashed into my hip. I grunted and stepped forward, unsure if my knee would hold me, and threw another punch that caught him on the mouth, splitting his lip.
He staggered back, and we stood there for an instant, panting and taking the measure of each other. Without his dark glasses, his eyes were now visible. I read fear in them, and I’m sure he saw what was in mine—a cold determination to end this. This was a fight to the death.
I lunged at him, but my knee buckled, and he spun out of my grasp and was gone out the front door. Fight or flight? He chose the latter.
I hobbled over to the radiator to retrieve his gun, but it was wedged in behind the leaking structure so tight I couldn’t budge it. I made it into the kitchen, grabbed the Glock off the table, and started after him. I hadn’t gotten far down the drive when I heard a ragged scream just above the sound of the wind. I turned around, wincing in pain. The sound came from the south fence line, I was sure of it. Of course! He’d gone to the hole in the fence, the one I had yet to repair.
I started off around the house, the pain in my knee multiplying with each step. When I finally got to the fence line, I could see he’d squeezed through the opening in a big hurry. A few shreds of clothing were caught on the razor-sharp wire. I looked more closely. There was something else caught there, lower down. “Ugh,” I said involuntarily. Two pieces of bloody skin, and below them, blood still visible on the wet ground, much more than I would have expected from the cut lip I gave him. I pictured him catching his leg on the wire and then trying to rip it free in his haste to escape. The trail of blood led off to the east, on the path that would take him around the base of the old quarry, to the gate and his car somewhere on the other side.
As I stood there, the pain in my knee rose to the point where I was feeling nauseous. My best bet was to get my car and try to head him off, but first I called 911 and told the operator I had fought off an armed intruder who had escaped into McCallister Quarry. She told me help was on the way. I hobbled back to the garage, and that’s when what was in the back of my mind came to the fore—how did Abernathy know I was on to him? I pulled my phone back out and called Jim, but he didn’t answer.
I called Candice. “Where’s Jim?” I asked when she picked up.
“He’s with Eddie and Sylvia. They’ve gone over to Pacific City to watch the storm. They’re predicting thirty foot waves.�
��
“Did Jim say anything about the case to you or Eddie?”
“Uh, yeah. Eddie was pumping him for news. Jim said you had him text you a picture of Aaron Abernathy. They both got really excited. Did the witness come through, Cal?”
“Oh, shit,” I said. “Do you have the address in Pacific City?” She gave it to me, and I punched off without saying another word.
Abernathy was still on the loose, and the cops were on their way to The Aerie. But that could wait. I needed to get to Pacific City as soon as humanly possible.
Chapter Fifty-three
I tossed a heavy rain slicker into my car, and as I got behind the wheel, my knee shot a lightning bolt of pain through me. I thought about retrieving some ibuprofen from the house, but that would take too long and hurt too much. I tried to call Jim, but he didn’t answer, which didn’t surprise me. I left him a message warning him of my suspicion of Eddie, but despaired of his ever listening to it. His cell phone habits were probably worse than Nando’s.
I punched the address Candice gave me into Google maps, and after I was underway, Siri informed me that I was on the best route and would arrive in Pacific City in one hour and sixteen minutes. Probably more like two hours, I figured, considering the weather. I glanced at my watch. It was 1:05 p.m.
I took the 99W south and eventually connected to Route 22, a straight stretch of flat highway through the valley. The road carried so much water that I kept my speed below sixty to avoid hydroplaning. The storm was intensifying. Gusts of wind rocked the Beemer, and sheets of rain periodically overwhelmed my wipers to leave me hurtling forward like a blinded missile.
As I sped toward the Coast Range, I went back over everything, and the conclusion was the same. Somebody tipped Abernathy, and tipped him fast. If it wasn’t Jim, and it wasn’t Candice, it had to be Eddie. I thought about what I knew. If Abernathy was the executioner, then Eddie, the smartest guy in the room, must have been the mastermind behind him. Eddie knew Abernathy, after all, and had flown below my radar because he had a perfect alibi for Lori’s murder and Richard Amis’, as well. What was missing was why. Why would Abernathy do Eddie’s bidding, and what motivated Eddie in the first place?
I was sure it had to do with money, greed, and wine, and I had some ideas about how the pieces fitted together. But they were just that. Ideas.
The slashing rain began to let off some, but the wind built steadily as I began climbing into the Coast Range. The Doug firs bordering the road swayed, and sheared-off branches skittered across my path like wounded birds. At the summit, I took Route 130, which wound a torturous path down to Highway 101 and on to Pacific City. The small coastal town sat on the banks of the Nestucca River in the southerly contour of a scenic area of sand dunes and rock headlands called Cape Kiwanda.
Siri instructed me to take the bridge across the Nestucca and then, after paralleling the shore line for half a mile, a right onto a lane that meandered up a low bluff affording a commanding view of the Pacific. Eddie and Sylvia’s place sat at the top of the lane, a tastefully weathered, cedar-shingled affair with two large bay windows facing west. I parked two houses down, got out and put my slicker on, then slid the Glock into a deep pocket. The butterflies took flight again, but at the same time I felt a little less sure. What if I was wrong about this? How would that look?
There was another possibility, too. What if Abernathy had reached Eddie, and I was walking into a trap? I pushed that chilling thought aside. Just get Jim out of harm’s way, I told myself.
Lights burned in the house, but I didn’t see any movement through the bay windows. My knee hurt like hell, but I forced myself to walk without a limp up the driveway and onto the front porch. Sylvia answered the door, and her face broke into a smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. “Cal, what a surprise. Come in, please.”
I didn’t move. “Uh, are Eddie and Jim here?”
