It would take them about two and a half hours to get to their destination. He’d use the time to get his focus off of their woman and onto the job at hand.
Chapter 23
“Dude, you don’t have to get nasty.”
Connor Talbot raised one eyebrow and looked down at the sniveling little piece of crap posing as a human being. He’d noticed that fear, when contained in sweat, had a particular odor that varied little from man to man. Connor had long ago named that stench “coward”, and it was oozing from the frightened little bastard sitting on stoop before him.
Porter Taylor had no redeeming qualities that Connor had seen. It had taken them most of a week to track the little ferret down, because he’d somehow gotten word that two “suits” were looking for him and had hid.
Taylor was the kind of person—he couldn’t bring himself to think of him as a man—that the world had way too many of. Convinced the world owed him a living, he couldn’t seem to understand why it was manna didn’t fall from heaven into his waiting, outstretched, and grasping hands.
He presented a pretty picture, Connor supposed, if slicked-back hair and an overdose of cologne equaled pretty. He’d been playing pool when they found him, and if he had to guess, he’d say Taylor’s only source of income was the money he scammed playing that barroom game.
Connor looked over at Mel who appeared as ready as he was to pound the little bastard into the ground.
He put his attention back on Taylor. “You told a man that Edward Jessop had confessed to you that he’d murdered his son, and you don’t think we have to get nasty? Pal, we haven’t even begun to pull out the nasty yet.”
“You’re going to find your life not worth living if you don’t tell us the name of the man you lied to,” Mel said.
“What the fuck is the big deal? So I fed some head case what he wanted to hear. That’s not against the law.”
“Neither is being an asshole, which I imagine is a great comfort to you,” Connor said. “Let me tell you then, what the big deal is. That man, whoever he is, believed you, and he’s already attempted to kill Mr. Jessop. That, my little slimy friend, makes you guilty of a conspiracy charge that a very smart lawyer could successfully sell to any jury. And if this ‘head case’ as you called him, succeeds and kills Mr. Jessop? Why, you get a free upgrade to accessory to murder—and thank God and all that’s holy, Texas has a death penalty. Now talk.”
Five minutes later he and Mel were back in the car. Connor worked his laptop while Mel got them out of that particular section of Austin. The thunderstorms had moved out, and Austin had missed the worst of the severe weather.
“Okay, shit, I thought I recognized that name. Joseph Davies, and fuck it, the man has a white Chevy pickup truck.”
“Do we have an address?”
“We got lucky, there. The man lives in Austin.” Connor rattled off the address and Mel typed it into their GPS. Connor reacquainted himself with the details—the tragically sad details—of Joseph Davies Senior’s life.
“Remember the accident that Adam told us about? The one our suspect tried to reconstruct with his first attempt on Ed? That was this man’s son—his only child. Joseph Davies Junior was killed in a motorcycle accident that the Jessops attended in their capacity as paramedics. The state police reported that excessive speed was a factor, and the kid wasn’t wearing a helmet which, technically, he should have done as he was not yet nineteen.”
“Losing a child. That’s got to tear your guts out,” Mel said. “Or fuck with your sanity.”
“You have to figure. Anyway, not long after that tragedy, he lost his job in the economic implosion. Then his house was foreclosed upon. He moved to a rental house in a poorer section of Austin—but not with his wife. They’re not divorced but I show a different address for her.”
“I saw it so often when I was working the streets, and I never could figure it out,” Mel said. “What made one couple stay together in the face of devastating tragedy, like the loss of a child, while another simply fell apart?”
“I guess we none of us really know how something like that would affect us until it happens.”
“Yeah. You hope you know, but sometimes, I guess, the pain is more than you counted on,” Mel said. “I feel sorry for the man.”
“So do I. I hope to God we can stop him before it’s too late—for his sake, as well as for Ed’s.” Connor closed his laptop as they pulled onto the street where Joe Davies lived. It was a section of town that urban renewal hadn’t yet discovered. Some of the houses they’d passed had been boarded up, deserted. According to the information on file, Davies rented the small single-story home that had definitely seen better days.
