Risky Undertaking (24 page)

Chapter Twenty-four

I never served in the military and so I'd never been posted to sentry duty or a sniper position or what I guess could have been a hundred other assignments requiring absolute silence and stillness. I'd been on a few stakeouts when I was a uniformed patrolman in Charlotte and done similar duties as a Laurel County deputy. But I'd never been entrenched so close to my quarry or under such dangerous circumstances.

My main concern was staying focused and not letting my mind wander. I didn't have a bag of tricks like a trained soldier might have. In the funeral business, I tried to stay in the moment, listening for the cue words from a minister that would move the ritual onto its next event. The danger is I'm so primed for action that I'm listening only for those cue words and not the entire context.

Once, during a service at a small Baptist church in a mountain hollow outside of Gainesboro, I sat patiently on the back pew while the preacher's remarks transformed into a full blown sermon. Suddenly, he shouted out the word, “Undertaker.” I leaped to my feet. The congregation turned around and the preacher's face went red as he backed away from the pulpit. He said, “I'm sorry, Barry. I didn't mean you personally. You'll be there.” Laughter rippled through the pews.

I later learned the preacher had been extolling the virtues of eternal life and proclaimed with fervor, “Death will be no more. You'll see no undertaker in heaven.”

Now, for five hours, I hoped no one would see this undertaker on the earth either. As the time passed, I felt my limbs grow stiff and the ground chill start to seep into my bones. Traffic noise diminished until only the occasional rumble of an engine rose above the river's gurgle. Crickets, hoot owls, and sporadic dog barks replaced the human sounds.

My phone vibrated. To me it crashed like thunder. The screen glowed like a lighthouse beacon.

“Yes?” I whispered.

“How you doing?” Tommy Lee asked, tension flowing through the words.

“Good. Ready.”

“I've got Mack in the car with me. Kevin called a few minutes ago, checking in at midnight. As far as he knows, Tyrell hasn't been back to the casino.”

“Hardly expect he'd keep Danny in his room.”

“He could be at one of the smaller motels with external doors,” Tommy Lee said. “Easier to get Danny in and out.”

“Any word from Wakefield?”

“No activity to or from Luther's house. He and Sandra are still registered in separate rooms at the casino.”

“You're able to see the spot where Kevin will enter the bamboo?”

“Yes. It's a distance, but I've got a clear view. If there's trouble, I'll come in as fast as I can.”

“And Romero?” I asked.

“I haven't heard from him.”

“That's a surprise. You call him?”

“Yes. No answer.”

The chill from the ground was replaced with cold fear. If Romero was AWOL, who would cover Tyrell and Danny as they entered the bamboo? And where was Romero?

“I'll call again in ninety minutes,” Tommy Lee promised. “That's approximately one forty-five and we'll keep the line open. Romero knows that's when we'll merge our phones.”

“And if he's not there?”

“He will be. And you'd best not speak, just connect to my call.”

“Trust me. This is one time I won't hang up on you.”

The next ninety minutes passed like ninety days. I slowly shifted position every five minutes as if I was engaged in some prone Tai Chi session. I would need to be ready to quickly get to my feet and shed the ground cloth, the flashlight in my left hand and the Glock in my right. I was counting on Kevin to leave his flashlight by the satchel of cash so that I would have a clear view of Tyrell. If I could avoid using my own light, then I would be a voice in the darkness and not a target.

My phone buzzed and I accepted the call.

“Tap the phone,” Tommy Lee said.

I drummed my fingers on the plastic casing.

“Good,” Tommy Lee confirmed. “I should be able to hear anything.”

I slipped the phone into the sheath on my belt.

“Barry, I still haven't heard from Romero. Probably some glitch with his phone, but…”

He let the thought hang and I knew he was worried. Had we made a mistake in bringing the Cherokee detective into the exchange? The cards were dealt, and folding now wasn't an option.

The crickets abruptly ceased chirping. Somewhere to my right a twig snapped. I lifted a corner of the ground cloth and peered through the vertical bars of bamboo. The pathway ended in a cool blue oval of moonlight. Glints reflecting off the shore rocks and river were visible beyond.

