He stood at the same level as the mobile homes, separated from the men he watched by a scrub-covered ravine. Travis had mentioned he suspected a drug lab and clearinghouse. Link hadn't seen evidence to prove anything illegal—suspicious maybe, but that wouldn’t help the case.
He studied the land around the site once again. He needed proof. While the men were acting strange, there was nothing obviously wrong. How could he get closer?
The mobile homes’ positions on the side of the hill gave an excellent view of the river below. A boat might pull up and dock, but not without being seen by anyone watching from the area. Whenever a fishing or pleasure boat cruised by, the dogs rushed to the shore to challenge the boaters.
He saw no way to approach the house without being seen or alerting one of the dogs. One dog—the huge Doberman—paused with ears up. Damn. He would swear the dog stared at him. Small saw the dog's attentive stance and looked Link's way.
Link had purposely worn drab clothing that blended into the summer landscape. Small would not have been able to see him from that distance without field glasses unless Link made a sudden move. Still watching in his direction, Small said something to Medium, then called the other dog over, a large mastiff. Large moved to the van and pulled out a rifle.
Whoa! Time to leave.
Link slowly eased backward until there were more trees and brush between him and the three men. He caught a glimpse of the rifle lifting towards him and the flash of light on the scope’s lens. He wheeled and lit out for his car. If the men and the dogs tracked him, he hoped he could reach the car before the dogs found his scent.
A shot whizzed by his ear and struck a tree trunk. Splinters of bark showered him. A man's shout sounded over barking dogs. How close were they?
Panting, his shirt saturated with sweat, Link raced. Binoculars and canteen bounced against him by their straps. He had no idea how long it took him to reach his car. His western boots weren’t made for speed, and he wished he were wearing running shoes.
On level ground, he broke into a run, keeping as much cover between him and his pursuers as the terrain allowed. Only a few minutes had passed, but he’d bet he’d made better time than when he ran track in high school. Of course, in track, the only gun was a starting pistol firing blanks.
His car was hidden in some brush behind a dilapidated barn. Sliding behind the wheel, he wasted no time. The massive Doberman bore down on him. Within seconds Link drove out of the brush, heedless of scratches to the Jeep’s paint.
Another shot rang out, smacking into the old barn. How well had they seen his car? Did they recognize it? Jason couldn’t lose another parent. Lord help him, Link should never have agreed to this undercover shit.
Turning onto the caliche road and away from the men and dogs, he accelerated and left whirls of white limestone dust in his wake. Dogs were supposed to be pets, companions animals, not used to chase men.
A mile down the road he took a sharp left onto a narrow paved road. Luckily for him, he knew these back ways where he learned to drive as a kid. A few more turns and he slowed down. Only his heart still raced.
As he drove the long way toward home, he wondered about his next move. They would be alert now, which made everything that much harder. No getting close to that place with those dogs on guard. Even at night, their barking would be as good as an alarm. How could he see what those storage sheds hid?
Chapter Five
Chief Deputy Buel Watson shifted his toothpick to the other side of his mouth and looked at his boss. Try the salad bar next time instead of the all-you-can-eat buffet, he thought.
Buel compared his boss’ bulging belly with his own trim waistline. The sheriff almost dwarfed Buel. Politics was all about keeping some thoughts to himself, so he focused his anger on someone else.
He stepped to the office window and stood beside the sheriff. Below them, Coy Cox sorted through one of the large dumpsters on the Law Enforcement Center's parking lot. That dummy Coy gave Buel the creeps.
"Gary Don, I swear I don't know why you let that damn Cox retard run loose." Not that he particularly cared one way or the other. But Buel had to vent his anger on someone or explode.
Sheriff Gary Don Clayton shrugged. "Aw, he ain't hurtin' nothin'. Besides, I’ve got to take care of him. His mama was a cousin to mine, and they both made me promise I'd look after Coy when they were gone."
"Well, he gives me the willies. He looks normal enough, but when you talk to him you can tell he ain't all there. It's like them science fiction programs on TV where aliens sucked out somebody's brain and made 'em into a robot."
