Bury Me When I'm Dead (30 page)

“Got it,” Charlie said. “I guess we don't know if Barnes will be alone or if Owens will have more men.”

“We've already spotted a couple of guys parked near the conservatory. If they move, my guys will intercept them.”

“What if Owens calls the whole thing off?” Joyce asked.

She was anxious, concerned about how Abrams would receive her, and now overwhelmed by the seriousness of her situation and the possibility of violence.

“We have enough on Owens and Barnes that if one of them stops to pick a wildflower, we can still arrest them.” James gave both women a reassuring smile.

Charlie also put on a good face for Joyce. “Things will be okay. The FBI knows what they're doing.”

The rain started earlier than the forecasts predicted. The sky was graying quickly and wind gusts made Charlie's two-seater difficult to handle on the half-mile long bridge to Belle Isle. Fat drops pelted the windshield and Charlie turned on the wipers. As Gil suggested, Charlie tested her microphone.

“We're just about to enter the island, can you hear me okay?” Charlie spoke aloud.

Yes. Loud and clear.
James' voice filled the earpiece.

Joyce, will you please say a few words, too,
James ordered.

“This is Joyce Stringer and I'm on my way to a meeting with Leonard Abrams.”

Good.

Charlie followed the one-way traffic onto Sunset Lane and then bore left onto Casino Way. The Casino was a gathering place, not a gambling facility, and a dozen or so cars were in the parking lot. If Charlie continued on Casino Way it would intersect the Strand at the bottom of the island below the skating pavilion, so she bore left onto Central Avenue and then made a quick right turn onto Muse Road, following it past the pedestrian bridges on their right until it curved to the pavilion parking area. There were two Caterpillar tractors in the lot, some broken pavement piled high on one side and orange safety cones around the excavation, but no sign of workers and no other cars in the crescent-shaped lot. The rain was moderate but steady and without the sun, it seemed more like six o'clock than midafternoon.

“Here we are,” Charlie said.

She pulled her convertible into a space facing Muse Road and the woods beyond. The pavilion and Lake Tacoma were behind them but from her vantage point Charlie could see anyone approach from the road. She kept the car running and turned on her fog lights. It was a quarter after three and chillier than it had been an hour ago.

“It's gotten pretty dark,” Joyce said.

“It sure has. Don is in the band shell about seventy-five yards over there.” Charlie pointed past Joyce, east of the parking lot.

The two watched a few cars pass the lot, their headlights illuminating the rain, but not slowing. A bicyclist sped by, sending puddles upward, and an elementary school bus traveling west was probably transporting its tiny passengers away from the Giant Slide.

“I have a lot of fond memories of Belle Isle,” Charlie said, making small talk. “I used to come here with my mother and father to ice skate, and during the summer we'd come once a week for picnics.
Then when I was in high school, my friends and I would come here on weekends to party.”

“Were you a party girl, Ms. Mack?”

“Please, call me Charlene. I guess you could say I was part of the good-time crowd. But I attended a Catholic high school and my mother was a public school principal, so my partying was fairly mild. I think I was trying to prove I was cool.” Charlie laughed at herself.

“And what does your father do?”

“He was a lawyer.”

“Ah. That's why you're so accomplished. You grew up in a stable, professional, two-parent home.”

“Well you certainly have accomplished a lot in your own life, Joyce.”

“I've often wondered what I really could have done if I hadn't had to take care of Anna and Paulie.”

Charlie remembered her promise to James. If it were just a matter of keeping another secret for Freeman, she would have refused to support the man's duplicity. But James feared Joyce wouldn't cooperate in their sting if she knew Owens hadn't succeeded in murdering her brother.

“Mr. Freeman gets some of the blame for that, don't you think?”

“I'll admit my family life is very complicated. I think Grant would have married Anna if my grandfather hadn't resented the Freemans.”

“There's something I've been curious about, Joyce. Why would you and your mother, and Father Straughn, approve of Paul and Grace's relationship?”

“Who told you that?”

“Grace. And I saw a photograph where you all looked very comfortable.”

Joyce nodded.

“Father Straughn isn't aware that Paul and Grace are related. No one knows except Anna and Grant, Ruth Freeman and me.”

