by Kate Merrill
His smile exposed a row of small, tobacco-stained teeth. “I’m Grim, FBI. You are Troutman, correct?”
Matthew grunted, but did not offer his hand. He turned to Bobby. “Is this man giving you a hard time, pal? Say the word, and I’ll boot him out.”
The flicker of a grin played across Bobby’s face, then quickly faded. “This FBI asshole pissed Juanita off real bad. Did you see her run out, Trout?”
“Yeah, Diana followed her.”
The news seemed to relax Bobby. He lifted his index finger off the sheet and pointed at Grim. “He’s replacing Beaufort. I reckon we’re stuck with him.”
Matthew frowned at Grim. The name sure suited the old geezer. He must be doing something right for the Bureau to keep him on at his age, but his bedside manner left something to be desired. “I’m really sorry about Bo,” Matthew offered with sincerity. “I understand he was a good man.”
Grim cleared his throat. His baggy eyes were rimmed with red. “Bo was one of our best agents. It’s a great loss for our department.”
Matthew sensed that Bo and Grim had been close friends, but Grim was too hard-nosed to admit it.
A sad, haunted look invaded Bobby’s odd eyes. “I was just telling him how weirdit was. Both the kidnappers were waving their guns and shooting up the place. I saw Bo go down, but I never saw him draw his weapon.”
“Why didn’t he use his gun?” Grim asked gruffly.
Bobby licked his dry lips and closed his eyes. “I figure the psycho with the ponytail spotted him inside. Beaufort didn’t fit in, know what I mean? He never had a chance. Ponytail came out of the store set on killing him. He just turned, took aim, and blew him away.”
Matthew tried to concentrate, but Bobby’s account was almost too painful to bear. Bobby couldn’t remember what happened after he was shot, and Grim said the witnesses at the scene all offered conflicting testimony. The blond man Bobby nailed was indeed driving a rental car, but no trace of Juan’s fingerprints had been found inside. The killer with the ponytail had escaped in a truck, but no one could verify the make, model, or even which direction he had taken.
“The bystanders were hysterical.” Grim tugged at his ear. “There was noise, confusion, and blood everywhere. Two of the witnesses will require therapy, and the others have suffered amnesia.” He pulled the unlit cigarette from his mouth and rolled it between his thumb and index finger. “At least we have now identified the kidnappers. Bobby’s shooter, the kid down the hall in the ICU, is Darryl Clontz. The one we call the preacher is his uncle Floyd Clontz. Young Darryl had no criminal record up until now, but Uncle Floyd has a history long as my arm.”
“Will you release those names on television?” Matthew asked. “Someone’s bound to know them.”
Grim growled deep in his throat. “If I had my way, we’d leave the blasted reporters out of the loop, but it’s too late now. The media is on this thing like turkey buzzards.”
“Makes you FBI guys look like a bunch of royal fuck ups.” Bobby smirked.
“That’s not the point,” Grim said. “Before we go plastering Floyd’s face on the post office wall, remember he promised to kill Juan if he sees any more publicity.”
Matthew wandered to the window and gazed out at the grounds. He saw Diana and Juanita seated under a willow tree. As the silence in the room deepened, he dragged his eyes from the women and went to sit on the edge of Bobby’s bed.
“Floyd Clontz was dishonorably discharged. He sliced a fellow enlisted man in a knife fight, so the army booted him out,” Grim continued. “Next Floyd started getting into scrapes with the law. Later that same year, the soldier Floyd cut was found murdered in his cot, his neck severed under the jaw.”
“Jesus, Floyd tried to cut the guy’s head off? That’s what he said he’d do to Juan!” Bobby cried.
“They never proved Clontz was the murderer, but the authorities down at LeJeune have suspected it for years.” Grim started to pace. “In the meantime, Floyd’s been in and out of prison for everything from petty con games to armed robbery.” He pinned Bobby with one angry, drooping eye. “He’s a mean son of a bitch, Mr. Porter, but I promise you, every law enforcement agency in the Southeast is looking for the bastard. We know the Clontz family hails from West Virginia, so we have an APB out in the Wheeling area as well. Catching Beaufort’s killer is our top priority.”
