TACEY DIDN’T KNOW IF he dared use the Suburban again. He fumbled through his pockets to find something he could use to mark it to tell whether it was tampered with—revealing also if someone was on to him.
The crumpled scrap of paper wrapped around the key would do.
He opened it and read the address, then tore it into six small pieces. Each piece he popped into his mouth and chewed to fashion a sticky little spit-wad. Then, rolling the balls into strings, he knelt by the side of the SUV and smashed the strings onto the bottom of each door frame, forming a miniature bridge from the running board to the door. Then he scooped some of the silt from the gutter and coated the strings, camouflaging them. He did the same to the hood and back door. Upon his return, if someone had opened any of the doors to the vehicle, the bridge would be broken and he would know not to use it.
Many questions remained to be answered. Stacey considered them as he passed through backyards and vacant lots. Where had the other attacker gone? Why hadn’t he returned when he heard the shot that took down his partner? And what had happened to the wounded man? He couldn’t possibly have walked away.
He was growing tired. Although he’d slept off and on over the past few days, he was still weak. Slightly disoriented, he felt the effects of the powerful medication playing tricks on his mind; he needed to sleep.
Four a.m.. A serene calm hovered over the Salt Lake City airport. Two men, side by side, walked purposefully down Terminal B. A blonde, buxom woman sat with her back to the corridor. She’d never been to Barbados before, and was a bit on edge, wondering what she’d do on her own for a whole week.
She’d met Bingham in Africa. And now she’d grown too accustomed to his lavish lifestyle. But theirs was an enigmatic relationship. He was nervous to be seen with her in public, and he kept secrets from her. In fact, she hardly knew him.
Still, Barbados would be another exciting adventure in her life.The click of the door made Don lurch out of the bed and grope toward the hall, blinking his eyes awake.
Halfway down the dark hall someone snatched hold of his arm and wrist. In seconds he was on the floor, face down, wrist burning. A knee dug into his back and a hand clamped over his mouth. “If you want to stay alive, be quiet,” a voice barked as the hand slowly slipped away. “Who are you?”
Don was seething. “Who wants to know?”
The grip tightened, the muscles and tendons burned in his arm and shoulder. “I’m not in the mood for games! Who are you?”
“Don Rodriguez—” His teeth were grinding. If he ever got out of this death grip—and if his arm was still intact—he swore he’d kill this guy.
“Is your daughter Christina?” The voice softened.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry. I was told no one was here.”
His attacker at once released his arm and stood up. Don rolled over to see a man as tall or taller than himself, slightly thinner, wearing a long overcoat.
“I’m Amber’s brother,” Stacey said, extending his left hand to help him up. Don, still stunned and hurting, didn’t understand; this man was either a cop or an ex-cop. Finally, though, he accepted the gesture, seized the hand, thumb over fist, and pulled himself to his feet. He didn’t notice the grimace on Stacey’s face. And both men were too distracted to hear the quiet conversation taking place upstairs.
Melvin was beside himself. “Here? In my house?...How did he get in?...Thanks.” He hung up the phone and strained to hear what was being said down below. He needed his rat! Its crushed shell lay on his kitchen table. He’d retrieved it—such as it was—after Don had tossed it out on the lawn. He planned to fix it. Shaking his head sadly, he realized he should never have gotten so emotionally involved.
Meanwhile, a man parked in a dark sedan a few blocks down the street, talked on his cell phone with Melvin.
With the approach of dawn, the airport had grown more crowded. The shapely blond was escorted from her seat and ushered out to the terminal curb. Getting into the back seat of the awaiting Suburban, she was whisked away. She would be questioned and re-questioned until she was willing to tell everything she knew.
Don and Stacey exchanged introductions as Stacey quietly explained how he’d gotten the key, and assured him he would be leaving right away. Don couldn’t recall where he knew the man from.
As the two of them tried to make sense of it all, Stacey mentioned what Christina had told his sister about how she’d gathered up evidence—that she considered “hard evidence”—on Melvin. Don was aghast to learn Christina had been snooping around upstairs, and promised Stacey he’d have a talk with her.
Then it was Don’s turn to share the extraordinary battle he’d been waging against Melvin: All about the landlord’s peep-holes...all about his wild antics to drive them out of the apartment...and all about the mechanical rat with red eyes—the same “rat,” Don was now convinced, Christina had seen in the county courthouse restroom. They speculated that if Melvin had had access to the judge’s chambers, or had listened in using his mechanical sleuth, he could have something on the judge.
Don decided it wouldn’t be such a bad idea for Stacey to stay there with him. The fridge was stocked with plenty of food and Christina’s bed wasn’t being used. He made sure to warn Stacey that Melvin had barged in unexpectedly the day before. They both laughed quietly when Don mimicked the look on Melvin’s face as the knife plunged into the table between his legs.
Stacey could tell he and Don would become friends. They already were allies, sharing a common desire to see the man upstairs behind bars.
“Where’s your dog I’ve heard so much about?” asked Don. “Staying with a friend.”
