“But I have to tell the law about this,” Pilate said. “I need to call the FBI or the state police.”
“Whoa, tiger. Wait,” Krall said, holding his hands up. “This is all conjecture, John. We can’t do this. It would stir a huge shit storm and get us fired.”
Pilate looked at his lap. “Too late for that on my end. My pink slip’s already been signed.”
“What? They fired you already?”
“I ran into Lindstrom on my way to the mortuary. He was kind enough to stop his car and tell me I’m being let go at the end of semester.” Pilate flicked his cigarette butt into the fire.
“Well, there you have it.” Krall leaned back, covering his face with his hands. He sighed deeply, then leaned forward. “The semester ends in a couple months. You stay out of trouble until then, and then you go and forget this place ever existed.”
“Fuck no,” Pilate said. “Besides the fact that we ought to do the right thing, you’re forgetting Kate and Kara. I can’t just stand by and let this happen. It might endanger them.”
“What are you going to do? Tell Kara that her grandfather is an accessory to the murder of a Negro boy chained inside a ’57 Chevy at the bottom of the Missouri River? Is that what you want Kara to know?”
Pilate stood up, and his knee popped. “Ouch.”
“John, you’re also forgetting that you broke into the mortuary to get this evidence. Scovill will nail you to the wall for breaking and entering and tampering with a police investigation. Hell, they might even say you planted it.”
Pilate’s stomach lurched.
“You’re in a very bad spot, my friend,” Krall said.
“I know,” Pilate said, “but this is wrong. Something needs to be done.”
“Maybe so, but that doesn’t mean it has to involve you. Look, John, you’re a good man, and if you stick your nose in this, all you’ll be doing is getting yourself in hot water, embarrassing Kate’s family, and giving Jack Lindstrom the land he needs to build that fucking shrine to himself—and that’s only if you’re lucky and that Cro-Mag Mayor Bounderby doesn’t decide to have you killed. You don’t wanna be seat belted into a watery grave yourself, do ya?”
Pilate hurried to the front door. He was sweating from the fireplace and didn’t feel well. He stepped out to the porch railing and threw up.
Krall stood in the doorway. “You okay?”
Pilate shook his head, and when he threw up again, the Dinty Moore strangely looked the same as it had going in.
“Thanks for that,” Krall said. He went to the kitchen and fetched Pilate a glass of water.
Pilate sipped the water slowly as he sat on the couch, turned away from the fire.
“John, buddy, you gotta keep this under your hat,” Krall said.
“I’ll think about it,” Pilate said.
“Like hell you will.” Krall snatched the letter and ledger and threw them into the fireplace.
“What the hell?”
“Sorry, buddy, but it’s for your own good.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Pilate thrust his hands into the fire. His hair burned and his skin seared as he snatched the ledger and the letter it loosely protected inside from the flames. “Damn it, Krall, you son of a bitch,” he said.
“I’m sorry, John. I just don’t want anything bad to happen,” Krall said.
Throwing on his coat, Pilate glared at Krall. “In case you haven’t noticed, bad things are already happening, you jackass. And need I remind you that it was you who got me interested in all this shit in the first place?”
“I know, John, but it’s all out of control now,” Krall said, his voice shaky. “It wasn’t supposed to go down like this.”
Pilate didn’t hear the last sentence from Krall as he slammed the door behind him and trudged out into the snowy darkness. He needed to get the ledger and letter somewhere safe, but Kate’s was out of the question. He didn’t want anyone to find her with it.
Krall watched Pilate angrily trudge away. “Poor bastard,” he said under his breath. Then he pushed the curtain back in place and gazed into the fire.
He poured a scotch into a chipped coffee mug, gulped down half of it, and then picked up the phone. Falling gracelessly on his couch, sending an avalanche of newspapers and books sliding to the floor, he dialed.
“Hi. It’s me,” he said. “Look, um…I think we got a problem.” Krall nervously pawed at his scalp with one hand as he talked on the phone.
“Well, he figured it out.” He paused, listening. “I have no idea…uh-huh…smarter than he looks I guess.”