A shadow moved across the opening. A shadow with a briefcase. The figure flattened against the stalks. Kevin Malone had arrived ten minutes early, maybe to check that I was well hidden, maybe to be in a position where he could watch his back.

I turned my head to the opposite end of the path. That opening was brighter with an unobstructed view of the river. If Tyrell stayed with the plan, he and Swifty would be clearly silhouetted against the moonlit background—not necessarily two distinct silhouettes because I expected Tyrell to hold the boy in front of him as a shield.

“Figure approaching footbridge.” Tommy Lee's alert meant either Tyrell was coming alone or an unknown person was making an inopportune visit to the island.

A few minutes later, Tommy Lee added, “Definitely a man looping around the island to the far end of the bamboo. Should be coming into Hector Romero's view.”

Romero. Who wasn't with us.

The man suddenly appeared in the opening. He wore a dark windbreaker and his ball cap was pulled low on his head. His arms were out to his side at forty-five degree angles. His left hand held an envelope or sheet of paper. I looked back at Kevin. He had moved to an identical position with the briefcase in one hand and flashlight in the other. The scene was a bizarre parody of an Old West duel on Main Street in Dodge City.

Kevin started walking at a slow, measured pace. Tyrell stood motionless. It became clear to me that Danny wasn't with him. Tyrell had changed the rules and I had no idea what new game we were playing.

When Kevin was about a quarter of the way into the bamboo tunnel, he stopped. “Where's the boy, Tyrell? Produce him or I'm walking away with my money.”

“I'm not a fool, Malone.” Like Kevin, Tyrell spoke in a calm, relaxed voice. “He's safe and you'll get him. Here are the terms.” He strode forward, arms still away from his side. “You give me my money that you stole, and I give you the address where you'll find the kid.”

He stopped and waved what I now clearly saw was an envelope.

“How do I know the boy's alive?” Kevin asked.

“I don't kill children.”

Kevin moved forward again, I thought for a second he might rush the other man but he stopped beside me. Tyrell was still fifty feet away. From ground level, all I could see of Kevin were his shoes.

“Tell that to Erin Malone.” Kevin's voice constricted with rage.

“Who?”

“The ten-year-old girl passing by in a car when you gunned down Paddy Connelly.”

“Erin Malone.” Tyrell emphasized the last name, recognizing the significance. “Sorry. I was three hundred miles away in New York when that tragedy happened.”

“Yeah. Playing cards with the Lombardi goons. How convenient.”

I kept my eyes on Tyrell. He was far enough away that I could see him without lifting my head too high.

“If this is about misplaced revenge, Malone, then you're going to get the kid killed. If I don't walk out of here in ten minutes or if you fire your gun, he's dead. My associate is close enough to hear a shot.”

Associate. Like he was talking about a damn business partner.

Tyrell started walking closer. “So, set down the briefcase and back away like you planned.”

We had run out of options and the clock was ticking.

Kevin set the satchel in front of him and then angled the flashlight against it, throwing the beam toward Tyrell.

Safely out of the light's backwash, I slowly rose to my feet. Tyrell's eyes were locked on Kevin and he kept coming.

“The child will be dropped five minutes after I leave you. You're a good cop, Malone.” He tossed the envelope toward Kevin. “And the only good cop…” His right hand whipped to the small of his back.

The bamboo behind him rattled like a discordant wooden xylophone as a wall of stalks crashed across the path. Whirling around, the mobster raised a pistol with a suppressor. I lifted the Glock just as a sharp cough pierced the air. I thought Tyrell had fired a silenced shot, but the gun fell as he threw both hands to his head and collapsed to his knees, twisting toward me. A fluff of white stuck to his right eye.

Then Hector Romero filled the path. He wore a camo shirt and pants and his broad face was splotched with green and black paint. He held a pistol in one hand and a cut stalk of bamboo in the other. No. Not simply a stalk of bamboo. A blowgun whose dart was embedded in Frankie Tyrell's eye.