Soon the eastern sky was light. Don needed to get to work—that
is, if he still had a job. Showered and shaved, he tossed a few things in a plastic bag for lunch and headed out. Christina’s bike lay on the lawn. Picking it up, he straddled the seat. The tires flattened considerably under his weight as he peddled off down the street.
Stacey locked the doors. He took the extra precaution of folding two tiny pieces of paper and tucking them in between the frame and the door at both entrances. Surveying the apartment, he decided that he’d sleep behind the wet bar in the family room rather than in Christina’s bed. He found an extra mattress pad in one of the closets and positioned it behind the wall, gun readied. Soon he was sound asleep.
Don needn’t have worried. Jeff was ecstatic to have him back. Before clocking in, Don asked if he could call his dad’s house. Maria answered. His father was about the same, she said, somehow still holding on. He’d always been a stubborn man; death would be no exception. Eventually it would win out, but the fight wouldn’t be an easy one.
Other employees offered their condolences. “How’s your father?” Rex asked, genuinely concerned.
“Not well. They’ve taken the feeding tubes out and are watching him wind down. I wanted to stay with him but he insisted I come back to be with Christina. He hasn’t spoken since.” Tears welled up in Rex’s eyes. Don wasn’t expecting such a reaction, but then found that his own eyes had become moist. If anyone knew how he felt, this man did. Rex silently reached out and hugged the younger man. Don self-consciously returned the gesture, his hands awkwardly patting the man’s back. He had often longed for such displays of affection from his father—displays of love he knew his father could never give.
“Excuse me.” Cecily had come in to work early. Each man stepped from the other and drew a sleeve across his face. Don turned so Cecily wouldn’t see the tears; Rex was a little less discrete. Sensing what had just happened, she quietly swiped her card and left the room.
Don retreated to the solitude of the mixing shed.
Christina pulled Danny aside. “We’ve got to go back and see what’s in the shed.”
“No way! Not if you paid me a million bucks!”
Christina, at least when it came to her cousin, had become a master manipulator. “I’ll just go by myself then—if you’re too scared.”
Danny was stuck. He’d feel guilty if he didn’t go, scared out of his wits if he did. But if she went alone and anyone found out he was too chicken to go with her, he’d hear about it forever. Then again, this wasn’t just any old adventure. What if Melvin killed and buried them, too, just like he did with his daughter?
“Okay,” he said at last. “I’ll go on two conditions: we wait ’til Saturday, and we go when it’s light.” Then he added, “By the way, we forgot to put the bolts back in. What if he sees it’s unlocked and moves the body?”
Christina pondered the possibility, suddenly very worried.
Close friends and family had come to the Derickson home, each hoping to provide a measure of comfort and support. The viewing started at ten, the funeral at eleven. The mood was solemn. The children, seemingly in a daze, were dressed in their Sunday best. The older ones had already cried until they could cry no more. Austin, the two-year-old, was confused. All he knew was that they were going to church and that his daddy wasn’t home. He strolled about from room to room. Standing in front of his mom, he looked up and asked, “Daddy at?” Dianne had heard the question now dozens of times. She had tried to explain, but he was just too young to understand.
She knelt once more. “We’re going to go see him in just a minute, honey,” she said sadly.
His little face perked up. “Daddy come home?”
“No, dear,” she sniffled, her heart in her throat. “He’s in heaven. We’re going to go see his body.”
The little fellow wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be happy or sad. “Okay, Mommy,” he said, wrapping his trusting arms around her neck and burying his face in her shoulder. She always felt better when he squeezed her tight.
At the police station Barker and his staff were dressed in their best. He had called Dianne to see if there was anything he or his officers could do. She’d sounded tired. She did, however, want to share with him what little information Deek had told her about Stacey’s findings before he died.
After speaking with Dianne, Barker made a second call. Officer Green explained that he couldn’t find any records beyond Oswald’s one-year stint on the force.
It was more than an hour before the start of the viewing, so Barker decided to drop by the city offices to look through their own personnel files. Chief Anderson’s door was open as he passed by, the chief sitting at his desk. “Lieutenant Barker, can I speak to you a moment?” Barker did an about face and stuck his head in the doorway. “We have a council meeting coming up next week and I’d like to keep abreast of the investigation. How’s it going?”
“We’ll get a warrant on Bingham later this morning. We’re still working on some leads on Briggs. I think we can get enough to make it stick. It’s only a matter of time.”
“Keep me apprised. I feel partially responsible for Bingham’s actions. I thought he was the right man for the job. And by the way, just let me know if you need any help.”
“Thank you, sir.”Barker continued down the hall to the personnel office. Chief Anderson was being most helpful. Over the past five years he’d been influential in increasing the size of the force. His recommendation had been the deciding factor in Bingham getting the captain’s job. He’d convinced the council that new blood would strengthen the force. And though Barker didn’t like to admit it, Bingham had helped take the small-town attitude out of the men, making them more efficient–more like officers than friends of the community. As a result, crime had dropped by 22 percent.