Krall fidgeted some more with his hair as he listened.
“No, I most certainly did not! He broke in there and found it. Yes, there really is something to it. How was I supposed to know...Scovill? I can’t tell.”
Krall listened for about three more minutes before he had a break in the conversation in which to retort.
“Look, for all I know, it was all bullshit, but now the whole thing is getting out of hand. You know what happened to Grif Nathaniel, and you were seen there yourself…no, no, I am not saying you had anything to do with that, but this is becoming—”
The person on the other end of the line shouted, forcing Krall to hold the phone from his ear about an inch.
“Okay, okay. We just have to stay out of this. Unless, of course, you want to compensate me further.”
More shouting.
“Look, let me just lay it on the line here, Jack. You pay me more, or I tell Ollie everything I know, and that’s a damn lot at this point.”
Krall bit his fingernail as more shouting issued from the receiver. “Time’s about up. Pilate is out there in the snow with the evidence right now. I can either help him get the evidence out of town to indict your pal Ollie, or I can help Ollie eliminate Pilate and make sure the blood splatters all over you. The choice is yours, and my suggestion is that you get out your checkbook.”
Krall grimaced as a torrent of coarse cursing collided with his eardrums.
“No, fuck you. Feel better?”
Jack Lindstrom responded in a normal tone of voice.
“Much better. So we’re agreed on $20K? I make sure Pilate gets that evidence to the state police before Ollie catches up to him, right?”
Lindstrom grudgingly agreed, insulted Krall’s maternal parentage, and slammed the receiver down.
Krall pushed the flash button for a new dial tone.
“Ollie? It’s Krall. Yep, I just found out. Lindstrom admitted it. He bankrolled this Pilate queer to dig up dirt on you. Lindstrom’s staying here. He ordered Pilate to get out of town tonight and get to the state police.”
He listened for a moment.
“What? No. I doubt he’ll go home. He’ll probably try to find a four-wheel drive.”
More listening, and Krall’s eyes were pointed toward the fireplace, though he wasn’t really paying the flames any attention.
“You want me to what? Hey, that’s not the deal. I’m strictly intelligence. I don’t do field work.”
He listened to Ollie forming deliberate words around a cigar stub clenched in his teeth.
“Well, when you put it that way…okay. I’ll find him and let Craig and Steve know, but I’m tellin’ ya right now I ain’t gonna have no part in the nasty bit.”
Krall placed the phone back in its cradle. He drained the mug, refilled it, and drained it again. He pitched the Cross yearbook in the fire and watched young Ollie Olafson’s face burn away as he reached for the scotch bottle one more time.
Krall’s right about one thing, Pilate thought. I’m in a bad spot. He knew he had very few options, and far too many of them would set off a chain of events that would get him in big trouble at best or killed at worst. And Kate will likely resent me for doing harm to her child’s family name. “Damn it,” he said aloud. The only safe thing I can do is pack up my car and leave right now. I’ll have to just dump the ledger and the letter in the mail to the FBI and go. Of course, it would have mad
e matters easier if his car weren’t still being held hostage in Jimmy’s shop.
As he rounded the block leading to his street, he saw the sheriff’s truck parked in front of his apartment.
“Crap.” His stomach rolled again.
Pilate ducked down an alley between two houses, his breath issuing visibly as he panted. He didn’t know what the sheriff wanted, but now was definitely not the time to find out.
He crept through the alley, heading toward Kate’s. It was at least a fifteen-minute walk, especially if he was trying to be stealthy.
Except for upsetting a few dogs that were unlucky enough to live outside during the harsh winter, Pilate made it to the back alley behind Kate’s house. Lights were on in her upstairs window and in the kitchen.
He found a good vantage point and saw Deputy Lenny in his truck, watching the house from the street. The bearded deputy was smoking a cigar and drinking from a thermos.
Pilate figured he could creep up behind the house without Lenny noticing. As quickly and quietly as he could, Pilate ran from tree to tree, hiding for a moment at each tree until he reached the back door. He tested the door, and of course, Kate had locked it. All things considered, he couldn’t blame her.