“Truck’s in the driveway,” Mel said. “That’s a good sign.”
“Yeah, but there’s a taxi at the curb and a woman at the door, too.”
“Fuck. That can’t be good.”
Connor had to agree with him. Mel pulled the car into the small driveway behind the truck, and they got out together.
The woman turned, giving them a look that mated worried and frightened, and made Connor feel like a creep when he hadn’t even done anything wrong.
Since his partner excelled at making nice he hung back and let Mel do all the talking.
“Good evening, ma’am.” Mel nodded. “Don’t mean to frighten you. My name’s Mel Richardson. This is my partner, Connor Talbot. We’re here to talk to Mr. Joseph Davies. Do you know him?”
Worry just eclipsed fear. The sound of an engine gunning and tires squealing drew his attention and he turned his head just in time to see the taxi speed off.
“Well that wasn’t very nice,” Mel said. “Wish I’d gotten that cab’s number.”
Connor shook his head. “Cab number and plate number right here, partner,” he tapped his head. “I’ll be filing a complaint about that.” He turned to look at the woman. Light hair and green eyes, about early fifties, he’d bet she was Joe’s wife. “He didn’t know who we were. He had no business leaving you here, ma’am.”
Mel pulled out a business card and wrote on the back of it. He handed it to the woman. “That’s the number of the Austin Police Department and the extension of Lieutenant Miranda Simmons. If you like, Connor and I will go wait in the car while you call her. If you describe me to her she should be able to verify who we are.” Mel smiled. “Provided you have a cell phone and believe that’s the number of the APD.”
The woman flipped the card over and then back again. “You’re a private investigator. I don’t need to check the number, I know it’s the Austin Police Department. I had to call there once when Joe was being held for being belligerent.” The woman sighed. “Has something bad happened to Joe?”
“Not yet,” Connor said. “Not that we know of. Are you Elizabeth Davies, ma’am?”
“Yes. Yes, I am.” She looked at the house for a moment and Connor sensed she was trying to make a decision. When she turned back to him there were tears in her eyes. “I’m worried about Joe. Our son’s death…well, he hasn’t been the same man, since. He’s convinced that Joey would be alive if it weren’t for the incompetence of the EMS people who responded at the scene.”
“And what do you think?”
“The policeman who got to the scene first, before anyone else—Trooper Cortez—he told me our boy was gone before anyone, even he, got to him. I know that’s the truth, as heart-wrenching as it is. I know he would drive that damn motorcycle way too fast, and he refused to wear the helmet. But Joe…it’s hard for a man when he loses his son—his only son. And he bought him the bike. I know Joe. On top of the grief he would feel guilty that he had. Especially—” Elizabeth stopped speaking, and reached into her purse to pull out a tissue to blot her eyes. “It’s hard for a man,” she said softly.
“Yes, ma’am, I imagine it is.” Connor figured she’d been about to say that as Joey’s mother, she’d fussed over her son having a motorcycle in the first place. Most moms, he imagined, would.
“We ne
ed to find Joe, Mrs. Davies. Do you have any idea where he could be?”
“No, and I’m scared for him. He came over yesterday and asked if he could borrow my car today—he told me that his truck was going into the shop.” She looked over to where the Chevy was parked. “He’s never lied to me before.”
A sense of dread filled Connor. “Mrs. Davies, can you tell me the make, model, and color of your car, please?”
Maybe she sensed the urgency he was feeling. She nodded, her expression more than a little sad, and said, “Yes, I can, Mr. Talbot. It’s a red 2009 Toyota Camry. I can give you the license plate number, too, if you want it.”
* * * *
Ed shook off the eerie sense of being watched. His mind had been screwing with him ever since they’d driven away from Lusty hours before. They’d arrived in the dark and set to work almost immediately. The coordinator had sent them, with a handful of other volunteers, to the small community of Icicle, Texas, in Fayette County. Icicle had been hit pretty hard for all that it was such a small town.
