by Scott Pratt
A sickening crack as the zombie’s teeth shattered. Levi straddling him, grabbing two handfuls of hair, pulling his head backwards and smashing it into the concrete over and over. Blood flying, the zombie groaning.
Lester in the corner, frozen with fear as droplets of blood landed on his face and arms. Levi grunting and mumbling, the awful thud of the zombie’s head hitting the floor again and again and again and again. Lester watching Levi drive his knees into the zombie’s shoulder blades, wrapping the chain between his bloodied handcuffs around the zombie’s neck. The veins in Levi’s forearms bulging. The veins in his temple bulging. Levi squeezing. The zombie dying. Lester closing his eyes.
Voices, loud and excited, coming from the other side of the bars. The sound of metal against metal as someone scrambled to unlock the cell door. Cursing. More grunting. The sound of boots scraping. Lester opening his eyes. Levi being dragged from the zombie’s prone body. A pool of dark blood spreading out, coming nearer. A deputy kneeling over the zombie’s body.
Lester screaming.
A bailiff came into the office at eight twenty and said there was a problem in the holding area. I asked Alisha to stay where she was and hurried down the steps with Fraley right behind me. Another bailiff buzzed me through the barred steel door. Levi Barnett was sitting on a metal chair to my right with his head hanging and a bailiff looming over him. I noticed blood on his hands as I passed by. A short, baldheaded inmate was being led out the door. I wasn’t sure, but it sounded like he was crying. When I got to the holding cell, I froze. Lying facedown in a huge pool of dark blood was Sam Boyer. He wasn’t moving, didn’t seem to be breathing.
A bailiff was standing next to Barnett. Everyone else had disappeared, like rats scurrying from a sinking ship.
“Is he dead?” I said to the bailiff.
“ ’Fraid so.”
“You put them in the same cell?”
“We ain’t got but one holding cell,” the bailiff said. “But it wasn’t me that done it. The transport officers was the ones what brought them in and put them in the cell.”
“This is unbelievable,” I said. “Wasn’t anyone in here watching them? Aren’t you supposed to keep an eye on them?”
“They was alone for just a few minutes.”
I walked over and stood in front of Barnett. Anger pulsed through me like a radio signal. I wanted to strangle him. My chances of getting enough evidence to convict Natasha were dead, along with Boyer.
“You sick son of a bitch,” I said. “Doesn’t matter what happens in the other cases now; you’re going to prison for the rest of your miserable life.”
Barnett lifted his head and looked at me with dull, colorless eyes.
“I ain’t going to no prison,” he said. “I’m going to hell with you.”
Judge Glass sent word that the hearing would be postponed for two weeks, so I gave Alisha a ride back to Johnson City. The brilliant light in her blue eye seemed to have dulled. She remained quiet for the first ten minutes of the trip.
“Does this mean you won’t be able to arrest Natasha?” she said as we rounded a curve near the old Burlington Industries plant.
“I’m afraid so,” I said. “I think Boyer was willing to testify against her. Without him, all we have is circumstantial evidence. It isn’t enough to arrest her, let alone convict her.”
“You need to be careful,” she said. “You know what she’s capable of.”
Images of Natasha plunging an ice pick into Mrs. Brockwell’s back and into Alisha’s eye ran through my mind.
“Alisha, would you have any idea where the ice pick might be?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know where it is.”
I gave her my home and cell phone numbers when I dropped her off at the convenience store and told her to call me anytime, day or night.
“Stay safe,” I said as she stepped out of the truck.
She turned and gave me a mournful look.
“What’s wrong? Do you want me to see if I can arrange police protection for you?”
“No. It’s not me I’m worried about. You’re a good man, Mr. Dillard. I just hope I see you again.”
Monday, November 10
Levi Barnett pondered his bloody hands as he rode silently in the back of the transport van towards the juvenile detention center. He was looking at the blood of a traitor, the blood of a coward. Sam Boyer wouldn’t be making the trip to the other side. He’d sold himself out to the laws of man, and Levi had made him pay the price.
The pathetic cops had forced him to sit there for almost three hours while they took their photographs and their blood samples. The big cop who’d arrested Levi at the motel and then tried to interrogate him had shown up and scraped some of the blood off of Levi’s hands. He’d tried again to interrogate Levi, but Levi told him to go fuck himself.
Levi spit on the floor as he thought of the scrawny little baldheaded dude sitting in the corner of the cell. Didn’t offer to help Sam, didn’t say a word, didn’t make a move. All he did was watch and scream like a little girl.
He knew Natasha would be pleased. She’d come to visit him at the juvenile detention center three days earlier. The guards there were so fucking stupid. All Levi had to do was put her on his visitors list. When she arrived, they led Levi to a visiting room and left the two of them alone for an hour. Levi knew the guards were watching on video, but they couldn’t hear a thing. Natasha had laid out her plan, and Levi had executed the first step to perfection. All that was left was for him to complete the second step, and Natasha would take care of the third.
