Bill Hopkins - Judge Rosswell Carew 01 - Courting Murder (20 page)

Nadine shrieked again, but there
was no humor in this scream. “My God, they’re shooting at us!”

“They?” Rosswell said.
Why had Nadine referred to more than one shooter? Had some of her disgruntled clients paid a visit?

Ollie and Rosswell hustled her to the passage door leading to the house. Rosswell slapped the garage door switch. Before the door hit the ground, another bullet screamed into the garage. Another round hit the outside of the garage door but didn’t penetrate it. Rosswell found it odd that the door was so exceptionally strong. The three of them bolted into the kitchen. Nadine clicked off her oven. Someone was trying to kill them and she worried about her baking. The cherry pie or whatever it was that smelled so good would have to wait.

“Where’s your phone?” Rosswell said. She pointed. He lifted the receiver, praying that the bastard (or bastards) shooting at them hadn’t destroyed the phone service. The receiver had a slight odor of perfume. His sweaty palms would soon obliterate the pleasant aroma. The receiver grew slick with sweat while he waited. Then, a dial tone.
Thank you, Lord.
He dialed 911. The phone rang.
Thank you again, Lord.
And rang. And rang. No one was at the sheriff’s office. He clicked off and then dialed the operator.

“Operator.”

Rosswell told the man on the other end the situation, gave him directions, and told him to call the highway patrol.

The operator said, “Dial 911 if you have an emergency.”

Rosswell said, “What’s your name?”

“Sir, I’m not allowed to give out that information.”

“Operator, I don’t want a date. I want to beat you senseless unless you call the highway patrol.”

Another gunshot slammed into Nadine’s front window, yet it only spider webbed the glass without breaking it. Who puts bulletproof window glass in a house? Was Nadine connected with the mob?

The operator said, “Was that a gunshot?”

Rosswell said, “You’re damned right that was a gunshot. There have been lots of gunshots out here, and three people are the targets.”

“I’ll connect you with 911.”

Rosswell yelled, “You call the highway patrol or I’m going to personally cut your nuts off.”

A gasp, followed by, “You can’t talk that way to me.”

“Operator, I’m going to castrate you and make you eat your testicles. Then I’m going to—”

“I’m putting you through to my supervisor.”

“About time.”

After a few clicks, a lot of static, and what seemed like a century, a woman came on the line. “My operator tells me that you’ve threatened him with bodily harm.”

Roswell said, “Then call the cops and report me. Call the highway patrol. Call the FBI and the Secret Service. Someone is shooting at us. Call the CIA. Call NATO and the UN.”

“The number you are speaking from is registered to Nadine Blessing. Is Ms. Blessing available?”

“Nadine,” Rosswell said, “the operator wants to know if you’re available.”

Nadine grabbed the receiver from him. “This is Nadine Dumbarton.” She held the receiver out so Rosswell could hear the conversation.

The supervisor said, “The telephone is registered to Nadine Blessing. I must speak with her.”

“Dumbarton is my maiden name, which I started using when my husband died.”

Then why was her real estate agency still called Blessing Land Agency? Rosswell didn’t understand that at all.

“Here’s what you need to do,” the supervisor said. “Send in notarized proof of a legal change of name to us, complete with—”

“Listen here, you bitch, you call the cops right now, or I will personally shove your headset up your ass so far that a team of surgeons won’t be able to find it.” Nadine held the receiver close to her ear and listened for a few seconds, then said, “Good,” and hung up the phone. “Woman to woman. You just have to be meaner than the one you’re talking to. She’s calling the cops.”

Three rounds spanged against the front window. None of them made it through.

Ollie said, “Nadine, do you have a basement? Somewhere we could hide?”

They had positioned themselves away from any windows, but going underground seemed like a good idea. When someone’s shooting at you, make yourself hard to find.

“Follow me,” she said. “I have a … it’s what you could call a safe room.”

