Divine Justice (12 page)
“Danny said he died in the mines.”
Abby took her time putting the last forkful of pie into her mouth. “He did. You said you lost a child. How about your wife?”
“Died too. Long time ago.”
“What’ve you been doing with yourself since?”
“This and that. Never stayed in one place too long.”
“Did you get out of the army right after Nam?”
“I hung around for a while. Nothing too exciting.”
“No pension from Uncle Sam?”
“Didn’t stay long enough.”
Their conversation trailed off and a while later Stone took his leave, resisting her invitation to drive him back to town. There was sorrow in that house, despite the luxury and designer touches, for one simple reason: the source of the wealth was death.
“I guess you’ll be heading on soon,” she said as she stood by the front door.
“I’m a lot older than Danny and I still haven’t made up my mind what to do with the rest of my life. So I think I better get to it.”
“Thanks for helping my son.”
“He seems like a good young man, Abby. Just needs a little direction.”
“It would’ve been real good if the direction had taken him out of here and kept him there.”
She closed the door, leaving Stone standing there puzzled. Telling himself again that this was not his business, he walked out to the road and made his way back to town. The sky was lit with stars, which was the only light there was. As he drew closer to town, he heard something. At first it seemed to be the moan of an animal and it occurred to him that in this part of the country it would not be unheard of to run into a black bear or maybe even a mountain lion. As he continued to walk along the moan became more recognizable.
Stone picked up his pace. The church and the graveyard were just ahead.
He cut across the road, entered the churchyard, made a beeline for the graveyard, and then stopped when he saw it. Or rather him.
The sobs racking him, Danny was lying sprawled on top of the fresh grave of Debby Randolph.
T
HE TALL MAN SLIPPED
inside the building, hung a left, grabbed an elevator, rode it down, entered the tunnel, skimmed along underneath the streets of Washington, D.C., arrived at another building and turned down a long hall. When he passed one door, it opened and a big hand grabbed him and yanked him inside, slamming the door behind him.
Reuben Rhodes let Alex Ford go. The agent smoothed down his jacket collar and turned to scowl at the others there arranged on busted-up government-issued furniture and packing crates.
“You said the second door on the
left,
” Alex snapped.
“Brother Caleb got it wrong,” Reuben said. “He meant the first door on the right and we didn’t want to call you on your cell in case they put a trace on it.”
“They need a court order for that,” Annabelle said.
“Like hell they do,” Reuben shot back.
Alex looked at Annabelle. “He’s actually right about that. As a federal agent my life and cell phone are not my own.”
“Sorry about the mix-up, Alex,” Caleb said shamefacedly. “I was a little nervous. I’m not really sure why, though.” He glared furiously at Reuben. “Oh, now I remember. It was when Reuben called and screamed that I had to find a place for us to meet ASAP or we were all going to die and it would be my fault!”
Reuben shrugged. “I didn’t say die. I said we were all going to go to prison for the rest of our lives. And I just said it would be
mostly
your fault.”
“How do you figure that?” asked Annabelle.
“This Joe Knox character already met with Caleb.”
“So? How do you know I told him anything?”
“Caleb, you’d spill your guts if a Girl Scout got the drop on you.”
Annabelle stood. “Okay, we don’t have much time. It seems Knox has grilled me, Alex and Caleb.”
“And I know he went to the loading dock, but luckily I took a few days off,” Reuben added.
“Reuben, I understand that Oliver called you,” said Alex. “Did he tell you where he was?”
“He wouldn’t tell me where he was calling from.” Reuben went on to tell them about his conversation with Stone. “And he did want me to tell you that he appreciated your burning the letter.”
Alex nodded slowly but said nothing.
Caleb said, “Is there any way to trace the call he made to Reuben?”
Reuben shook his head. “I sort of have an unusual cell phone arrangement. A little convoluted.”
“You mean you steal other people’s minutes,” declared Caleb.
“Anyway, I had a buddy I trust try and do it for me. He’s a real pro with that stuff and it went nowhere.”
“Well, let’s compare notes on what Knox said and see where we stand,” Annabelle suggested.
Alex went first, followed by Annabelle and then Caleb. When they’d finished, Reuben said, “Caleb, I apologize. It looks like you stood your ground pretty well.”
