“Yeah, shut up,” Levi echoed. He punctuated the command by snapping Dugan’s head against the doorframe.
“How about it, Levi?” Billy asked. “Come on out and learn the truth.”
“I’ve gone my whole life and never knew a true thing except Rose. You gonna give me her back?”
“I can tell you who took her away. And it wasn’t that shitbird you got there.”
“You don’t know what I saw, Billy. I watched this guy. He was hanging out where Rose was killed. He put pictures from the scene on the internet. Pictures of her. Kids there were treating him like a hero. I saw him dialing his phone and getting madder and madder each time he didn’t get who he wanted. Guys like him—you pretty much know what they’re mad at. It’s always a woman. I followed him here. He cut the back screen and pried the door open.”
“I just wanted to talk to her,” Dugan said again. “I deserve that, don’t I? To talk. Explain.”
I sidled forward to keep Billy at an angle and to keep the door in view. Without looking, I was sure the deputies were moving in as well. The wind was making the snow an opaque screen between us and the doorway.
“You don’t want to talk to anyone here about what you deserve, Dugan,” Billy said. “Keep quiet.”
“I looked in the window back there,” Levi said. “This guy likes to do his talking with his fists. I went in to help. The girl had already shot him.”
“And that’ll go in your favor. If you come out now.”
“You think I’m going to let him go?”
Wind swirled the snow and for a moment I had a clear view of Levi leering over Dugan’s shoulder. He didn’t appear to be the same defeated man I had seen before. He was radiating an energy. It was something dark and resolute.
“I think you want your sister’s killer to face justice.”
Levi’s face twisted into a grin that had no happiness in it. He put his mouth to Dugan’s ear. Then his pistol snaked up Dugan’s exposed arm. Levi put the barrel of the gun an inch in front of his sneering lips and pressed it to the other man’s head.
“He’s going to,” Levi said.
“I told Lawson about Dugan,” Billy said.
Levi and Dugan both looked stunned.
“It was a trap,” Billy continued. “We suspected them both, so I told Sissy Fisher about Dugan. We monitored her phone number. She called Lawson, and a minute later he called you.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Think about it, Levi. I called you just a few minutes later, didn’t I? How did I get the number? Why would Lawson tell you Dugan killed your sister after that, except to get you to take him off the board? How easy would it be to frame Dugan with him dead? He already looks guilty.”
“I’ve known Lawson since—”
“Since Sissy Fisher sent you away. Since she started grooming Rose to be the next big country star. Since E. Lawson drove a truck into your parents’ car.”
Billy was only about ten feet from the bottom porch step. He had his gun pointed at the ground and his free hand hanging open. He looked like a man in supplication.
“Don’t let them win it all,” Billy said. “Please.”
The light that I had seen in Levi’s face a moment ago was gone. His eyes were tired spaces where nothing but loss resided. “Even if they lose I can’t win,” he said like he was apologizing to someone. “I’ve never won.”
I realized too late what that meant.
Billy, I think, knew all along what was going to happen. He raised his weapon at the same time Levi pushed Dugan out ahead of him.
When Dugan toppled down the stairs, my shot was still blocked by the doorframe. I wanted more than anything at that moment to save Billy from killing his friend.
Levi raised his pistol toward Billy.
Billy didn’t shoot. He was ready, but didn’t seem to believe Levi would kill him. He was right. Levi didn’t fire.
From where I was I could see only the gun and Levi’s extended arms. I moved toward Billy to open up my target. Levi must have caught a glimpse or maybe he knew I was there all along. He stepped through the door and pivoted, aiming his pistol at me.
Billy fired two rounds. They both hit center mass.
Chapter 19
What light there had been in Levi’s eyes collapsed into nothing. It wasn’t darkness. It was simply absence. He was dead.
I slogged forward through the still-deepening snow. Dugan was trying to rise. I shoved him aside. “Stay there. Don’t move. Don’t speak.” I kicked the small revolver I had given to Bob into the snow and out of his reach. I did the same with Levi’s weapon on my way into the house.
“Bob!” I called.
“In here,” she answered.
I found her in the kitchen cuffed to the refrigerator. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. It sounds like I’m the only one.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Nothing fine about any of this.” I put the key into her cuffs.
“Thanks,” Bob said.
Calvin came running in with his weapon still in his hand. He stopped at the kitchen and looked around like a man wishing there was someone left to shoot. “Are you okay?”
“I’m good,” Bob answered. She looked at me again and said, “Thank you.”
I didn’t say anything.
“The EMTs loaded Dugan up.” Calvin pointed back over his shoulder with his thumb. “Sheriff Blevins cuffed him.”
Outside, I picked my way around Levi’s body and the blood in the snow. The falling flakes were already obscuring the fresh crimson.
“Bob’s okay,” I told him.
“I know.”
“How could you?”
“If she wasn’t, Levi would have said something or gotten her help.”
“I guess he would have at that.”