At the personnel office he asked the secretary if he could see Bingham’s file. She was more than willing to oblige, but became a mite confused when she couldn’t find it in its usual place. After thumbing through the other drawers, she told Barker she’d have it sent over to his office when she located it. He doubted she’d find it.
Melvin absentmindedly played with the phone cord as he spoke, twirling it nervously and wrapping it around his fingers. “Can you get your hands on a harmonics generator?...I can’t take that chance. I think I can have them both out by morning....I made a costly mistake last night—lost my rat....I can’t, they want me locked up....Good, I’ll pick it up around noon.”
Christina’s mind was far from learning about dividing fractions, the subject her teacher was discussing. Amber had said her brother accepted the key to the apartment, but probably wouldn’t be staying there. She hadn’t heard from her dad to see if he was okay—after sleeping in a house with a killer living upstairs. She knew she’d better return and secure the shed before Melvin found out they’d been inside. She began to devise a plan.
Dianne and the children arrived at the church at nine. She took a deep breath. I can do this, she repeated again in her mind. The hardest part would be seeing the tears of all her friends. She’d come to terms with the loss of her husband—and best friend—at least for the time being.
The hearse arrived. The bishop was there to direct the proceedings. They stood together and watched as the casket was wheeled up the walk and into the building. Bishop Hunt was a great source of strength to the family. He’d even offered financial help, if she needed it. Deek did have a small life insurance policy, but it could never begin to help finish raising the children or see that they made it through college.
The mortician directed the family to the viewing room, making sure a box of tissues was close at hand. Friends began arriving. Flowers were placed near the closed casket. The younger children were being escorted from the room when Austin started in again. “Daddy at?” he questioned. “Mommy, Daddy at?” One helpful friend tried to pick him up to take him out when he began his protest. He let his body go limp and raised his arms up to keep from being picked up.
Dianne stepped forward. She’d promised he would see his dad. “Maybe he needs to say goodbye first,” Dianne told the well-intentioned friend. “I need to keep my promise and let him see his daddy one last time.” The mortician raised the lid on the casket. Dianne picked up the small boy, held him close, and carried him over. Austin watched closely as they approached.
“Daddy sleeping?” he observed.
“Yes, sweetie, Daddy’s sleeping.” Austin’s little hands were clasped tight, knuckles white as he looked on. Suddenly he bent and catapulted his little body toward his father. He had no problem waking his father from a Sunday afternoon nap to play a game; he assumed this time would be no different. His hands landed on the cold,
folded hands that crossed the body at the waist. Dianne, caught off
guard, pulled him back into her arms. His little brow drew in and his
chin began to quiver. His eyes filled with tears as he asked one last
time, “Daddy at?”
Dianne could no longer hold back her own emotions. “He’s not
here, honey. He’s gone to be with his Heavenly Daddy,” she said as
the small boy curled up in a ball and cried on her shoulder. Not a
soul in the room could hold back the tears. Not even the seasoned
mortician, who turned to adjust the flowers.
Stacey awoke after three hours’ sleep, hoping the draw of the funeral would make it safe to venture out. He was willing to be seen for something so important. After checking the doors and determining no one had attempted to come in, he gingerly unwrapped the bandages. The process was slow. It would be harder to wrap it back up again.
He kept Bingham’s revolver on the window sill as he bathed; he wasn’t going to take any chances. Still in a great deal of pain, he dressed in the clothes from his high school days, trimmed his dark beard and donned a hat he had found among Don’s things. After checking the curtains to see if it was safe to leave, he locked the door behind him and proceeded down the street. He was uncomfortable the first few blocks, but soon began to feel more at ease.
Every flag in the county was flying at half mast. The funeral was packed. The speakers lionized Deek as an extraordinarily devoted father, husband, friend and police officer. More than 70 squad cars lined the street to escort the cortege to the cemetery, a tribute to the many friends Deek had made over the years. Every local television and cable crew was on hand.
At the same time the somber congregation began to file from the church building, Stacey was on the other side of town where he’d parked the Suburban. After inspecting the little “security strings” he’d placed on each door, he was satisfied it hadn’t been touched. This would be the last time he’d dare use the vehicle.
He drove to a secluded lane inside the cemetery, parked the vehicle in the shade of a giant pine and slumped down in his seat to wait.
Christina left class without her lunch. With her class about to enter the cafeteria, she told her teacher she needed to return to the room to get it. Sixth grade was the first to go to lunch, so the playground was empty when she raced across it toward the street. The old crossing guard warned her of the dangerous man living only a few blocks down.
Christina felt a rush as she neared Melvin’s house. She could see from three or four houses away that his car was not in the driveway. She felt some comfort knowing she could replace the bolts without being seen. If only her older cousin had come along...
She wiped the sweat from her palms and glanced around, then veered through the gate and ran around back. Her body shuddered at the thought of what might be buried with the sweater.
Her heart was beating fast—then it skipped a beat. There, sticking out of the plastic hasp on the shed door, were four shiny new bolts. Each was secured at the head with a red epoxy, smeared around the hole it went through.
She began to run....