For a moment, Rosswell considered asking her to carry the cherry pie downstairs. There was no reason not to have something to snack on while waiting for assailants to run out of ammunition. Her kitchen smelled the same as a long-ago kitchen did on Saturday afternoons when Grandma Carew baked goodies. Stress sends your mind spinning in odd directions.

Nadine opened the basement door. “Get down there. I’ll lock this door. Hurry.”

Ollie and Rosswell clumped down the steps, Rosswell’s hands brushing the sides of the stairwell. Fear of falling made him careful in strange stairwells. The walls were slick and cool to the touch. Nadine followed Ollie and Rosswell and slammed the door, which gave out a metallic thud. A metal door inside a house? She rifled through a mess of keys on a yellow daisy key fob until she found the right key. She locked the door. A door lock on the
inside
of the basement door? Why would Nadine ever want to keep someone on the ground level of her house from opening the basement door?

At the bottom of the steps, she unlocked another heavy door by punching five letters on the keypad of a combination lock. They zoomed through the door and she locked it behind them. Next, they scorched through one more door and locked it. They found themselves in a hydroponics greenhouse, exceptionally well equipped. Rosswell had paid attention in all the drug seminars the state forced him to attend. Nadine Dumbarton was the proud possessor of about one hundred plants of White Widow, one of the most potent marijuana strains known to man. Or, in this case, woman.

She fondled the leaves of a vigorous plant. “It’s strictly for medicinal purposes.”

On one wall, a bank of instruments with red LEDs reported the time, temperature (inside and out), humidity, and wind direction outside. Another bank of instruments reported the percentage of each chemical necessary in the water of the setup. A third operated the lights, ventilation, heating, and cooling. This was no amateur’s outfit.

Rosswell said, “I don’t give a crap if you bake brownies with it, as long as we’re safe.”

Ollie, obviously stupefied by the amazing setup, bent over the apparatus, examining every inch. “The solution goes directly to the roots. Good. No more misting. And the lights. Lots of red spectrum.
Great for strengthening the stems and encouraging leaf growth.”

“Ollie,” Rosswell said, “how is it that you know so much about growing pot?”

“This is one of the best set-ups I’ve ever seen.”

“What?”

“I mean, you know, pictures of hydroponics gardens. This is the best pot growing set-up I’ve ever seen. Pictures of, I mean.”

“Judge, we’re safe,” Nadine said. “Those are steel-lined doors. Unless that son of a bitch has an atomic bomb, he’s not going to hurt us. All we have to do is wait for the highway patrol.”

Ollie said, “Frizz has been trying to get the highway patrol down here to help on the murders. No luck. I don’t think we’re going to see them today.”

Nadine said, “I don’t care if it’s Junior Fleming who comes out here.”

Rosswell said, “Nadine, you could be sent away for a long, long time.”

The look of surprise on her face seemed genuine. “I save a judge and

his … his… .”

Ollie said, “I’m his research assistant.”

Nadine said, “I save a judge and his research assistant, and I get sent to the pen because I have a few measly marijuana plants for recreation and medicinal use?”

“At first,” Rosswell said, “you told us it was strictly for medicinal use, which, by the way, is not legal in Missouri.”

The pungent marijuana plants would stone Rosswell if he breathed any deeper. Dizziness would soon set in unless he breathed fresh air. The plants reminded him of fresh-cut alfalfa but with a punch that kicked his taste buds into gear when he gulped in another breath. If he was going to die, perhaps he’d die stoned. Shot while stoned. He could already see that written on his gravestone.

“Recreation,” Nadine said, “can be considered medicinal. If you’re
really stressed out, there’s nothing like a joint to mellow you.” She was beginning to sound like a hippie character in a movie from the 1960s.

“Nadine and Ollie,” Rosswell said, trying to act the sober judge, “let’s concentrate on saving our butts. All we have to do is wait until the shooter gets tired or runs out of ammo. Then we can leave.”