Matthew took Bobby’s hand, but he couldn’t meet his friend’s worried eyes. Grim seemed hell bent on avenging Agent Miller, but in Matthew’s opinion, Juan, not Bo, should be their top priority. He hoped the FBI wouldn’t drop the ball. “What about the money? Can you trace it?”
A strange look came over Bobby’s face, while Grim seemed embarrassed and looked away.
“The preacher didn’t get the money.” Bobby sighed. “Agent Grim took it away for safe keeping, but to my way of thinking, that’s our money, and they got no right to hold it. Juanita told him to give it back, then she freaked when he said no. That’s when she ran out. What do you think, Trout?”
THIRTY-ONE
A web of deceit…
“It’s all my fault,” Juanita repeated.
Oblivious to the rocks and mud, Diana scooted under the willow and sat down beside her. “But what about Bobby? Is he all right?” Diana wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer. The atmosphere had been bleak outside Bobby’s hospital room, so she still expected the worst.
“That old FBI man is a jerk!” Juanita choked back tears. “He’s up there talking to Bobby right now, and he blames me because I never told Bo about my cell phone.”
Diana’s mind reeled as she tried to piece it all together. If Bobby was talking to an FBI man, at least he was alive.
“Bo had already driven off, planning to follow Bobby…” Juanita continued. “Bobby was already on the highway heading towards the speedway, when the call came in on my cell. Booby had my phone in his pocket, so he answered the kidnapper’s call.”
Diana knew the Porter’s ground lines had been tapped, with agents listening in on all calls, so what was this about?
“I never told Bo about my phone because it’s dedicated to my beauty salon customers,” Juanita explained. “I keep it with me at all times, so people can reach me after hours to make appointments. It just seemed like a good idea for Bobby to carry it with him that day, so we could keep in touch. But that’s how the kidnapper contacted Bobby. How the hell did he get my business number?”
Diana’s brain raced ahead. Not telling the authorities about Juanita’s private cell phone had been a tragic mistake. “Listen, Juanita, one of the kidnappers must have recognized you from the television appeal. Maybe he knew where you worked and got your number that way?”
Juanita’s eyes darted in panic. “Christ, if he knows where I work, what if he knows where I live?”
Diana realized agents had been stationed full time at the entrance to the Porter residence, yet the implications were terrifying. “I think you’re safe at home,” she said without conviction.
“Bo had also warned Bobby not to take a gun, but thank God, Bobby didn’t listen. He hid his daddy’s old Winchester away in the boot---otherwise Bobby would be dead, too.”
Juanita lifted her eyes as a passing cloud crosses the sun. “Do you know what the kidnapper said to Bobby? That bastard claimed he had Juan right there with him. By all that’s holy, Diana, Bobby said he spoke these exact words:
And Abraham bound his son, and laid him on the altar, then took the knife to slay his son…
>
“He called our little Juan the sacrificial lamb. He said Juan’s blood was on our hands if Bobby didn’t do exactly what he said.”
Clearly this kidnapper was insane. Diana watched in helpless silence as Juanita pulled into herself. She sensed the woman was still holding something back, but what could Diana do?
In the meantime, a group of Latino gardeners had assembled on the far side of the pond. At first Diana thought they’d come to chase Juanita and her back to where they belonged, but then she realized the men were staring at Juanita. No wonder. Juanita’s enormous breasts were bulging from her laced halter, while her long legs dangled seductively from tight shorty jeans.
“Ignore them.” Juanita snorted derisively. “I dress this way for Bobby, not for them.” She dug into her purse and brought out a jeweled cigarette case and the infamous cell phone. She set the phone on a rock, tapped out a slim cigarillo, and lit up. “You don’t smoke, do you, Diana?”
