Life or Death (32 page)

Max’s nose has stopped bleeding. He touches it gingerly. ‘My daddy says you stole a lot of money. That’s why he shot you. He’s going to catch you again. This time he’ll kill you proper.’

‘I’m sure he wants to.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Your daddy wants me dead.’

‘So do I!’

He slouches, dropping his chin to his chest, staring at the passing fields and farmhouses.

‘Where are we going?’

‘Somewhere safe.’

43

Desiree knocks on the door of a simple wooden cottage in Conroe. She hears a woman yelling inside, telling someone called Marcie to ‘turn the music down’ and ‘don’t let the dog out’.

A teenager opens the door a crack. She’s wearing skintight cut-off jeans and a Minnie Mouse T-shirt. A dog is scrabbling on the wooden floor, trying to squeeze between her legs.

‘We’re not buying an’thang.’

Desiree shows her badge.

Marcie yells over her shoulder. ‘Ma! It’s the Feds.’

This girl watches too much TV.

Marcie grabs the wet-looking dog by the collar and drags it along the hallway, leaving Desiree standing on the doorstep. A woman appears, wiping her hands.

Desiree holds up her badge. ‘I’m sorry to bother you.’

‘In my experience when people say something like that, they’re not sorry at all.’

Mrs Beauchamp pushes strands of hair from her eyes with the back of her wrist. She’s wearing shorts and an oversized denim shirt that is dotted with wet spots. ‘I’ve been washing the dog. He rolled in something dead.’

‘I wanted to ask you a few questions about your late husband.’

‘He’s been gone twelve years in January, can’t get much
later
than that.’

They move to a cluttered living room. Magazines are gathered off the sofa to make room. Desiree sits. Mrs Beauchamp glances at her wrist, but she’s not wearing a watch.

‘I’ve been taking another look at the Armaguard hijacking and robbery,’ says Desiree.

‘He’s out, isn’t he? I saw the news.’

Desiree doesn’t reply.

‘I still get folks looking at me funny … in the supermarket, or at the gas station, or when I pick up Marcie from school – they’re all thinking the same thing: that I know where the money is.’ She laughs sarcastically. ‘Do they think we’d live like this if I had all those millions?’ The rims of her nostrils whiten, as though she remembers another unfinished thought. ‘They blamed Scotty.’

‘Who blamed him?’

‘Everyone – the police, the neighbours, complete strangers, but especially Armaguard. That’s why they refused to pay out his life insurance. I had to sue them. I won, but the lawyers finished up with most of the money. Thieving scum!’

Desiree listens quietly while the woman tells her about the robbery, how she heard the news of the hijacking on the radio and tried to call her husband.

‘He didn’t answer. When Marcie came home from school I lied to her and said her daddy had been in an accident. I couldn’t tell her what had happened. The County coroner said he died from his injuries. He died trying to protect that money. He was a goddamn hero and they made him out to be a villain.’

‘What did the police say?’

‘They started the rumours. There was never any evidence but they decided to smear someone because they couldn’t recover the money and Scotty wasn’t around to defend himself.’

‘Did he normally make the run to Chicago?’

‘He’d done it five, maybe six times.’

‘Always a different route?’

She shrugs. ‘Scotty didn’t talk to me about work. He was ex-military. When he fought in Afghanistan he wouldn’t tell me about his deployments. It was operational. Secret.’

Mrs Beauchamp stands and pulls open the net curtain. ‘He wasn’t even supposed to be doing that run.’

‘Why?’

‘One of the trucks was damaged in an accident, so they missed a previous delivery. Scotty was due a vacation, but they asked him to make the run.’

‘Who asked him?’

‘His supervisor.’ She wipes a spot of dirt from her cheek. ‘That’s why there was so much money in the truck. It was four weeks’ cash instead of two.’

‘How did the truck get damaged?’

‘Somebody put the wrong gas in the tank.’

‘Who?’

‘I don’t know – some apprentice or general moron.’ Mrs Beauchamp drops the curtain. ‘I work two jobs – both of them barely above minimum wage, but I still get people looking at me funny if I buy something new.’

‘They must have had a reason for suspecting your husband.’

The woman scoffs and screws up her face. ‘They had a photograph taken at a gas station a month before the robbery. Have you ever seen that picture?’

