There was a light in the window to the left of the door. The rest of the place was dark. Keller stayed out of the pool of light in front of the window and eased around to the side. What appeared to be another window into the same room shone with light as well. Keller crept up to the window and peered in.
Laurel Marks was on her hands and knees on the floor. She appeared to be scrubbing the floorboards. Kind of late for housework, Keller thought. Then he saw her pick up the sponge and squeeze it into a bucket. The water that flowed from the contorted sponge was tinged with bright red.
Keller pulled back from the window and leaned against the wall. What the hell? he thought. He leaned back around. Laurel had picked up the bucket. It visibly weighed her down, her shoulders slumping as if it weighed a thousand pounds. She was headed for the front door. Keller bolted around the side of the house.
Marie Jones had always prided herself on several things, but one in particular: No matter what she was going through in her personal life, she could always cram that down into the back of her mind and do the job. She had known plenty of officers—most notably her late partner Eddie Wesson—who seemed to bring their bad moods to work with them. But through her divorce, the constant battles with her ex over custody and support, whatever, she could always take them off with her civilian clothes when she put on the uniform. Jack Keller, however, had made that difficult. He was in every comer of her life, and it was hard for her to detach. She still felt the roiling of conflicting emotions toward Keller—anger at him, the ever-present fear for him, and yes, still love, after all. So in the back of her mind, there was a feeling of relief when she saw the door of the farmhouse swing open and she found herself responding instinctively, dropping into a combat crouch, her weapon held out in front of her in a twohanded grip. Marie immediately identified the figure silhouetted in the doorway as Laurel Marks. There was something in her hands, and Marie’s finger tightened on the trigger until she saw it was just a galvanized metal bucket. She relaxed that tiniest fraction on the trigger. Laurel stepped out onto the porch, obviously unaware of any other presence until Marie shouted from the darkness, “POLICE! GET ON THE GROUND!”
Laurel’s face went stupid with shock for a second. Marie seized the moment to yell again, trying to keep the subject shocked and disoriented. “GET ON THE FUCKING GROUND! NOW!” she bellowed. Laurel responded by throwing the contents of the bucket at her. Marie saw something coming through the air at her and her finger tightened again. Water, she thought, before the trigger broke. No target. No target. She was too far away for the splash to reach her and she sidestepped the few drops that made it that far. She was getting ready to shout again when she saw Keller smash into Laurel from the side like a football tackle. She lowered the gun and ran toward the porch.
Sweat ran down Roy’s back as he dug the shovel into the soft ground. The soil here was mostly sand. It was easy to get the shovel in, but once you took a spadeful out, another half a spadeful would sift down into the hole. It made for slow going. Roy glared balefully at the wrapped bundle he had dragged from the van. Fucking kid, he thought. He ought to leave him out here to rot. But he kept digging. The night was still. Roy could just make out the sound of the generator distantly over the sounds of his own heavy breathing and the chuff-swish of the shovel. Then another sound came to him through the cool air. Someone was yelling. He stopped digging and raised his head to listen. Definitely a voice. He couldn’t make out the words or who it was, but the voice sounded angry. Someone was here. Roy dropped the shovel and ran to the van. He took out one of the rifles, checked to see if it was loaded. Then he began jogging toward the house.
Keller knocked Laurel to the rough planking of the porch, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist. She screamed and punched at his head, but he was wrapped too tightly around her and her blows landed harmlessly on his back. He heard Marie’s footsteps pounding up onto the porch. She was shouting commands over Laurel’s screams. Then the screaming stopped and Laurel was whimpering. “Please,” she was saying. “Please don’t shoot me.”
Keller looked up. Marie was standing over, her Beretta inches from Laurel’s face. Laurel was staring at the barrel of the ugly little gun as if hypnotized. Keller released his grip around Laurel’s waist and got to his knees. “Roll over,” he ordered. “On your stomach. Hands behind you.” She complied silently. Keller took the cuffs from his jacket pocket and secured her hands behind her. Marie put her gun away and the two of them helped Laurel stagger to her feet. Laurel got a good look at them for the first time. “Wait a minute,” she said. “You aren’t cops.”
