Flashpoint (19 page)

“Filming it. Filming my brother's funeral.” Keaton spoke through clenched teeth.

“Filming
you
at your brother's funeral. There's a difference, and I don't much like it.”

“I thought you were right-handed,” he said, focusing on the pen in her left hand.

She showed him the wrist that was swelling and taking on a bluish cast.

“I thought she'd hit you. With the car.”

“She gave it her best.”

“But you're okay.”

“Yeah, I'm okay.”

He handed her a slip of yellow notebook paper. “I'm going back to the house. My great-aunt's house. This is the address and phone number.”

“I'm sorry about all this, Keaton. As soon as I hear something, I'll be in touch.”

Her mud-stained blazer was draped over the headrest of the seat. He ran a gentle finger down the torn lapel.

“Be careful, Detective.”

He turned his back and walked away, and she watched him until the sound of heels on pavement caught her attention. Sam came toward the Taurus, gave Daniels a look that was not exactly friendly.

He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Word just came in over the radio.”

“They got her?”

“No, she got them. Body of a security guard, over at WKYC-TV in Oxton, multiple gunshot wounds in the back. DB was found near a Dumpster that'd been set on fire. And the station car is missing.”

“Flash, then.”

He took a handkerchief out of his pocket, spit on it, wiped mud off her chin.

“Gross, Sam. Oxton people mind if we come take a look?”

“Said to come along. What about your hand? You want to get it looked at?”

“No. You drive, let's hit the road. Know how to get there?”

“Nah.”

“God forbid you should ask directions.”

The road passed through farmland in a succession of hairpin turns. Sonora admired the locals who could regularly drive the posted speed of fifty-five miles per hour and live to tell about it.

Her wrist throbbed, and she shifted to a more comfortable position, watched the By-Bee Mobile Home Park go by. The playground out front was abandoned and bedraggled—swings missing from the rusted metal A-frame, a merry-go-round listing dangerously to one side. There was only one board intact on the seesaws, red paint peeling away.

The mobile homes were old, rusting, the parking lot full of pickups, Trans Ams, and Camaros. One of the houses had window boxes, but no flowers. A yellow dog trotted under the swings, nose to the ground.

The speed limit went from fifty-five to twenty-five miles per hour. Oxton was tiny—a feed store, Farmers Food Co-op, Bruwer's Bakery, Super America. A small grocery store advertised Marlboro Lights and videos. They passed a Church of God's Disciples for the Lord. Sunlight glinted on Pabst Blue Ribbon beer cans stacked by a yellow sign warning of hazardous curves. Sam pulled over and studied the map.

“It's a small town, Sam.”

“Yeah?”

“So I see flashing lights, as in emergency vehicles. Over the hill there, see? How many emergencies you think they have in one afternoon?”

“No more than one or two.”

WKYC-TV was housed in a squat concrete cube, the back parking lot fenced off with twelve feet of chain link topped by barbed wire. Sonora and Sam parked alongside the street in front of an H&R Block and a Yen Yens Quick Chinese.

“I want an egg roll,” Sonora said.

“Let's look at the DB first. If you seriously want to risk Chinese in a town this size.”

Sam got out of the car and headed for the deputy. Sonora hung back to watch, waiting for Sam to work his good-ole-boy magic.

She put her high heels on, smoothed her skirt, which had wrinkles and mud enough to be attention getting. She straightened her tie and put on more of the dark lipstick Sam didn't like.

Sam wiggled his fingers at her. Go to work, she told herself. Dead body time.

“Deputy Clemson, this is my partner, Specialist Blair.”

Sonora moved stiffly, offered her right hand without thinking. Clemson had a firm grip, and she winced, bit her lip, pulled her hand away.

“Sonora came a little too close to whoever it was stole that car out of the lot and killed your security guard.”

Clemson looked her up and down and touched the brim of his hat. “That so? I'd kind of like to get close to that guy myself. Come on around back.” He motioned to the orderly knot of people who stood talking by the curb. “Y'all move on back, come on now.”

Another deputy appeared and made kindly shooing motions, and people backed politely away.