“I wouldn't be so sure of that,” Charlie said, “
I
figured it out.”

Neither woman spoke for a moment.

“When Paulie turned thirteen he was given a vasectomy.”

Charlie was sure her face showed the shock she felt and she was grateful for the car's dim interior. Joyce looked away.

“I suppose you think that's cruel, and I felt the same way at the time. It was a condition my grandfather forced upon my mother. Otherwise he wouldn't leave his money to Paulie.”

“Why would he do that?”

“He and Anna were both convinced Paulie would never be able to live independently, so my mother agreed.. She wanted to be sure Paulie would always have a regular source of funds.”

Joyce stared out the passenger window and Charlie faced the opposite way, her hand tight against the steering wheel.

“Maybe I should have protested more,” Joyce added as if reading Charlie's mind.

“A few days ago I thought I'd lost my mother. She was counting on me and I completely let her down. Things turned out alright, but it was a wake-up call for me.” Charlie loosened her grip on the steering wheel and stared down at her lap. “I'm not sure why I'm telling you this except to say I realize I am the last person who should judge anyone.”

Joyce again nodded and the two women sat elbow to elbow in silence. The blurred trees, murky sky and cacophony of rain had lulled them into a state of confession, forgetting that others were listening to every word they said. Joyce dabbed her knuckles across her eyes and Charlie watched the wipers work.

“Abrams and Owen should be arriving any minute,” Charlie said, breaking the stillness.

“So, Paulie couldn't father any children,” Joyce said.

“Huh?” Charlie turned to her passenger.

“That's why I approved of Paulie and Grace marrying. Grant was against it, but I think I had Anna convinced. I know it doesn't take care of the moral question but at least there could be no offspring who might suffer.”

It was Charlie's turn to nod her understanding.

“They were completely devoted to each other,” Joyce added. “Why should they have to suffer for the sins of their father? You know? After all, what good is morality without compassion?”

Barnes cycled in the rain, circling the route from his truck, past the pavilion, and back to the vehicle. The wet pavement was a hindrance and he had to work hard to keep the bike from skidding. He'd debated whether to take a small automatic rifle that he could strap to his body or a handgun that would be precise, efficient and, if necessary, easily discarded. He had chosen the handgun and he could feel its pressure against his spine. A sports car with its fog lights illuminated was parked in the front area of the pavilion lot. He made out two passengers.
That must be them
. There were no other vehicles in the lot except a couple of bulldozers.

He continued along Muse Road heading north, then bearing right onto Central Avenue away from the Casino and finally turning right onto Inselruhe Avenue. He had cockily parked his truck within view of Belle Isle's police mini-station. He lifted the dripping wet bike into the bed of the truck and slipped into the driver's seat to wait. He glanced at the dashboard clock: just a quarter after three. Owens should be arriving with Abrams shortly and he'd give them all time to take up their positions before he returned to the pavilion. Because of the rain, Abrams and Joyce might decide to talk on the lake side of the pavilion where they could stand under the roof's overhang. He'd stow his bike across the road in the trees and approach from the east end of the lot, which would give him good cover. He'd stage it to look like a robbery but if he didn't have time to set it up, the police would think it was just another case of random violence. He hoped the Mack woman wouldn't stay in her car. If she did, he'd shoot Stringer, wait for Mack to come running and then shoot her, too.
If it's the last thing I do I'm going to get that bitch, and if Abrams gets in the way I'll take him out, too.

Barnes hunkered down in the seat and turned over the engine for a bit of heat. There were other vehicles around, including a few police cars but no one on foot, most people had taken cover from the rain. Through the side window he saw another car, engine running, and the faint glow of two cigarettes.

Chapter 36

At twenty-five after three, Owens turned onto the Belle Isle Bridge. They'd left Del Ray with time to spare, but traffic had moved at a snail's pace because Motown drivers were better in a foot of snow than they were in the rain.

Owens is headed your way now,
James said in Charlie's ear.

An approaching car flashed lights and Charlie flashed her headlights in response. The car turned into the parking lot and pulled alongside Charlie's Corvette.

Charlie rolled down her window for a better view and Abrams followed suit. Charlie nodded a greeting and rolled up the window. “Okay, it's Abrams. Let's get out, Joyce,” Charlie directed.

