Half Past Dead (32 page)

Justin took a guess. “They made you kill Bitner when he wanted out.”

Buck was silent for a long moment, and Justin didn't think the man was going to answer. “They demanded a lot of things. That's what happens when you become too successful.”

“It doesn't seem like you spent the money,” Justin commented, trying to keep the conversation going.

“I spent a fortune in Verity's name.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot,” he retorted in a low, sullen voice. “The buildings at Waycross Christian.”

Buck snorted. “Just the tip of the iceberg. What people can see. I set up a slew of perpetual scholarships in her name. I don't want my baby to ever be forgotten.”

Verity had been Buck's whole life. His wife had died young and he'd devoted himself to his only child. When Verity killed herself, something in Buck had died as well. Her death had been tragic, but it didn't justify building a drug empire just to keep her name alive.

“Buck, I just want to say I'm sorry about Verity's death. If I'd known how depressed she was, I—”

“Depressed over you?”

Buck battered Justin's head with the gun again. Justin saw stars and swerved, barely able to control the cruiser. He swallowed hard to steady himself but his mouth was like dry clay.

“Verity wasn't depressed over you. She was happy at Ole Miss, and she could have been Clay's girlfriend again. But you'd ruined her. Completely ruined her.”

Justin waited a moment for his head to clear and to concentrate on the road ahead before asking, “How did I ruin her?”

“She and Clay were together, just the way I wanted—then you stole her away.”

Justin didn't want to set the record straight and piss him off more, but Verity had been the one to come on to Justin. She'd followed him around and flirted with him until he'd asked her for a date.

“You were scum. A nothing who lived in a trailer. God only knew what she saw in you except a number on a football jersey,” Buck said, generations of inbred superiority in his voice. “When she went to Ole Miss, she fell in with even worse scum.”

“I thought you said she'd dated Clay.” Keep him talking, Justin told himself.

“She did but she kept slipping out with…niggers on the football team.” As dangerous as a wounded bear, Buck ground out, “She thought I wouldn't find out, but I did.”

Poor Verity. Justin could just imagine Buck going ballistic on her.

“If it hadn't been for you, Verity would never have stooped so low. She would have realized Clay was the man for her.”

Justin didn't know the guys Verity had dated, but he'd known a lot of black guys who were a vast improvement on Clay.

“What did you say to upset Verity so much that she killed herself?” Justin took a guess. “You had the black guy thrown out of school.”

“You never were half as bright as you thought you were,” Buck rasped. “I didn't go near the bastard. I stopped my baby before she disgraced herself.”

He couldn't believe this convoluted, mind-boggling revelation. This man lived for Verity, named buildings after her, funded scholarships. “What do you mean ‘stopped her'?”

“Sent her off to glory before it was too late. She never saw it coming—I didn't tell her what I knew. Why fight? She loved me up until the end. One drop of poison in her Coke and she went to sleep.”

“You killed her. Just like Pequita Romero.”

“Exactly. I didn't study chemistry all those years in pharmacy school for nothing.”

The man was a seriously demented lunatic, but a very clever one. He'd eluded detection for years. Fear crystallized in Justin. He was dead if he didn't think of something—fast.

“You're overdue,” Buck told him in a disturbingly calm, quiet voice. “You've been half past dead since you came back to Twin Oaks.”

“You won't get away with it. They'll catch you.”

“Don't you wish! We're going to die together. I've got enough bullets for both of us.”

“You sick bastard. You're too chicken to face a trial.”

“No. My work's done here. I'm ready to go to glory.” He waved the gun as if to hit Justin again but didn't. “Pedal to the metal. Let's get to the Moss Bend levee road.”

Justin accelerated and inhaled a deep, steadying breath, then slowly released it as he came up with a plan. It might not work, but it was his only hope.

He knew the seldom-used dirt road. It was in an overgrown, deserted area concealed by old cane fields where the authorities wouldn't find them easily without a helicopter or dog teams. It was a sharp ninety-degree turn off the highway about a mile from where they were.

When they were close, Buck asked, “Know where to turn?”

“Yes, it's up around the bend to the right.” He did his best to keep his voice solemn as if he were contemplating his last moments on this earth.