Levi lifted his hands over his head and stretched. Even though he’d just committed a murder, the transport deputy hadn’t cuffed him in back or put a waist chain on him. The policy at the juvenile detention center was that all prisoners going to court were to be cuffed in front. Another deputy was along for the ride as extra security, but as long as Levi’s hands were in front of him, he could do what he needed to do.
The van pulled up in front of the detention center, and Levi looked out at the dull-yellow concrete-block building. It was a single story, with four-inch openings for windows and an exercise area that was surrounded by chain link and concertina wire and just a little bigger than his cell. What little food Levi had eaten tasted like plastic, and the guards, like the other inmates, were all morons. None of them were armed, and Levi mused briefly about what it would be like to walk in with a weapon and slaughter every last one of them.
But old man Finney was armed, as was the extra deputy. Both carried stainless-steel .357 Magnum revolvers in holsters on their hips. Old man Finney was the transport deputy the sheriff’s department assigned to the juvenile detention center. Every time someone from the detention center needed a ride to court or got hauled off to a juvie home downstate, Finney came and picked them up. Levi couldn’t stand the old hypocrite. He wore bifocal glasses with black rims and always had his stupid sheriff’s hat on. He called people by their first name and tried to make them think he was their friend. Some fucking friend. Take you to court, where you have to sit and listen to some blueblood judge run his mouth, and then take you straight back to jail.
Levi waited for the door to open. Finney reached in and started fumbling with the lock that secured the chain through the steel ring on the floor while the other deputy, a young, pasty-looking dude with a buzz cut and acne scars whom Levi had never seen before, stood back and chewed on a toothpick. As soon as Levi saw Finney get the lock released and start pulling the chain, he raised both arms over his head and came down hard on the back of Finney’s neck. The old man grunted. His bifocals flew off of his face and his hat went rolling towards the front of the van. Levi wrenched the revolver from its holster and pointed it at the pasty guard, who was fumbling with his own holster. The guard’s mouth was open, and Levi saw the familiar look of fear in his eyes. Before the guard could get a firm grip on the revolver, Levi blew a hole through his throat.
Levi turned
back towards the van and stood there watching as old man Finney fumbled around trying to find his glasses. When his fingers finally clutched them, he pushed them onto his nose and rolled slowly over onto his back.
“Levi, what are you going to do?” Finney said.
“What do you think I’m going to do?” Levi said as he raised the revolver and pointed it at Finney’s forehead.
“Levi, please. I’ve never mistreated you.”
“You don’t want to stay in this world. It’s full of bad people. Think of it as a favor.”
“No, Levi, please. I have a family. They need me.” Finney raised his hands in front of his face. “Levi! I’ve tried to be your friend!”
Levi pulled the trigger and watched curiously as a chunk of Finney’s forehead separated from his face and splattered against the interior wall of the van. Finney’s body jerked once and then he was still.
“Yeah, I was thinking about that a little earlier,” Levi said. “Some fucking friend.”
Levi closed the door. He saw his reflection in the mirrored glass window. As he looked at himself, he thought about how far he’d come. Not long ago, he’d been a nobody, a poor boy with no education and no future. But all that had changed with Natasha. She’d taught him the ways of Satan, and now he was a celebrity. Everyone knew his name. Everyone feared him. He even received fan mail in jail.
Levi looked down at the fallen guard. A soft, gurgling sound was coming from the wound in his throat. Levi thought about putting another bullet in his head to finish him off, but instead he looked towards the building. He could see people looking out the windows. A guard ran up and locked the front door while talking on a cell phone. They’d be coming soon.
Levi raised his middle finger defiantly towards those who were peering out at him. Fuck them. There would be no prison for Levi, not now, not ever. Soon he and Natasha would walk together with Satan.
“Fuck all you motherfuckers!” Levi shouted. “Fuck the world!”
He fired one shot at the building, then slowly pushed the barrel up tight beneath his chin.
And pulled the trigger.
Monday, November 10
After I took Alisha back to Johnson City, I drove home to check on Caroline. She was sleeping, but Melinda said she still had a fever. I drove back to Jonesborough, finished up some work on my other cases, and went to lunch alone. When I returned, Fraley was sitting in a chair in front of my desk with his feet up. He was smoking a cigarette and putting the ashes in a coffee cup.
“You’re not supposed to smoke in this building, big boy,” I said. “If Mooney smells it, he’ll call the police and have you arrested.”
“If he calls the police, I’ll crush his skull like a peanut shell,” Fraley said, taking another long drag.
“Some morning, huh?” I said.
Fraley blew a smoke ring. “You haven’t heard, have you?”
“Heard what?”
“About Barnett. He overpowered Deputy Finney in the back of the transport van, got ahold of his weapon, and shot himself in the head.”
I felt my knees weaken and sat down behind the desk.
“He’s dead?”
“Dead as Elvis. It was a .357 Magnum. In under the chin and out the top of his skull. The bullet took a bunch of his brain with it, what little he had.”
I ran my fingers through my hair, still unable to completely digest what I’d just heard.
“Is Finney … ?”
“Didn’t make it. Levi shot him in the head. They sent another deputy along for extra security, a kid named Huff. Killed him, too.”
