by Rose Beecham
“As I was leaving the place I went to the baby graveyard. One of the local women took me. She wants the FBI to investigate the place. There are about two hundred children buried there and in the big cemetery next to it. A lot of the graves are unmarked.”
She broke off when Mercy took her hand firmly and stared into her eyes. “Jude, you can’t dig up every dead child. It’s too late to save them.”
They left the restaurant and walked to Mercy’s car. In silence, they got in and put on their seat belts. Jude told herself to lighten up. She’d done nothing but talk about the case ever since Mercy picked her up from the airport. She’d had a feeling the whole time that Mercy had something on her mind she wanted to talk about. Not that she’d had the opportunity. They might as well have been sitting in her office talking shop. If Jude wanted Mercy as a girlfriend, she had to do better than this.
Before she could come up with an innocuous conversation starter, Mercy said, “I’m going to drop you at the hotel and go stay with friends in Boulder for a couple of days.”
Jude’s throat cramped. “Why?”
“Because this is getting too complicated for me.”
“No one saw us.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.” She lifted a caressing hand to Jude’s face. “I think you need more than I can give you right now.”
Jude covered Mercy’s hand with her own, then turned it over so she could kiss the palm. “You can’t imagine how much I want you.”
Mercy leaned into her, the flimsy silk of her shirt shifting across her breasts with every breath. Her mouth was against Jude’s ear. “That’s just the problem,” she murmured. “I can.”
Jude lowered her mouth to the base of Mercy’s throat and kissed a path down, unbuttoning Mercy’s shirt as she went. She wore a sheer camisole instead of a bra. Her nipples rose against the fine fabric, their dark peach color darker in the shadowed interior of the car.
“We can’t do this here,” she gasped as Jude bit down softly.
“I don’t want your Boulder friends listening while I fuck you,” Jude replied.
“You want me to check into a hotel like…this?” Mercy stared down at her camisole. It was glued wetly to her nipples where Jude’s mouth had been. She buttoned her shirt.
“I’ll check us in. You can sit in the lobby with your legs crossed.”
“Gallant to a fault.” Mercy slid her arms over Jude’s shoulders and cusped her hands behind Jude’s neck. “Kiss me.”
Jude forgot to be gentle. She kissed Mercy the way she wanted to take her, forcing her lips roughly apart, pushing inside, ignoring her resistance. Pressed to her, Mercy’s body felt firm and damp beneath the gossamer barrier of her clothes. Jude drove deeper into her mouth and slid a hand between her thighs. Wet flesh kissed her fingers. Mercy groaned.
Brilliant light flooded the car and someone honked their horn.
Jude lifted her mouth from Mercy’s and looked out the back window. “I think they want our space.”
“They can wait,” Mercy said. But she started the car and bunny-hopped out of the parking spot.
“Want me to drive?” Jude offered.
“No. I have other plans for you.”
“I’ll save my strength, then.”
“Good idea.”
They stopped at a set of lights and stared at one another.
“God, you make me hot,” Jude said.
Mercy smiled the way she did in Jude’s regular fantasies. “Well, we’re on the same page with that.”
“Drive faster,” Jude said.
And Mercy did.
Chapter Eighteen
Tulley came into work late. He had a black eye.
“It didn’t go well?” Jude asked.
“She cussed me out.”
“You’ll find a nice girl one day.” And so will I, she thought. Maybe not nice. But smart and kind-hearted. Also on the wish list—hot and monogamous in her inclinations.
Smoke’m stuck his head in Tulley’s lap, feeling his pain if the subsequent whines were any indication.
“I’m not in any hurry.” Tulley massaged the hound’s jowls and lifted his ears one at a time, kissing them lavishly.
Jude was curious but decided Tulley’s reasons for bachelorhood were his own. It was rare to meet a male who was not hormone driven, quite a relief, especially in the light of the bouquet of flowers flaunting itself on the cherry console where anyone looking in the station window could see it. Agatha wanted the world to know Jude was not the lonely, unwanted old maid people thought.
