Final Justice (17 page)

Ned went on to say, "It could be bad. His old lady called in and said he was killin' her, and I could hear Rudy yelling in the background, and then she let out a real loud scream and the line went dead."

Luke quickly backed the car out, hit the siren, and took off with tires squealing.

Chapter 9

Luke had radioed Matt to meet him. It was always a good idea to have backup for a domestic violence case, but Luke especially wanted a witness because of the bad blood between him and Rudy.

The house was ablaze with lights. Rudy's truck was around back, his mother's car parked beside it. Luke eased the cruiser in and got out. Matt was right behind him, pointing to Bertha Veazey's car. "Looks like she got word her baby boy was being naughty."

Luke paused to throw down his cigarette and grind it out with his heel. "In her eyes, he's never done anything wrong in his whole life."

"Have you seen Rudy's old lady?" They headed for the back door. Nobody in the country ever used their front doors.

"No. And frankly I'm not anxious to see what somebody dumb enough to marry Rudy looks like."

"Oh, come on. Give the devil his due. Rudy's not a bad lookin' guy. Remember how the girls chased after him in high school? That curly hair of his gives him that little boy look women fall for. Besides, she's not from around here. I heard he met her when he was stationed in Florida."

"You know her?"

"No, but I've seen her at Creech's getting gas. She's right nice-looking. Cute figure, and..."

"Just hold it right there." The screen door opened and closed with a loud bang as Rudy stepped out on the porch. He was holding a shotgun.

Luke pulled his holster strap open. "Put it down, Rudy."

"My gun. My house. My business. Now you ain't got no right to be here, and you know it."

His speech was slurred, and he was lurching from side to side, obviously drunk. "I'm not telling you twice, Rudy."

"Do what he says, honey." Bertha Veazey came up behind Rudy and put her hands on his shoulders. She was wearing a faded blue chenille robe over a muslin nightgown. Her gray hair, which she normally wore wrapped in a tight bun at the nape of her neck, hung loose down her back.

Rudy, bare-chested, bare-footed, his jeans slung low beneath his beer belly, shook her away. "Stay out of this, Ma."

"There ain't no need for trouble with the law." Bertha stepped in front of Rudy to glare down at Luke and Matt. "You all ain't got no business here. Now git."

"We had a call from his wife, Mrs. Veazey, saying he was trying to kill her," Luke said, not taking his eyes off Rudy and the shotgun.

"So they had a little fight, and she got mad and called the law. So what? They've made up now, so you ain't needed."

Rudy grinned. "That's right. And you ain't got no warrant and can't come inside without one, and if you don't hurry up and get off my property, I'm gonna blow you away."

Luke's eyes narrowed. "I'm telling you for the last time to put that damn gun away."

"Do it, honey," Bertha urged.

Scowling, Rudy lowered the gun to point at the ground.

"Get your wife out here now," Luke ordered. "She's the one that called. We need to talk to her."

"She's gone to bed," Bertha said.

"Then wake her up, because we aren't leaving till we see her."

"Go get her, Ma," Rudy growled. "Let's get this over with."

Bertha disappeared inside the house, grumbling to herself.

Rudy's eyes narrowed as he stared down at Luke. "I've managed not to have a run-in with you since the stupid folks of Buford County elected you sheriff, but I should've known it was just a matter of time till you tried to use that tin badge to try and get back at me for that fight back in high school. Well, you'd best get something straight: I ain't takin' no shit off you, Ballard."

Luke and Matt exchanged smiles, and Luke said, "I have no reason to get back at you for that fight, Rudy, seeing as how I whipped your ass. As for my badge, I didn't need it then to take you on, and I don't need it now. So watch yourself, and you won't have anything to worry about."

Rudy hooted. "Worry about you? Hell, that'll be the day, and..."

"Here she is."

Luke watched as Bertha shoved a girl who looked to be in her late teens or early twenties out on the porch. He couldn't tell if Matt was right about her being pretty because she had her head down, and he couldn't see her face. She was wearing white capri pants and a yellow blouse. The sleeve on the right had been ripped away, exposing the big whelp on her shoulder.

"Tell him you're fine, Emma Jean," Bertha said brusquely. "And tell him you and Rudy done made up, so's there no reason for them to be here."

"I'm okay," Emma Jean mumbled.

Luke walked up the steps so he could see her better in the porch light, then cursed to see the red imprint of a hand on her cheek. Her eye was nearly swollen shut.

Embarrassed, she made a tiny fist and pressed it to her mouth to hide her torn lower lip, which was oozing blood. He could also see a tiny bald spot on her scalp where a hank of hair had been ripped out.

Whirling on Rudy, he cried, "I ought to rip out your eyes and piss on your brain for this."

Rudy took a step backwards and began to slowly raise the shotgun, but Luke was quicker, yanking it away to fling into the yard as he drew his revolver.

Matt caught his arm. "Cool it. I'd like to blow him away myself, but unless she takes out a warrant..."

Luke turned back to Emma Jean, who had backed against the side of the house, her eyes like a frightened doe surrounded by hunters. "You'll sign a warrant, won't you? After what he did to you?"

She turned away, her tiny shoulders quaking as silent sobs racked her body.

"Mrs. Veazey, please..."

Bertha cried, "She ain't signin' nothin', sheriff, and you'd best go on and git."

Matt nudged Luke. "She's right. If she won't sign, there's nothing we can do."