At least things were friendly, Sonora thought. Saw things were not so friendly around back.

The hearse was open, and the DB had already been loaded. A fire engine,
OXTON VOLUNTEER FIRE DEPT
stenciled on the side, sat next to a burned-out Dumpster that dripped water and foam. Sonora peered at the asphalt near the Dumpster, noting the thick oily bloodstain. She went to the hearse, glancing over her shoulder at Deputy Clemson.

“May I?”

He nodded.

She fished rubber gloves out of her purse and peeled the bloody sheet away.

The man looked like somebody's grandfather, pale blue eyes wide and vacant. Sonora ran her fingers through the thick white hair, noticed that the full mustache was yellow with tobacco stains. She probed the scalp, found an indentation on the left temple. Probably hit his head when he fell.

The body was pliant, only just beginning to cool, but it was heavy, and shifting it was awkward. Sonora was aware that the men watched her. One of them stepped close and helped her turn the body. A deputy. Young.

“Thanks,” she said.

He stayed to watch up close.

The old man wore a brown uniform and a leather jacket that was drenched with stiffening blood. Sonora probed gently, saw two holes on the mid quadrant of the left side of the back. She picked up a limp, heavy hand, noted the gold wedding band, the curly white hairs on the wrist. No wounds on the palms or fingers. No blood. He hadn't fought, or had time to react, which meant the first shot likely killed him.

She pulled the sheet back over the body and looked up to find Sam watching her.

“What you think, Sonora?”

“Hey, he was shot.”

Sam gave her a lazy look.

“Hard to tell with the blood, Sam, but looks like two shots with a twenty-two through the vena cava. He never knew what hit him, didn't put up a fight. Makes sense. She's a small woman, she's not going to want to go hand to hand.”

Clemson opened his mouth, then closed it. “You said she?”

Sam waved a hand. “Deputy Clemson here tells me that the guard called in a fire, then went out to investigate. When he did, he left that back gate unlocked.”

Clemson shifted his weight. “What I can't figure is why he, I mean she, would start that fire up in the first place. Just calling attention to herself.”

Sam stuck his hands in his pockets. “Car she took was parked over on the other side of the parking lot—which is where the body was found, right? She starts the fire as a diversion while she steals the car, only instead of putting out the fire, the security guard calls the fire department, leaves the fire to burn, and starts looking around the lot. He gets too close and she kills him.”

“Why here?” Clemson said.

Sonora waved a hand. “Locals in Donner wouldn't know her, wouldn't know she had no business with the car. And excuse me, but this is a small town for a television station. Seems odd to me they even have a car.”

Clemson pushed his hat farther back on his head. “It belongs to the owner's son—a little prick who likes driving around with the logo on the side.” He glanced at the body, turned his face away. “This guy fought in World War Two, got four grandchildren. Wife's been sick the last five years. This is like to kill her.”

“What was his name?” Sonora said.

“Nickname was Shirty. Shirty Sizemore. That's her, right over there. His widow.”

The woman was small, figure wide and lumpy, shoulders sagging. She had a beaten-down air about her, a wilt that took years to acquire. Sonora met her eyes, saw intelligence, shock, and, oddly, relief. The same look she'd seen in her mirror the night Zack had died.

Another grieving widow.

Sonora leaned up against the hearse. “Still got his gun holstered.”

Sam gave her a look. “What's bothering you, Sonora?”

“I was thinking about Bundy.”

“Ted Bundy? Theodore?”

She nodded. “Just the pattern. Plans carefully year after year, but then something changes or sets him off, and suddenly he's going on a blitz. Taking big risks. Rampaging through a sorority house in Florida, with the cops on his tail up north.”

“Think she's cutting loose?”

“I'm worried, Sam, I really am. They all do it, sooner or later. If this is her blastoff, we're in for it.” Sonora rubbed the back of her neck. “Any sign of the murder weapon?”

Sam shook his head. “They'll go through the Dumpster when the hot spots cool. Sheriff says the autopsy will be done in Louisville, and he'll get back to me with results. And we've been officially asked to keep our murderers up north where they come from, and unofficially asked to be in on the kill if at all possible.” He yawned. “You still want an egg roll?”