"Aw, will you cut that crap out? He's harmless, I tell you. He's just real slow. What folks used to call simple-minded before all this politically correct shit got started. He ain't never hurt nobody."
“I don’t like the way he just stares at me. Doesn’t say a word to me.”
“He knows you don’t like him. I think you scare him.”
"What's he do with all that trash anyway? Look at that goddamn cart of his--he's got boards and bottles and all kinds of junk in it. And he rides that bike around pullin' that goddamn weird lookin' cart like he was an animal himself."
Gary Don rubbed his florid chins and another frown crinkled his brow. "He ain’t hurting nothing. Leave it alone. Maybe he's happy the way he is 'cause he just don't know no difference."
Buel choked back the contempt surging through him. Sorrow at the way his life had turned out morphed into bitterness and anger. He no longer had any patience with dummies, and not much with anyone or anything else.
"Maybe so, but he still gives me the creeps. Oughta be locked away. I sure as hell wish I didn't never have to see him."
"Damn, Buel, I can't lock a man up just because he gives you the creeps," the sheriff said in obvious disgust.
Buel muttered under his breath, "Hell, you've locked 'em up for less."
Gary Don stood looking down at the parking lot. "Ha, that smart-assed Dixon just pulled in. Goddamn, I hate his hide. I've hated him since we were in grade school."
"Why'd you hire him then?" Buel inspected the tip of his toothpick, then replaced it between his teeth.
"I kinda like havin' Mr. College working where I can watch him. I'll bet he hates it. Folks thought he was such a great guy with his big college scholarship and all. Never lost his temper, always helpin' people. What a damned goody-two-shoes."
"Man, Goddard needs his help on that murder investigation. Dixon's the only other guy here with that kind of experience."
The Sheriff sent him a look that would melt metal. "For now, I'm putting that puppy Wells helping Goddard. Good training for him."
Braving his boss’ temper, he asked, “Why the hell not Dixon?”
“Smartass thinks he can move back here and work his way into the department. Bet he plans on running against me in the next election.”
Buel hoped so. “Why worry? You’ve got your own following.”
“Damn right. And I’ve got plans of my own.”
“You’re the local football hero, after all.” All the slob would ever be.
Gary Don pointed his index finger at Buel’s chest. “You better believe folks aren’t likely to forget I’m the one who made the winning touchdown and won the state championship for us in ’96. Don’t forget, I made All-State that year.”
“I haven’t forgotten.” How the hell could he? Gary Don reminded him often enough. Buel couldn't do anything about his stature, but he damn sure kept himself in top shape. He’d like to line up in phys ed class now and see who was the best athlete.
Gary Don brushed his hand across his face in concentration. “I wish I could nail that sonofabitch Dixon for something.” He laughed. “Wouldn’t the pen be a fun trip for that bastard?"
Buel blanched at the picture that sprang into his mind. With all the men Dixon had helped convict, he wouldn't last a week in the pen.
Chapter Six
On the Justice Center parking lot, Coy continued his search of
the Dumpster. He’d found a broken office chair once, but usually he never found any things here he could fix up and sell. But there were always lots and lots of drink cans. Looked to him like the county people would recycle like they said do on TV and save taxpayers money. Didn’t make him no nevermind, ‘cause their waste helped him.
Slowly and carefully, Coy stepped on each can to flatten it before placing it into the part of his cart reserved for aluminum cans. Mama used to say, “Take your time and do the job right the first time.” He always tried to do just what Mama had told him ‘cause he sure didn’t want to ever be shut up somewheres. As a car drove into the parking lot and stopped, he flattened the last can from the Dumpster.
Coy noticed that the driver locked his car before he walked toward the building entrance. Not many people hereabouts did that. Then he recognized an old friend and it made his heart glad. He smiled his best smile when his friend walked toward him.
“Howdy,” he said and waved.
Link said, "Well, hello, Coy. I haven't seen you in a while. How've you been?"