Ollie said, “He’s right, as always. Let’s just relax. We don’t need the cops. They’re too busy elsewhere. All we need is time.”

Rosswell patted the seat of an available chair and sat. The wooden chair’s comfort ranked down there with a football stadium’s bleacher.

“You’re right, Judge,” Nadine said. “Let’s not worry. We’re safe now.”

This was her safe room. She knew how secure it was. Her voice was soft, calm, reassuring. They would merely bide their time. Everything was copasetic.

Rosswell smelled smoke.

He touched the crucifix Father Mike had given him and uttered a prayer.

The pounding noises, they agreed,
came from the other side of the basement door in Nadine’s kitchen. The noises stopped when the asshole must’ve grown tired of trying to beat his way through a steel door. Gunfire erupted. More unintelligible shouting on the other side of the door. Whoever was after them was shooting the door, obviously hoping to knock it down. That didn’t work either. The thought of the rage boiling in the shooter clutched Rosswell’s gut in a cold grip. Giving up didn’t appear on the shooter’s agenda.

“Nadine,” Rosswell said, “are you positive that the door can stand up to gunfire?”

“Yes, oh, yes,” she said. “Unless they have a bazooka. The door’s never been tested before, but I’ll stake my life on it.”

Rosswell said, “I thought you said we were safe from an atom bomb.” Ollie said, “Do we have another choice? We have to stay here.”

Whatever was burning put off a caustic odor. Rosswell placed his palm on the door. Its surface began warming. All three of them coughed intermittently.

“You keep saying they,” Ollie said to Nadine. “Who’s after us?”

Nadine scanned the area around them, as if searching for something. “It’s a manner of speaking.”

“Unadulterated bullshit,” Ollie said. “Tell us what you know. We could be dying here.”

Ollie rubbed his head and his eyes grew wide. After he clenched and unclenched his fists several times, his shoulders slumped, as if the fist exercises relieved tension. Rosswell hoped that Ollie wasn’t on the verge of a screaming panic fit.

Nadine said, “If I knew who the hell is trying to kill us, I’d tell you.”

Nadine’s red hair wilted in the heat. Her face ran with sweat. Rosswell could tell her breathing was becoming labored by the wheezing sounds she made. She sounded as if she were on the edge of suffocation.

A few more rounds slammed into the door. Ollie cocked his head. “Doesn’t sound like an automatic weapon. Guy’s just got a fast trigger finger.”

“I’m not sure how that helps us,” Rosswell said. “Dead by one bullet or ten. Doesn’t make much difference.”

The smell of smoke grew even stronger. Something plastic was burning. They would die from inhaling toxic fumes before the fire reached them. That was comforting. Suffocation should always be preferred over immolation. The advantage of suffocation is, of course, that you pass out before you die. Burning to death didn’t strike Rosswell as having a single advantage.

Rosswell said, “Is there a back way out? Some way we can get out without going through your kitchen?”

“That’s it,” Nadine said, pointing to the door. “This isn’t supposed to be a tourist stop. You come in here and you’re safe from the outside world.” She sobbed. “Ha. My plans didn’t work out so good.”

Ollie said, “How did you ever get a building permit for this if you didn’t include at least two ways out?”

Rosswell had noted in the past that sometimes, when Ollie was under stress, his brain took a vacation. This was one of those times. Rosswell wasn’t strong enough to slap him upside the head. And he doubted if Nadine had it in her either.

Rosswell said, “We’re stuck. A fire and a gun between us and safety. Pick your favorite way to die.” He backed up against a wall and slid to a sitting position on the concrete floor.

Ollie said, “What about the ventilation? Does the system bring in fresh air from the outside?”

Nadine gaped at Ollie as if he’d asked her if she kept alligators in her basement. “What difference does it make if the house is on fire?”

