Bill Hopkins - Judge Rosswell Carew 02 - River Mourn (27 page)

Now
can we go rescue
Tina?” Rosswell drew his gun, found it fully loaded,
then checked his cell phone, found it fully charged. He hit a new speed dial
number. “Ollie, meet us at Jill’s house. The game’s afoot, Watson. Bring the
Gold King’s collection.” He clicked off.

“Judge?” Jim Bill looked from Rosswell to Alessandra,
then back again.

“What?”

“What’s with the Sherlock Holmes stuff?”

“You’ll have to trust me.”

“You’re putting me in a bad position.”

Rosswell thumped an index finger into Jim Bill’s chest
with every word. “I’m going to get Tina. After I do that, then you can arrest
me.” He dashed from the parlor, rushed down the hallway, zoomed out the front
door, then leaped into Sofia. The car started. “Yes!”

Jim Bill, sweat rolling down his face, appeared at the
driver’s side and placed a hand on the door handle. “We don’t have that one
last piece of information. I can’t let you do this.” His tone of voice
indicated that negotiation was out of the question.

“Let me do what?”

“Go barrel assing into a private citizen’s house with
a gun on a suspicion that you’re going to find Tina.”

“A suspicion? Alessandra didn’t see herself in that
bedroom. She saw Tina. Stand back. I need to rescue a woman.”

Alessandra, who’d followed the men out, caught Rosswell’s
attention. “How do you know who I saw?”

“You’re not pregnant but Tina is.”

“I didn’t see Tina.”

Rosswell cut off Sofia. He stared toward the river,
then across the street to the park. The sun settled in behind the bluffs. Night
birds cooed. A whippoorwill started his love call. The lights would soon
flicker on in the park. He got out of the car.

Alessandra looked as though she’d lost all her
nervousness. Jim Bill remained solid and silent. Now it was Rosswell who
sweated in the humid evening. He put a fist to his forehead. Something had to
convince Jim Bill and Alessandra that Tina was in the house. The missing piece
of information wouldn’t come from Alessandra alone. He had a part in revealing
the important link.

Then he remembered. Christmas!
Rosswell fixed
his eyes on his phone, punched a few keys, swiped the screen. After reviewing
his findings, he laid the phone face down on Sofia’s roof, hoping the heat of
the car wouldn’t melt the phone. “Alessandra, tell me what the pregnant woman
was wearing.”

“A white dress. Kind of a shift. Real simple.”

“What else?”

“Nothing else. She was lying on the bed asleep.”

“Underwear? Bra? Panties?”

“Rosswell, she was completely covered.”

“No blanket over her?”

“No.”

“Shoes?”

“She didn’t have on shoes.”

“Was she lying on her back, her side, or her stomach?”

Alessadra touched her lips a few times. “On her back.”

“Was she wearing glasses?”

“No.”

“Do you wear glasses?”

“Reading glasses. Sometimes when I read in bed, I go
to sleep with my glasses on.”

“Did she have any rings?”

Alessandra thought a moment before she answered. “No.”

“Earrings?”

“No. I’m sure of that. I always notice other women’s
earrings.”

“Bracelet?”

“Yes, she had a…no…no bracelet.”

“Watch, maybe?”

“No. Nothing on her wrists. There wasn’t a clock in
the room either.”

“Anything else about her?”

Obviously replaying the whole scene in her head,
Alessandra held up two fingers, then put one finger down. “One thing.”

“What was it?”

“A necklace.”

“What color?”

“Bronze. Or brass.”

“What did the necklace look like?”

“She was wearing a chain with a cross. Not a regular
cross.”

Jim Bill said, “What kind of cross was it?”

“One like you’d see in Europe on an old church.”

Rosswell dug in his car until he found a legal pad and
ballpoint pen. “Can you draw it?”

Alessandra took the pen and paper and sketched a cross
with a broad ring around the intersection of the upright and the crossbar.

Jim Bill eyed the sketch. “Celtic cross. I’ve seen
those on Presbyterian churches.”

“Thank you, Jim Bill and Alessandra. You’ve both
confirmed that Tina was in that room. I bought Tina a gold necklace last year
at Christmas. A Celtic cross. I gave it to her on one of our trips to the
Southern Hotel.” He plucked his phone off the car’s roof and tapped it a couple
of times to dismiss the screen saver before he showed it to them. “Here’s a
picture of her wearing it.”

Alessandra’s eyes grew wide. “That’s it. You’re right,
Judge Carew. I didn’t see myself. I saw Tina.”

Jim Bill issued a caution. “We still don’t know for
sure that Tina is in there.” He sucked in a deep breath. “But, Judge, we’d
better go meet Ollie.”

Alessandra stuck a palm out close to Jim Bill’s face. “Not
without me you don’t.”

In the full dark, Ollie stood waiting in Jill’s yard.
Rosswell pulled up in Sofia, Jim Bill and Alessandra in the Crown Vic. The
remnants of the wildfire stunk up the area.

Ollie stared at Alessandra. “You’re a cop. I can smell
cops.”

Alessandra made no comment.