The relaxed smile stayed, but her brow crinkled just a little. “Actually, you just missed them. They’ve gone down to the headlands to watch the waves.”
“I, uh, that’s what I had in mind.” I smiled. “You know, I had some free time, and it’s on my bucket list. Maybe I could hook up with them?”
The smile got brighter. “Sure. They’re about halfway out on the rocks. There’s a great place right on the edge that Eddie loves to watch from. Just drive north and park next to the brew pub. You’ll have to climb the dune then work your way out onto the headlands. It’s a tough hike, but if you stay on the north side, you can’t miss them.” I thanked her, and when I turned to go she laughed and said, “They’ll be the only fools out there on a day like this. Be careful, Cal. Those rocks are treacherous even when they’re dry.”
And even when you have two good knees, I said to myself.
I followed the main road to its terminus and parked back from the Pelican Pub and Brewery, because the surge was lapping up close to the front of the building. The pub was closed and sandbagged, but people stood in the parking lot, watching the storm-tossed Pacific. The dune was a hundred and fifty yards or so up the beach. The storm clouds seemed to be breaking up, although shreds of mist blew in periodically to obscure the view. Offshore, intermittent sunlight reflected off lines of huge breakers that swept in from the horizon and detonated like cannon shells. The crowd oohed and aahed at the spectacle.
The dune was higher and steeper than I thought, but I pushed through the grinding pain. At the top, I was breathing hard, sweating, and spitting sand. The entry to the headlands was fenced off and posted with signs warning of danger. I slipped through the fence cables and took to the north side as instructed by Sylvia. The surf thundered as I worked my way along the slick rocks, and every time the mist parted I ducked down to stay out of sight, a move that invariably rewarded me with a jolt of fresh pain.
Maybe ten minutes in, I saw a blur of yellow up ahead. The mist broke, and I glimpsed a big man in a yellow slicker. A moment later he disappeared behind a large rock fronted by a stunted, wind-twisted cypress tree.
It was Jim. He was still alive.
The gates of my adrenal glands opened as I slid the Glock out of my coat, tucked it in my belt, and moved ahead. Where was Eddie?
I worked my way up to the rock and peered around it. Jim stood with his back to me on an exposed, narrow ledge. A thermos stood next to him, and he held a steaming cup of coffee. An incredible view of the raging Pacific stretched out in front of him. I stepped onto the ledge behind him. “Greetings, Jim,” I said. “Where’s Eddie?”
Jim spun around, his eyes registering surprise, but before he could speak, I heard a voice behind me. “I’m here, taking a leak.”
I turned, and Eddie stepped out from an overhang of the rock, zipping his pants with one hand and training a gun on us both with the other. His face was tense, his eyes narrowed down. He glanced down at the gun in his hand. “Didn’t think I’d need this, but there you go.” He looked at me. “You’re supposed to be dead, Claxton. I see something went off course.”
“What the fuck are you talking about, Eddie,” Jim said, stepping forward. “And what’s that gun for?”
I put a hand out to stop Jim. “Wait, this is no joke. He was planning to kill you out here.”
“Still am,” Eddie said. “Drop that coffee cup, Jim. I don’t want to be wearing it.” Then to me he added, “And take that cannon out of your belt very slowly with two fingers and drop it.”
The Glock clattered onto the rocks in front of me. Jim shook his head. “Why, Eddie? What is this madness?”
“It is madness,” I said. “Killing us will only compound your problems, Eddie.” I raised my voice over the crash of a line of breakers. “Abernathy’s in custody.”
Eddie studied me for a moment, then smiled knowingly. “No, he isn’t. If he was, the cops would be here, not you.”
Jim said, “Aaron Abernathy?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Eddie hired him to kill Lori and frame you.”
Jim groaned, his eyes got huge, and he took a step forward. Eddie raised his weapon, and I grabbed Jim’s arm to stop him. “Why?” Jim repeated.
Eddie shrugged. “I need the money. I can’t let Tilikum go under.” Then he wagged his pistol at us. “Let’s get this over with. Out on the ledge. You two are going to have a tragic accident. Happens all the time out here.”
Jim and I looked behind us. The cliff edge was maybe three feet away, and, as if on cue, the impact of a huge wave sent reverberations through the rocks and a geyser of spray into the air. Eddie waved his gun again, impatiently. “Go on. Move.”
A sense of unreality washed over me, but there was no way I was going to make this easy for him. I swallowed hard and looked at him dead on. “No, Eddie. You’ll have to shoot me, and that’ll be impossible for you to explain.”
Taking my cue, Jim said, “You’ll have to shoot me, too, Eddie.”
Frustration bordering on panic clouded his face. He raised the weapon and swung it from me to Jim and back to me. “A bullet kills you, for sure. I’m giving you a chance—”
Jim and I both saw her before she spoke. “Eddie,” Sylvia Manning said, “what in the world is going on here?”
Chapter Fifty-four
Eddie Manning turned partway in response to his wife’s voice. Jim, who was standing closest to him, saw his chance. He lunged forward and struck the hand holding the gun a powerful, downward blow with a clenched fist. The gun discharged into the rocky shelf we were standing on. Sylvia grunted, clutched her stomach, and slumped to the ground.
We all froze for a moment, trying to comprehend what happened. Eddie cried, “Syl. Oh, my God!” and dropped the gun. I went for it, and Jim and Eddie both knelt next to Sylvia.
“Jesus. She’s hit,” Jim said. He stood, grabbed Eddie by the hair with one hand and by a wrist with the other, and dragged him across the rocks to the edge of the cliff. Eddie kicked and screamed all the way, but he was helpless in the face of Jim’s anguished fury and almost inhuman strength.
Blood for Wine Page 27