More deadened yelling from the kitchen, but Rosswell couldn’t understand the words. The voice at first sounded male, then female. There could’ve been two people. Rosswell couldn’t begin to identify the voice. It could’ve been Frizz or Tina, yet Rosswell wouldn’t have recognized the voice.

Rosswell doubted that whoever was shooting wanted to invite them to tea. A sustained rattle of gunfire peppered the upstairs door. The smell of gunpowder mixed with the stink of burning plastic, the combination giving Rosswell thoughts of sneezing or puking. He couldn’t decide which to do first.

Rosswell said, “I think he found a machine gun.”

Ollie said, “Maybe it’s a she.”

The temperature inside the safe room escalated, according to the thermometer. Although no smoke was yet visible, the stench of it had increased. The next thing Rosswell would see would be puffs of the nasty stuff rolling in under the doors. Then death.

He pointed to the ceiling and asked Nadine, “You don’t have a sprinkler system?”

Ollie squeaked the mouse squeak, possibly the last one Rosswell would ever hear. “The plants are sitting in water. Who would expect a fire?”

Rosswell said, “There are lots of other things down here that could burn.”

Nadine said, “Judge, you have bullets?”

“Plenty. Do we want to shoot ourselves in the head, burn up, inhale deadly smoke, or run out in front of the shooter?”

Ollie and Nadine exchanged glances, then looked at Rosswell.

Ollie said, “I vote we run.”

Nadine said, “Me too. Anything else is certain death. If we run, we might have half a chance.”

Rosswell stood, put one hand on Ollie’s shoulder, and grasped Nadine’s hand in his other one. “Half a chance is better than no chance.”

Rosswell’s esophagus, coated with bile that tasted of copper and vinegar, nearly squeezed shut. Perhaps he’d die from choking on his body’s own fluids. Only one place where he’d stand in this parade.

Rosswell said, “And I’m supposed to be in front?”

Nadine said, “You’ve got the gun.”

Ollie said, “And if he shoots you, then I’ll take over.”

“And,” Nadine said, “if he shoots Ollie, then I’ll take over.”

Rosswell said, “That’s comforting.”

The smoke increased. The temperature rose. Rosswell made his decision. “Does anyone have any famous last words?”

Ollie said, “I’ve got an overdue library book.”

Nadine chuckled. “I’m laughing on the gallows.”

“If you make it out and I don’t, tell Tina I love her,” Rosswell said. He threw back his shoulders in a gesture of bravery that he didn’t feel. “Follow me.”

Hoping the air close to the floor was breathable, he crouched low, reached his arm up to the knob, and opened the hydroponics garden door. They duck-walked to the bottom of the steps leading to the kitchen. Another blast of gunfire, but still the door held. When they gained the top of the steps, Rosswell drew his pistol and reached for the door to the kitchen. The doorknob was warm, but not hot. There was a possibility he could open the door and they wouldn’t get fried. They’d still get shot, but they wouldn’t get fried first.

“Get ready,” Rosswell said.

Nadine said, “We don’t have much time.”

Rosswell turned the knob. Tried to turn the knob. Nothing happened. “Nadine,” he said, “the door knob is stuck.”

She patted herself down. “You need the key. The knob won’t turn unless it’s unlocked.” Seconds like hours passed, but still she didn’t hand Rosswell the key. “It locks automatically when you shut it.”

“We know that,” Ollie said. “We need the key.”

“The key, Nadine,” Rosswell said. “Give me the key.”

“I can’t find it.” She patted herself down more thoroughly. “It’s on that big ring of keys. How could I have dropped it?”

“Ollie,” Rosswell said, “check the floor downstairs.” Ollie scooted down the steps and along the floor until he reached the garden door. Nadine wheezed, then slumped against Rosswell, barely conscious.

“Ollie, you better hurry.”

No answer. At least Rosswell couldn’t hear Ollie over the noise of the fire if he had said anything. Had Ollie already gone back into the hydroponics room to search for the missing keys?

Eventually, Ollie yelled, “The door to the garden is shut.”