Juanita’s tone implied that Diana was incapable of human vice. In fact, Diana had given up smoking several years ago, but she’d kill for a puff about then.
The Mexicans started catcalling. One boy made a rude gesture with a hose at the front of his trousers. In response, Juanita screamed obscenities in Spanish, surprising the men to silence. They retreated to the far side of the grounds when Juanita jabbed the middle finger of her right hand into the air.
“Fucking retards…” she muttered as she lifted the phone off the rock and stared at the instrument. “From now on those FBI clowns will be listening in on my calls, too.”
That sounded like a prudent plan to Diana, but obviously Juanita did not approve. The cloud that had drifted over the sun darkened like an angry bruise, and a skim of rain drenched Interstate 77 in the distance.
“Don’t you get it, Diana? The FBI should have been listening before. Now it’s too late.”
And whose fault was that? Diana watched as the storm invaded Juanita’s eyes and streamed down her face. Diana found a wad of Kleenex in her pocket and passed it to the woman.
“I haven’t told Agent Grim, but that jackass he calls the preacher called again last night,” Juanita suddenly confessed. “He called after the TV news, right after I got off the phone with Bobby in the hospital. When the creep introduced himself, I near shit my pants. He was drunk and mean, Diana. He called me a harlot and a whore--- and worse. I can’t tell you.”
Diana was truly stunned. “The kidnapper called youlast night?”
Juanita blew her nose. “He was loco, comprende? He said his nephew’s blood was on Bobby’s hands. He said we have to pay doublenow to wash our hands clean.”
Diana crawled closer and wrapped her arms around the trembling woman. “He demanded more ransom?”
“One hundred thousand dollars, or Juan will die! The preacher said he’d carve Juan up on the altar of our sins, and he wants the money in one week, before the next Sabbath.”
Diana’s last hope drained away along with the gentle rain streaming down her skin. She knew for a fact that Matthew had already contributed his last penny to the cause. Her mother, after putting Diana through holy hell, had also given all she could afford. Diana had no funds left, while Juanita and Bobby were dead broke. “What did you tell the kidnapper, Juanita?”
“I said we’d get the money!” she wailed. “What else could I say? That’s why I told Agent Grim I want the money back now. It’s only half, but God willing, we’ll get the rest somehow.”
Diana wanted to believe in God’s goodness, but just then a miracle seemed unlikely. “What does Bobby say about all this?”
“I didn’t tell him. He’s sick and hurting, Diana. It would kill him if he finds out.”
Diana appreciated Juanita’s instinct to protect her man, but this secret was far too deadly to keep. “You have to tell Agent Grim,” she told her.
“No way! That man doesn’t care about Juan. All the old fart wants is to get even for Bo’s death.”
Diana’s heart ached for Juanita. She was carrying this burden alone, heading for a breakdown. “I’m sorry, but we have to tell him,” Diana gently insisted.
Juanita’s long fingernails bit into Diana’s arm. “If you say one word, I’ll kill you, Diana. I swearI will. You can tell Trout, that’s all, but if he opens his mouth…”
Tears filled Diana’s eyes as she pried herself loose. She couldn’t make a promise she wouldn’t keep, and she refused to be caught up in a web of deceit.
Long hair clung in sodden black strands around Juanita’s stricken face. She shoved the cell phone into her bag, stumbled up the hillside, and never looked back. Diana followed, but by the time she reached the parking lot, Juanita had escaped. The taillights of Bobby’s old truck were two bloodshot eyes disappearing into the gloom.
Diana exhaled in defeat. She had tried to comfort Juanita, but instead, she made matters worse. Now the woman had fled, and nothing had been resolved. Diana stomped her sandals and ran fingers through her short hair. She was soaked, dirty, and totally exasperated as she stepped under the hospital awning and spotted a strange man lurking nearby.