We stood in the cold wind and showering flakes without speaking while the deputies and medical personnel did their work. The coroner’s van arrived and I issued directions without leaving Billy’s side.
Calvin came over and asked, “What about the warrant on Sissy Fisher’s mobile home, Sheriff?”
“I think we’ve had enough for one night,” Billy answered. “Regroup and re-plan tomorrow.”
Calvin looked a question at me.
I kept my face as blank as I could.
Calvin left without saying anything more.
The scene cleared. Duck took Dugan’s cruiser back to the SO. A tow truck operator was called in to take Levi’s truck to impound. Calvin took Bob away in her car to stay with friends. The house was secured and the doors blocked by crime scene tape. The neighbors all wandered back to their houses. I still stood with Billy.
The brim of his hat was piled with new powder. I brushed it off.
“What are you going to do about Orson?” he asked me.
I didn’t understand. The question was so untethered to the moment I didn’t even ask what he meant.
“You need to look into his insurance situation. I doubt he has anything but VA benefits.”
“I think you might be right about that,” I said. “Why are you bringing it up now?”
“I’ve always thought the best way to stop worrying about the dead is to make sure the living are taken care of.” Billy turned and without saying anything more walked back to his SUV. He started the engine, then sat there for a few moments as if waiting for something.
It wasn’t until he put his emergency lights on and drove away that I realized I’d missed a chance to fix some things for both of us.
* * * *
I was in Kirbyville on my way back to the hospital when I changed my mind. Or, I thought about changing it. First, I pulled over to find the number, then called. It took a couple of transfers to get to the nurses’ station outside Orson’s room. When I connected it was the same nurse who had
lent me the book. After I told her who I was, I asked why she was still there.
“Working a double,” she said. “Gotta pay those bills.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” I said. I ignored the pang of guilt that reminded me I had not thought at all about it until Billy had asked. “I’m going to need to talk to someone about my uncle’s insurance and bills.”
“Accounting won’t be open until 8:00 a.m. They can help.”
“I’m a little out of my depth here,” I admitted.
“Take your time,” she said. “These are the worst circumstances for making important decisions. You want the best for your family, but other people will be looking at costs. It will be up to you to keep a clear head and fight for him.”
“I’ll make sure he gets the best of everything.”
“I hope you can.” There was an ominous sincerity in what she said.
“I’m sorry I haven’t asked before. What’s your name?”
“Julia.”
“If my uncle was awake you would have told me by now, wouldn’t you, Julia?”
“Yes.”
“May I ask a favor?”
“I’ve already read a chapter to him,” she said, her voice much brighter. “I should be able to get another one in before I go.”
“Thank you,” I said. “It sounds like he’s in good hands.”
I tucked my phone away and spun the back tires into a U-turn. Taney is a large rural county cut through with lakes and few bridges. Forward or back was about the same distance on the big loop of 76, 65, and 160 highways. Turning around and going back through Forsyth allowed me to take a detour back to Rockaway Beach and Orson’s dock.
I went there to trade trucks. My big GMC was covered with snow and still more was falling. It took a few minutes to get it warm and the piled flakes swept from the windshield. Once that work was done I looked out over the black hole of Lake Taneycomo. Something was missing. It took a moment but I realized it was the dock itself. I had never seen it dark at night. Uncle Orson always kept the string of clear bulbs burning—the dock looked like a party waiting for fishermen returning home even at the latest hour. Darkness never looked so mournful to me.
I went to the gangway and unlocked the gate. There were no prints in the snow. No one was fishing in that weather. The bait shop door was locked too. I let myself in and hit the lights.
It was my plan to turn on the strings of lights that illuminated the outside of the dock and boat slips then leave. I couldn’t. Too much needed to be done. Blood still stained the floor. I scrubbed it briefly then resolved to buy some paint.
Other chores were easier. Floaters needed seining out of the live bait wells. A rack of sugary snacks, mostly MoonPies, Twinkies, and Cherry Mash, was spilled. A bucket of unboxed crankbaits had been dumped, too. The floor between the swimming bait and worm cooler was littered with little treble-hooked booby traps.
When things were tolerable, I headed for the door, then stopped. I thought about a drink and was surprised that it wasn’t a longing for whiskey. The old soda cooler was chugging away. That’s where I went.
I grabbed an orange soda, then hesitated. I put my hand back in and pulled out a grape and a root beer. The orange I opened. I stuck the other two bottles into my coat pocket and headed back to the truck.
* * * *
With nothing more than hope and a hunch I found Billy. He was parked in the bare-tree overgrowth off the trail that led into Sissy Fisher’s land. I followed tracks in the snow to where he turned off. In the headlights I could see smooth snow ahead. I killed the lights and turned.
Billy’s SUV was stopped in a tangle of grapevine and on top of a bent-over hedge apple. I parked right behind him, then carried the two sodas to his passenger door like a neighbor coming to visit.
The door was unlocked. Billy didn’t look at me as I sat. He did look when I held up the bottles of pop.
“Kind of cold for that, isn’t it?” he asked.