“You’re half right,” Keller said. “You forget your court date, Laurel?”
Laurel gave him a strange half-smile. “Naw,” she said. “I didn’t forget. I just been busy.”
“Yeah, that’s what we hear,” Marie said. “Where are the others?”
Laurel looked around. “What others?”
Keller clouted her on the back of the head, hard.
“Jack,” Marie said. Keller ignored her.
“See, here’s the thing, Laurel,” he said in a conversational tone. “I’m not a cop. And I don’t really give a fuck about Miranda or any of that bullshit. I just need to get you out of here and to a magistrate. If you get banged up a little in the process, the magistrate will understand.” His voice gathered intensity. “And I need to know if there’s anyone around that’ll interfere with that, got it? And if I have to break your fucking jaw to find that out, I’ll fucking do it, so why don’t you tell me where the fuck Randle is, and that fucking kid that’s with you, and we can get this fucking show on the road?” He shouted the last words into her face.
Laurel looked down sullenly. “They’re dead,” she said.
“What do you mean, they’re dead?” Marie said.
“They got in a fight. They killed each other. That’s their blood in there on the floor.”
“Where’s the bodies, then?” Keller said. “You better not be lying to me, Laurel.”
“I took ‘em off in the van,” she said. “I buried ‘em in the woods.” Keller looked at Marie. “Screw it,” he said. He began pushing Laurel ahead of him, down the dirt drive. “We got what we came for.”
“I guess y’all did.” A voice came from the darkness. Warren Shelby stepped into the light. He was holding his own pistol out in front of him.
“Shelby,” Marie said. She lowered her own weapon. “The station called you?”
Keller shook his head. “Too soon,” he said. “He followed us.”
Shelby nodded. He looked at Marie and his face turned sorrowful.
“I’d figured you had better sense than this, Jones,” he said.
“She didn’t—,” Keller began, but Marie cut him off sharply.
“I can handle this, Jack,” she said. She jerked her chin at Keller. “He didn’t tell me about it until after we left your house,” she said.
“Well, at least you didn’t lie to me, then,” Shelby said. “That’s somethin’. But you still should’ve waited for backup.” He looked at Keller. “Where’s your weapon, Jack?”
Keller gestured back toward the house. “Propped up by the porch.” Shelby looked at him. Keller shrugged. “She wasn’t armed, that I could see,” he said.
“Awright,” Shelby said. “I’m takin’ this young lady into custody,” he said. “You step away from her, now.”
“She’s my prisoner, Shelby,” Keller said.
Shelby shook his head. “Most likely you can get the judge to remit the bail. I’ll swear out an affidavit you were the first to apprehend the subject if you want. But I’m a sworn law officer, and you’re not. That does make a difference.”
Keller still hesitated. Shelby let out a deep sigh. “Jack, I’d consider it a shame to arrest a man who’s broken bread at my table,” he said. “But I’ll do it if you force me. We all have a particular sin we wrestle with,” he went on, “and I reckon yours is pride. But don’t let your pride bring you down. Don’t let it
get in the way of your good sense.” There was a long, tense moment, then Keller stepped away from Laurel. Shelby nodded.
“All right, then,” he said. He turned to Marie. “Officer Jones,” he said, “you secure the prisoner. Get her to my car. I’m goin’ to go secure Mr. Keller’s weapon.”
Marie stepped over and grasped Laurel by the shoulder as Shelby moved toward the house. He was passing by Keller when there was a flat bang and a flash of light from beside the house. Shelby gave a grunt and sank back against Keller. Keller wrapped his arms around him, trying to hold him up. Shelby sagged, dead weight in Keller’s arms. Marie whirled, trying to bring her pistol to bear on the source of the shot, the whites of her eyes showing in the dim light. The second shot took her in the belly and punched her off her feet. She cried out in agony, the gun dropping from her nerveless fingers as she clawed at the pain. Keller screamed as well and let Shelby’s limp form slide to the ground. He fell to his knees beside her.