“Is he still waiting out there?” she asked.
Tulley nodded. She could tell from the quivering line of his mouth that he could barely control his mirth. This made the rhythm of his speech more halting than usual.
“That’s one womanizing horndog you got chasing your tail, detective,” he squeezed out before lowering his head to the papers in front of him and howling with laughter.
“Very funny,” Jude said and went to the window.
Bobby Lee Parker was leaning up against his Chevy, reading East of Eden, a fact he’d impressed her with when he came calling the day before. Today he was wearing faded Levis and a sleeveless white T-shirt that showed off his perfect tan and tasteful tattoos. His truck windows were open and a Garth Brooks love ballad announced the presence of Jude’s impassioned suitor to the entire valley yet again. He tipped his hat at her. Jude marveled at his persistence. Didn’t the guy have a job to go to?
Tulley brought his laughing fit under control long enough to suggest, “Maybe you should go on one date so it seems like you gave him a chance.”
“I don’t want to give him a chance.”
“Because of his past?” As if genuinely mystified, Tulley said, “He’s college educated.”
“Have you been talking to Agatha?”
“She says it couldn’t do any harm.”
“Tulley, I don’t want a boyfriend. Just like you don’t want a girlfriend.”
“But you’re a lot older than me.”
“Take it easy.”
Jude willed the phone to ring. Now that Naoma’s arraignment was over, things were settling back to normal. Last week they’d arrested a man for putting a goat in his cheating wife’s red lace underwear and parading the wretched animal in front of the workplace of the guy she was bonking. The goat was fine, but Jude had to explain the hazards of elastic; the thong had already rubbed some hair off. Colorado had serious animal cruelty legislation, she’d pointed out to the offender, and she would see to it personally that he paid the maximum fine if he took his marital problems out on a four-legged friend again. She let him go after he donated a hundred bucks to the Humane Society.
This debacle was followed by a snake scare, when a local python breeder rolled his SUV en route to a reptile convention in Durango. Youths stole the cage from the crash site and let the pythons loose in the Cortez Safeway, causing mayhem. Smoke’m had sniffed the embarrassed creatures out, ending their reign of terror and earning Tulley a front-page photo in the Cortez Journal and a brief appearance on Channel 9 news. The TV reporters had caught him off duty, shirtless, and washing his car. The ensuing footage of him playing fetch with Smoke’m was described by Sheriff Pratt as “more porno than promo.” Nonetheless they’d seen a gratifying flood of e-mails from an admiring public, even if most of them were from women who wanted to cook Tulley dinner.
The real excitement of the past month, however, was off the record. Harrison Hawke, apparently inspired by the Gathering for Zion incident, was organizing a series of training sessions on his land and had invited rival white supremacist organizations to attend these “Aryan Defense Days.” He’d applied for the requisite permit to shelter two hundred patriots in a tent village, and last week he’d asked Jude if he could meet with her in person to discuss logistics. He wanted to make sure the event was not subjected to harassment because “some liberals can’t allow their fellow Americans to exercise their constitutional rights and freedom
s.”
Jude’s handler was wetting himself and wanted her to suck up to Hawke by arranging a police presence to prevent civil rights activists from throwing eggs and waving placards. She could hardly wait. She was supposed to be driving out to Black Dog Gulch for the promised face-to-face in a few hours’ time. But first she’d have to get rid of Hawke’s competition. She was about to go break the bad news to Parker when the phone signaled a reprieve, and, speak of the devil, it was none other than the would-be architect of a “cleansed America” himself.
Tulley’s gag-me-now expression was priceless. His hand over the mouthpiece, he announced, “It’s Mr. Hawke from the Christian Republic of Aryan Patriots. He desires to speak to you in person.”
Jude picked up the phone and sank down in her chair. Her last conversation with Hawke had claimed an entire afternoon, but he seemed to think they had bonded.