“I'm coming in. I'm coming in.” Tommy Lee's voice sounded in my ear.

“Stay back, Tommy Lee,” I urged. “You'll spook whoever's watching. Give us a minute here.”

Kevin stood over Tyrell. Blood coated the gangster's face. The dart must have penetrated several inches into his brain. He made no sound although his limbs twitched in spasmodic jerks like a robotic toy with a dying battery.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” Kevin looked up at Romero, more startled by the giant standing before him than the body at his feet.

“I couldn't fire my gun,” Romero said. “And I couldn't let him fire his. Not if it meant Swifty's death.”

I stepped from my hideaway and looked at the body. Tyrell's pants were dark like mine. So were his shoes. The blood from his punctured eye had soaked the thistledown on the exposed end of Romero's dart and run down into the collar of his windbreaker. “Strip off his cap and jacket.”

“Why?” Kevin asked.

“I'm the closest to his height and weight. I'll walk out of here with the briefcase and head in the reverse direction of how he came in. Tommy Lee can monitor me. You and Romero will have to stay here. Maybe we can flush out his partners.”

“Maybe they're going to drop Swifty off somewhere like he promised,” Romero said. “What's in the envelope?”

Kevin picked it up, opened the end, and pulled out a piece of paper. I picked up the flashlight and held it so we could see the message. It wasn't an address. Just four words: “Is a dead cop.”

“He wanted to taunt us,” I said. “Just like with Jimmy Panther. No doubt he was the executioner.”

Kevin snatched the cap off Tyrell's head. Above the bill was the logo of the New England Patriots. “At least the bastard didn't pollute a Red Sox cap.” He put the cap on me, angling the bill down as Tyrell had worn it.

“Help me get into the jacket,” I said. “We must be close to ten minutes.”

“As if you could trust the son of a bitch to tell the truth.” Kevin yanked one sleeve off, not caring how it twisted the lifeless arm. He rolled Tyrell on his face with the dart still in his eye and pulled the second sleeve free. He searched the jacket pockets and held up a set of keys ringed to a yellow tag. “A rental.” He held the keys in the beam. “Chrysler 300.”

“So, someone might be waiting in his car,” Romero said.

“Or is some other place entirely,” Kevin argued. “This prick would lie about the color of the sky.”

I ripped off the ski mask and slipped the jacket on, ignoring the warm blood wetting my neck. “We can't take that chance.” I looked at Romero. “Why weren't you on our call?”

“I couldn't risk answering. And I knew Rooster wouldn't want me in here.”

“Rooster?” Kevin asked.

“Rooster Cogburn. That's what I call Tommy Lee.”

Kevin bent over, nearly choking as he tried to stifle the spontaneous swell of laughter. “God damn, Chief. I don't know who you are, but I like you.”

I realized Kevin and Romero hadn't met, but there was no time for introductions. “Tommy Lee,” I said, knowing he was still monitoring my cell phone. “Call Hector again and this time he'll join. I'm going out as Tyrell. Keep your ears on and keep your distance till we know who's waiting.”

His response was immediate. “Barry, you cut and run at the first sign of trouble. I'm too old to break in a new deputy.”

I grabbed the briefcase, received a nod of respect from Kevin and Romero, and walked out of the bamboo in search of Danny Swift.

Chapter Twenty-five

Walking into the open moonlight was like coming out of a cave into the noonday sun. The river, the shore, and the footbridge all seemed illuminated by a floodlight. I'd chosen to emerge from the dense bamboo at Kevin's point of entry. It was closer to the footbridge and the logical exit for someone who had dispensed with an enemy and could move freely.

I tried to mimic the swagger I'd seen in Tyrell as he'd pushed past me on the casino stairs. But I kept my head down, hoping the camo on my face and the long bill of the cap would cloak my features in shadow.

“Can you see me?” I whispered.

Through my earpiece, Tommy Lee answered. “Yes, but only as a shape. You look enough like Tyrell that someone would need a light in your face to determine otherwise.”

“Where'd he come from?”

