by Matt Hilton
We exited the station house and stood on the sidewalk outside. The evening had grown still after yesterday’s high winds. The heat was still oppressive, and beads of perspiration broke along my hairline. I glanced back and saw Jameson, Herb and Jay in conversation with their attorneys once more. Nods and smiles were reciprocated on both sides. Nicole hadn’t said a word yet, but I could hear her breathing shallowly.
‘What is it, Nicole?’
She wouldn’t let go of my hand, only rotated her grip so that she could stand facing me. She had to tilt her head to meet my gaze. ‘Jay told me that she talked with you last night.’
It wasn’t a question, so I didn’t offer an answer.
‘I understand you,’ she said.
‘You do?’
‘Yes. After what Samuel and his family did to us, to those other women, he deserves to die.’
Hearing those words from such a delicate girl made me reconsider. Maybe when I’d said much the same to Jay she’d had a similar reaction to mine now. I should have said something, encouraged Nicole to forget about Samuel and get on with her life. But she surprised me again.
‘But you shouldn’t suffer, Joe. You should walk away from this. This isn’t your battle any more.’
Whose words were those? Were they Nicole’s alone or had Jay put her up to them? I knew that Jay felt an attraction to me, though it wasn’t something I wished to take advantage of: I was still in a relationship, and I loved my girlfriend. Jay knew that too, but maybe she couldn’t help feeling protective of me, the way I did her. Perhaps she was trying to offer affection in an attempt to heal me.
‘If I don’t stop Samuel, then who will?’
‘The police,’ she said, but she didn’t sound convinced.
‘The police will arrest him. They’ll put him in prison. After everything that he’s done, he doesn’t deserve such an easy way out.’
She closed her eyes for a long heartbeat before looking at me once more.
‘The Logans raped me. They beat me. They tortured my best friend. I want them all dead . . .’
‘Then we’re on the same wavelength.’
‘But not at the expense of your life, Joe,’ she finished.
‘I don’t intend dying.’
‘That’s not what you told Jay last night.’
I frowned. That wasn’t what I’d meant. I offered her a short laugh. ‘She picked me up wrong.’
‘Promise.’
‘Who would want to die?’
‘I did. Back at that ranch. But now that it’s all behind me . . . I’m happy to be alive.’
She stood on tiptoe and kissed me on my cheek. Her lips were warmer than the night.
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Let’s go and fetch the others. We need to get ready if we’re heading off for Cape Cod in the morning.’
A vehicle pulled up at the front of the station, an unmarked Lincoln but definitely a cop car. There were two figures in the front, and I wasn’t really surprised when the two detectives who’d taken me to Phoenix climbed out. Their attention was fixed on me, and I nodded at Nicole to go back inside.
Chambers was the sprightlier of the two, and approached me three steps ahead of Witherspoon.
‘You still here, Hunter?’ His pointy ears were almost twitching with anger. ‘I hoped we’d seen the last of you.’
‘You’ll be happy to hear I’m leaving, then?’
‘Not soon enough.’
Witherspoon came puffing up alongside us. ‘How long have you been here, Hunter?’
‘In Holbrook? Since I made my way back from our little day trip.’
‘No. Here.’ He indicated the police station.
‘Couple of hours.’
‘Hope you have witnesses,’ Chambers snapped.
‘Will a roomful of cops do?’
Witherspoon clucked his tongue, but it was for his partner’s sake. ‘Let it go, willya,’ he said. ‘I told you Hunter had nothing to do with this.’ He swung to gaze back at Chambers. He lifted his head, nodded his subordinate inside. Chambers swore under his breath but strode inside the police station, stiff-backed.
‘What’s up with Mr Spock this time?’
Witherspoon got the joke, but his features soon flattened out and he was all seriousness again. ‘There’s been a shooting. Three dead. He thought that you’d been up to your old tricks.’
I felt a lump in my chest expand. ‘Who are the victims?’