Be careful,
James said.

The rain was steady and the wind occasionally gusted. Abrams emerged from the car with his umbrella open and Owens stepped out as well. Charlie moved to her passenger door and Joyce had already extended her arm from the car to open her umbrella. Charlie held the door as she swung her legs and lifted herself out of the car. The four stood awkwardly at the rear of the cars, the rain helping them avoid eye contact.

Charlie was the first to speak. She had to yell to be heard over the rain. “Joyce would prefer if the meeting is just between the two of you,” she said to Abrams.

Abrams beckoned Owens nearer and spoke into his ear. Owens shrugged.

“Come on, I'll walk you two over to the pavilion. There's a cover on the other side of the building and a place to sit.” Charlie said.

The three walked to the rear of the pavilion along the side of the building. When they reached the deck area, Abrams and Joyce left Charlie without an umbrella. She leaned against the railing at the end of the pathway and a moment later Owens joined her.

“They're talking over there.” Charlie nodded toward the front of the building.

Abrams and Joyce were barely visible in the mist, just two forms standing together at the front windows. The overhang was deep enough that they'd folded their umbrellas and Abrams stood leaning on his handle while Joyce appeared to be talking. Charlie noticed Owens was fidgeting and looking around.

We have a person on foot approaching from the east side of the building.
James' voice was urgent in Charlie's ear. She took a step forward, putting a hand under her jacket to touch her holstered pistol. Owens nervously moved with her, then stopped in his tracks.

“Look, I'm going back to my car. No need in standing here getting wet,” Owens said.

As he turned to leave, a shot rang out and Charlie ran toward Joyce. There was a second shot and Charlie heard the whiz of a bullet pass her ear. She hit the ground and her healing ribs filed a complaint. Up ahead, Joyce was slumped on the deck of the pavilion, and Abrams hovered above her. A third shot rang out, followed by a volley of shots from the direction of the lake. Then more blasts sounded from the wooded area between the pavilion and the band shell.

We have two more shooters!

Charlie looked over her shoulder in time to see Owens scrambling in the direction of the parking lot. She crawled to Joyce and crouched next to Abrams. Joyce had been shot in her right shoulder and Abrams was putting pressure on the wound.

“We need an ambulance,” Abrams shouted.

Charlie's microphone hadn't survived her dive against the deck, but her earpiece was still intact.

Officer down! We have an officer down and at least one automatic weapon.

Agents were now closing in from all directions, some ran toward the band shell where a full-fledged firefight was underway.

Charlie looked into Joyce's eyes, saw her determination to live, and decided she would be okay. “I'm going after Owens.”

“Get him,” Joyce said in a strong voice.

Don couldn't see a thing from the roof of the band shell. The FBI sniper had a night scope and had relayed the information that a lone figure was approaching the pavilion from the east.

“I can't see him,” Don shouted.

“It's pretty shadowy out there,” the agent replied. Then he announced into the open channel, “I see the subject below the pavilion deck. I have a shot.”

Hold your fire, hold your fire,
James had responded.

Moments later, when a single shot was heard from the direction of the pavilion, Don dropped the binoculars, tore off his headset and climbed down the slippery ladder leaning against the band shell wall.
Why didn't I insist on being closer to Mack?

A half-minute later, the entire landscape between Don and the skating pavilion lit up with the flash of gunfire and Don darted back to the band shell to crouch against the base of the ladder. He peered into the mist, watching what might have been the interplay of fireflies had it not been for the accompanying sound of explosions. If he ran toward the pavilion, he'd be in the line of fire. Instead, he moved to his right to intersect Muse Road, then drew his weapon and turned west toward the pavilion parking lot. He hugged the road's perimeter, staying low. A few yards ahead he heard a noise and stopped. Fog was lifting from the ground in waves and it was difficult to see but he made out a figure darting across the road toward the trees. His instincts told him to follow and he was off the pavement and into the trees in a quick sprint. He moved forward cautiously, the vegetation underfoot was slippery and his boots sank into the ground with each step. He heard thrashing ahead of him, someone was moving quickly and deliberately. Don picked up his pace, his revolver held in both hands near his side, then he stopped. He saw a man in a hooded jacket fumbling with a large shrub. Don squatted and watched the man
finally free a bicycle. The man mounted the bike but the ground was too mushy for him to stay upright so he dismounted, lifted the bike with one arm and trotted toward the road.

