Breaking Point (25 page)

             
"Certainly. He had me and he knew it. The thought of having my wife, or even the citizens of West Fork find out about my past was unbearable to me. No one, not even Diane, knows of my real parents and the life I lived. I'd fabricated a history that satisfied anyone who cared enough to ask," he said with a sweeping gesture toward the photographs and certificates on the wall.

             
"I found those photographs in a garage sale in Oregon many years ago and they became my family history. The little boy on his father's knee does look like me, doesn't he?" A faint smile crossed his face, as if he felt a fondness for the little boy who might have been him.

             
"I said I was from upstate New York," he said a moment later. "And that I was the last surviving member of my family. Diplomas are so easily forged or stolen that it's child's play, really. No one here ever checked. In truth, when I left California, I'd worked in a small company in Oregon. The pay was terrible but they offered stock in the business and I bought in for as much as I could. When the company made it big, so did I. I've continued to do well for myself, while Charlie was living his sniveling little life, lying, cheating, and trying to appear successful. He was pathetic, really, a worm of a man.

             
"But he was bleeding you dry."

             
"He was." He shrugged. "What else could I do? I paid him and each time he said that was it and we were square. But he always called again, needing more money, and of course, he never gave me the negatives. As frightened as I was by what he knew and what he could do to me, I was equally enraged by his audacity. I was tired of using my children's inheritance to keep the little bastard in designer clothes." He spun his chair away from me and stared out the window. "In March, I told him I was running low on liquid assets and it sounded like this time he might just take his profit and leave me alone. But in April, he called again."

             
"What happened the night of April nineteenth? Did you meet him that night?" I continued to speak softly and slowly, as I imagined a counselor might.

             
"Yes." His voice was flat. "We met at the dam in Coralville. Usually he just came here for his money, but once before he'd wanted me to bring it to him. I think he just liked to rub in the fact that he could control me. We were supposed to meet at ten, but I had a meeting and couldn't get down there until later, so it was almost eleven when I pulled in. I knew the area around the dam pretty well. Diane and I had taken the kids camping down there."

             
He'd been speaking to the windows but swung the chair around again to face me. He looked as defeated as I'd ever seen a man look; sadness hung on his face like a weight. Now that I knew about the baby, I posed the second question that I'd come here to ask.

             
"What happened that night at the dam?"

             
"I didn't kill him, if that's what you thought," he said. "His car was already there when I arrived. There weren't any other cars around that late in the evening, and it isn't an area that's heavily patrolled. Wilson was standing, or rather leaning on his car, smoking a cigarette and he walked over to meet me when I got out. He'd been drinking and I could smell it on him. I gave him the cash and told him this was definitely the last payment." The mayor raised himself up again and stepped behind his chair, resting his hips on the wide window sill.

             
"I gave him fifteen thousand. He'd demanded fifty again, but I was running out of cash, as I'd told him. I said this was the last time I was paying and that he could go find another patsy to drain. I said I just couldn't do it anymore." The dark eyes bore into mine as he said, "I told him if he ever showed up anywhere near me or my family again, I'd kill him. I meant it, too. I was through with Charlie Wilson and I fully intended to kill him if he came back." He paused. "I never got the chance, though. Instead, I read about his death in the paper a few days later."

             
"And then I showed up," I offered.

             
"Then you showed up." I watched him as he paced back and forth along the wall behind his desk. "I'd thought it was over. With Charlie dead, I was safe. When you came here, I couldn't believe it. I knew you would find out. I started trying to save myself. I felt like it was all coming apart. My carefully arranged life was unraveling, spiraling out of control," he said, shaking his head. "I broke into your office to try to find the negative. I thought if I destroyed that, it would be over. But, the negative wasn't there, or, if it was I didn't find it. Last week I became an arsonist, still trying to eliminate that damned negative."

             
"So you were the one who set fire to Wilson's house." It was a statement.

             
"At the time, it seemed like a viable option. I realized afterwards that I couldn't continue in that way of thinking." He laughed a small snorting noise. "I'd even made airline reservations to fly out to California. I'd taken his parents' address from your office and I was going to go to their house. I was afraid they had more copies of that picture. I can't believe now that I did that. It hit me all of a sudden that I was considering killing both those people. What, I asked myself, was next? Was I going to run over and murder Sister Alex and any of the others who knew about the incident?"