“She’s no cop.” Jim Bill fetched his silver-body
Colt .45 and began strapping it on. “You’re mistaken.”

“Sure. What was I thinking?” Ollie watched until Jim
Bill finished. “Excuse me, Officer Evans, but Rosswell asked me to bring these.”
Butt-first, he handed two pistols to Jim Bill, which he took and examined under
the glare of his headlights. The moon and stars offered no help as they were
hidden by a bank of thick clouds.

“Where the hell did you get these?”

Ollie pouted. “They’re legal.”

“And expensive. These are Colt 1911s.”

“Judge Carew cares enough to buy the very best.”

Rosswell skirted around the questions without actually
giving too much detail. “Jim Bill, I solemnly promise you that those pistols
will be at the bottom of the Mississippi River when this is over. Either that
or I’ll be at the bottom of the river.”

“I can’t let you use these.” Jim Bill opened his trunk
and unlocked his gun safe. “You could kill a lot of people with these guns.”
Over his shoulder, he stared at Rosswell. “Your .38.” Rosswell handed it over.

Alessandra proffered a plastic card, similar to a
driver’s license. “Take a look at this.”

Jim Bill examined the card. “Congratulations. You have
a concealed carry permit. You’re still not using one of these.” He locked the guns
in the safe and slammed the trunk lid.

Ollie stood in front of Rosswell and hung his head. “Sorry.
I tried.”

“You did your best. We’ve got to follow the law.”

“Yes.” Ollie sighed. “The law must be followed.”

Jim Bill began his instructions. “All three of you are
going to stay right here while I go talk to Nathaniel about the fire which came
close to his place of business. I want to protect our citizens. That duty
requires me to investigate.”

“That’s right.” Rosswell spoke in a conciliatory tone.
“We’ll stand right here and wait for you to get back.”

“It won’t take me more than fifteen minutes.”

Ollie had what Rosswell considered a useful
suggestion. “Unless you think of some extra questions that might take you about
ten minutes more.”

Jim Bill agreed. “There are always loose ends I need
to tie up in a square knot. You’re right, Ollie. Maybe twenty-five minutes. Or half-hour.
Then I will come back and find you all right here. Waiting.”

Alessandra chimed in her agreement. “That’s correct,
Officer Evans. We will discuss the day’s events while we stay right here and
wait for your return.”

Jim Bill placed his hand on Rosswell’s shoulder. “I’ve
got a radio and a phone. If there’s the slightest whiff that Tina is in there,
I’ve got people lined up to help me.” A thump on his chest showed he wore body
armor. “You all need to stay out of this. I’m prepared, you’re not.” He pulled
out his cell phone, slid into his car, and, presumably giving someone lengthy
instructions on the phone, drove away.

It wasn’t until Rosswell could see Jim Bill’s
headlights pulling into the driveway of River Heights Villa that he spoke to
Ollie and Alessandra. “I don’t expect you all to go with me.”

Ollie and Alessandra stood silent. He didn’t blame
them. This wasn’t their fight.

“Especially unarmed.” Demons danced in Rosswell’s
stomach. “You shouldn’t go with me if you don’t have a weapon.”

Ollie squeaked. “What makes you think we’re unarmed?”

Rosswell high-fived Ollie,
both
letting out a low whoop. One could never tell when Nathaniel
Dahlbert or one of his minions lurked within earshot.

Alessandra stepped away from the men. “Have you two
gone nuts?”

Ollie scrambled over a huge log, then stuck his hand
underneath it, drawing out the tote bag from
Discovered
Treasures
.

Rosswell stepped back. “I hope that’s not covered with
ants.” But since it was in the burned area, he doubted that critters of any
kind survived nearby. The slight breeze stirred enough ashes to stink up the
place even more and give Rosswell’s allergies a reason to explode.

Ollie dipped into the tote, splitting the three monster
LED flashlights and three more Colt 1911s among them. Ollie patted his pistol. “Alessandra,
can you fire one of these?”

“I can hit the middle of a dime with any pistol you
give me.” Alessandra checked the gun, then held it at her side. “You brought five
weapons out here, but only showed Jim Bill two?”

Rosswell said, “Play honest. No more Brazil crap.”

Alessandra saluted. “Yes, sir.”

Rosswell breathed deeply. The clean smell of a
well-oiled pistol helped him center. And he didn’t tell Alessandra that they’d brought
more than five weapons.

Ollie explained his deception. “I counted on him
searching us to make sure we weren’t armed. He’s a good cop.” Ollie coughed. “If
any cop can be good.”

“Judge, are we using stolen weapons?”

Rosswell hefted his pistol and rubbed the barrel. “These
are one hundred percent legal.”

“What was all that game’s afoot stuff? Who is the Gold
King?”

“Ollie’s a huge Sherlock Holmes fan. Sir Arthur Conan
Doyle wrote a short story called ‘The Problem of Thor Bridge.’ One of the
characters called the Gold King had a big collection of guns.”

“Code talk.” Ollie puffed out his chest. “We’re like
spies.”

“When I talked to Ollie on the phone, it was a signal
to bring all the guns he could round up. If we gave Jim Bill a couple of them
that would satisfy him. But we’d have a few more in reserve.”