My kingdom for a town with cell service.
He glanced upward and saw the upstairs light go out. A moment later, Kate’s shadow moved in the kitchen. He searched for something he might be able to use to throw at the window to get her attention, but the snow covered his options completely. He decided he’d just have to risk knocking on the back door and hope Kate didn’t alert the deputy.
He walked up the back steps and knocked twice. Through the sheer curtains over the glass window in the door, he saw Kate stop, look sharply at the door, and then rush to the cabinet.
Her gun! Shit! “Kate,” he said, sotto vocce. “It’s me, John.
Please let me in. It’s okay.”
Kate cautiously moved closer to the door. He heard her tell Kara to go to the living room and wait by the front door. She approached the door and extended her pistol-filled hand to part the curtains.
Pilate turned on his flashlight and shone it under his chin.
Kate jumped back a step, then sighed and rolled her eyes. She unlocked, unchained, and opened the door. “John, you scared the crap out of me,” she said.
“Sorry,” he said, stepping into the warm kitchen, the smell of pot roast and potatoes making him hungry again.
“Mommy? Is it okay?” Kara called from the living room.
“Yes, sweetie. It’s just Mr. Pilate, coming for dinner.”
Kate put the pistol back in a drawer of the cabinet.
“I don’t mean to intrude,” he said.
Kara walked in. “Hi,” she said, hurrying up to hug her mother’s leg.
“Hello, Kara,” Pilate said, standing there in his dirty coat, his hair mussed from his travels.
“Mr. Pilate is going to eat dinner with us, so please sit down, and I’ll get him a plate.”
Kara obeyed her mother, who nodded at Pilate.
He took off his coat and draped it over the back of the chair and sat. It felt good to get off his feet.
Kate placed a plate, knife, fork, and spoon in front of him, along with a glass of milk.
“Thanks,” he said, smiling cheerily at Kara. “You look tired and messy,” Kara declared. “Kara Jane!” Kate said, almost laughing. “Yes, I suppose I do, Kara.”
Kate placed the pot roast, mashed potatoes, and carrots on the table. “Kara, will you thank God for our food, please?” Kate said, placing her napkin in her lap.
Kara bent her head and clasped her hands in prayer, and Kate and Pilate followed her lead.
“God bless this food. Thank you for the snow and please take care of Grandpa and Mommy and our friend the pilot because Mama thinks he’s cute. Amen.”
“Thank you, dear,” Kate said, blushing.
Pilate smiled; he saw much of Kate in Kara’s eyes.
Kate put small amounts of meat and vegetables on Kara’s plate, and the little girl made a face at the carrots. “You just thanked God for those carrots. Don’t wrinkle your nose at them.”
“Okay,” she said in mock exasperation. She ate a carrot, then attacked her mashed potatoes.
“You want gravy?” Kate asked. Kara shook her head.
“John, please eat.” She passed him the potatoes and other entrees one at a time, serving herself after Pilate.
Pilate ate a bite of the most tender roast he had tasted since the last time he’d had his grandmother’s Sunday dinner. Contrary to what Dinty Moore was serving up, hers was obviously real beef. “Oh my g…goodness,” Pilate said. “This is excellent.”
Kate smiled. “Thanks. We try to have a nice Sunday dinner.”
“Mommy made Jell-O too!“ Kara announced.
“Yes, but you only get some if you clean your plate,” she said.
Kara nodded, hesitantly shoveling roast in her tiny mouth. “Chew, young lady,” Kate scolded. Then she turned to her uninvited guest. “So, John, what’s going on?”
“Well,” he said, reluctantly putting down his fork. “I ran across some interesting things when I went sightseeing today.”
Kate’s features darkened. “Oh?” “Any word on Grif?” he said.
“No change,” she said. “What did you see?”
“Something that some people might go to great lengths to acquire.”
Kate looked puzzled.
“Why not let me show you after dinner?”
