High Country Nocturne (27 page)

Chapter Forty-three

We placed Mann in the seat of one of the straight-back chairs. He had stopped talking. That “anything you say can be used against you” part can have that effect. Peralta called Eric Pham.

Maybe twenty minutes passed before the knock at the door.

I looked at Peralta. “What about your motion detectors?”

He didn't answer. He already had his Glock out.

The house was still dark. I moved to the window to the right of the door and carefully pulled back the drape.

“It's alright.” I moved to the door. “It's Cartwright.”

He was somebody who could identify and bypass motion detectors.

I was at the door and turning the knob when Peralta said, “Don't…”

But it was too late.

Ed Cartwright stood before me with a gun in my face.

Behind him it was snowing.

“Get that expression off your face, David,” he said. “You look like a six-year-old whose kitten just died.”

I hardened my eyes and made my dry mouth form words. “What are you doing, Ed? Put the gun down.”

“Step away from the door,” he said.

I didn't move.

His sling was gone. His appearance was barely controlled fury.

I felt Peralta next to me.

Cartwright spoke through clenched teeth. “Put your gun down, Mike.”

Peralta calmly drawled, “You know that's not going to happen, Ed. What the hell are you doing?”

Cartwright kept his weapon up, the barrel straight at my chest.

It finally fell together. Here was the “other” from Eric Pham's white board. I said, “It was you who called Sharon to the hospital when Lindsey was shot. Did you send the woman who did it?”

“Of course not, David. I was doing you a favor, sending Sharon to help you.”

I didn't feel grateful. “Then you called me when I was in Pennington's office. It was you, wanting to set up a meet with him. You must have thought Pennington would know how to contact Peralta. I should have realized it later, the way you changed your voice when Peralta called me back, when we were standing in the parking lot. The ‘Apache Mortgage' shit.”

“You're a little slow, son.”

“You were in on this with Mann.”

“No. This was my play. All I had to do was watch the Bureau get tangled up with itself. Overthink and overplan. Try to blame this poor Grayson woman who pissed off her supervisors. But from the first time he talked to me, when I was in the hospital after the shooting at the mall, I knew he was the crook.”

My hands felt heavy and useless at my side. “What does that make you? You're a lawman, Ed. You've served your entire life with honor.”

“You were misinformed,” he said. “The FBI made me into a renegade. The piece-of-shit disgraced Indian. They profited from making me into that man. Now it's my turn.”

“It's only fifteen million, before you fence it! That makes no sense.” I was arguing personal finance with an armed man, probably not in the best mood.

“It's enough,” he said.

Peralta spoke in a calm cadence, “Step away, Mapstone. Ed, lower your weapon or I'll kill you where you stand. You know I'll do it.”

He said, “And I'll kill your boy. If that's the way you decide to play it.”

Peralta spoke with icy calm. “We go way back, Ed. Don't make me do this.”

“Don't make me shoot him,” Cartwright said, indicating me. His finger was inside the trigger guard, on the trigger. My insides were turbulent with dread. I forced it down.

Cartwright kept his eyes on me “You did a good job of disappearing, Mike. Pham doesn't have a clue where you are. But David did a better job of finding you. Now I'll take those stones.”

“He's going to kill us all!” Mann's voice came behind me.

“Nobody's going to die,” Cartwright said. “Mann, you're a disgrace. Me, I've got obligations that matter. The diamonds are a means to an end.”

My fear fell away and an icy calm descended. I can't explain exactly why.

“The fucking diamonds,” I said. “There's got to be another way.”

“No.” His eyes were black behind the heavy lids.

“They're right here,” I said. I slowly stooped and picked up the socks, then stood and held one in each hand. “The rough is inside these.”

He briefly studied them. “Step away from the door, David!”

I stepped aside.

Suddenly somebody spat behind Cartwright. That was the sound, at least. His eyes registered surprise and then the pupils went wide as he fell forward, the front of his shirt filling with blood, and he crashed face-first into the floor.

Amy Russell stood at the bottom of the porch steps, another H&K semiautomatic in her hands. She was dressed in black, the only color being her pale face and the halo of strawberry blond hair in a tight bun.

“Down!” I yelled as I dropped the diamonds. I heard a crash as Mann forced his chair to tilt and fall. My holster snapped as I pulled out the Python and went prone on the floor beside Cartwright. Another spit and a bullet sped over my head, fracturing the wall behind me.

I fired. The big Colt made its explosive sound. Peralta shot at the same time, three quick concussions.

I looked into the snow and she was gone.