“Apology accepted,” snapped the federal librarian.
Alex said, “Okay, Knox knows Oliver is John Carr. He knows what he did at CIA. He knows that he killed Simpson and Gray. And he wants him badly.”
“And he thinks we can lead him right to Oliver,” Caleb replied. “But we can’t. Thank God.”
“Don’t be thanking God yet, Caleb. He knows where we are and our connection to Oliver. They’ll use that.”
“How?”
Annabelle answered. “Leverage. To reel Oliver in.”
Caleb exclaimed, “What do you mean? Use us as bait? That’s preposterous. We are United States citizens. Knox is a public servant.”
“That line didn’t even work in the fifties,” said Alex. “He’s a public servant with a job to do. Nail Oliver. And while he’s on the run, we’re left as targets.”
“So should we all go into hiding?” Annabelle asked.
Alex said, “That’s pretty much impossible for me to do. But Annabelle, you definitely should dig a deep hole and get in it. Reuben too. Caleb, how about you?”
“Why would Oliver have left us in this impossible situation?” Caleb groused.
“He didn’t have much choice,” Reuben answered. “If we’re right, he popped two giant VIPs on the same day. You don’t go have coffee after that and wait for the SWAT team to tap on your door with a battering ram.”
Caleb shook his head. “Even if Oliver did kill them—and despite the letter he left behind, I bet he didn’t leave any evidence for them to find.”
“Damn it, what point aren’t you getting, Caleb?” Reuben exclaimed. “These guys don’t care about prosecuting his ass. They just want him. They’ll squeeze whatever useful information he has out of him and then put a round in his brain. He was a former government hit man who had to go on the run because Gray and Simpson screwed him over and tried to kill him.” Reuben said this last part while staring at Alex. “Oliver’s been on the run for thirty years. And then they killed Milton. And don’t forget, Harry Finn told us that Simpson admitted that he was the one who ordered the hit on Oliver and his family way back when. If ever a man had a reason to kill somebody it’s Oliver, to hell with what the law says.”
“So they might be afraid of what Oliver might know about past government missions,” Caleb said. “And they’d want to silence him?”
“Now you’re thinking like a librarian,” noted Reuben wryly.
Annabelle said, “But there might be another way, I mean instead of us going underground.”
Alex leaned against the wall. “What do you have in mind?”
“We find Oliver and help him really get away.”
“Forget it, Annabelle. We’d be leading these guys right to him,” protested Alex.
“And besides,” added Reuben, “I’m sure Oliver had a nifty escape plan.”
“Really? No ID. No money. I gave him a credit card. I checked on it. It hasn’t been used in months. He can’t get on a plane. He can only run so far.”
“Before they catch him,” said Reuben quietly.
“Maybe that’s what he wants,” stated Alex. The other three stared at him. “He got Simpson and Gray. He felt terrible guilt for Milton. He may feel he has nothing else to live for. He runs, but not that hard. He knows they’ll catch up to him and he’s prepared for what that means.”
Annabelle said, “I’m not going to let his life end that way.”
“Annabelle, stonewalling the CIA is one thing, but you get mixed up in actively helping Oliver elude the authorities then you’re looking at prison time too. A big chunk of it.”
“I don’t care, Alex. Look what he did for me. He risked everything to help me.”
“He’s done that for all of us,” added Reuben.
“You wouldn’t be here either, Alex,” Annabelle said, eyeing the man. “Except for Oliver.”
Alex sat down on an old desk. “Guys, I hear you, but I’m a federal agent. I can only go so far.”
“We don’t want to get you in trouble, so you don’t have to do anything,” said Annabelle, though her tone was less gracious than her words.
“Except look the other way,” added Reuben.
“How would you even go about finding him?” said Alex.
“That’s for
us
to figure out,” said Reuben coldly. He glanced over at Caleb. “You’re a
federal
employee too, but are you in?”
Caleb nodded. “I’m in.”
Alex, his features grim, rose. “Well, I guess this is where we part company. Good luck.”
“Alex—” Annabelle began, but the door had already closed behind him.
The three remaining members of the Camel Club simply looked at each other.
