Days of Reckoning (2 page)

#

Justin Leider tried not to shiver against the cold night air. To the three men with him, it would seem weak, and that was the last thing the young man wanted. He turned to his friend Damon for support, but Damon’s face was hidden behind the long dark hair that hung loosely around his shoulders. Finding nothing there, Justin looked to the ground. The field through which he walked was uneven and thick with natural growth that sprang up while the land was left fallow. It wouldn’t do to stumble. Not now.

The other two men, both older than Justin and Damon, walked behind them. Justin had known one of them for years; at various times the man had been an inspiration, a mentor and a leader, but never a friend. That would have come had Justin proven himself worthy, but Justin had failed in that task.

He heard his old mentor sigh. “Okay, boys, this is far enough.”

“What happens now, Chief?” Damon asked in his thick West Virginia drawl.

The older man sighed again, but ignored Damon’s question. “Justin, you made a mistake. A big one. There’s nothing to be done for it now. You’ve got to take responsibility for what happened, and face the consequences like a man.”

Justin wanted to argue, to say it wasn’t his fault, but he knew it would be useless. He’d been spotted when he and Damon had torched a black congregation’s church, killing the pastor and secretary. There were sketches of him out now, and a nationwide manhunt was under way. It was only a matter of time before he’d be caught. But the militia found him first. He tried to explain that Damon had driven off too soon, leaving him exposed as he ran from the blaze, but it didn’t matter. Damon had gotten away clean, and Justin hadn’t. And now there was only one way to prevent himself from being caught, and in the process leading the authorities to the men who had planned the attack.

The man handed Damon a small blue case. “I’ll leave you two alone for a few minutes. Damon, bring that box back with you.”

The two older men trudged away a few paces, but stopped before they were out of sight. Justin watched one light a cigarette.

“I’m sorry it has to be this way, buddy,” Damon said. “But it’s the only way. Plus, you don’t want to cross the Chief, not with your sister working for him and all.”

Justin glanced at Damon, wanting to respond to the implied threat, but he kept quiet. Of all the people in the world, the last person he worried about was his sister.

Damon opened the blue box. He pulled out a single bullet and handed it to Justin. “That’s the only one here, buddy. Just in case you was thinking of trying something. We all got guns, and if we have to use ours to kill you, well… think of your sister.”

Justin snorted.

Damon next pulled a black pistol out of the case. He stepped back a few paces and set it on the ground, then drew his own weapon. “She’s all yours, man. Do it right. We’ll be watchin’.” Then he stepped back a few more paces, keeping watch until he was with the other men.

Justin twirled the bullet in his hand and then stepped over to the pistol. Damon had forgotten to wipe the weapon clean. Justin decided the least he could do was show the other men that he was still a team player, so he pulled out his handkerchief, picked the weapon up with it, and wiped it thoroughly. After pocketing the hanky, he pulled the magazine out of the pistol. Sure enough, it was empty. He slipped the round into the mag, loaded the weapon and racked the slide.

So this is it
, he thought.
This is it.
He took one last look at the three men. Damon with his long hair had his back turned. The bareheaded man smoked a cigarette. The older man doffed his cap, the one that read “Sparta PD.” Justin gave a half-wave and turned around.
Miranda’s going to be pissed.

He imagined for a brief moment what his sister’s reaction would be, and decided he really didn’t want to be around for it anyway. Then he stuck the pistol in his mouth and closed his eyes. His last thought was that he got off a lot easier than those three bastards would.

Chapter 2

Sam Connor’s day at the office started with a courtesy call from his former girlfriend, Tracy Oliver. It was a simple reminder of how much she hated him, how glad she was to have dumped him, and how unfortunate the Sparta Police Department was to have him on its payroll. Sam listened patiently to her rant. When she paused to take a breath, he hung up the phone.

The detective ducked his head out of his office door. Miranda Leider was at her desk. Sam was sure she hated being relegated to office duty, but it was standard procedure after a violent confrontation like the one she’d had a few nights before. At least she improved the atmosphere of the police station. Tough as nails around criminals, she had an easy manner with her co-workers. It didn’t hurt that she was also easy to look at, but Sam didn’t dare mention that out loud.

“That’s not very nice,” Miranda called while Sam retreated back into his office. She was about to finish off with another jibe, but the ringing phone cut her short.

#

Sam sat down at his desk and surveyed the hopeless pile of paperwork before him. He almost regretted passing Tracy off to Miranda. At least when he was tied up dealing with his ex, he didn’t have to mess with paperwork.

Two minutes later, Miranda came into his office and slumped in the chair facing his desk. Sam was about to ask what Tracy wanted this time, but he stopped short when he saw Miranda’s face. The natural color in her cheeks had drained away, leaving a pallid white shade behind. Her hands shook, and he could almost see the lump forming in her throat.

Miranda wanted to go to the morgue right away, so now Sam stood in a corner of the coroner’s office, listening to Sheriff Josiah Horn describe the circumstances under which Miranda’s brother Justin had been found. Sam tried to focus on the description, but concern for Miranda distracted him. She held herself tightly, staring at the floor. Sam hadn’t realized that she was Justin’s only living relative, and therefore the one called to identify his remains. She had never discussed her family with him, so Sam never knew her parents were dead. It occurred to the detective that his young colleague was a complete mystery to him, at least as far as her life out of the station was concerned. He wanted to go over and comfort her, say something to bring the light back into her eyes. Miranda was normally a bright spot around the station, possessing the uncanny ability to turn heads without making anyone shuffle nervously. Sam couldn’t bear to see that light extinguished, and he was just about ready to interrupt the county sheriff when the door to the outside opened. The sheriff paused in his description and looked with Sam as Chief of Police Harlan Wainwright eased his bulky body through the frame.