He returned her polite greeting with, “Just checking in. This afternoon still good for you, Detective?”
“Looking forward to it.” Jude mustered all the warmth she could. “We have a lot to talk about.”
This inspired a sharp intake of breath and Hawke eloquently shared what was on his mind. “There’s something I want to say before we meet, to set the tone as it were.”
Jude mumbled some encouragement and he launched into one of his monologues.
“Before your time, there was a moment in our nation’s history when law enforcement officers stood shoulder to shoulder with patriots like myself in the one great fight white Israel must win. Some present-day activists have forgotten that, and mistakenly believe our former brothers—and sisters—have forsaken us. But I’m here to tell you I know that’s not true. Detective, you speak for a silent majority, and I’m here to extend that invitation once again. This will be a moment you look back on, a moment for which your children’s children will revere you in the ages to come.”
He had prepared that impressive speech in advance, Jude surmised. An excess of solitude, paranoia, and time on one’s hands was bound to amplify passions. Or, as in his case, fixations.
Meaning every word, she replied, “Sir, I’ve always believed that my uniform should stand for something.”
“If I had my way, you’d be wearing another uniform,” he all but simpered. “A uniform that truly befits a woman of your caliber. You know the one I’m talking about.”
Recognizing this as something akin to a marriage proposal, Jude produced a small choked-up sigh. “You’ve no idea what it means to me to hear you say that, sir.”
“Please. Call me Harrison. When we’re speaking in private, of course.”
“Of course. I’m very excited about the plans…Harrison.” This breathless confession earned an incredulous look from Tulley.
“I’m aware that in offering your support, you do so at considerable risk to your reputation in certain quarters. So, I want to thank you.” His tone let her know that he was up for much more than thanks.
Courted by two losers on the same day. How did she get so lucky? Falling back on her straight and susceptible routine, Jude said, “One day, I’d like to introduce you to my father. I think you two would have a lot in common.” Not least hair loss and a pathological dislike of Vietnamese people.
“I’m honored you feel that way.” Hawke paused, evidently needing to collect himself. “This afternoon, then.”
“This afternoon,” Jude said softly and hung up.
“Do you know who that maniac is?” Tulley demanded.
“I certainly do.”
“Then why are you being so nice to him?”
Because my masters think he’s Richard Butler’s natural successor and I’m supposed to become the object of his unrequited lust. The Bureau was convinced Hawke was trying to rally the fragmented, rudderless neo-Nazi movement—still reeling from Pierce’s “freaks and weaklings” speech—by having a get-together along the lines of the legendary Estes Park conclave of 1992.
That gathering had seen the birth of an alliance between neo-Nazis, Klansmen, Posse Comitatus, antiabortion militants, and the Gun Owners of America, all united around a common goal to build “an all-White Christian republic.” By 1995, they were urging their loyalists to forge ties with the extreme right at large, in particular Christian fundamentalists. The strategy was notably successful in remaking the gun lobby, adjusting its single-issue focus away from recreation and the right to hunt, to a broader right-wing platform around which every militia in the country could rally.
Lately, despite its spectacular under-the-radar political gains, the movement had seen a rash of in-house fighting and petty power struggles. Various notables had died or been convicted of crimes, including stealing from their own membership. The Aryan Nations had gone bankrupt and since the death of its leader, Richard Butler, the organization had splintered. The National Alliance had just expelled half its leadership cadre, who had regrouped as the National Vanguard. And the KKK had been steadily falling apart for the past decade. All in all, these were worrisome times for rank-and-file neo-Nazis, and humiliating, too. How could Jews and African Americans be blamed for the internal chaos in a movement entirely operated by the “racially superior”?
Tulley was still waiting to find out why she was being a sweetheart to Hawke, and Jude produced a slippery answer. “Because I’m here to protect and defend the rights of all citizens, not just those cut from the same political cloth as me.”
“You don’t like him, do you?”