Witherspoon waved me down. ‘No one for you to be concerned about; all indications are that it was a drug-related shooting. The vics are known to us. Small-time coke dealers.’
‘And your buddy thought I was responsible?’
Witherspoon squinted. ‘After you left Phoenix he did a little more digging into your background. Seems you’ve been in the frame for similar shootings in the past. The latest being an incident in Callaway, Florida, a week ago.’
‘I didn’t shoot anyone in Callaway.’
‘You discharged your weapon.’
‘My finger slipped.’
‘You dislocated some kid’s knee.’
‘He fell off his skateboard.’
Witherspoon shook his head.
‘Don’t worry, Hunter. I knew the shootings here weren’t your style.’
‘I bet Chambers was pissed when you pulled up and saw me standing here, though?’
‘I told you. He doesn’t like people taking the law into their own hands.’
‘Then he’s got nothing to worry about. Ask your buddies inside: I’ve been sitting here the past two hours admiring their stellar work.’ I thought about what Witherspoon was intimating. ‘The three that were killed: it was a revenge shooting?’
‘No, looks like a plain old robbery to me. Whoever it was took their dope and their weapons. Probably rival drug dealers.’
‘Does that happen a lot in Holbrook?’
‘Nah,’ Witherspoon said. ‘We don’t normally have any problems.’
I thought about the last time a cop told me something similar. Officer Lewin had been lying through his teeth, but I believed that Witherspoon was a straight-up kind of guy.
‘No witnesses?’ I asked.
‘None that are coming forward.’
‘So you’ve no suspects?’
‘Not yet. But I have uniforms canvassing the neighbourhood, checking CCTV and the rest. I’m sure they’ll turn up something soon.’
‘What about Samuel Logan?’
‘From what I hear he prefers to use his fists.’
‘He did, that was for sure.’ My body still bore testament to the truth of that statement. But what about now that he was injured and growing desperate? A strange feeling rode the length of my spine. ‘What are the uniform resources like in a town this small?’
‘Why? You planning on robbing a bank while they’re all tied up on inquiries?’
‘No. But someone else might get ideas.’
40
I took the rented Chrysler back to our hotel ahead of the families, with instructions to Jameson Walker to give me an hour before they returned. He ushered them away in search of a restaurant where they could continue their celebrations. That suited me because if my suspicions were founded then I didn’t want the women near that hotel.
Holbrook isn’t exactly a large town, and I was back within minutes, but didn’t drive directly into the hotel’s car park. I left the Chrysler on the main strip outside, then went forward on foot. The trees that had been planted to form a break between the hotel and highway offered cover for me until I reached the entrance drive. I thought they’d also be a good location for someone to hide if they were watching who was coming or going. Taking a quick glance around, I checked that no one was observing me. Happy, I drew my SIG then stepped over the small wire fence and into the trees. It was little more than a copse, and the landscapers had done a sterling job in keeping the undergrowth at bay. Sprinklers hidden in the grass fed the lawns while a more elaborate irrigation system kept the trees from succumbing to the deser
t heat. The trunks of the trees weren’t thick enough to conceal a man, but in the darkness they looked to have all bunched together so it wasn’t easy defining where one ended and the next began. If Samuel was out here, I could stumble over him before I was aware.
Placing my back to a gnarly tree-bole, I stood quietly and allowed my other senses to seek danger. There was too much noise from the nearby highway for my liking, and all that I could smell was the mixed aromas of wet grass, exhaust fumes and frying chicken from a nearby fast food outlet. I have the same inherent instinct as everyone else – the one that warns of hidden danger – but tonight it seemed that it was on hiatus. I’d no sense of Samuel Logan or anyone else hiding in the woods.