Wainwright nodded at the two men, but went directly over to Miranda. Sam breathed a mental sigh of relief. Wainwright was something of a father figure to the members of the force. He would do a much better job of providing aid and comfort than Sam ever could. Confident that Miranda was in good hands, Sam turned back to the sheriff.

#

“I came over as soon as I heard,” Wainwright said, easing into a chair and draping an arm across Miranda’s shoulders. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am to hear about your loss. Is there anything I can do?”

Miranda shrugged. “I’m probably going to need some time off from work and school to deal with this. Maybe you could pull some strings with my Profs.”

“Consider it done,” the Chief replied. “So, do they know what happened to your brother?”

“They say he shot himself. But… I don’t know. Justin had a lot of problems, but being suicidal wasn’t one of them.”

“It’s always a shock when a loved one dies so -” he cut himself off, as if searching for the right word. He let it go. “I can’t imagine what this must be like for you. Take whatever time you need. We’ll hold a spot for you.” Wainwright gave her shoulders a fatherly squeeze and looked up as Sam and Sheriff Horn approached.

A third man strode just behind them. He must have been the coroner, judging from the lab coat and grim face he wore. Miranda didn’t know how long he had been in the room, but apparently whatever words he had already spoken to the other two men had not been good. The three whispered together briefly. Designated as the one to speak with her, Sam strode over and sat down on her left. Wainwright took the cue to shift down a few seats, but he still watched them intently.

“Um,” Sam paused, fumbling for words. “There isn’t any easy way to say this, so I’ll just lay it out for you. From what they’ve told me, it’s pretty bad back there. Your brother, he’s been dead for some time and, ah, exposed to the elements. They’ve taken their toll.”

“I want to see him.”

“I’m sure you do, but Miranda, he died pretty violently, and with the passage of time before he was found… he won’t be the same. I know they called you down to identify him, but they can do that with blood tests and the like. You don’t have to actually, you know, go back there.”

“I still want to see him.” Her voice was soft but insistent.

“Okay.” Sam looked up at the coroner and shrugged. The other man frowned, but did not protest her decision. “Dr. Mitchell will take you back. We’ll come too, but we’ll give you whatever space you need.”

Sam stood and held his hand out to Miranda. She didn’t notice it, however, and left the gesture dangling in midair. Wainwright rose beside her and with the sheriff they all followed Dr. Mitchell into the morgue.

#

Many people insist on viewing the remains of their loved ones, thinking that perhaps the act will bring them a sense of closure. In cases of violent death and decomposition, however, most try to deny that the deceased is truly their loved one. Miranda held no such illusions, but the sight of the badly rotted corpse still tore her insides apart. She covered her eyes, stifled a sob, then turned and left the room without uttering a word.

The others hurried to keep up with her.

“Uh, Miss Leider,” Sheriff Horn said, “I’ll need to ask you some questions. I know it doesn’t seem like a good time, but it is important -”

“I know the drill, Sheriff. If Sam would be kind enough to chauffeur me, I’ll come out to your station.”

Sam gently squeezed her shoulder in assent. Horn seemed to have more he wanted to say, but he couldn’t come up with anything, so he retrieved his hat and headed out to his cruiser.

Before she left, Miranda turned to the coroner. “Dr. Mitchell? I was wondering, could I have my brother’s keys? I’ll probably need to clean his apartment out now.”

Mitchell pulled a strange look. “Well, um, I actually don’t have any of his personal effects. I would guess that the Sheriff’s people took them in as evidence.”

“Oh,” she said. “I’ll check with him then. Thank you.”

She and Sam left Wainwright behind at the morgue. “Sheriff Horn didn’t find any keys, did he?” Miranda said as they walked to Sam’s unmarked sedan.

“He didn’t mention them. But then again, I didn’t ask. Don’t worry; I’m sure they’ve got them at the station.”

#

Miranda was silent in the car, but her mind worked furiously. She doubted that Justin committed suicide. The last time she had seen him, he had been in trouble and afraid. Not of what he had done, but of being caught for it. People who don’t want to be caught are usually afraid of punishment, and if he wanted to get away, then why would he kill himself? As far as Miranda could tell, capture hadn’t exactly been imminent, at least not capture by the authorities. Justin never let Miranda know much about the people with whom he associated, but she guessed that they weren’t all upstanding citizens. Even when he was clearly running from something terrible, her brother wouldn’t tell her exactly what was going on.

“I need your help sis. You’ve got to hide me for a few days.” That had been his only plea almost a month earlier.

Miranda didn’t know what had happened, but she knew there was no way she could harbor a fugitive. She had tried her best to keep him out of trouble, but once he got in it, she didn’t think there was much she could do to help him. Not if she wanted to remain a law enforcement officer.

So she gave him what cash she had on hand, a sandwich to take with him, and strongly suggested that whatever had happened, his best course of action was to turn himself in.

Never in her wildest imagination did Miranda think those angry words should have been taken at face value. When Justin didn’t turn up, either on her doorstep again or on the news, she figured he’d squirreled himself away with his one of his less reputable buddies. If that was the path he chose, well, there wasn’t much she could do for him. He was an adult too. But then had come that awful, nightmarish phone call, and now the weight of Miranda’s inaction came crashing down upon her.