Buck ordered, “Cut the lights just as you turn. I want them to have to search long and hard for the damn car.”

They approached the turnoff for the old levee road. “This is it, I think,” Justin said as if he wasn't quite sure.

“That's it. Slow down.”

Justin stomped on the brakes, throwing Buck forward. Justin already had his left hand on the door. He flung it open and launched himself into the air just as the car slammed to a halt.

“Cocksucker!” Buck screeched.

Justin catapulted upward, then hit the ground with a bone-crunching thud. Hot, salty blood gushed into his mouth. Roll! Roll! Roll! He spun side over side until the gnarled root from the base of a tree snared him.

Shots split the night air like cracks of lightning. He looked up at the moon. It cartwheeled, then vanished into a burning blackness.

D
AVID WAS AT LEAST
six cars behind the lead cruiser following Justin and Buck Mason. They were traveling as fast as possible, considering none of them had their headlights on. Ahead, he saw a patch of white veer off the road at a right angle. It was the car Justin had been driving.

They'd been ordered to maintain radio silence so Mason wouldn't know what was happening, but now Special Agent Wilson's voice blared out, “Shots fired! Shots fired!”

“Officer down!” shouted another voice. “Officer down!”

Please, God. Don't let it be Justin,
David silently prayed. All the cars' headlights came on almost simultaneously. The patrol car Justin had been driving was wedged in a ditch. A man in a suit leaped out of the passenger side, his gun aimed at the cars closing in on him.

“Get down,” the deputy driving the car ordered David.

Pop! Pop! Pop! David hit the floor, hearing the sharp retort of gunfire. Where was Justin?

He huddled on the floor until the shots stopped. The front door of the car opened and he heard the deputy yelling to someone. David rose to his knees and peered over the front seat.

“Send two ambulances,” squawked a voice over the radio.

David bolted out of the car. He'd covered enough crime scenes to know the police sent for an ambulance even when it was clear the person was no longer among the ranks of the living. Suddenly, men were swarming toward the patrol car from all sides. Some were special agents in suits while others were deputies and reserve officers in uniforms.

Was Justin alive?

David charged forward, elbowing and shoving his way through the group. Ahead, awash in light from the headlights on high beam, David spotted Buck Mason's body. He'd collapsed backward, blood forming an ever-widening stain across the front of his expensive gray suit.

David spun around and spotted a small group of men huddled near a body. Justin! He raced over and saw his friend sprawled facedown at the base of a cypress tree.

“Is he alive?” David yelled as he ran up to them.

Special Agent Wilson nodded. “He's lucky.”

David dropped to his knees beside Justin. In the distance, he heard the wail of an approaching ambulance. Oh, God, he prayed. Don't let him be too badly injured. He gazed down at Justin. Seeing him like this evoked feelings David didn't have time to analyze right now. Kat and Justin had come to mean more to him than he'd admitted even to himself.

“Hang in there,” he told Justin. “Help's on the way!”

Justin moaned and valiantly tried to lift his head.

“Don't move,” David said. “You'll just hurt yourself more.”

Justin rolled onto his side, blood trickling from his mouth. “Wh—a-a-a…B-b…uck?”

“Don't worry. He's dead,” David assured him.

Justin grunted a reply, but David couldn't be sure what he meant. His chest was moving a bit, his breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. David noticed Justin's clothes were smeared with dirt and blood, but he didn't see any bullet holes.

Justin levered himself up on one arm and swiped with the other hand at the blood oozing from his lips. “I—I'm,” he said feebly. He gulped in some air, surged onto all fours.

“Hey! Don't move!” David cried.

“I—I'm…okay. Just…knocked myself…friggin' bat shit.”

“Are you okay?” Special Agent Wilson asked.

Justin touched his side and winced. “Mighta' broken a few ribs.”

“What about the blood?” David asked.

“I bit my cheek, is all.”

“Let's have the medics check you over.” Wilson turned around and waved at his men to make a path for the paramedics.

David let them take charge of Justin. As they were working on Justin, David pulled out his cell phone and dialed his house. It rang and rang, but there wasn't any answer. He hadn't called earlier because he didn't want to wake up the women, but he knew Kat and Connie would want to know about this. He needed both of them at the
Trib
, if he hoped to get out an Extra! in the morning.