“I first noticed him walking down the road parallel to the river.”

“That's Tsali Boulevard,” Romero said.

Tommy Lee had merged the detective sergeant onto the line.

“The main intersection with Tsalagi Road,” Romero said. “There's a KFC on the corner and opposite it is Cherokee Baptist Church. The church has some parking in the rear next to the EconoLodge.”

“There's an EconoLodge?” Tommy Lee asked.

“Yes,” Romero confirmed. “Someone could wait there or in the church lot.”

“Or be in one of the motel rooms with Danny,” I said. “Close enough to hear a gunshot.”

“Keep walking, Barry,” Tommy Lee instructed. “First look for an occupied car or Luther's Cadillac. If you don't see either, look for a Chrysler 300 that's a likely rental.”

“Got it.” As I neared the intersection, I could see the glow of the EconoLodge sign about a hundred yards beyond. One had to be headed straight for the motel before noticing it. I crossed against the light. There was no traffic or even the sound of traffic in the distance. The KFC and church lots were empty. I kept my head down like I was carefully watching my step. Only when I walked along the dark side of the church did I risk looking ahead.

The EconoLodge parking lot was about three-fourths full. There stood a sprinkling of pickups, more minivans, and an abundance of SUVs. Sedans were in the minority and sometimes hard to see between the higher vehicles. If someone was waiting for Tyrell, the next few minutes were critical. I would be expected to know the location of the car and head toward it, not sneak around the lot.

My best guess was that anyone waiting for Tyrell would be parked close to an exit but outside the radius of a direct streetlamp. I walked toward the darkest corner. There was no Cadillac, no occupied vehicle. However, fifty feet away, I recognized the distinctive trunk of a charcoal Chrysler 300. Could this be the trunk where Danny Swift had been confined? Was he still inside?

I couldn't see into the depths of the dark interior. I approached the rear straight on so that an armed occupant would have to either get out of the car or shoot me through the back window. Then I thought of my advantage. I transferred the satchel to my right hand and pulled the remote key lock from Tyrell's jacket. With the Glock and satchel against my right side, I clicked the key with my left hand. A sharp beep sounded. Head and tail lights flashed and multiple front and rear courtesy lights illuminated the interior like a high school football stadium. The Chrysler was empty.

“Frankie?” Sandra Cransford's question, laced with fear, came from behind me. “What are you doing?”

I shifted the satchel in front of me to hide the Glock. I didn't know if Sandra suspected I wasn't Frankie or was simply curious as to why I'd stopped at the trunk. I didn't want to spin around, gun in plain sight, in case she had a pistol cocked and aimed at me. But speaking would give me away for sure.

I turned slowly. The glow from the car's interior courtesy lights revealed her standing about twenty feet away. She must have been behind the church and emerged from hiding when she saw me enter the EconoLodge parking lot. She looked confused, but she held what appeared to be a thirty-eight pistol rock-solid in her hand. I knew I was facing Eddie Wolfe's killer.

Sandra took a step closer. “Whoever you are, don't move!”

“Sandra. It's over. Put down the gun.”

“Barry?”

Immediately Tommy Lee whispered through my earpiece, “Keep her talking. We'll come as quickly and quietly as we can.”

“Tyrell told us everything,” I lied. “Eddie Wolfe's role, the need to stop Jimmy Panther, and Danny Swift's abduction because of what Eddie thought the boy saw.”

“Eddie Wolfe was a god damned fool. He panicked when he heard the kid saw him with Jimmy and the artifacts. The kid knew nothing. Nothing until Eddie snatched him. And then that crooked cop took our money. Frankie said the kid was the best way to get it back.”

“The cop wasn't crooked.” I took a gamble. “We know the money was meant for Senator Eckles.”

Surprise flashed across her face. “Frankie told you that?”

I didn't press my luck with another lie about Tyrell. “No. Eckles got caught in a sting this afternoon. He's singing like a canary.”

“That bastard. If we go down, he goes down.”