Desiree shakes her head.

‘Well, you go and look at it! My Scotty is holding a door open for a man to walk through. That man was Vernon Caine. Scotty could have been saying, “How do you do?” They could have been talking about the weather or the football scores. Doesn’t mean Scotty was one of the gang.’

She’s building up a head of steam. ‘He fought for his country and died for his job and they treat him like some scumbag criminal. And then that boy went and fessed up, but got ten years instead of going to the chair. Now he’s running around, free as a bird. If I sound bitter and twisted – it’s because I am. Scotty won medals. He deserved better than this.’

Desiree averts her eyes, not knowing what to say. She apologises for taking up Mrs Beauchamp’s time and wishes her a happy Thanksgiving. Outside, the day seems brighter and the trees a darker green against the blue. Desiree puts in a call to Jenkins in Washington, asking for a list of employees at Armaguard, including the name of the supervisor in January 2004.

‘That was eleven years ago,’ he replies. ‘There might not be a record.’

‘I don’t expect there will be.’

44

Moss parks the pickup behind a row of storefronts with offices on the upper floors. He leans back in the seat and closes his eyes, feeling as if his brain has been wrung out and hung up to dry in the blazing sun. It’s his first hangover of the century and he could happily wait another hundred years.

They’ll know by now – the people who broke him out of prison. They’ll know that he doesn’t have Audie Palmer, which means they’ll report him missing or worse. Whatever happens, this isn’t going to end in early release. Either he’ll be recaptured or killed – buried in a forest or the desert or dumped in the Gulf. According to the stories, Eddie Barefoot has a novel way of getting rid of bodies. He hires a portable wood-chipper and has it towed to a desirable location. The very thought of that crimson arc staining the ground makes Moss want to heave.

The big question is why? Why do they want Audie dead? Things would be easier to accept if he understood the reasons. Maybe he’d be willing to forgive and forget if somebody could just explain.

He keeps remembering the way Audie had looked in the clearing. Hunted. Scared. In all their time together in prison, Moss had never seen Audie look flustered or frightened. He was simply noble where others were not. It was like he’d been living ever since Adam bit the apple and Eve had covered up. He could not be surprised or shocked because he’d seen it all before.

Moss looks down at his bare arms. Sunshine is streaming through the window, but he still feels cold. He wants to be with Crystal … to hold her … to hear her voice.

There’s an old phone booth on the corner. He fumbles in his pocket for spare change and slips inside, follows the instructions. She answers on the third ring.

‘Hey, babe?’

‘Hey yourself.’

‘How ya doing?’

‘You sound drunk.’

‘I’ve had one or two.’

‘Is everything OK?’

‘I found Audie Palmer, but I lost him again.’

‘Are you hurt?’

‘No.’

‘Are you in trouble?’

‘I don’t think things are going to work out like I planned.’

‘I hate to say I told you so.’

‘I know. I’m sorry.’

‘Why do you assume I blame you?’

‘You should.’

‘What are you going to do now?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Give yourself up. Tell the police what happened.’

‘I would if I knew who I could trust. Listen, I want you to go and stay with your folks for a few days.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t trust these people and I want to be sure you’re safe.’

Glancing out the window, he notices an overweight man in a business shirt and blue tie pull up in a Mercedes. He gets out and takes a coat from a hanger and picks up his briefcase before walking up the steps, locking the car door over his shoulder.

‘I got to go, babe,’ Moss says.

‘Where?’

‘I’ll call you later.’

Moss jogs across the street and takes the stairs two at a time, jamming his foot in the sprung door before it automatically closes. The lawyer has tucked the briefcase under his chin and is fumbling with a heavy set of keys and a double lock.

‘Clayton Rudd?’

The attorney turns. In his mid-sixties with a potbelly and shock of white hair, Clayton Rudd’s most memorable feature is a southern moustache that twirls at each end like he’s selling fried chicken. He’s wearing a suit that might have fitted a younger version of himself, but now the buttons are pulled so tight they could take someone’s eye out.

‘Do we have an appointment?’

‘No, suh.’

Moss follows Rudd into the office where the attorney hangs up his coat and takes a seat behind a desk. His pale protruding eyes seem to rove around, not settling on any object for more than a moment.