I went on, wending my way between the trunks until I reached a point where the lights from the hotel began to brighten my way. I paused there, hunkering down so that I could study the swathe of concrete and brick that formed the car park and retaining walls of flower beds adjacent to the hotel itself. There were a few vehicles parked on the lot, but no sign of their drivers. A valet stood outside the main entrance, waiting for the moment his services might be required. He was a Hopi guy I’d nodded to a couple of times in passing. Bored, his hands clasped behind him, he rocked on his heels while he waited for guests to arrive. He looked unperturbed, so I guessed there’d been nothing unusual that had recently caught his eye. He’d probably spent many hours standing in that very spot and anything different would immediately draw his attention.
It didn’t mean that Samuel wasn’t around, only that he was well hidden.
Could he even be inside the building?
He would stand out like a whore in a convent in there, but that was supposing he looked the way he had last time I saw him. He could dress well, change his hair, but anyone with even the slightest sense would see him for what he was. Surely?
I knew all this was purely speculation, that Samuel could be thousands of miles away by now, and that I was raising my expectation based upon a random shooting. Nevertheless I’d learned to trust my hunches and, though they were occasionally misinformed, more times than not I’d guessed right. I wondered if Samuel had thought things through and had killed those men as a diversion, or if that was simply a by-product of the act. I didn’t think he had any need of cocaine, but he’d gone for other items: their weapons. Witherspoon couldn’t confirm what had been taken from their bodies, but two of the men had empty sheaths on their belts that indicated they’d been carrying – most likely knives.
I looked down at my SIG, considered putting it away and transferring my Ka-bar to my hand. It was a stupid idea. I held on to my gun. First chance I had I was placing a round between Samuel’s eyes.
Watching the valet, I saw him come to attention.
I pricked to attention too, but when I saw a taxi pull in front of the hotel and discharge an elderly couple carting hand luggage I settled down again. The valet carried their belongings into the hotel, returned and took up position. He surreptitiously counted the dollars tipped to him but didn’t look over-impressed at the couple’s generosity. The valet soon went back to gently rocking to and fro, and his movement served to lull me. I remained hunkered down, watching, waiting.
The window for a diversionary tactic was rapidly closing. I had to assume that – if he had been responsible – Samuel hadn’t tried to draw the police away and the killings had been purely to steal weapons. So what was the asshole waiting for? The obvious answer was that he knew Nicole and Jay were absent. Had I made a mistake sending them off to eat at a restaurant in town where he could find them? No. He wouldn’t scour the eateries on the off-chance he’d locate them. If he was coming for the women I believed it would be here. But, more and more, it looked like Samuel Logan was a no-show.
I couldn’t just walk out of the woods. That would raise the eyebrows of the valet, and perhaps get tongues wagging. I decided to retreat the way I’d come, collect my car and drive in like a normal hotel guest. I was in the process of backing away when I again noticed the valet stand to attention. I followed his gaze, and though my vantage cut off some of the view of the front gate I saw the minivan nosing in.
Glancing at my wristwatch, I thought: What the hell are they doing back so soon? It was barely more than an hour since I’d left the police station. They couldn’t have had very big appetites, that was all.
The minivan swung into the turning space before the hotel. I could see Jameson in the front alongside the driver, and a sea of heads clustered in the back. Their faces made pale ovals as they scanned the grounds. The valet came forward to meet the taxi, opening a sliding door from which spilled first Herb Challinor, followed by his wife and daughter. Jameson came out next, before leaning back inside to pay the driver. Jay climbed out, then loaned a hand to help her mother step down. I paid them little more than cursory attention: if Samuel was out there waiting for them, now was the time for him to show.
While the group bunched at the entrance, Jay looking around, possibly wondering why my car wasn’t in the parking area, I centred myself, allowing my gaze to fade out so that I wasn’t looking at anything in particular. In a throwback to ancient days when our forebears were prey to more savage beasts, they relied on their peripheral vision much more than we do now in the modern age. But the fact persists, subtle movement is easier to identify in the extremes of the vision than when looked at directly. Thankfully the windless night helped, because if it had been breezy like yesterday I’d never have distinguished one moving shadow from another.