“Oh God,” she cried. “Oh, God …”
Keller answered with a snarl of rage as he scrambled for Marie’s gun on the ground. “I wouldn’t,” a voice said.
Keller looked up. Randle was standing by the porch, the rifle trained on Keller.
“I’m gonna need the key to those handcuffs,” he said.
Marie screamed again. The sound tore at Keller like talons in his guts. “Fuck you,” he grated at Randle.
Randle put the gun to his shoulder. “I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “You give me that key, and I won’t put another bullet in sweet thing’s head. I can’t miss from here.”
Keller staggered to his feet. There was a red haze before his eyes, pulsing with every beat of his heart, and a roaring in his ears like surf. Hello, old friend, he thought. He fumbled in his pocket for the key, pulled it out. He held it in front of him like a talisman. “Come and get it, you cocksucker,” he said, his voice an animal growl.
Randle just grinned. “Not hardly,” he said. He gestured toward Laurel with the gun barrel. “Unlock her cuffs.” He kept the gun trained on Keller as he stepped behind Laurel and fumbled at the lock. Marie’s screams had subsided to dull moans. His fingers didn’t want to work. Finally, he felt the lock give. Laurel stepped away and faced him. She reached out and ran her hand down his face, gently, caressingly. Then she slapped him, hard. “We oughta make you sit here and watch her die,” she hissed. She kicked Marie in the hip, drawing another groan of pain from her.
“It’s a nice idea,” Randle said. “But with a belly wound like that, it could take a while. And we ain’t got time.” He raised the gun to his shoulder again. Keller could see the dark circle of the barrel. He heard the crack, waited for the impact, the pain, the oblivion, but it was Randle he saw crumple to the ground. It was then he saw Shelby’s arm fall back to the ground, the pistol in his hand.
“Roy!” Laurel shrieked as Randle’s body thudded to the earth. She moved toward him. But as Keller dove for Marie’s gun on the ground, she reversed direction and fled into the darkness as Keller came up with the gun. He fired blindly, knowing it was useless with no target. When the slide popped back and Keller’s frantic jerking of the trigger yielded nothing but dry clicks, he tossed the gun aside. He crawled to Marie’s limp form on the ground. He rolled her over. Her face was gray with pain and shock. Her eyes were narrow slits of agony. He pulled her head into his lap and brushed her hair away from her face. Her eyes opened a little and she seemed to focus. “Jack?” she said weakly.
“Shhh…” Keller said. His face was wet with tears. “Don’t talk.”
“It hurts, Jack,” she said. “It hurts …”
He dimly registered the sound of a car starting. “I know, honey, I know,” he said. “Hang on, Marie, help’s on the way.”
“Where’s Ben?” she mumbled. “Is Ben okay?”
“Ben’s not here, sweetheart,” Keller said. He moved her hands away from where they clasped across her stomach. Her shirt was soaked with blood. He pulled the shirt up. The blood was everywhere. He couldn’t find where it was all coming from. He heard another voice, a low murmur. It took him a moment to make out the words, slurred and halting as they were. “For thou art with me … thy … thy rod and thy staff they … comfort me …”
Marie tried to raise her head. “Shelby?” she whispered.