“My personal feelings about Mr. Hawke are irrelevant. This is work.”
Tulley peeled a stick of fresh gum. “If you had to choose between the two of them, who would you pick?”
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Hawke or Bobby Lee?”
Jude rolled her eyes. “Like I said, I’m not looking for a boyfriend.”
“But if you had to.”
Guessing he was uncomfortable with the idea that a creep like Hawke could even be in the running, she conceded, “Bobby Lee. Okay?”
“Mighty pleased to hear it.” From the doorway, Bobby Lee Parker drawled a greeting and strolled into the office like he owned the patent on cool. When he reached Jude’s desk, he removed his hat and placed it tenderly on top of the nearest filing cabinet.
She said, “That was a figurative question, Mr. Parker. I wouldn’t read anything into the answer.”
“All the same, do I need to speak with this Hawke dude, man to man?” He cocked his head in Tulley’s direction. “Know where he drinks, Deputy?”
Tulley snickered. “In his bedroom, I reckon.”
Bobby Lee flashed his white, perfect teeth. To Jude, he said, “That’s not the kind of man who’ll put a smile on your face.”
“Get out of here,” she ordered. “And take your posy.”
Strangely undeterred, he said, “Man, you’ve got it going on. Anyone ever tell you, you have the sexist voice since Marlene Dietrich?”
Jude got up. Normally the sight of her--5’ 10,” built, armed, and annoyed--terminated male overtures without so much as a whimper. Not in Parker’s case.
The guy stuck out his arm out and said, “Come on. Make a man happy. Take a walk with me, Detective Dee-Vine.”
Why couldn’t Mercy show up at her office with flowers and sweet talk? For a few seconds, Jude indulged herself in a pity party, then she laughed at her own lapse into romantic yearning, hooked her arm into Bobby Lee’s, and resigned herself to having to be blunter than usual. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s have a conversation.”
Grinning, Bobby Lee picked up his hat and pulled her close. He even smelled good. As they passed Tulley’s desk, he paused and offered his condolences.
“The face. That’s unacceptable. Was she drunk?”
“Nope.” Tulley touched his purple eye. “Just pissed.”
“I can tell you’re not a man who hits a woman.” Bobby Lee tightened his grip on Jude like he knew she was already regretting the impulse to talk with him. “But listen up, my
friend. A chick who takes advantage of your fine manners is not worth having. Get some self-respect and dump her.”
“I did.”
“Good to know.” Bobby Lee seemed lost in thought for an instant. Then he asked, “Hey, pal. Want to get a beer later?”
“Sure,” Tulley said.
Jude could tell he was pleased. Did Parker think he could win her over by making friends with her associates? He already had Agatha eating out of his hand, after fixing a flat tire for her and carrying her parcels to the door. Jude tried to tug her arm free, but he kept a firm hold and started walking.
As soon as they got outside, he released his grip and she stepped away from him, demanding, “What are you playing at, Mr. Parker?”
“I like it better when you call me Bobby Lee.”
“Well, don’t get used it. Stop flirting and listen to me. You’re wasting your time. I am never going to date you.” She offered the excuse she thought would make the most sense to this hormonal cowboy. “The fact is, you’re too young for me. None of us can change the way attraction works. I choose lovers in their thirties.”
Bobby Lee opened his truck and held the passenger door. “Care to continue in air-conditioned comfort?”
“So long as this doesn’t take more than five minutes.” Jude got in the truck, thinking: I need my head examined.
“You’re a hard woman,” Bobby Lee mourned.
“So I’m told.”
He took the seat next to her and started the motor. The vents threw hot air ahead of cold. Jude was already perspiring, which made her uniform feel like it was hugging way too closely for a situation like this.
She said, “I’m flattered. Really, I am. But there’s just no way. Do you understand?”
“That butch, huh?”
Her heart stopped in her chest, then began galloping at double time. Was this what she thought it was? Had the rules just changed in a split second? Coldly, she said, “Call it what you want.”