             
"But you did threaten Charlie that night at the dam?"

             
"I did. I think I would have really killed the little bastard, too. But he was still alive when I left him. He was leaning back against the door of his car when I pulled out. The woman got out of the driver's side and went over to him as I drove off. I saw her in the rearview mirror."

             
"Woman?" My mouth must have dropped open. "There was a woman there with him? What woman?"

             
He was looking down at the framed pictures of his wife and children. Slowly, he ran one finger across the top of the Christmas photograph of his family that he'd shown me on my last visit. "I never heard her name," he said absently. "She was his wife or girlfriend, I guess. She was in the car the other time I met him at the dam, but I never spoke to her. It's funny. When I read about his death, it crossed my mind that maybe she killed him. But who could I tell?" He shrugged. "And why should I care?"

             
"What did she look like?" I asked anxiously.

             
His voice had taken on a flat, disinterested tone, as if he were listening to something else as he spoke and not really paying attention to his words. "Dark hair, taller than Wilson. She looked thin, but not skinny."

             
I couldn't believe it. It was possible, but I still couldn't believe it. I had to get to a phone and call Iris Wilson. Picturing the phone on Anne Gable's desk, I instinctively turned to the door. In that split second, I heard the creak of wood on wood and realized what Petrick was about to do. As I came off the chair, I screamed, "Wait!" at the top of my voice. He had the window all the way open and was straddling the window sill, his left leg already outside the building. I yelled his name and grabbed one of the snow scenes from the edge of his desk. He turned and looked at me; his face pale, the eyes saddened by defeat.

             
"It was a boy," he said flatly. "The baby was my son. Did I tell you that?" He shifted his weight a little. "Tell Diane that I'm sorry. Tell my family I love them."

             
In one motion, I lunged over the desk as I hurled the glass scene at him, hoping to startle or maybe daze him long enough for me to grab him. It glanced harmlessly off his right shoulder and crashed to the floor, as Mayor Petrick, without another word, threw himself from the fourth floor to the pavement below.

             
Responding to my scream, Anne Gable had rushed in. As her boss disappeared from view, her shrieks filled the room. I ran past her and through the open door, shouting to her over my shoulder, "Call nine-one-one!”

Chapter 27

              I bypassed the elevator and shot through the door marked 'Stairs,' swinging around the landings with one hand on the iron rail. From inside the lobby I could hear the distant wail of sirens No one tried to stop me as I raced across the marble floor and pushed through the brass doors to the street. As I ran, I opened my cell phone and hoped the battery was holding out. I'd forgotten to bring the charger or an extra battery and the calls from California had taken their toll. The battery light indicated that the charge was very low but still functional.

             
In the car, I searched the pockets of my pants and finally drew out a couple of candy wrappers and the scrap of paper with Gary Omar's telephone number on it. I tapped out the digits on the keypad and after four rings, heard Omar's voice as his answering machine clicked on. I left my cell phone number and asked Iris to call me immediately. I hastily keyed in my home number but hung up when I heard the sound of my own voice on the machine. Damn. I didn't want to kill the battery by trying him again. If only Iris would call me back soon, while my phone was still operational.

             
Making a U-turn, I pushed the accelerator to the floor and took off toward Oak Grove, where my best friend was probably spending the day with a tall athletic brunette. Suddenly snow began to appear on the windshield, the same icy pellets that had become a common sight the past month. I turned on the wipers and twisted the defroster into service. Ahead of me, a white sheen covered the road, obliterating the lane markers within a few minutes. I was only a couple of miles from Oak Grove when my phone tweeted softly. I quickly pressed it into service. It was Iris. I explained that I had to talk fast because my battery was almost gone.

             
"The woman you caught Charlie with, in February," I said. "Do you know her name?"

             
"No. I'm sorry, but it was just a phone call I happened to overhear. I never asked her name. I didn't really care."

             
She apologized. I said it was all right and was about to shut the phone off when she remembered something. "It may have been the same woman who was arguing with him at his apartment when I dropped off some legal papers, though. That was the first part of April. She was pretty loud and I heard him tell her to calm down. When he came to the door, he held it so I couldn't see inside but I'd heard him call her something like Mel or maybe Mal. Does that ...."