They shook hands, just like old times. Link was always good to him. If Link was around, he wouldn’t let people pick on Coy or call him ugly names.
"I been fine, Link, just fine. Haven't seen you in a coon's age." He scratched his head and nodded. "Yes sir, it was Christmas, wasn't it?"
Then he remembered a bad thing. "No, it was Miz Terri’s funeral. I'm still real sorry about Miz Terri, Link."
Coy felt bad about the lie. Miz Terri was never nice. She called him ugly names when Link couldn’t hear. Her eyes narrowed and she looked real hard at Coy. Mama always said it wasn't nice to speak ill of the dead, though, so he guessed the lie would be okay this time. He'd ask Pastor about it on Sunday.
"Thanks, Coy. Jason and I are looking forward to happier times in Cartersville."
He nodded. "You can for sure have good times here with all your family. Say, Link, you 'member when you used to let me come to your house and shoot baskets with you? That was back when you was in high school, 'member? Those were sure good times, weren't they, Link?" Coy smiled at the memory. Yes, sir, Link always was nice to him, just like the rest of the Dixons.
"Why sure, Coy, those were good times. I haven't played basketball in a long time, except with my son."
Coy looked Link slowly up and down. He smiled his best smile again. He’d just noticed Link wore a deputy's uniform. "You workin' here now, Link? Miz Gwen said you was movin' back, but she didn't say you was workin' for Sheriff Gary Don."
"Just started this week. Jason and I moved into my grandparents' old house. Remember where it is?"
Coy nodded. "Oh yes, oh yes, I 'member. Miz Akridge used to save things for me and bake me those special cookies ‘til she got sick. She sure was a nice lady, Miz Akridge was."
"Yes, she was. Maggie Sparkman’s taking care of Jason and me and she’s a real good cook. Be sure to stop by and see us whenever you’re our way.”
“I will for sure.”
“Soon as I get that basketball hoop up, you come shoot hoops with Jason and me." Link clapped Coy on the back. "Well, I have to go check in for my shift. Guess I'll be seeing you around."
"Yeah, be seein' you, Link." Coy watched until Link disappeared behind the door of the building. He stepped to his bike and rode slowly away. He wished he could have talked to Link longer. Should he tell Link what was worryin’ him night and day?
Chapter Seven
Link’s conversation with Coy reminded him of the backboard and hoop lying on the garage floor. He’d intended to have it up by now. It waited until he had time to mount the backboard over the garage door.
In spite of Link’s efforts to spend time with Jason, he often ran out of day before he ran out of jobs. But since their move to Cartersville, Jason was changing from a solemn, quiet child into a normal little boy. Damned if that didn’t make it worth anything Link had to go through in this job.
A deputy at one of the desks called out a greeting. Seeing the disgusted look on the younger man's face, Link said, "Hey, Eddy, things must have been rough today. You look like you're mad at the world."
"Man, would you look at this paperwork I just finished--and most of them criminal mischief cases. Sure will be glad when school starts in a week. Rotten kids have too much time on their hands." Eddy Wells held up a stack of papers then let them drop to the desk. "Why don't these kids have jobs for the summer, anyway?"
Link shook his head. "Probably aren't enough summer jobs to go around. But I suspect most of the kids you mean didn't try to find a job to start with. Anything interesting working?"
Eddy put down his pen and looked thoughtful as his blue eyes met Link’s gaze. "No, pretty routine, I guess. Sheriff just transferred me to that homicide we had just before you came. Man murdered.”
“Oh,” Link’s interest piqued but he feigned casual interest. “Have many murders in Spencer County?
“No, and this one’s weird.”
“Learn anything yet?”
“No, the man in charge—you know Goddard?—said every thing has been a dead end so far. That’s why he needs more help, so the sheriff reassigned me to help. You and your boy getting settled in?"
Link looked at the purple mark on his left thumbnail. "Yeah, but I'm getting way too much practice at home repairs. Never realized old houses took quite so much maintenance.” He held up his bruised thumb and then pointed to a lump on his forehead. “Or that they fought back.”