Chapter Forty-four

Peralta yelled for me to stay put but I was already crossing the porch in two long strides and leaping down the wooden steps, looking for a body on the ground.

She was gone.

A dark shape disrupted the blackness ahead, moving across road.

My ears still ringing from the gunshots, I was already moving, taking one tree, then another, for cover. But no shots came. Snowflakes hit my face and melted.

The road, in my memory from daylight, was a good thirty feet wide. I ducked behind the nearest pine, but only for a few seconds before I advanced in an infantryman's crouch, adrenalin bearing me forward. The gravel crunched under my boots, then the surface turned to dirt and I dropped and rolled across the broken ground. It was the right move. I heard a snap behind me as a bullet meant for my head hit a tree branch. I saw the muted flash of her suppressor and fired at it.

As the echo of the Python subsided, I didn't hear any moaning of a wounded woman. So I propelled myself ahead with elbows, forearms, and knees, crawling across pine needles and hard-packed dirt. I carefully held aside a branch so it wouldn't make noise and shimmied to a fallen tree trunk. I hoped that I wasn't lying on a nest of hibernating rattlesnakes. For all I knew, the Mogollon Monster was beside me.

Another shot went over my head. How could she be ranging me in this darkness? I hadn't seen a night-sight on her pistol and she didn't have a backpack that might be holding one. Yet I had only seen her for a second. The one constant about Amy Russell and me was that I underestimated her.

Then I saw the white cloud of frozen air coming out of my mouth. I stifled a curse and made myself breathe through my nose. That lessened the mist. I stayed behind the log and slowed my breathing with difficulty.

There was a real monster in the woods. To defeat her, I had four rounds left in the revolver and two Speedloaders in my belt. I didn't have night-vision goggles. I didn't have the Maglite. I had no gloves and my hands were getting numb with the cold. This would have to do.

“Amy!”

Silence.

“Amy Russell!”

“Come get me!” Her voice sounded maybe twenty yards away and all the Southern was gone from her accent.

I looked toward her and saw nothing but empty night. I could make out six feet ahead, no more. It was the blackest darkness I had ever seen. If it weren't for the sound of the river and the snow hitting me like icy leaves, I might as well have been in the bottom of a well.

For all I knew, she was trying to circle back to the cabin. That would have been the smart move. But I stood and descended a rocky slope. Then my feet gave way and I slid ten feet, too loud, and landed at the edge of running water.

No shots came.

The river was about ten feet across here, maybe a little wider. I couldn't see that far. From memory, I knew a person could walk easily across. Unless it was flooding, this branch of the upper Verde was little more than a creek here.

“How's wifey, Doctor Mapstone?”

She was to my right, probably across the river. I called, “She's going to be fine.”

“That's too bad.”

I called, “Nobody else has to get hurt.”

“You know that's not true.”

Was she closer, or was I imagining it? Must keep moving. It was my only chance against someone with her training. So I made my legs rise and I surged forward, splashing across the Verde bent low, both hands on the Python. I nearly lost my balance on the small, smooth rocks in the streambed. Across and up a modest slope, a big ponderosa awaited me. I fell behind it and swept my perimeter with the gun barrel.

“I know all about you, Amy…”

“You don't know anything!” She was angry now. And closer.

The snow wasn't sticking to the ground yet, but it swirled in front of my face. I stared into the night, trying to detect texture and folds and movement in the blackness.

“How can all this bring back your husband and your daughter? I know what happened to them in Calgary. I know what you did to Chaos for revenge. Did cutting the throats of his children bring back your daughter?”

After a long pause, “I didn't expect it to.”

“Your family wouldn't want this, Amy.” I ratcheted my voice down to a conversational tone, tried to keep it steady. “When does it stop?”

“When I get my stones.” Conversational tone. I heard undergrowth snapping to my left.

I said, “That's not going to happen.”

I smelled Chanel Number Five. A pinecone crunched six feet away. Out of the gloom, I could see she was crouched, aiming at me with a combat grip.

Her face was flushed and her breathing came hard from the run, fog shooting out into the night. She nearly whispered, “You can't save me. You can't redeem what happened. You can't even save yourself.”

I had the Python dead on her, both sights lined up.

“No,” I said. “It ends right now.”

“The world is evil, Mapstone,” she said. “You can't stop it. You can't even make a stand against it. I played by your rules and I couldn't stop it. So either kill me or put your gun on the ground and walk back to the cabin with me behind you. Simple choice. No time.”

The Python was steady. So was my breathing.

In the next nanosecond, as she opened her mouth, I took a breath, let it out slowly, and pulled, letting the smooth action of the Colt do the rest.