‘Talk to me, son. What slings and arrows of outrageous fortune have brought you here?’

‘Pardon?’

‘Have you sued? Injured? Wronged?’

‘No, suh.’

‘Well, why do you need a lawyer?’

‘It’s not about me, Mr Rudd. I’m here to talk about Audie Palmer.’

The attorney stiffens and his eyes go wide behind his rimless glasses. ‘I don’t know anyone by that name.’

‘You represented him.’

‘You’re mistaken.’

‘The Dreyfus County truck robbery.’

Out of view, Rudd uses his foot to slide open the bottom drawer of his desk.

Moss raises an eyebrow. ‘If you’re considering pulling a gun out of that drawer, Mr Rudd, please reconsider.’

The attorney looks into the drawer and slides it closed. ‘You can’t be too careful,’ he says apologetically. ‘Are you a friend of Mr Palmer?’

‘We’re acquainted.’

‘Did he send you?’

‘No.’

Rudd eyes the telephone. ‘I’m not supposed to discuss cases. Lawyer–client privilege. You understand? Audie Palmer has no right to complain. He was lucky.’

‘Lucky?’

‘To have me! I got him the deal of a lifetime. He could have gone to the chair, but he got ten years.’

‘How did you manage that?’

‘I did my job well.’

‘I hope he thanked you.’

‘They rarely do. When a client gets off he thinks he’s beaten the system. When he goes down he blames me. Either way I never get the credit.’

Moss knows this to be true. Every con will tell you he was stitched up by his lawyer or framed by the cops or just plain unlucky. None of them ever admits to being stupid or greedy or vengeful. Audie was the exception. He didn’t talk about his conviction or complain about the verdict. He helped other prisoners with their appeals and to lodge petitions, but had never once mentioned his own circumstances.

‘Have you any idea why Audie would escape the day before his release?’

Clayton Rudd shrugs. ‘The boy has more metal in his head than a toaster.’

‘I think that’s wrong,’ says Moss. ‘I think he knew exactly what he was doing. Did he ever mention the money?’

‘No.’

‘And I reckon you didn’t ask.’

‘That’s not my job.’

‘Excuse my language, suh, but I think you’re full of shit.’

Rudd leans back and laces his fingers on his chest. ‘Let me tell you something, son. Fate was working its sorry ass off when Audie Palmer got ten years.’

‘Why wasn’t he charged with capital murder?’

‘He was but I pleaded it down.’

‘That was one hell of a plea bargain.’

‘Like I said – I did my job.’

‘Why did the DA’s office agree? Why would they?’

The attorney sighs wearily. ‘You want to know what I think? I think nobody expected Audie Palmer to survive. They didn’t
want
him to. Even when by some miracle he lived, the doctors said he’d be a cabbage, which is why the DA suggested a deal. By pleading guilty we saved the state the cost of a trial. Palmer agreed.’

‘No, it was more than that.’

Rudd stands and opens a filing cabinet. He pulls out a legal folder that looks heavier than a sandbag. ‘Here! You can read about it yourself.’

The file has newspaper clippings from the trial, along with a photograph of Audie sitting next to Clayton Rudd in the courtroom, his head still swathed in bandages.

‘I couldn’t put him on the stand because he couldn’t speak properly. Reporters were baying like rabid dogs, wanting him to get the death penalty because an innocent woman died along with a security guard.’

‘Folks blamed Audie.’

‘Who else could they blame?’ Rudd looks at the door. ‘And now if you excuse me, I have work to do.’

‘What happened to the money?’

‘That’s one more question than you’re allowed. Don’t let the door hit you on the ass.’

45

The Law Enforcement Complex for Dreyfus County is located at No. 1 Criminal Justice Drive – an ambitious address that could be seen as a statement of intent or one of wishful thinking. The building looks modern and functional, but lacks the architectural charm of the older-style police stations and county courthouses and city halls that have mostly been sold off because the land is worth more than the history.

Desiree uses the side mirror of her car to check herself. Audie Palmer’s phone call has been exercising her mind. He denied shooting the mother and daughter but he didn’t beg to be believed or plead for understanding. It’s as though he didn’t care less if Desiree took his word for it or not. He also said that his brother was dead and if she wanted the proof she could dredge the Trinity River.