He too enjoyed the shelter of the awning and stood not ten feet away. He had thin, grizzled hair and the thick, hunched body of an aging bull. Something about the way his eyes moved restlessly under drooping lids, the way the collar of his rumpled rain coat tucked up around his jowls, convinced Diana that he was the FBI agent Juanita had described.
She looked around for Matthew, but he was nowhere in sight, so she boldly approached the pillar where the man leaned, chain-smoking.
“Hello, I’m Diana Rittenhouse.” She extended a wet hand.
The man blinked in surprise as he shook her hand. “Max Grim,” he answered curtly. “I’ve been upstairs with your friends.”
Diana sensed a sudden, compelling connection. She appreciated his no-nonsense approach, the lack of preliminaries, and in spite of everything she had just heard, she instinctively trusted the man. They stood a moment in silence, appraising one another, until Grim dropped his cigarette and ground it under his heel.
“What can I do for you, ma’am?”
This was her opportunity to betray Juanita and reveal everything she knew about the kidnapper’s phone call, but instead, she searched the man’s face and saw his pain.
“I’m so sorry about Bo Miller,” she told him. “I’d like to attend his funeral.”
Again Grim blinked in surprise. “That’s kind of you, Mrs. Rittenhouse. Believe me, I want to go, too, but I can’t leave town just now.”
They stood side by side, watching the rain until Max Grim continued.
“As soon as the Medical Examiner’s done with his body, we’ll follow Beaufort’s instructions to the letter. He wanted to be cremated, his ashes scattered on Beaufort Inlet down on the coast. Half the department’s already on the road. One gal, our Director of Public Relations, was so upset she up and quit on us….” Grim paused, surprised to have shared so much information with a total stranger.
“I am so sorry, Agent Grim. Is there anything I can do?”
He slowly shook his head, prepared to walk away. “Maybe there is one thing you can do, ma’am….” He tapped out another cigarette. “We have an ugly mess on our hands, and the worst is still ahead. Could you say a little prayer…for us all?”
He turned and left before Diana could respond. Disarmed, she realized she had failed to tell him Juanita’s secret. Should she chase after him? The flame from Grim’s lighter was quickly receding through the mist, yet she hesitated. She would not break Juanita’s trust quite yet, not until she had sought the advice of one other person, who was just then exiting the hospital.
“Matthew, I’m over here!” From his defeated gate, Diana saw he was tired and worried, emotions he never revealed except in unguarded moments.
“Hey, Diana!” He smiled, his unguarded moment was over. “What happened to you? Bobby and I were waiting…”
“Hey, yourself!” She called back. “Do you have any money,
Matthew?”
He approached, a puzzled look on his face. “Why? Do you need a loan, Diana?”
If he only knew! Unfortunately Matthew didn’t have the kind of money Diana would love to give Juanita. “What I need is food,” she answered.
Matthew looked her up and down, his gaze lingering on her soaking, mud-stained backside. “You expect me to take you out to dinner looking like that?” He chuckled.
She wrapped her arm around his waist. “No, but will you buy some takeout to share with Juanita? Let’s follow her home. She’s in trouble, and she needs our help.”
THIRTY-TWO
Never trust a woman…
Floyd Clontz stared out at the rain. It came down heavy, beating on the trailer walls until he felt like a sardine laid out in a tin can. It streamed down the dirty windows as he peered at the steaming green forest. He couldn’t see anything out there, not even the river.
As dark came on, he pulled down all the shades and turned off the lights, except for the kerosene lantern set on the floor near his chair. An eerie glow flickered through the small, cluttered space, and Floyd started to sweat. It reminded him of his long nights in solitary, when he was penned up with no place to go.
He peeled off his shirt and unscrewed the cap from a fifth of Wild Turkey. The warm liquor burned his throat and eased the pain throbbing behind his left eye. Digging into a can of cold beans, he spat out the hunk of white pork that came up in his spoon. It was the flesh of an unclean animal.