She grabbed the pistol in both hands. “I'll take my chances with the money and the car. Set the satchel and keys on the pavement and step to the side. When I'm safely away, I'll text you where you can find the boy.”

“No. You take me to the boy now. Then I hand over the money.”

She said nothing, her face a mask hiding the cold-blooded calculations racing through her brain. I hoped she believed Tyrell was still alive and talking. What good would it do to kill me? Not if she got the car and money, which was the best she could hope for. I was betting she wouldn't shoot me in the parking lot if I willingly went with her.

She inched closer. Her eyes dropped and squinted in the low light. “What's that on your neck?”

“Nothing.”

“Blood. Smeared blood.” She studied the wide, damp splotch running from the collar across my chest. “Frankie's jacket.” Her face went feral and her lips curled into a snarl. “You killed Frankie.”

Her finger tightened on the trigger. I flung the satchel aside and for a split second her eyes tracked it.

Two shots sounded almost as one. The powerful impact of the forty-five slug knocked Sandra flat on her back. My ears rang with the boom of the Glock. By the church, headlights flashed on as Tommy Lee abandoned his stealth and raced toward us.

He braked a few feet from Sandra's body. Bright red blood pooled on the asphalt around her. In the glare of the headlights, I checked myself. Somehow Sandra's shot had missed. I must have been the one who fired first.

Tommy Lee jumped from the driver's side. “Are you hit?”

“No.” I was aware of lights coming on in the windows of the motel. A few frightened faces peered through cracks in the curtains.

Tommy Lee knelt beside Sandra. Mack Collins stepped behind him. The state senator's eyes were wide.

Tommy Lee shook his head.

“Did she tell you where to find the boy?” Collins asked me.

“No.” I turned to the trunk. Beside the lock was a round bullet hole. Sandra's wild shot had traveled in a downward trajectory into the center of the trunk's interior.

Romero and Kevin pushed close beside me. Both gasped for air after running from the island.

“Swifty?” Romero squeezed out the word between breaths.

“I don't know. Step back.” I lifted the remote key, found the icon for the trunk, and pressed it.

The latch popped and the lid rose. All of us peered inside. The trunk was empty.

“Maybe he's tied up in one of the motel rooms,” Kevin said.

I looked at the EconoLodge. A motel was a risky place to hide a boy bound with duct tape. “No. If he's still alive, they've left him in a place they control. Most likely where Sandra knew they wouldn't be disturbed.” The obvious answer came to me. “We only had her word that Luther was the one who wanted to come to Cherokee. What if she got her father safely out of the way in the casino hotel so she could use his house?”

Tommy Lee nodded. “I'll send Wakefield to watch the entrance to the development. But we can't be sure that's where he is.”

“And if he is there, we can't be sure he's been left unguarded.” I turned to Romero. “I know this is difficult, but do whatever you can to keep the press away from here. We don't want news breaking that tips someone off that the game is up.”

Romero glanced at the EconoLodge lobby. “Their night duty man might have already called in the gunshots. At least Tommy Lee's in uniform for anyone watching. I'll call in men by phone and keep it off the scanner. We should wrap this scene and Tyrell's fairly quickly. Even though I agree with Barry about the motel, I'll check the registry just to make sure they didn't get a room with Swifty.”

“Better safe than sorry,” Tommy Lee said. “Then I think you and Mack should go to the casino and see if Luther's there. Mack, he's going to need to lean on you. He's lost his wife and now his daughter. He should hear it from you rather than a hotel employee.”

Collins blinked back tears. “I know. But it was my past that brought Sandra into this.”

Tommy Lee stepped close to the state senator. “You're wrong. From what we heard her say, Sandra willingly chose her path. She and Tyrell were lovers and losers. They created their own desperate situation, and they created their own destruction. It was none of your doing.” He paused, and then added, “That is true, isn't it, Mack?”

“Yes. You have my word.”

Tommy Lee nodded.

“What's our plan?” I asked.

