Blind Justice (30 page)

IT WAS A bizarre situation.

Here I was riding in a new black Cadillac with a man I loathed and who felt the same way about me, on a mission of criminal justice. At least that’s how Tolletson had put it. He said he wanted to clear things up tonight.

We were going to see Warren Hazelton.

It was unorthodox, yes, but Tolletson convinced me this was the right thing to do. I would stand in the room with him while he put the questions to Hazelton. Tolletson said he wanted me there to watch Hazelton’s eyes, as I would with any witness I was confronting in court. That would be enough to convince me, Tolletson said.

Strangely enough, I believed him. He was, after all, the DA of a small county. That gave him tremendous power. And even though he had socialized with Hazelton, I didn’t think that would prevent Benton Tolletson from trying to get to the bottom of things. He didn’t strike me as a man who would let a minor item like social graces get in his way. The fact that he had made his reputation bringing down another local hero, the football coach, made it seem plausible that he’d do it again.

There was another reason this was so strange. Technically, I was a criminal defendant in a drunk driving case that Tolletson’s office was prosecuting. It’s not often that a defendant rides around town with the DA. It was almost comical.

As we made our way toward the Hazelton estate, Tolletson’s mood was far from frivolous. “If there isn’t anything here,” he said, “you better be ready to face the music.”

“What sort of music?”

“Hazelton has money. He can make your life hell. He might sue you for defamation, for starters.”

I huffed. “He’s welcome to go after my deep pockets. Maybe he’ll get my VCR.”

“What went wrong with you?” Tolletson said, taking a sharp turn into the personal. “You were a good attorney.”

Suddenly I was in the car with my father. The disapproval and disappointment were heavy in his voice.

“I’m still a good attorney, Benton. I just have to find my way back.”

“You got a long way to go.”

“I know that.”

“We’re almost there,” Tolletson said. I’m sure he didn’t want to go any deeper with me. What had started as an attempt to establish superiority had turned into a discussion about the meaning of life. Benton Tolletson was not ready to go there, especially with me.

At the large, black iron gate Tolletson pressed a keypad and announced himself through the speaker. Apparently he had called ahead because the gates slowly swung open without any further comment.

The same security guard was waiting for us as the front entrance. He showed us in. The Hazelton mansion looked familiar, but at night it was oddly dark, even with the lights on. Sort of like a medieval castle illuminated with torches. I started to wonder where the torture chamber was.

We were shown into the same library where Lindsay and I had confronted the captain before. It had the same, musty smell. Hazelton himself seemed not to have moved or changed clothes since that encounter. Even the fire in the fireplace seemed perpetual.

“Benton,” Hazelton said in his raspy voice. He was standing by the mantle tamping tobacco into his pipe. He said nothing to me, giving me only a glare.

“Thanks for seeing us on such short notice,” Tolletson said.

“Of course. Anything to help the DA’s office. Sit down.” He motioned us to the leather chairs in front of his desk and then sat in his own chair. He lit his pipe with a wooden match.

“Warren,” Tolletson began, “you know Mr. Denney, I believe.”

Squinting at me through a veil of smoke, Hazelton said, “Oh yes.”

“That’s the reason I’m here tonight. Mr. Denney thinks he has some information on the murder of Rae Patino.”

I had no idea where Tolletson was going with this, but I was surprised he would be so direct. A good prosecutor doesn’t show his cards while the investigation is going on.

“And what sort of information would that be?” Hazelton asked me, appearing unconcerned.

“Maybe Mr. Tolletson can tell you,” I said.

“No, Jake, why don’t you go ahead?” Tolletson said. I felt like he was leaving me out to dry.

But I didn’t care. “All right,” I said. “What was your relationship with Rae Patino?”

For a moment Hazelton’s sunken eyes quivered. They quickly resumed impassivity. “Who is he?”

“Come off it, you know who I’m talking about.”

“Benton?” Hazelton said with seeming confusion.

Tolletson turned to him. “The young woman who was -murdered.”