             
The phone suddenly died, but I'd heard all I needed. It was her, then. Melanie Goodwin hadn't broken off with Charlie Wilson two years ago as she'd told me the night we'd met. She'd still been seeing him in April and had accompanied him to the dam the night he died. If he was as drunk as Petrick had said he was, it wouldn't have taken much to get him into that water. I could picture a couple of ugly scenarios for that night at the dam and none of them showed Melanie Goodwin in a particularly flattering light. It scared the hell out of me. I pushed the Explorer a little harder and hoped I'd find Woody walking back from French's with a supply of beer and chips for an evening in front of the TV.

             
There aren't many traffic lights around Oak Grove, just a couple of four way stop signs at a the few places where the highway intersects with the town's streets.  I hit the brake and slid around the corner from Highway 965 and onto Western Avenue. I was running on adrenaline now and hadn't even formed a plan of action. I just wanted to make sure that Wood was safe and then we'd deal with Miss Melanie Goodwin and her part in all of this. When I'd made the turn north onto Main Street and was a block away from home, I could see that my car was in the lot. I breathed a sigh of relief and brought the Explorer to a halt beside it.

             
The door was locked so I used my key and called out to Woody as I went in. There was no answer, but a light was on in my office on the other side of the divider. I flipped the hinged section upward and stepped through, letting the heavy wooden section slam backwards onto the countertop. The desk lamp was switched on and there was a sticky sheet pasted to the shade. I pulled it free with a gloved hand and read it under the lamp. "Rudy," he'd written," Mel and I took her GPD and a couple of her pistols and rifles down to the cabin to hike around and do some target shooting. Later." It was signed with his name and the time he'd written it, twelve thirty. Beneath the time, he'd penned a P.S. "Hey, guess what counselor Tucker was assigned to at the center...Caroline." I read that part over three times until it sunk in. Caroline was my nephew's counselor. Well, she'd told me she had a Master's in psychology, so she should know what she was doing. Anyway, I knew he was in good hands. The problem was that a jolt of hot jealousy had run through me when I'd read the message. I envied my nephew the kindness, consideration, and mostly the attention, that I knew he was getting from Caroline...er...Sister Grace, I quickly corrected my thoughts. Whatever, I still was jealous and pissed off at myself because of it. "Oh, crap," I said to the empty room, and tossed the note onto my desk.

             
Near the lamp, at the edge of the circle of light, lay Woody's cellular phone. He must have laid it down while he scribbled the message, and then forgotten to pick it back up. I couldn't even call him.

             
I checked my watch. It was close to six o'clock. It would have taken them almost two hours to get up to the cabin, so they'd have been there by two thirty or so. Several possibilities, all bad, raced around in my mind. I shook my head to try to clear it. Hurrying to my bedroom, I changed my clothes, pulling on thermal underwear, heavy socks, a flannel shirt and a sweater over that. I buckled on the holster, filled the chambers of my .38 and snapped it into the leather holder. I shoved the box of shells in my pocket. At the back of the same drawer, I located a flashlight, checked the batteries, and put it in my coat pocket. I ran back to the office and clipped a charged battery into the back of the cellular phone. Looking quickly around the room, I tried to think of something else I might need. My penknife was on the desk and I took that, too. Nothing else came to mind, so I tucked my scarf over my chest, grabbed my gloves, zipped the parka and ran out.

             
Exiting my lot onto Pine Street, I drove by the police station. There were no cars in front, so both patrolmen must have been out. Sometimes, with the limited manpower available, the officers let the state or county 911 take the calls and just stayed on the streets, especially after dark or in bad weather. I called 911 and left a message for Bill Felton or Sue Haggerty to call me if either was available.

             
The snowplows were already actively clearing the highway and throwing a mixture of salt and sand onto the road. I knew that in the Explorer I'd be able to keep moving. The four wheel drive, though, didn't make stopping any easier than in any other car. It was a fact that I didn't want driven home by experience. There wasn't a lot of traffic out tonight though, so I was able to keep a decent distance between the Explorer and the other cars braving the snow.