As it was I caught a flash of grey off to my left.
I didn’t immediately swing my head to seek out the source of the movement, just opened my mouth and listened. The traffic noise from the highway was still a hindrance, but this way I could at least hear more than the blood rushing through my inner ears now that my pulse was up. It allowed me to hear the metallic scuff of a foot slipping off a sprinkler head and thudding into the grass. Conscious that the clumsy stalker’s senses would be heightened following his slip, I didn’t move. I waited, and heard a low curse that would carry no further than the copse of trees.
Slowly I came out of my crouch. Having been in a static position for so long, I allowed the blood to course through pinched veins before attempting to move. The soles of my feet tingled, but at least my legs hadn’t fallen asleep. Then, using a tree trunk as a shield, I went towards the man hiding in the trees. I wondered how long he’d been there, waiting exactly as I had, and was confident I would have been alerted to him sooner if he’d arrived while I was there. He had to have been in place before my arrival, and it was only sheer bad luck on his part that he hadn’t noticed me first. Or, more accurately, good luck on mine. I couldn’t make out any details yet; he remained a vague shadow in the darkness, but where his hand was extended I made out the unmistakable shape of a handgun.
Glancing towards the hotel front, I saw the families still grouped on the pavement, watching as the minivan pulled away from the kerb, offering waves of thanks to the driver. Shit, get inside, I thought.
I stalked towards the lurker, seeing him move behind the bole of a tree. I caught another flash of grey, possibly a snatch of clothing.
I was only twenty feet away from the man.
The stalker was moving forward, but with trees between us. I wasn’t sure if it was Samuel Logan. But who else would be out there in the dark with a gun? I swung my gaze back to the cluster of people outside the hotel. From this distance I could drop any of them, but I was a highly trained gunman: could Samuel do the same? I saw his gun rise, and couldn’t take the chance.
I didn’t have a clear shot, so instead I rushed him.
The man heard me coming, twisting round to face me, and as I raced towards him, my gun extended to shoot, his mouth opened in a startled ‘O’.
Stumbling to a halt, I looked down at him.
I allowed my gun to drop.
‘For God’s sake,’ I said in a harsh whisper. ‘Do you realise how close I came to killing you?’
; Scott Blackstock was too shaken to answer.
41
‘What the hell are you doing hiding out here in the dark?’
‘I think that should be obvious. Considering you were supposed to have gone back to Florida, who else was going to get Samuel when he turned up?’
‘Jesus Christ,’ I said. ‘How long have you been here?’
‘Couple of hours,’ he said. He was over the initial shock of my appearance now, his voice a little steadier.
‘I was that close to killing you.’ I held my index finger and thumb close to his nose: you’d have been hard put to push a piece of paper between them.
‘Good job you recognised me, then.’
‘Wasn’t it just?’
Scott was wearing a grey hooded top and faded jeans. The hood was pulled over his head and it was a damn good job he’d looked up at me when he had because I’d been a hair’s breadth from pulling the trigger.
‘Where are the other two, your buddies?’
‘Back at Indian Wells. They’ll be drunk by now, I guess.’
‘Smells like you’ve had a couple yourself.’
‘Dutch courage,’ he said.
‘And a sure way to get yourself killed, you idiot.’
Scott’s shoulders rose and fell. ‘Those bastard Logans murdered Helena. What did you expect me to do?’
Who was I to preach?
I rested a hand on his shoulder, while I checked back over mine. The Walkers and Challinors were still gathered outside the hotel. They were chatting animatedly. They were exposed. But it looked like I’d misread everything. Standing there in the shadows with Scott, I felt as much of an amateur as he was.
‘Go home, Scott. Have another drink with Robert and Burt. Raise a glass to your wife’s memory for me.’
‘I’m not going.’
‘You are. Leave this to me.’
‘What gives you the sole right? Helena was my wife.’
‘Yeah, and she wouldn’t want you risking your life like this.’
‘I’m not leaving.’