But Luke wasn't about to give up. "Think about it, Mrs. Veazey. You don't have to put up with this. Just say the word, and..."

Between clenched teeth, Rudy warned, "I'm warnin' you, Luke..."

It was a scene Luke had witnessed all too often with other couples. "If you change your mind, call me," he said to Emma Jean.

He was about to turn away when he noticed the red stain in the crotch of her white pants. "She's bleeding," he said as her knees buckled. He caught her before she slumped to the floor. Bertha and Rudy both lunged for her, but Matt had drawn his gun to hold them back.

"Take him in and book him," Luke ordered, lifting Emma Jean in his arms. "I'll get her to the hospital."

"You can't do this, damn you," Rudy screamed at Luke as Matt cuffed him and steered him to the patrol car. "I'll sue your bastard ass. I swear I will."

Matt shoved him into the back seat without the obligatory motion of pushing his head down. It smacked the roof, and Rudy cursed all the louder.

Luke was already on his way, siren blaring, as Matt backed out of the drive with Bertha running alongside the car, huffing and puffing as she shouted to her son, "I'll go wake up your pa, and he'll be down there to get you out. Don't you worry none. He'll have you out in no time."

"Aw, to hell with it." Frustrated, Rudy threw his head back against the seat. "I shoulda just yanked the damn phone out before she called the law."

"What I wish you'd have done," Matt taunted, "was keep pushing Luke so he'd blow you away."

"Screw you, Rumsey." Rudy jabbed the air with his middle finger.

* * *

Luke paced about the empty waiting room. Emma Jean hadn't said a word during the ride, although he kept trying to convince her to take out a warrant. Otherwise, he couldn't keep Rudy in jail.

He told her he'd known Rudy in school and how he had always been a bully. He said the best thing for her to do was leave him and go back to wherever she came from because it wasn't going to get any better. But she had just sat there, doubled over and clutching her stomach and moaning.

When they got to the emergency room, she was whisked into a treatment room. Luke told the triage nurse he would wait, hoping that after Emma Jean had time to think about it, she'd change her mind.

It wasn't long before he was called to the phone. Matt said Wilbur Veazey was down at the jail raising holy hell about his boy being locked up without a warrant, and Matt wanted to know what Luke wanted him to do.

"The fact that Rudy's wife is being treated because he beat her up is all the warrant I need right now. If Wilbur gets nasty about it, you can lock him up, too."

Luke saw Dr. Soseby, the doctor on call, motioning to him and put the phone down.

"She's had a miscarriage," Dr. Soseby said. "I've got her scheduled for a D&C first thing in the morning to clean things up. Other than a few bruises, she'll be okay after a few days rest."

Luke did not mourn the loss of a baby sired by Rudy Veazey and hoped his wife had sense enough not to either. "I need to see her. She's got to sign a warrant or I can't hold him."

The doctor shook his head. "Sorry. She was in a lot of pain, so I had to sedate her. Maybe tomorrow."

There was nothing for Luke to do but head home, and by the time he got there it was nearly four o'clock.

One of the first things Alma had done when they bought the little two-bedroom house after he got elected sheriff was to have the back porch closed in to make a room for him. She said it was because he would be working late hours, and she didn't want him waking her up when she had to get up so early to go to work at the mill. He knew the real reason was because she didn't want to sleep with him. Fine. He didn't want to sleep with her either.

He grimaced at the sound of the back door squeaking when he opened it. Alma raised all kinds of hell when he woke her up, and he was too tired to listen to her.

The bed was just as he'd left it when he had crawled out of it at six a.m. the day before. That didn't surprise him. The only time she made it up was when she changed sheets on Saturday morning. Otherwise she only went in his room when she wanted to nag about something. Like now. He groaned to hear her coming and quickly dove into bed and pulled the covers over his head.

In a screeching whisper, she began her tirade. "Luke, it does look like you'd try to be quieter when you come dragging in at all hours. You know I've got to be up for church, and once I get woke up, I can't go back to sleep. And how come you're out so late? Who were you screwing this time? One of those cheap hoochy-coochy girls at the fair, I'll bet. Irene Cleghorn called to tell me you were out there. She said Burch went on behalf of the church to see just how dirty it was and that you were there and left with one of the girls."

He burrowed his head under the pillow to try and shut her out.

"I don't know what to do about you, Luke. I swear I don't."

He could picture her dramatically throwing her arms over her head.

"I try to have a decent home. I keep a clean house that you don't appreciate because you're never here. I cook good meals that you don't eat because you're never here. I get up at dawn five days a week to stand on my feet at the mill all day, sometimes six, and Sundays I take our daughter to church, but you never come with us. I'm a good Christian wife, but our marriage stinks because you don't care, and the least you could do for the sake of appearances is try. You could have some self-respect and do your screwing around where folks can't see you."

She paused to take a breath and sailed in again. "You could at least have the decency to think of your daughter. I mean, my God, Luke, we use the same bathroom, and what if you bring home crabs or some kind of nasty disease from those women you screw? Me and her could catch your filthy crud."

In that moment, Luke thought if Emma Jean Veazey were like Alma, then maybe he could understand why Rudy had lost control and beat the hell out of her. But something told him Emma Jean wasn't like Alma, because
nobody
was like Alma. And he sure as hell wasn't like Rudy and would never hit a woman for any reason, but right then he admitted to being sorely tempted.