A boom, a long flash of red and yellow, and the echo of the explosion ruptured the night.

Chapter Forty-five

“You don't get out that easy.”

I spoke the words as I searched her thoroughly. Her knife and backup gun went in my waistband. She stared at me, half disoriented, half furious, but she was in no condition to argue.

I carried her back across the river, across the road to the A-frame, looking like the bride and groom from hell. She was too traumatized to do a saddleback carry. Fortunately, she was light.

Peralta was crouched behind a tree with the carbine.

“You son of a bitch.” He saw what I had done. “Now every civilian and reporter is going to think we can shoot the gun out of a bad guy's hand and never employ lethal force.”

“Shut up and wrap what's left of her hand,” I commanded. “She's lost a lot of blood already.”

Surprisingly, he complied.

She was barely conscious. Her black clothing was white with snowflakes. Her right hand looked like a piece of meatloaf. I pushed her to him and ran into the cabin.

It was as I had left it. Mann was on the floor with the tipped-over chair, still securely handcuffed, staring with hate. Cartwright was lying face down in an expanding pool of red.

I carefully rolled him to his side, then onto his back.

“Tried to warn you,” he gasped. His breathing was coming short and shallow.

“Don't talk.”

He squinted at me as he always did and licked his lips.

“I served…”

“Don't talk,” I said. “Save your strength. We're going to get you to a hospital.”

He gave a quick shake of the head. “Too late.”

I undid his coat and shirt. Both were wet with blood. The exit wound looked eight inches in diameter and had shattered his breastbone.

“My grandbaby…I did this for her. I was sending almost all my paycheck but it wasn't enough. You tell her I served…”

“You can tell her yourself,” I said. “Help's on the way.”

“No,” he said. “Not this time. I was shot bad in 'Nam. They evac'd me. Hot zone. Medic got shot through the head. It's a fucked up world.”

“Ed, stop talking. Focus on your breathing.”

I took his hand and he tried to pull it back. Then he clasped mine, hard. His grip was painful. He stared at me and struggled to get the words out.

“I served…with honor.”

Then his eyes were staring at nothing.

I pounded the floor with my fist and cursed. My eyes were wet but it was only the melted snowflakes. I whispered, “Yes, you did.”

Chapter Forty-six

A week later, Peralta and I walked into the Sandra Day O'Connor United States Courthouse. It was safe for him to be on the sidewalks of downtown again. The day after the events in Payson, the U.S. Attorney had called a press conference to announce that forty people had been arrested in six states, an elaborate conspiracy to exchange diamonds for drugs, and a cast of bad guys in the Russian mafia and Mexican cartels.

Critical details about the FBI evidence were lacking but the television cameras were there to show Mike Peralta as a hero. His robbery had been staged. He was one of the good guys. As if any of you bastards had ever doubted it. They put me on the dais, too. And somehow Chris Melton joined the crowd.

The federal courthouse was a big glass box downtown, designed by a New York starchitect and totally unsuited for Phoenix. The jagged ornamental roof provided no shade and from the inside it looked like the ceiling of a hangar at a third-rate airport. The sun easily penetrated. In the summer, the immense atrium was almost unbearable because of the heat. The starchitect somehow thought it would be a good idea not to air-condition the space.

The result was bugs under a magnifying glass aimed at the sun.

To complete the blunder, the building was entirely surrounded by concrete surfaces, no shade trees, no grass. A special uniform had to be designed for the U.S. Marshals working here so they didn't faint from heat exhaustion.

Fortunately today it was January and raining outside. We were here to testify before the federal grand jury.

After we passed through security, I saw Eric Pham coming down the staircase and quickly walking toward us.

“Hi, guys.” He sounded odd and positioned himself to block us rather than escort us upstairs.

“There's been a change.” He held up a hand. “Now don't go ballistic, Mike.”

Peralta grunted. “Get to it, Eric.”

“Well, there's no way to tell you except to come out and say it. The U.S. Attorney has decided to drop the charges against Horace Mann and not seek an indictment.”

“Are you people out of your minds?” This came from me, loud enough that a marshal started walking our way. Pham held out a hand and the man returned to his security perch.

“I know this can be dispiriting and appear unseemly from where you stand…”

“Cut the shit, Eric,” Peralta said.

“This went all the way to the Attorney General. I did what I could. We all did. But the consensus was that it was better to make Mann take early retirement.”

I reminded Pham that he was going to kill us in Payson and that he had confessed to stealing the diamonds.