He snapped his phone shut. Let them sleep; he would call them again when he was closer to town. He hung around, taking notes as the men worked the crime scene around Buck Mason's body. Half an hour later, Justin had managed to convince the paramedics and Special Agent Wilson that there was no way he would be taken back to Twin Oaks in an ambulance.

“I'll be sore as hell for a week, but I'm good to go,” Justin told David with a self-deprecating smile. “Gotta practice those hard landings a little more.”

David chuckled at Justin's gallows humor. The sheriff might very well have died tonight. Both of them knew it, felt it.

“Are you going to just stand there gawking at me or do you want an exclusive?” Justin asked.

Special Agent Wilson overheard them. “Hold it! I need to take your statement before the press gets it.” Wilson pointed to the car he'd been driving. “Let's talk over there, Radner.”

“Hey, what about me?” David asked.

“No reporters.”

Justin halted. “You can trust him. If it weren't for David, I wouldn't have cracked this case. Anything you say is off the record. Right, David?”

“Abso—fucking—lutely!”

Wilson glared at them both. “No leaks. We've been working for two years on this case. We've had an agent in deep cover here the entire time. Warrants are being issued right now. I don't want any of the Sartianos hightailing it before we can arrest them.”

“I understand,” David assured him.

David climbed into Wilson's car with Justin, where he listened to an amazing tale of drugs and greed. He couldn't help smiling inwardly. This story was much bigger than he could possibly have imagined. It was earmarked Pulitzer, if anything ever had been.

Share the byline with Kat,
whispered an inner voice. She'd put her life on the line to get these bloodsuckers, and she would help him write the story. He brought himself up short. No! She would report it. She'd earned it.

David continued to listen as the special agent wrapped up the details about the case. He took notes for what promised to be a series of columns that would appear after the crime family was in jail. Reuters. AP. UPI. They would swarm all over this.

“Wow!” Justin said to David as they emerged from the car. “This is some case. Bigger than anything I worked on in New Orleans.”

“With this to your credit, you won't have any trouble getting elected sheriff.” He touched Justin's arm, taking care not to hurt him. “Give Kat a break. She didn't tell anyone that she was working for the feds. She didn't know who to trust and she must have been afraid.”

Justin's eyes narrowed speculatively. “You're right. Given what she'd been through, I probably would have reacted the same way.” He gazed off into the darkness for a moment. “Know what I regretted the most when I thought Buck might kill me? I never told Kat that I love her.” He bit back a wince and reached in his pocket for his cell phone. “I'm going to tell her about Buck right now. The personal stuff can wait. What's your number?”

“I already tried to call Connie and Kat, but we're out of cell range.”

“No, we're not. The riverboat's not far from here. They put up a special receiver to keep gamblers happy.”

David heard his own quick intake of breath. He was almost certain he hadn't misdialed. He told Justin his number and watched him punch it into the small cell phone. Justin held it up to his ear. A few seconds later, he frowned.

“No answer.”

“Maybe they went over to Connie's,” David said, doubt echoing in his voice, “but I can't imagine why they would.”

Justin shook his head and spun around. “Deputy!” he yelled to one of his men. “Give me the keys to your car.”

 

“Y
OU WON'T GET AWAY
with this,” Kat said with more certainty than she felt.

The gun pointed at her never wavered. “Get in the trunk.”

Kat had no choice but to climb into the small trunk of her own Toyota. Her wrists and ankles were quickly bound with duct tape. A second later, the top shut over her like the lid of a tomb.

It was dark inside and suffocatingly hot. She told herself to stay calm and breathe as normally as possible to avoid using what little oxygen there was in the cramped space.
Don't panic!

The car lurched into drive and slowly pulled out of the place where Kat had parked it in David's driveway. It picked up speed when it reached the street. Where was she being taken? Kat wondered. And why? That didn't matter. What counted was saving her life—somehow.

It was almost three in the morning. No one was around to help her. David had gone off to the sheriff's station to help Justin and wouldn't miss her for hours. The special chip that Justin had planted in her shoe must still be there, but no one would activate it until it was too late. Justin believed she was safe at David's with Connie. She would have to save herself.