“Screw him,” exclaimed Reuben. “So how do we find Oliver?”
She gazed at him. “The fox is on the hunt, right?”
“Right. So?”
“So we follow the fox.”
“You have a plan?”
“I always have a plan.”
“Annabelle, girl, I love you.”
S
TONE WAS ABOUT TO APPROACH
Danny Riker when someone else appeared from the other side of the graveyard. Stone shrank down behind the stone wall as the man stepped clear of the shadows and into the moonlight. At first, Stone thought the big fellow was going to attack Danny, so stealthy was his approach. Indeed, Stone was preparing to spring out when the other man gently touched Danny on the shoulder.
“Come on, boy, no good you being here.”
Danny looked up into the face of Sheriff Tyree, who bent down to help him up.
“Not right. Ain’t right,” Danny sputtered, as he leaned against the large frame of the lawman.
“A lot in life isn’t fair, Danny. But you can’t let it eat you up, boy.”
“I want to die.”
Tyree slapped Danny across the face. “Don’t let me never hear you say that again, Danny. The girl’s dead. Nothing you can do will bring her back.”
He pointed at the dirt. “You call that fair?”
“You get your head on straight. She had a choice. She killed herself. This ain’t doing nobody any good. Now you want me to give you a ride home?”
Danny wiped his face and shook his head. “You’re a stupid man if you think that,” he snapped.
Tyree studied him. “You know something I don’t?”
“I know lots you don’t. So what? Ain’t worth shit what I know.”
“I mean about Debby?”
Danny dropped his head and his defiant tone. “No. I don’t know nothing. Just talking is all. Talking and saying nothing, really.”
“You said I was stupid if I believed that. What, that she killed herself?”
“You putting words in my mouth now, Sheriff,” Danny said, his face whitening a bit.
“I just want to hear what you have to say.”
In response, Danny turned and walked off.
“Danny, you come back here.”
“Stop yelling, Sheriff, you’ll wake the dead.”
“Right now, boy.”
“I’m not a boy, Tyree, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Danny turned to look at him. “And unless you want to put a bullet in my back, I’m going home.”
Tyree laid a hand on top of his pistol as Stone stooped as low as he could. He didn’t want to give either man a chance to spot him.
He waited for Danny to disappear down the road and then watched as Tyree stalked back to his patrol car parked nearby and drove back toward town.
Should I just leave now? Why wait until morning?
Yet Stone walked to town and got a room at the tiny house Danny had recommended. He climbed the stairs, put his bag away and sat on the soft bed and stared out the window toward the main street of Divine.
What he’d seen at the graveyard had puzzled him. Had Danny been in love with Debby Randolph? Had she killed herself? Why had Danny left and then come back?
“It’s not my problem,” Stone finally said aloud, surprising himself with the force of the words. He checked his watch. It was nearly ten o’clock. He had a small transistor radio in his bag. He pulled it out and turned it on. It took some twisting of the tuner knob, but he finally found a station that had a national news roundup program at the top of the hour. He sat back on his bed. The murders weren’t the lead story, but they were a close second to another salmonella outbreak in some vegetables.
The announcer’s voice seemed breathless as he recounted the latest on the high-level D.C. killings.
“The FBI and Homeland Security have combined their efforts in this investigation. The murders of Senator Roger Simpson and intelligence head Carter Gray are definitely connected and are apparently tied to events from decades ago when both men worked at the CIA. The killer is reportedly a former colleague of the two men and was believed to have died years ago. Authorities are watching all airports, train and bus stations and border crossings. We will bring you more developments as they break in what is shaping up to be the manhunt of the decade.”
Stone turned off the radio, rose and stared out the window once more. They hadn’t announced the name of the killer, but they might as well have.
They know it was John Carr and they know what I look like and they have every escape route bottled up.
He had never really dwelled on his eventual capture. He even imagined that he might make it to New Orleans, start a new life and live out the rest of his years in peaceful obscurity. But that was apparently not to be. The one thing that bothered him was that everyone would believe him to be a criminal. Was revenge always wrong? Was righting an injustice outside the law never condonable? He knew the answer to those questions. He would never have the luxury of facing a judge and jury. They would never let him because then he could tell his side of the story. No, that could never be allowed.