23

Sonora went home and took a hot shower before she picked up the kids. She put on a black T-shirt, a pair of jeans, and worn boots, then threw on an old flannel shirt to cover the bluish swelling on her wrist. If the kids asked about it, she wouldn't lie, but it was best to tone things down.

Her daughter clung to her when she picked them up, and even Tim gave her a hug. They kissed their grandmother good-bye, then climbed into the back of the car. They reeked of tobacco smoke and seemed subdued.

Sonora waved at her mother-in-law. Baba watched them from the doorway, cigarette dangling from her lips, her three little dogs jumping and scrabbling the screen.

Grandchildren were exciting.

“What's for supper?” Heather asked.

“Whatever we pass on the way home.”

They rented a movie, and Heather and Tim curled up on the den floor while Sonora built a fire in the fireplace. Once the blaze was small, but steady, Sonora settled on the couch with two Advil, a Corona, and a heating pad for her wrist. Clampett put his head in her lap and licked the bottom of the beer bottle. Sonora pushed his nose away.

“You guys sure you don't want to watch
Witness
first? It's a classic.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Mom, we've seen that movie so many times, we know all the dialogue.”

“Can we make popcorn?” Heather asked.

Sonora fed Clampett a mushroom. “Have to do it yourself, I'm not getting up.”

The doorbell rang, three times quickly.

Tim laughed. “Yeah, right. Want me to go?”

“Not after dark.”

“Probably just some lady with a gasoline can.”

Sonora pushed the dog off her lap and gave her son a look. She turned the porch light on and squinted through the peephole, in the arched wood door.

Chas stood on the front steps, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. He wore new jeans, a shirt that had likely just been removed from an L.L. Bean box, and an Outback hat with a feather in the brim.

Sonora considered not opening the door.

Chas set a shopping bag on the porch, folded his arms, and shifted his weight to one foot, mouth small and tight. Really, it was amazing how much he was reminding her of Zack.

“
Mama!
” Heather's voice was shrill. “Clampett's eating your pizza!”

Sonora sighed. Opened the door. “Hello, Chas.”

He took off his hat, pushed back the straight black hair, silver at the temples. He had broad cheekbones, a dark complexion, blue eyes. “Hey, babe. You didn't need to dress up, just for me.”

Sonora maintained silence.

“May I come in?” He said it with such meek politeness, Sonora felt guilty.

He was good at that, she thought. Giving guilt. She pushed the screen door open, and he stepped through just as Clampett came running, Heather right behind.

“Chas!” Heather wrapped her arms around his waist. Clampett pawed his leg, tail wagging, thumping the wall.

Chas stepped backward, patted Heather awkwardly on the top of her head, then nudged her away. He looked at Sonora. “We need to talk. Privately.”

Heather backed away, chin sinking to her chest. She pushed her glasses up on her tiny button nose, and Clampett licked her elbow.

Sonora squatted down next to her daughter, winked, and gave her a hug. “Go watch your movie, Heather. Take Clampett with you.”

“Will you come too?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Sonora saw Chas grimace. So handsome, she thought. Such a prick.

“Later, sweetie, you go ahead.”

Sonora watched her daughter trudge toward the den, head bowed, dog at her heels. Any doubts she might have had were gone. Chas bent close to kiss her hello, but she turned her back and led him up the stairs into the living room.

“Sit down, if you want.”

He paused by the back of the couch. Heather and Tim had been playing with Tim's miniatures, and the floor was covered with plaster-cast mountains, fake trees, painted archers and dragons. One of the pillows had bite marks, and Clampett had clearly had an accident beside the coffee table.

Sonora sat on the edge of the couch, stiff backed and regal—queen of her domain, God help her. “You want to sit down?”

Chas curled his lip. “You need to do something about your dog.”

Sonora felt her cheeks turn red. “He's just old.”

“Maybe it's time to put him out of his misery.” Chas sat close to her on the couch and gave her a confident smile. It dawned on her that he had a habit of sitting too close, standing too close, grabbing hold of her arm. “You've been dodging me, Sonora.”