But how?

She should never have opened David's door. If she'd even suspected—which she hadn't in a million years—she would have remained locked in his home with the dogs.

She'd been asleep in her clothes on the sofa when David had gently touched her shoulder.

“What?” She'd sat up, her mind still gauzy from sleep. “Justin needs me at the station,” David explained. “I don't know how long I'll be gone. I've called Connie to come stay with you.”

“Don't bother her.” Kat gazed down at Redd and Max who were curled up on the floor near the sofa. “I'll be fine by myself. I won't open the door to anyone.”

David shook his head. “Justin and I talked it over. We don't know who to trust. Drug money buys a lot of people. That's why I have to help him now. He can't rely on his deputies.” He grabbed his reporter's pad from the desk next to the sofa. “We both want someone guarding you until it's safe.”

“All right,” she agreed as he rushed out.

She lay on the sofa, still a little groggy. When would this be over? She thought of Justin and couldn't help smiling. Soon, she promised herself. After this case was solved, her life could move forward.

She must have fallen asleep. The next thing she heard was a sharp knock on the front door. Max wagged his tail, but in the dim light of the lamp, Kat saw Redd's fangs were bared.

The rattletrap Toyota, its suspension shot from years of use, hit a bone-jarring bump. Her head slammed into the roof of the trunk. She cried out, a sound lost to the clanking of the car's tires as it sped over the railroad tracks.

Railroad tracks. We're going north, Kat realized. They hadn't been traveling long so they must be somewhere near the river. Where was she being taken?

Where didn't matter, she reasoned. What was her best chance for getting away?

She should never have climbed into the trunk, but she'd been too numb with shock to think clearly. She should have run, screaming, from David's house. His yard was big and surrounded by trees and bushes that would have muffled her cries, but at least a neighbor might have heard her. She hadn't yelled because the gun trained on her was equipped with a silencer. There was no chance anyone would have been disturbed by shots.

Now she remembered an article she'd read when she'd had time to burn in prison. Even an expert marksman had only a fifty-fifty chance of hitting someone running in a zig-zag pattern. It had been one of several tips in a story about what to do if accosted.

She should have made a dash for it when she'd had the chance. Another opportunity might present itself if—and it was a big if—she was allowed to get out of the trunk. For all Kat knew, she might be shot right here.

Running with bound ankles would be a joke. She'd have to hop. Could you hop in a zig-zag pattern? Probably, but first, she would need to get as far out of shooting range as possible.

The car gradually began to slow down. From the feel of the tires, they were still on pavement. Her judgment wasn't the best right now, but she thought they must be just beyond town. There the back road cut over toward the river and ran along the Mississippi until it reached Vicksburg.

The car stopped and Kat heard the front door slam shut a moment later. This was her last—and only—chance to save herself now. Be prepared!

A second later the trunk lid popped open. Dank river air rushed at her, and Kat gulped it in. Fresh oxygen would give her much-needed strength.

“Get out!”

She thrashed her legs, not even trying to get out. They were cramped from being curled up to fit into the trunk.

Bzz-tt Bzz-tt.
The cell phone clipped to Connie Proctor's belt rang. She slammed the trunk lid shut again, but Kat could hear her talking.

“I have no idea,” the woman was saying in the businesslike tone they'd all come to trust. “I went by your house but no one answered the bell.”

David must be on the line, Kat decided. He'd been just as taken in by this conniving woman as she had. He'd even called her to “guard” Kat.

“I know. I kept ringing the bell.” Another long pause followed this lie. “Her car was gone so I thought she must have driven over to the
Trib.
I went there but didn't find her.”

Come on, David,
she silently pleaded.
You're smart. Pick up on something in this lunatic's voice.

“I'm checking at her mother's right now.” Another pause. “I remembered the address from the obituary I wrote.”

Kat heard Connie say goodbye. It's now or never, she thought. The trunk popped open again and more of the Big Muddy's steamy, heated air gushed in. Along with it came swarms of no-see-ums and bloodthirsty mosquitoes.

“Hurry up and get out!” Connie grabbed her by the arm and hauled her from the trunk.

Kat swung her weight downward so she fell to the ground at Connie's feet.