“It’s them just desserts my grand-pappy earned us for being such a smart-ass, I guess.” Wilbur Brown, the town’s mayor, postmaster, and historian said shortly after Ed and the volunteer he’d been assigned, Nicholas Cameron, had extricated him out of his home. Like most of the buildings he’d seen in the small town, this one was still standing, but damaged. Dawn had shown them the extent of the tornado’s wrath. Uprooted trees, a few outbuildings completely collapsed, a few homes had been destroyed, and there were chunks missing out of roofs and walls of most of the others.
Miraculously, there had been no deaths so far in the tiny town. Mayor Brown’s injuries had been surprisingly light. Once they’d lifted the tree that had crashed through his roof off of his legs, they’d been able to see the octogenarian had suffered only a few cuts and bruises. He’d allowed Ed to treat him on the scene, but only because Ed knew how to handle stubborn, macho men.
Lusty was full of them.
“How so, sir?” Ed was helping the elderly man to stand and walking him from his EMT vehicle, where Ed had treated him, to the side of the road. They could see the transport vehicle on its way, and Ed wanted to be certain the man could walk before it arrived.
As they had worked their way down the street, volunteers had been assigned to collect the mostly dazed and confused residents and take them to the temporary shelter and aid station set up about two miles from this small town.
The responders had been sent out in all directions, assigned grids on the map to check for people needing assistance.
The combination shelter and aid station was like the hub of a giant wheel.
“Well, it was my great-grand-pappy who founded this town, in the middle of August during the worst heat wave ever endured at the time. He thought to thumb his nose at old Mother Nature by naming his new town Icicle.” Wilbur laughed and Ed couldn’t help but chuckle along with him.
“I think that’s a great name for a town in Texas,” he said.
“Met a man once who lived in Zephyr, over in Brown County. Hear tell the place is as windy as all get out. One thing no one can deny, we Texans have our sense of humor.”
“We do at that.” Ed looked across the street and watched his brother and a couple of the other workers carry a litter with someone on it to the EMT van. The most seriously injured were being evacuated first, and the others—people like the mayor who were basically ambulatory—were being gathered up and taken to the aid station, and then would be transported by bus to a better shelter.
Mayor Brown followed Ed’s gaze across the street and took in the activity.
“Mildred,” he said softly. “I hope she’s going to be all right. She’s young and healthy—not a day over sixty-five. But she’s had some health issues, was diagnosed with diabetes just a couple of months ago. I wonder if those young’uns know that? I hope she was able to tell them.”
It would be easy enough to find out. He and Warren could call each other for assistance if necessary, or to ask a question. A flick of a button on the remote in his pocket could change the setting on their communication equipment so that it would be hands-free—and allow the other to know the situation they were dealing with instantly.
That feature had already proven valuable when, early on last night, Warren had needed Ed’s help.
Ed looked down at the expression of concern on the older man’s face. Then he reached into his pocket and activated the small communication bud he had in his left ear. He’d set the dial of the remote control that was in his pocket to hands-free earlier. Warren looked up and across the road at him, so Ed knew he could hear him. “My gentleman over here says if your patient over there is Mildred, that she has diabetes.”
“Yes, she’s Mildred. Tell your gentleman thanks for that. She didn’t mention it.”
“I will. How is she?”
“She has a broken right fibula. It’s a simple fracture. We were transporting her immediately because she lost consciousness for a couple of minutes. Now that we know she has diabetes, too, she’s just jumped to the head of the line.”
Ed didn’t wonder the woman hadn’t told Warren about the condition. Some people, even those that suffer from it, didn’t understand how diabetes could have an effect on so many other physical conditions and reactions. Information like that is crucial in emergency medical situations.
Ed wished everyone who needed one wore a medic-alert bracelet.
“Okay, thanks, Warren.”