“No one’s going to force you.”
“Give me the root beer.” He looked at the lid when I handed the bottle over. “Did you bring an opener?”
“No reason to. You always have one with you.”
“Always so sure of everything?” He reached to his hip and pulled a multi-tool from the case on his belt.
I held up my bottle as he unfolded the tool and turned out the blade with the opener. Billy popped my top then his own.
“Just you,” I answered.
“Am I so predictable?”
“Yes.”
He laughed. It seemed to be more at himself than at what I’d said. It wasn’t a happy sound. “I guess that’s how you knew where I’d be.”
“You’re not like me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“If I’d shot an old friend…I would be drinking. Or wrapped up in fighting the urge.”
“And me?”
“You’re one of those healthy, mentally sound guys. You don’t mope or drink. I knew you would be out—somehow finding a way to work your way forward.”
“I sound pretty boring.”
“Sometimes.”
He laughed again. It was a soft chuckle more in his body than his voice. He lifted the root beer in toast. We clinked our bottles.
“Can you even see anything from here?” I asked once he took a drink.
“Depends on the wind and how thick the snow is.” He pointed out the windshield. “Mostly you can see the black shape of the trailer.”
I peered out, searching the darkness for something blacker within it. There was a long rectangle at the bottom of the hill in a clearing. “What are you waiting for?”
Billy shrugged. “Lights, I guess. Then I thought I’d see who was there.”
“Anyone coming in would see your tire tracks.”
“Mine would have been gone soon. It’s yours they’ll see.”
I took a drink of my grape soda without answering.
Billy laughed again. That time it was genuine and at my expense. “No worries. There is another track into where the trailer sits. It’s had more traffic. I think that’s the primary driveway.”
“You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?”
Billy laughed again. Before it turned too sad he stopped and said, “If I was smart, I would have handled this whole thing differently. More people would be alive and unhurt.”
“I’m not sure how much smart has to do with it,” I said. “Bad things happen.”
“They do. Bad things. Bad people. Bad—really damn bad decisions.”
I didn’t have anything to say to that. What could I say and what good would it do? We both remained quiet. The chill got deeper in the vehicle, boosted by the mood and cold sodas.
“Screw it,” Billy finally said. He turned his root beer up and drank the whole thing down. When the bottle was empty he set it aside and opened the door. “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“Where do you think?” He got out. “Are you coming?” Billy took off, tromping through the snow and denuded woods right toward the black spot at the bottom of the hill.
I followed.
The dark shape resolved into a mobile home as we got closer. It was an older single-wide with a built-on bump out. The skirting was haphazard. The roof was penetrated by a stovepipe. There was no smoke.
“What do you think?” Billy asked when we stopped at the edge of the clearing.
“I think it’s a bad idea.”
“We have a warrant.”
“Got that in your pocket, do you?”
“I can get it here if we need it.”
“Just saying, ‘if we need it,’ shows we’re not here to serve a warrant and execute a lawful search.”
“Since when are you a stickler for the rules?”
“What I am isn’t the point.”
“Fair enough.” Billy strode forward. His feet kicked mounds of snow as he went straight for the trailer. He stopped at the bottom of the loose cinder blocks that served as stairs.
All the prints on the steps were filled in by new snow. No one had come through the front door that night.
“What do you want to do?” I asked when I caught up.
Billy pulled his weapon and climbed the stack of bricks.
I pulled my 9mm. I held it two-handed and pointed at the ground, ready to go when he breached.
He didn’t. Billy hesitated, examining the door, its knob and the opening. There was no storm door. Snow was drifted over the threshold. He knelt and brushed away the drift. “Look at this.”
I climbed up to the porch for a better view.
Billy stood and used the toe of his boot to point at something sticking out from the base of the door.
“What is it?” I asked. In the dark I couldn’t see much except a shiny spot on the white aluminum skin of the door.
“It’s the end of a bolt. Someone drilled it out and mounted something to the bottom of the door.”
“A security chain?”
“Down there?” Billy holstered his weapon. Then he pulled the multi-tool from his belt. “Whatever it is can’t be good,” he said as he shaped the tool into pliers. He used the pointed end to grip the nut securing the bolt, and turned. It didn’t take much. The nut came loose. Billy finished screwing it free with his fingers. Once it was clear he held up the nut and a small washer for me to look at. “New,” he said. “No rust.”
“How can you see that?”
“I can feel it.” He opened up his tool and pulled a long, thin punch blade. Putting the tip of the blade to the end of the bolt, he pushed. When he was satisfied the hole was clear, he stood and swapped the tool for his pistol. “Ready?” he asked.
He didn’t wait for an answer. Billy gripped the knob and turned. It was unlocked. He led with his weapon and used his toe to ease the door open. “Have your flashlight?”
“The wonder tool doesn’t have a flashlight?” I pulled mine out, holding it with my left hand. My right hand gripped my pistol and sat crossed over my left wrist. The light was blue-white, cold as the air in the filthy trailer.
A Killing Secret Page 20