“Ah, yes,” said Hazelton, the liar. I hoped Tolletson wasn’t buying this sham. “I didn’t know the girl.”

“This is a pretty small town,” I said.

“Quite so.”

“You’re a pretty big wheel.”

“True.”

“And you claim you didn’t know her at all?”

“Mr. Denney,” Hazelton rasped, “there are two worlds in existence. There is the world I occupy, which has very few people in it. All the rest live down there.” He motioned toward the window with his bony hand.

“You mean you’re sort of like a god, up here on Olympus.”

“In a way,” he said with complete seriousness.

“Pardon me if I find that a bit deranged.”

The remark did not amuse Warren Hazelton, even though a demented half-smile edged across his face.

“Maybe we can start by asking where you were on the night Rae Patino was murdered.”

Hazelton looked at Tolletson and said, “That’s enough.”

Tolletson looked at his feet.

“Enough what?” I asked.

No answer. And then it hit me. “You’re in this with him.”

Tolletson raised his head and looked at me. His eyes were dead.

Hazelton stuck out an osseous finger, pushed a button on a small console, and said, “Bring Mrs. Hazelton in.”

A moment later Heather Hazelton walked into the library.

She looked older than I’d expected. I had a picture in my mind of the youthful hippie tromping through the flowers with skin like milk. What I saw now was a middle-aged woman, dressed completely in black. Her dark hair was streaked with white lines and fell to the middle of her back. Most striking was her face. It was not that of an innocent flower child. She had a darkness about the eyes. Around her neck she wore a large, silver pentagram.

“We’re ready,” Hazelton said tonelessly.

Heather walked to the middle of the room, staring. The look held more than contempt. It was deadly and chilled me to the spine.

I turned to Tolletson. “What are they talking about?”

“Sorry, Jake,” he said.

“Sorry about what? What is this?”

At that moment the security guard, as if on cue, walked through the door. His gun was in his hand, and in two seconds it was at the base of my neck.

Heather reached up on the mantle, pulled down a black box, and held it out to Tolletson.

Stunned beyond belief, I watched as Benton Tolletson, district attorney of Hinton County, pulled from the box a set of handcuffs. He then pulled my arms behind me and locked them there.

“You’re all crazy,” I said.

“Silence,” said Heather.

Tolletson pushed me to a chair and sat me down. A rope was looped around my body. The security guard was tying me to the chair.

“Benton,” I said, “I can’t believe this.”

Tolletson said nothing.

Warren Hazelton walked to his wife and stood with her in front of the fire. They joined hands. Then Warren Hazelton closed his eyes and said, “
A diaboli et Rege!”

It was more a chant than anything else.

“
Adeste diaboli!”

It sounded Latin to me.

Heather said, “Receive this sacrifice, O father.”

Sacrifice?

Me.

“Benton, this is insane!” I said.

“Shut up,” he said.

Heather reached up to another box on the mantle. She opened it and pulled out something of glistening silver—it looked almost beautiful until I realized it was a knife with a six-inch blade.

“A sacrifice, O father,” Heather said, holding the knife up in both hands, “so you will grant me the daughter I seek.”

In the grip of this surreal scene, a picture formed in my head. “It was you,” I said to Heather. “You were the one who killed Rae Patino. She was going to have a child for
you.”

Heather froze. Warren Hazelton looked stunned. “Who else knows about this?” he wheezed at Tolletson.

“No one, I’m sure,” Tolletson said.

“Everyone,” I said. “I’ve been feeding this to the FBI and a reporter on the
Hinton Valley News.
”

“He’s lying,” said Tolletson.

“Try it, Heather,” I said.

She intended to. She gripped the knife in a plunging position. Then she took a step toward me.

“
Adeste diaboli!”
she cried, raising the knife even higher.

The boom was like the sound barrier being broken, only right next to my ears.I was knocked backward in the chair, feeling like every part of my body was being hit simultaneously by some colossal compactor. As I hit the ground, I saw a pillar of fire, shooting straight up through the roof.