My stomach started churning and I suddenly wished I’d skipped lunch. Both of our murder suspects were dead, one killed by a codefendant in a holding cell at the jail and the other a suicide. Two deputies were dead. We had a third suspect in the murders, but we didn’t have enough evidence to arrest her, and now the only two people who could have provided us with that evidence were dead. I wondered how much Alexander Dunn’s little leak to the media had to do with what happened.
“So where does this leave us?” I said.
“If you want to look on the bright side, it leaves us with two dead scumbag murderers. I say good riddance. Now we don’t have to prosecute them, don’t have to feed and clothe and shelter them, and we don’t have to waste electricity killing them.”
“Your compassion never ceases to amaze me.”
“My compassion is with the innocent people they terrorized and murdered. But if you’re anxious to look at the bleak side of things, we’re pretty much left with our dicks in our hands as far as Natasha goes.”
“What are we going to do about her?”
“Let me drop this little tidbit on you. I drove up to the detention center when I heard the chatter about the shooting. While I was there, I went in and asked the guards about Levi’s visitors. He’s only had one besides his aunt. Guess who?”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Three days ago. Signed in under her own name and everything.”
My phone rang and I picked it up.
“Is Special Agent Fraley back there with you?” It was Rita Jones.
“He is.”
“Mr. Mooney would like to see both of you right now.”
Fraley and I made the short walk down the hall to Mooney’s office. We found him pacing back and forth between his flags with his hands folded behind his back. Instead of sitting, Fraley and I both stood behind the chairs in front of his desk. He paced for more than a minute, occasionally fingering his handlebar mustache. Finally, he spoke.
“This is a clusterfuck,” Mooney said, “a clusterfuck of magnanimous proportion. Do the two of you have any idea what happened today?”
It sounded like a rhetorical question to me. Of course we knew what happened, but I’d learned long ago that the best answer to a rhetorical question was no answer at all, so I kept my mouth shut. Fraley did the same.
“Do you know that the reputation of law enforcement in this community was ruined today? Ruined! I’ve spent the last two years of my life trying to make the people here feel safe, make them feel confident about the men and women who are responsible for providing them with safe streets and an efficient court system. I’ve tried to hire people who are fair and compassionate to victims and defendants alike. And now, in a three-hour span, every bit of credibility we’ve been able to establish is gone.”
I stood there staring down at his desk, focusing on nothing. I told myself that the man had given me a job, and since Caroline had come down with cancer, he’d also probably saved me from bankruptcy. The least I could do was stand quietly while he ranted. Suddenly, he stopped pacing and turned towards us.
“I want you to know that I hold the two of you at least partially responsible for this,” he said.
Fraley and I exchanged an incredulous glance. Since Mooney was my boss, I thought it best that I do the talking.
“Lee, I know you’re upset,” I said. “Everyone is. But pointing fingers won’t do anyone any good.”
“Bullshit!” he snapped. “When bad things happen in an organization people get blamed. It’s called accountability, in case you’ve never heard of it. Those held accountable for whatever has happened usually resign or get fired. At the very least, they change the way they do business. So pointing fingers is exactly what I need to be doing. I have to show the people of this district that we’re accountable when something as monumental as this goes wrong.”
“Explain to me how any of this was our fault in any way,” I said.
“You’re the one who ordered arrests on the basis of information you received from a confidential informant,” he said, pointing at me. He turned to Fraley. “And you, a veteran TBI agent, went along with it. And as I understand it, your confidential informant had absolutely no personal knowledge of what happened. She didn’t see a thing. Because of that, you gave an opening to the defense. Because of that, they filed motions to suppress and a hearing was scheduled. And because of that, Boyer and Barnett
wound up in the same cell and now both of them, along with two police officers, are dead! Do you see what I’m getting at?”
I’d read plenty of appellate opinions in which judges convoluted logic to the point of sophistry, but this was beyond even them.
“Our informant was exactly right about everything, and without her, we would’ve had more victims,” I said.
“We do have more victims! Three more! And we all look like idiots!”
He was shouting now; his face looked like a candy apple with eyes.
“What do you want us to do, Lee?”
“What do I want you to do? I want you to make this right! I want you to redeem yourselves and this office! I want that girl arrested. I want her kept alive long enough for you to convict her of first-degree murder in a very public trial. And then I want her executed. That’s what I want you to do!”
“We don’t have enough evidence to arrest her, Lee. We needed Boyer.”
“Then find some! Plant some! Manufacture some! Do whatever the hell you have to! I want her locked up by the end of the week.”
“We’ll do what we can, Lee,” I said.
“Good. Now get out.”
Fraley and I spun and walked out as quickly as dignity would allow. Instead of going back to my office, I turned towards the stairs and started down. Neither of us said a word until we were outside. I stopped by a bench that sat next to a Civil War-era cannon.
“Can you believe that? He actually tried to blame us for Boyer and Barnett.”
“He seemed a little out of sorts,” Fraley said.
“And do you know what’s even worse? He thinks the only way to redeem himself and the office is with an execution. Redemption through bloodshed.”
“Redemption through bloodshed. Sort of like salvation through bloodshed, isn’t it?”