Kate nodded and reminded Kara to wipe her chin.
After dinner, Kara took her Jell-O into the living room to watch a Disney video. Kate made coffee, and Pilate filled her in on the events of the day.
“Damn it, John. I can’t believe you did that,” she said. Her eyes flashed anger and hurt. “I could have let you in the mortuary. Why didn’t you tell me about your suspicions?”
“Because you’re being watched by the sheriff, and I also didn’t want you put in any danger.”
“So that’s why you show up at my back door after dark, under the very nose of the sheriff? Nice logic.” She threw her cloth napkin on the table.
“Kate, you can be pissed at me all you want, but I think you need to know what I found,” he said. He reached behind him and pulled the ledger out of his pocket and laid it on the table.
She eyed it for a moment. “What is it?”
He removed the letter from the book, unfolded it carefully, and handed it to her.
“It looks a little, uh, burnt.” She sniffed it. “And recently.” “Yeah. Krall threw it in the fireplace,” Pilate said.
“What? Krall? Why the hell did Krall have it? I thought you found it,” she said.
“I did,” he said. “I showed it to Krall because I thought he might know what to do next,” he said.
“Brilliant move, Einstein. Krall’s a nut,” she said.
“Maybe, but he’s a nut who wants me to destroy this and leave town,” he said. “Just read it.”
Pilate watched Kate’s face change as she read the letter.
“Sweet Jesus,” she said. “This was in Brady Bernard’s ashes? In Grif’s mortuary? I thought those ashes were destroyed in that fire years ago.”
“Well, they weren’t…and somebody wants this letter very badly,” Pilate said.
“Who? Olafson? How would he even know it existed?”
“Krall and I think Jack Lindstrom started spreading rumors to discredit Olafson,” Pilate said. “Or maybe even to get him in trouble with the law so Jack could get the land he wants.”
“But how could Lindstrom know there was a letter?” Kate’s face was screwed up in confusion.
“I think he just knew about the town history, and he heard the rumors and figured he would just start a little trouble for Ollie. It was Lindstrom’s way of playing hardball. I’m sure the arrogant ass had no idea that he was actually exposing something that really happened.”
“Grif said Jack was hass
ling him the other night before we came over.” Her eyes looked faraway as she recalled the conversation. “All he would say is that Jack was trying to dig up some dirt on Ollie.”
“Makes sense,” Pilate said.
“All those years ago they murdered a kid and dropped him in the river,” Kate said. “Why?”
“Not sure. I guess he got crossways with the car theft ring somehow.”
“And Brady Bernard was just a coincidence?”
“Well, he knew about it, that’s for sure. I think they also killed Martin Nathaniel way back when. I think Martin knew about the murder of the black kid, and they were sending a message to Martin, Grif, and anybody else who was involved to keep their mouth shut,” he said. “Hey, do you care if I smoke?”
She pointed to the back door. “Sure. Why not ask Deputy Lenny for a light?”
He sighed.
“So you think Martin was in on the car ring and got nervous when they killed the kid? You think Ollie and his dad decided he was a risk?”
Pilate nodded. “I think they ran him off the bridge. They’re pretty good at that sort of thing, from what I understand. I doubt they were trying to kill Martin, especially considering they thought he probably knew the whereabouts of the ledger. I’m sure they just wanted to scare him.”
“So they’ve kept an eye out for the ledger all these years. They figure Grif doesn’t have a clue about it. It gets whispered about for forty-plus years, then Dandy Jack starts spreading rumors that something has been found that will ruin the Olafsons,” she said. “So Ollie panics and breaks into the crypt looking for it.”
“Elementary, my dear Watson. Then when he finds nothing there, he decides to go beat it out of Grif, who probably has no idea where it is,” Pilate said.
“But all this means that Kara’s grandfather and great- grandfather were accessories to murder,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I’m afraid so, Kate.” He looked at the ledger on the tabletop. “And now you, me, and Krall know about it,” she said. “Krall won’t tell anybody, I’m sure of it,” Pilate said.
Pilate's Cross Page 16