Tommy Lee looked at the Chrysler and then at Sandra's body. “We squeeze this car by her and you drive it to Luther's house. Kevin and I'll lead in my car till we get to the gatehouse. Then you go in ahead. We'll use the cell phone connection again. I hope you'll pass for Tyrell long enough to draw out whoever might be on guard.” Tommy Lee turned to Romero. “You good with that?”

The big man's face tightened. “Whatever you think, Tommy Lee. Just get Swifty safely away.”

I noticed it was the first time Romero didn't call the sheriff Rooster. He was worried.

“Any questions?” Tommy Lee asked.

“Just one,” Kevin said. He looked up at Romero. “Why the hell did you bring a blowgun to a gunfight?”

The question broke the tension and Romero smiled. “In case I was discovered and disarmed. What would be more invisible in a cluster of bamboo than a weapon made of bamboo? It would be like searching for a needle made of hay in a haystack. I had no idea I'd need it while I still had my pistol.”

“Better than a pistol,” Kevin said. “That was one wicked shot.”

“Yeah. Wicked. I was aiming for his throat.”

The 300 in Chrysler 300 was probably some automotive horsepower designation or elite-sounding marketing invention. Keeping up with Tommy Lee turned it into a NASCAR race. The Chrysler 300. The luxury sedan took the twisting roads better than I did. Even belted in, I had to cling to the steering wheel to stay upright. The normal travel time from Cherokee to Luther's gated community in Gainesboro was about an hour and fifteen minutes. We made it in forty-five.

Tommy Lee's car screeched to a halt just inches from the crossbar and caused the guard to jump to his feet, spilling a cup of coffee over his desk. I rolled down my window to hear.

“I'm Sheriff Tommy Lee Wadkins. We need your help.”

The startled guard had short gray hair and a coffee-soaked, brush mustache. He quickly regained his composure. “Joey Abbott, Sheriff. Retired south from the NYPD. Your instructions to notify your deputy were passed on to me. No one's come from the Cransford house since I went on duty at eleven.”

“Good. We're going in. I'm bringing Deputy Wakefield here. He'll stop every vehicle entering or exiting. You back him up.”

“Shouldn't be any traffic this time of night,” Abbott said.

“That's right. So if there is, the occupant could be armed and dangerous. Let Wakefield handle it.”

Tommy Lee walked back to me. “I'd posted Wakefield about a hundred yards from the entrance, but I'll call him up to the gatehouse. Drive slowly and Kevin and I will follow with our lights out. Stop just before you come within sight of the house. We'll park and go ahead on foot. I wish your damn courtesy lights weren't so bright. Be careful getting out of the car. And have your gun ready.”

Abbott raised the bar and we entered Glendale Forest, domain of the cultured, the well-to-do, and a possible killer.

I thought I'd remember the terrain from our visit to Luther the previous Monday. But at night the landscape of moon-cast shadows became foreign territory. Tommy Lee's instructions to drive slowly proved to be a practical course of action. I saw a corner of Luther's house just in time to stop.

In my rearview mirror, I watched Tommy Lee and Kevin disappear into the shadows of a row of fir trees. A minute later, my phone vibrated.

“We're in position,” Tommy Lee whispered through the earpiece. “I'm at the front corner and Kevin's by the garage. Luther's Cadillac is parked up against it. There's one light burning in the house, but no sound of an occupant.”

“So, Sandra brought her father's car here,” I said. “Maybe Danny Swift's still in it.”

“Kill your lights and pull all the way in,” Tommy Lee said. “Kevin, you cover him.”

Tommy Lee had merged Kevin's cell phone as well.

“Copy that. Barry, if the kid's there, you load him in the Chrysler and get the hell out of here.”

“I agree,” Tommy Lee said. “Barry, take it when you're ready.

I cut the lights, unfastened my seatbelt, and laid the Glock in my lap. Then I eased my foot down on the accelerator.

I turned into the driveway and saw Luther's Cadillac snug against the door of the garage exactly where it had been when Wakefield and I were here Monday. I inched forward, following Tommy Lee's advice to park as far in the driveway as possible. Not only would I be in the darkest spot near the house, but I would barricade the Cadillac from any chance of escape.