Eddy laughed. “It’d be great to have a big place like yours, though, especially one that had been in the family a long time.”
“Yesterday I got a new water heater installed downstairs for the kitchen and laundry room, so that's out of the way.”
“That’ what I like about my apartment. Something goes wrong, I just call the manager.”
“With an old house, there’s always something rebelling.”
"Aw, it'll probably be easier once you get the first round of repairs taken care of." Eddy stood up and pushed his chair up to the desk. His lean frame made him appear taller than his six feet. "Well, that was the last of my paperwork. I'm out of here. Maybe we'll get some rain to cool off the weather and tempers."
"Hope so. Take it easy, Eddy."
Link watched Eddy place his paperwork in the file basket and leave the room. Too bad Travis and Evans hinted at a leak in the sheriff’s office. Link could use a friend and the younger man seemed like a nice sort. But how could he trust anyone now?
Chapter Eight
Anna Zimmermann stood at the curb admiring a narrow building on Cartersville's town square. Sunlight glistened off the front window of the refurbished building that now belonged to her brother. Sparkling gold letters outlined in black proclaimed Vince Bertolli, Jr., Attorney At Law.
A hot breeze swirled around the cars in the street, carried dust twirling around her, and tossed strands of her hair across her eyes. Three blocks away, the bells of St. Stephens Presbyterian Church pealed the hour.
She smoothed her hair from her face. "Your name looks very nice, Counselor."
"I agree. In fact, I’m feeling pretty important about now.” He puffed out his chest and made a muscle with his arm. “Maybe even invincible."
She punched his arm playfully. “Still think I was wrong about gutting the building?”
“Okay, you want blood, I’ll admit it. You were right, a patch job would have been a big mistake. Looks great, doesn’t it?”
"Lucky would be so proud of you." She wondered again how different their lives would have been if her stepfather had not died at such a young age.
"It's what Dad wanted for me. Heck, it's what he wanted for himself. I like to think he knows and is pleased." He took her elbow and guided her into the office. "But it's pretty scary when I think I’ve left a prosperous firm in Dallas to go out on my own."
“You’d have been a partner soon if you’d stayed at Roberts and Schneider. Still—“
“Still, this is what we’ve planned sin
ce we were kids. But sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night and think I must be crazy to have given up the security of a lucrative job to come here and start over.”
Anna stopped. “Are you sorry you came?”
He smiled. “Not a bit. The feeling soon passes, and I know this is the right thing for me.”
"That's not how I felt at all when I took the position at the university here. I loved it at once. I’d worried I wouldn’t fit in, but I've already made friends."
He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, this Kathy person you're always raving about seems to be your favorite." He perched a hip on the desk and regarded her with that expression she labeled one of amused indulgence.
She sat in the Queen Anne chair nearby and leaned forward. “Oh, Vince, I wish you'd let me introduce you to Kathy. She'd be perfect for you."
He shook his head and held up a hand to stay her enthusiasm, his indulgence apparently at an end. "Oh, no, thank you very much. Don't want 'perfect for me' right now. Building my client list and scoring a few big courtroom wins come first."
She had every confidence in his ability. Hadn’t she seen him in action in the courtroom and in the boardroom? “Hmm, maybe you should stock up on crossword puzzles and magazines just in case.”
“You don’t mean that?”
She grinned. “Had you going, didn’t I?”
“Not for a minute. Besides, in addition to the clients who followed me, I’ll have some court appointed cases. It’ll be gradual, but I’ll be fine.”
"You’ll be a success here, there’s no doubt. But you need companionship, too. Kathy is such fun. You know how I hate cops, but her brother's a cop and I still like her."
He slid off the desk and sat across from her, then took her hand. He turned serious and she braced herself for his words.
“I hated Dad’s death as much as you did, Anna. But you have to get over this thing of blaming all policemen.”
She sensed her face heat with anger. “How can you say that? Lucky was your father, and they gunned him down as if he were a rabid skunk. Worse, we were forced to watch.”
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