Alessandra examined the tote bag. “You got the guns at
that antique store downtown?”

“Not exactly.” Ollie’s answer also skirted the
question. “There are a couple of more things in here.” He drew out several rolls
of duct tape, three rolls of clothesline, ten feet of orange plastic rope, and
a bag of cotton balls. “There’s more stuff. This is a sampling.”

“What’s all that for?”

Ollie substituted Alessandra’s question with one of
his own. “Are you ready?”

She said, “I’m rough and tough and used to hard candy.”

Rosswell saluted them both. “Ollie comes prepared. I
credit the Boy Scout training he had as an innocent youth.”

Ollie addressed Alessandra. “You want to carry this
stuff?” He surveyed her from top to toe. Then, careful as Ollie was, he gave
her a second survey. “Nowhere to stash them. I’ll carry everything.”

Rosswell added his camera and binoculars to the tote.

Alessandra put her hand on Ollie’s arm. “I’ll do whatever
you say, and if I don’t make it, I love your purple tattoo.”

“We should talk about that more.”

“That’s a grand idea.”

Ollie said, “Do you mean grand in the traditional
sense of meaning—”

Rosswell broke up the burgeoning flirtation. “Cut the
mush. Here’s what we’ve got to do.” He laid out a plan that he hoped and prayed
would rescue Tina.

If
she was in River Heights
Villa.

When Rosswell guided Alessandra and Ollie to the mouth of
the cave, they found it as dark as the night surrounding them.

Rosswell whispered, “Get ready. I’m going to turn on
the flashlight.” After a sharp click, light flooded the cave. Nothing stirred.
There was no one or no thing in the cave. Or at least that he could see.
Rosswell never discounted the fact that little critters were profuse in caves. Other
than the slight burbling of the small stream running from the cave, there was
no sound. “I’m going to find Tina.”

Rosswell’s skin raised gooseflesh the moment he
crossed the threshold of the cave. Ollie and Alessandra’s skin was bumpy, too.
Must be the chill of the cave. Or fear of critters. Bats. Salamanders. Snakes.
Bears. Lions. Or fear of death.

Center, Rosswell, center.

About fifty feet inside the mouth of the cave, the
passageway branched.

Rosswell spoke in a low voice. “I don’t know which way
to go.” He checked his phone. “It’s after nine.”

Rosswell had the presence of mind to cut off the phone’s
ringer, although he also realized that the noise of the three walking through
the cave would be enough to warn an alert sentry with good hearing. Or set off
an electronic burglar alarm with the slightest intrusion.

There was no disturbance or noise when he again examined
both of the tunnels with the aid of his superbright flashlight. He’d already
passed the spot where the dead woman was laid out. The passageways didn’t look
featureless. They both looked like passageways in a cave with cave features. Here
and there were smaller passageways that were only three or four feet deep. The
roof of the cave was higher or lower in some places. Nothing dramatic. The cave
looked ordinary.

Into Ollie’s ear, Rosswell said softly, “Everything
looks the same in both tunnels.”

Ollie and Alessandra following in silence, Rosswell shined
his light on the floor of the cave, then knelt. The floors in both passages
looked the same. He ran his hands along the dirt, first in one passage, then in
the other. There was no difference in the feel or the smell in either passage. If
one tunnel was a dead end, then the other—the one that gained entrance to the
house—should show signs of traffic. That is, if anyone used this cave all that
much.

The dead woman. Mary Donna Helperen from Piggott,
Arkansas. Why did they bring her down here? Obviously, to hide her. Why did
they have her on the ferry in the first place? She wasn’t dead when she got on
the ferry and had somehow managed not to drown when she went in the water, then
later died in childbirth. Who brought her down here? Charlie Heckle and Turk
Malone. Not two of the crispier rocket surgeons in the harbor. Would they have
carried her? No.

Rosswell again kneeled on the floor and again shined
his light. He tried to force himself to see what he was really looking at. He tamped
down his fright at the thought of going up against a bad guy. The worst guy he
knew.

Rosswell repeated aloud one of his favorite quotes. “
‘Fear is pain arising from the anticipation of evil.’ ” Was Aristotle a saint? Rosswell
thought he should be.

Then, in the pool of light cast by his flashlight, there
it was. When they had found her, Mary Donna’s heels were muddy. He remembered
that now. In the dirt of the tunnel to his left were faint traces of what he suspected
were heel marks along with other indentations that looked like shoe prints. He
hoped they were faint traces of heel marks and shoe prints. Because if they
were, then that meant that Charlie and Turk had dragged the woman from
somewhere up in the house and had come through the left passageway.

“Left it is,” Rosswell said. “And Tina’s at the end of
this tunnel.”

Someone tapped on Rosswell’s shoulder. He whirled
around, his gun pointed at Ollie and Alessandra. They each put a finger to
their lips. Rosswell nodded, ashamed of himself for speaking too loudly.

Rosswell signaled for them to head through the left
passageway.

All three of them froze when they heard a door open. Someone
humming off-key waltzed through.