Don waited until the man was parallel to him, then stepped in his path.

“Going somewhere?”

The man dropped the bike and moved his hand toward the back of his jacket so Don struck him across the face with the butt of his gun. The man fell and Don straddled him.

“Okay, okay, I give up.”

Don held his revolver next to the man's right eye and reached beneath him to retrieve a handgun.

“What's your name?” Don ordered.

“Barnes. My name is Barnes, man. Don't shoot.”

“Oh. Walter Barnes?” Don said with a sneer. “I have a message for you, from Charlene Mack.”

Don hit him twice more with his Ruger. When he stood, Barnes lay bloodied and unconscious next to his bicycle.

Owens was motionless in the high grass adjacent to the skating pavilion's parking lot. He could tell from the chaos behind him that something had gone wrong. The rain was hard now and his clothes soaked through. Two law enforcement officers had rushed past his hiding place a moment ago and it was clear from the conversation on their squawking radios that he had been set up. He couldn't go back to his car but he might be able to escape if he could get to the Casino and from there to the bridge. He lifted to his feet and pushed through the grass and shrubs until he reached the trees bordering the road.

“I've completely lost the audio feed,” Judy said, rushing to Gil's desk.

“I know, I know. It's the rain, and Charlie's microphone is dead but we know where she is. Owens took off and she went after him.”

Judy peered over Gil's shoulder. “Do you see her?”

“Not anymore. She entered this area right here.” Gil placed his finger on the computer screen.

“I'm sending you another satellite view.” Agent Emily Griggs' voice streamed through Gil's computer speakers. Then James' voice also came through the computer.

“Griggs, we're pulling into the pavilion lot now. Do you have eyes on Owens?”

“Not anymore, sir. But I'm putting in new coordinates and we should have a different view in a second.”

“How come we can hear James?” Judy whispered.

“He must have switched to our channel,” Gil replied.

The screen flickered and a fairly clear picture came into view. They could see the pavilion parking area, the woods west of it and a pedestrian bridge that led to the Casino. An RV, several vehicles and two ambulances were parked in the lot. There were also several huddles of FBI and police personnel. Flashlight beams and flashers bounced all over the place.

“You should have the picture now, sir,” Griggs said.

“I've got it, but I don't see Owens,” James said.

“There,” Judy shouted. “Just above the bridge. I think that's Charlie.”

“Then Owens can't be too far ahead,” Gil said.

“We're going after them,” James announced.

Judy and Gil watched the monitor as three figures jumped from the RV and moved quickly along the part of Muse Road that ran parallel to the Casino. Agent Griggs expanded the view but visibility was compromised by the rain. After a minute of staring at the screen they caught sight of someone dipping in and out of the trees.

“There's a person ahead of you about eight hundred yards. It's probably Owens. He's staying near the trees,” Griggs reported.

“Copy,” James responded. “Where is Ms. Mack?”

“Not sure,” Griggs said.

“Where's he going?” Judy whispered to Gil. “There's no way to escape.”

“Ms. Mack is at your eleven o'clock position about five hundred yards,” Griggs said.

“Copy that.”

Agent Griggs, Gil and Judy watched Owens pause several times while Charlie gained on him.

“Look,” Gil pointed. “Owens is moving away from the road now. If he gets to the Casino, he could steal a car.”

The three figures that were James and his two agents moved quickly in a straight line. The satellite picture was deteriorating and James' audio signal was failing.

“. . . coming down hard . . . only a few feet,” James' fractured voice came through the computer's speakers.

“It's probably difficult to see or hear anything in that downpour,” Gil said.

“Right,” Griggs replied.

Charlie was now within fifty feet of Owens. He had turned in her direction and was squatting.

“What's he doing?” Judy asked, squinting at the screen. “Oh, no, Gil,” Judy screamed.

Charlie moved to her left a few paces. Behind her, James stopped abruptly, then crouched. The men behind him also dropped low.

“Owens is at your one o'clock position. One o'clock,” Griggs shouted into her microphone.

“I don't think he can hear you, Emily,” Gil said.

Judy reached into her pocket.