“Shhhh…,” Keller said. “He’ll be okay.” Shelby’s voice subsided to a low mumble for a moment, then became stronger. “God be merciful,” he said clearly, “to me, a sinner.” Then there was silence, broken only by the rasp of Marie’s breathing and the mechanical ratcheting of the crickets. Where the fuck are those people? Keller raged silently. Then he heard it, off in the distance, a gentle thudding that quickly grew to a hammering roar. He looked up as the helicopter swept over the scene, its spotlight probing the clearing. A godlike voice bellowed over the sound of the rotors. “THIS IS THE POLICE!” the voice boomed. “THROW DOWN YOUR WEAPONS!” Keller looked over. Shelby had rolled over onto his back. The spotlight showed his open eyes looking up into the light. There was a slight smile on his face, as if he were seeing angels. Perhaps he was, but those eyes would never see any earthly sight again. Keller saw the explosions of red and blue light through the trees as what looked like a small army of vehicles came up the road. The chopper continued to circle, filling the world with its sound and glare. Keller stared up into the light like a mystic staring into the sun and hoping it would bum out his eyes. Then there were people next to him, their hands on his shoulders. Keller looked up. Two figures in green coveralls were leaning over. One of them reached down while the other knelt in front of him. Keller felt a tugging. Someone was trying to take Marie. “Come on, buddy,” he heard a voice say. “Let me see her.”
The car lights flashed, explosions in the darkness, red, blue, white. Keller remembered tracers ripping the desert night, rockets from nowhere filling the world with light and fire and death. And everywhere the sound of the helicopter, the sound that filled the world and drove out all thought. “Go away,” he whispered, “Just go away…”
“Dude,” another voice said, “I can’t help her if you won’t let go.”
“I can’t get a pulse,” a third voice said. Keller looked down at Marie. Her face was pale and still, the lights flickering chaotically across her skin. He reached up to stroke her hair. His grip relaxed and he felt her being lifted up and away from him.
“I’ve got a pulse on this one, but it’s thready,” he heard someone say. He couldn’t tell who they meant. He wanted to ask, but all he could do was look up dumbly as figures moved purposefully around him. Finally someone told him to stand. It seemed to take him a long time to comply, as if he had to learn how to walk upright again. But finally, he stood, swaying slightly like a drunk. Then they put the cuffs on him.
Laurel saw the lights and sirens approaching as she turned onto the hard road. She slowed the car down. Just another car on the road, she said to herself, just another car on the road… Her knuckles were white on the wheel. Had they seen her pull out? Would someone recognize this car? She figured it had belonged to the cop who had come onto the scene, the guy Roy had shot. If someone recognizes it, she thought, I’m fucked. She didn’t even have a weapon.
The vehicles passed by at high speed, red and blue flashers pulsing in the darkness. Laurel let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. That was close.
She drove aimlessly for a long time, her only direction away from the farm. She knew it wouldn’t be long before someone called in this vehicle as stolen, but she was paralyzed with indecision. She had gotten used to going along with Roy’s plans, but all those were gone now. All the scenes he had planned were back in the farmhouse. Even if she had them, they were written for at least two players. She couldn’t carry them out herself.
After a while, she saw the signs for 1-95. She pulled onto the highway and slotted herself into the stream of traffic heading south. She could keep driving, maybe go to Florida and hide out there. Then she saw an e
xit sign and everything clicked into place. She knew there was only one place left to go.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The lobby door banged open with a sound like a gunshot. Angela saw the deputy behind the desk jump halfway out of her chair in surprise, then sit back down as she approached. Her leg had been acting up, and she cursed her slowness as she made her way toward the desk with her cane.
“You’re holding a Jackson Keller,” she said before she had even reached the desk. “I’m here to see him.”
“Are you his attorney, ma’am?” the deputy asked. She was a slender black woman who looked too young to be in uniform.
“No,” Angela said. “But his attorney is on the way.”
“Hang on just a minute,” the deputy said. She picked up the phone and pressed a button. She turned away and conducted a murmured conversation, too low for Angela to hear. When she was done, she turned back.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” she said. “Mr. Keller isn’t available.”
“What the hell do you mean ‘not available’?” Angela said. “Has he been charged with anything?”
“Ma’am,” the deputy said, “you need to calm down—”
“I will not calm down!” Angela shouted. “Damn it, why is he being held?”
“I don’t know, ma’am,” the deputy said frostily.
“Well, then, Deputy,” a deep voice behind Angela said, “perhaps you’d like to let me talk to someone who does know. Or better yet, let me talk to my client.”
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