Ed met the mayor’s gaze. “My brother is the paramedic taking care of Mildred. He said thanks for the information. Your friend has a simple fracture of her right leg. They’re evacuating her to hospital right away.”
“Good.” Wilbur nodded. “Everyone who lives in Icicle is my friend—and since I’m their mayor, they’re my responsibility, too. Where are you from, young man?”
“From a small town northwest of here called Lusty.”
Wilbur barked his laughter. “Ha! We have unusual town names in common. You already know it’s not cold in Icicle. Tell me, son, is it hot in Lusty?”
Ed grinned at the twinkle in the old man’s eye. A quick glance at Nicholas told him that particular young man had never heard of Lusty, and in addition likely thought the question an odd one.
“Well, Mr. Mayor, my brother and I have both very recently become engaged.”
“A good answer. You should consider politics.”
“I may, someday. Now, sir, we need to get you over to the temporary evacuation site we’ve set up. There’s coffee there, and you’ll be able to access all the information you need on the status of your town.”
“I just need to know one thing. Do you know if we lost anyone?”
“Not that we know so far, sir. And we’re nearly done, here.”
Mayor Brown sighed with relief. “Thank you. Now, you’ve spent enough time on me.” He waved in the direction they’d been working toward. “There’re more folks likely in need of your services down the road. A couple of houses might be unoccupied. I don’t know if the Carsons or the Pruitts are back from vacation yet, or not.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Mayor. Our instructions are to enter every house and check for anyone who may need help.”
“Good. Thank you for your service.” The minibus pulled up, and the door opened. Another volunteer, wearing the fluorescent yellow vest most of the responders were wearing, came down the steps and offered to help the mayor climb aboard.
Ed thought the man might be a bit more injured than he’d let on. There was a medical team doing triage at the temporary shelter. As he watched the minibus move up the street, he contacted the team and asked them to have a second look at Mayor Brown when he arrived.
The next house was just a few hundred yards down the street. He headed for the EMT vehicle that Bradley Long had driven from Lusty. Both Brad and Amanda were part of the triage team at the shelter.
He and Warren both thought that would be the best place for them to be. This was their firs
t disaster, and being a part of the base team would expose them to the entire gamut of the kinds of injuries that could be encountered in this sort of a situation. They would also be supervised the entire time.
They had proven to be smart and capable and knew their stuff, but lacked seasoning.
Ed recalled being there not many years ago, himself.
“We don’t have that many houses left on our list,” Edward said. “When we’ve cleared this street, we’ll see how the other teams are doing, help where we can.”
“It’s not as bad as I was afraid it was going to be,” Nicholas said. A college senior, he’d already shared that he was an anthropology major, his parents were divorced and each working on spouse number three, and he was dating a smoking-hot woman named Marcy who, in his words, had a really nice set of tits.
Nicholas was twenty-one, and Ed wondered if he’d been that crass at that age. Probably not. If any of the women of Lusty had heard me tell a woman she had really nice tits, they’d have strung my balls on a necklace and worn it around their necks.
Yet Ed couldn’t judge the young man too harshly. He’d worked tirelessly these last several hours.
He turned his attention to Nicholas’s comment. “No, thank God, this hasn’t been as bad as it could have been.” He eased the vehicle to a stop. “I’ve seen it a lot worse. In those cases, you just do what you can, and understand sometimes, there are limitations to what you can do.”
“Yeah, I guess if you end up digging and find people who are already dead, you can’t let it wreck you. They would be dead whether you’d answered the call or not.”
“Yeah.” Well, son-of-a-bitch, he’s right about that.
Like a bubble popping over his head, Ed realized that all these years, it hadn’t just been the fact of Joey Davies’s death that had haunted him. It was not just the tragic loss of a man not yet in his prime, a man with a bright and promising future ahead of him.
He recalled working so very frantically when he’d raced from the rescue vehicle to the scene. He’d refused to accept what the police officer had told him the moment he’d dropped to his knees beside the body.
Love Under Two Responders [The Lusty, Texas Collection] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 23