             
As I passed by Iowa City and drove farther south on 218 toward Keokuk, the snowflakes became larger and made little splashes where they melted on the warm windshield. There was more snow on the highway here also, as the fluffier stuff piled up much faster than the icy pellets I'd seen near Oak Grove. I didn't see any signs of snowplows or salt trucks here though, and was soon forced to slow down with the flow of traffic.

             
In the thick snow, I almost missed the turnoff to Upper Bridal Road, and would have if I hadn't remembered approximately how far it was past the gas station. The Explorer climbed right up the snow covered grade with no problem. It was going so well that I decided to go ahead and take it right up closer to the cabin. The sharp turn onto the rutted road was a little tricky, as it was a narrow opening and there were still a lot of slippery leaves beneath the covering of snow. I slowed enough to get around and was soon creeping along the same road that Woody and I had walked up a few days before. There were no tire marks visible, but if they'd arrived several hours earlier, the tracks would be covered by now anyway. I had just arrived at the clearing where Charlie Wilson had burned the cabin, when my phone tweeted at me. I pressed the send key, but it was all static. Stopping the car, I turned the engine off and stepped out into the snowstorm. An immense tree, or at least the lower fifteen feet of what had been one, stood near the car's front fender. I huddled out of the direct wind, between the tall stump and the Explorer, yelling into the phone.

             
"Hello, hello," I shouted into the mouthpiece. The static cleared and I could hear a woman's voice.

             
"Rudy, it's Sue Haggerty of the Oak Grove Police." She was shouting. "I got your message. What's up?"

             
I briefly filled her in while the frigid wind blew snow around me with a vengeance. I didn't have time for a lot of details, and just gave her the basics of where I was and the probability that Melanie was involved in Wilson's death. I told Sue that Mel was with Woody, maybe somewhere up here. It sounded crazy, even to me. Apparently it didn't sound any more sensible or ominous on Sue's end of the line.

             
"So what do you want us to do?" she asked. "You don't even know where she is or if your friend is really in danger. What if we go tearing up there and they're cuddled up in front of a warm fire, then what?"

             
I had to agree with her there. "Well, you wanted to be filled in," I said, "and that's as much as I know right now." I'd be damned if I was going to stand there and freeze my ass off while I told her all the details. She wouldn't know anything about the Petrick scheme at all, and that was way too complicated for this conversation. "Listen," I said. "I'll keep you posted." I turned the phone off without waiting for her reply. The hell with it. I'd just keep going until I had it cleared up, at least in my own mind. I tossed the phone onto the car seat and climbed in behind it. Before I could turn the key in the ignition, a snowball hit the passenger side of the windshield. It was followed almost immediately by the high whine of a bullet cutting through the darkness and zipping over the roof of the car.

             
Turning the headlights off, I opened the door and jumped to the ground. I lay belly down on the snow, my face under the side of the Explorer. Reaching a gloved hand over my head, I softly pushed the door to the first stop, so the interior light would go out. Another snowball was lobbed over the car and came to rest in the small of my back. At the same time, I heard a hissing sound.

             
"Ssssst...Rude...Sssst. Over here, in the ditch." It was Woody. I started to get to my feet. A loud SNAP cracked in the night and I could feel the vibration as a bullet drove a black hole into the door above me. I hit the ground again and scuttled forward, under the safety of the car's frame.

             
From ahead of me, somewhere on the other side of the Explorer, I could hear Woody's voice again. It was just above a whisper and barely audible in the near gale force winds. "She's nuts, Rude." His voice was strained and I thought he might be hurt. "She tried to kill me and she's gonna try for you, too. She killed Wilson."

             
I crawled farther under the chassis of the car and extended my head beyond its protection. "Are you hit?" I hissed.

             
"A little bit, yeah. She got me in the leg when I took off. She's up there in the trees around the cabin someplace. She's looking for me, but I grabbed a gun when I ran out, so she's afraid to come too close." I heard the rustle of movement and he groaned softly. I wriggled forward until I'd emerged on the other side of the Explorer. For a second, I was lying on the road, then quickly I rolled into the ditch. I heard the crack of rifle fire again, followed by the hissing of released air, as both tires on the other side of the car were flattened. Slowly, the Explorer began to lean to one side. The snow continued to fall softly in the silent forest, as I crawled toward the sound of my friend's voice.