“The DOJ isn't sure this would be admissible…”

Peralta jabbed his finger at Pham and cursed. It involved a complaint about being anally raped with no lubricant but he used far more colorful language. He went on, “I used to be the sheriff here and I was working this case under the direction of the FBI. Mapstone is a sworn deputy. Tell me how this is inadmissible?”

“There are national security considerations.”

“Oh, bullshit.”

“Real shit!” Pham did some finger-jabbing, too. “You don't know how those diamonds came to be taken from evidence control. It was a much more elaborate operation than picking them up and walking out. Computer systems were compromised. Tactics were compromised. Operational procedures…”

I interrupted. “It sounds like a massive ass-covering procedure to me. The Bureau doesn't want to be embarrassed again. You don't want to take the stand before a federal judge and explain how the FBI lost fifteen million in diamonds and how one of your senior agents was wrapped up with the Russians.”

Pham stuffed his hands in his pockets. “It's not my call. Anyway, Mann claims he had arrived to rescue you when the asset followed him, handcuffed him, and was about to kill you when the Russell woman shot him.”

“He's lying,” Peralta said. “Mapstone and I told you what happened.”

“You told me the asset arrived as your backup after Mapstone had arrested Mann.”

“Say his name!” I shouted it before pulling my voice down. Once again, the Marshals almost intervened. “Say his name, goddamn it. He deserves at least that. He was in the FBI when you were in high school.”

He glowered at me but gave in. “Special Agent Edward Cartwright, Thunder Seeker.”

“Has his family been notified?”

Pham nodded. “He has a daughter in Southern California. She has a two-year-old, a special needs child. Money troubles. Very tragic.”

I looked at Peralta, then back at Pham. “And the daughter is going to get survivor's benefits, right? And Ed gets a military funeral with full honors.”

“Of course, of course.”

I stared at Pham, wanting to demand that he be as diligent about making that happen as he was in making the scandal of Horace Mann go away. It wouldn't do any good.

Peralta finally spoke. “So the public will never know what really happened.” He didn't phrase it as a question.

“You don't even know everything that happened,” Pham said. He sighed. “Neither do I.”

Peralta absently played with his tie. “So are you letting Amy Russell out, too?”

“Of course not,” Pham said. “She'll be tried in the murder of the…Agent Cartwright. We're pretty sure we can make that happen…”

“Pretty sure?” It was impossible to keep the contempt out of my voice.

“The State Department is involved, too. She's wanted on theft charges in Canada. Based on what you said, the Calgary police might reopen the death of the biker and his family. But we're confident that we will be able to keep her here if the death penalty is taken off the table.”

“What about Lindsey?”

“This is a federal case. It takes precedence. It involves the killing of an FBI agent and the likely killing of the DEA agent, Pennington. We can put her away for life. If the state tried her, the charge would only be attempted murder.” He shook his head and returned his gaze to me. “Why on earth did she do this?”

“I was hoping you could tell me,” I said. “We didn't have time for a lengthy conversation out in the woods. Her gun was on me. I shot first.”

“Goddamned lucky,” Peralta muttered.

“I'm a good shot.”

Pham shrugged. “She told us that she wanted the diamonds to finance a secure new life in the United States. Or in a country without an extradition treaty with Canada if her theft was detected. We found a counterfeit U.S. passport—best quality—driver's license, and credit cards under the name Amy Morris. She keeps talking about wanting options. That's the word she uses, ‘options.' The rich have them and the rest of us don't. Some of her testimony may be of a classified nature, so…”

“I'm not rich and I didn't kill people stealing diamonds.”

“You may never get a good answer, Doctor Mapstone,” he said. “Our psychologists theorize that she snapped when her family was murdered. Not that we're going to let her use an insanity defense. Her methods show she was sane enough, knew right from wrong…”

“She wore Chanel Number Five.”

“What?”

“Expansive tastes,” I said. “Maybe she was never Amy Do-Right.”

“Well, when we sort this out…”

Peralta cut him off. “Whatever. I know you tried, Eric. Don't let her get away. Let's go, Mapstone.”

I felt his hand cup my elbow and steer us back toward the entrance.

“So are you going to run for sheriff again next election?” This came from a marshal. She was female, young, Anglo, and more than a little starstruck.

“I doubt it,” Peralta said. “Arizona's got some changing to do before I have a chance.”

It was sad but true.

That afternoon, the rain departed and the remaining clouds made for one of those breathtaking sunsets that seem from another planet. I was on my way back to see Lindsey but had to pull into a parking lot and gape. As I took in the vivid pallet of colors, the White Tanks revealed themselves to the west, a dark tear against the horizon.

And I knew the job wasn't finished.