Good Day In Hell (23 page)

“Holy Christ,” the TD murmured. He glanced at the clock. “Two minutes, Howard,” he said.

Grace handed Howard a CD and a floppy disk. “I wrote my copy at home before I came in,” she said. “It’s on this disk. The pictures they sent me are still on this CD. Put me on, Howard.”

Howard took the disc. “I haven’t had time to review the copy …”

She leaned forward. “This is the biggest fucking story in town right now. Probably in the whole country. You can run it right goddamn now, my way, or I can walk out of here, pick up the phone, and be on any one of a dozen national shows by this evening. Your choice.”

“A minute-thirty,” the TD said.

Howard hesitated for a moment, then grabbed the floppy and the CD. “Load it up,” he snapped at a nearby production assistant.

He turned to Grace. “Get Grace a mike,” he snapped into his headset. “Camera two, get ready for the two-shot. One, you’re on Gary, three, medium on Grace.”

“One minute,” the TD murmured.

Howard pulled his microphone away from his mouth. “I’m trusting you, Grace” he said. “Try not to get us all arrested. Or sued.” She barely heard the last word as she bolted down the stairs. The audio guy was fastening a lapel mike onto Grace’s blazer even as she slid into the co-anchor chair. The guy glanced over at Gary, who was listening intently to instructions from the control booth in his earpiece. Grace slid her own earpiece in as she swiveled to face camera two for the shot of her and Gary. The TD’s voice came over the earpiece, “Three, two, one, and….” The music came up, the logo rolled, and Grace saw her words come up on the TelePrompTer screen in front of the camera.

“In the latest on the Barnwell Foods Massacre this morning,” Gary said smoothly, “Action News anchor Grace Tranh has this exclusive report. Grace?”

She turned slightly to look intently into camera three. “In a startling development,” she said, “the man believed to be behind not only the Barnwell Foods massacre this morning, but also behind the church and diner shootings a few nights ago, has contacted this reporter with information about his motives. We warn you,
some of the exclusive images in this report are extremely graphic….” Network, here I come, she thought.

Marie was seated on the floor with Ben playing a complicated game with trucks and blocks for which only he seemed to fully understand the rules. He’d occasionally give a theatrical sigh, followed by an exasperated ‘No, Mom, not there,” and correct her error. He was so serious, his brow furrowed with such concentration, that it was all Marie could do not to laugh.

After her conversation with the lieutenant last night, sleep had eluded her. The lieutenant had tried to be reassuring, saying over and over that it was only temporary, that they’d soon enough break Garrett’s story down, that she’d be back on the road before she knew it. But, he had said, policy was policy. After a rash of brutality complaints and a number of lawsuits against departments across the state, all complaints had to be investigated thoroughly to avoid later charges of whitewash or cover-ups. And the officers involved had to be on suspension. No exceptions. Marie had taken the news stoically, trying hard to show nothing on her face. She held on to Shelby’s advice not to do anything permanent. But she doubted if she was going to come back. And that upheaval had kept her tossing and turning all night. Her eyes felt gritty and she had to stifle the impulse to yawn.

The ringing of the kitchen phone jarred her out of her reverie. She rose to her feet and bent over to give Ben a kiss on the top of the head. “I’ve got it, Dad,” she called. She walked into the kitchen and picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“How’re you doing, Jones?” It was Shelby.

“I’m okay,” she said. “Thanks.”

“They done it again,” he said.

She felt a hollowness in the pit of her stomach. “Where?”

“Hog processing plant down east,” he replied. “Bunch of people was in line to get in the parking lot ‘fore work. They drove up and shot ‘em down.”

Marie rubbed her forehead. “Guess they haven’t made any progress on finding Randle and the Marks girl?” “Naw,” he said. “You want to come out to the house later? We can talk more there.”

“Sure,” Marie said. “But why …”

“Can’t talk any more here,” he said. “I’ll see you about six o’clock.” She hung up the phone as her father came into the kitchen.

“That was Shelby,” she said. “They think the church shooters just killed a bunch of people on their way in to work.”

He grimaced. “Shit,” he said. “Bad news. Good of him to tell you about it, though.”

“He wants to talk to me,” she said. “In person.”

He looked impressed. “Looks like you got yourself a friend in high places. This bullshit may blow over after all.”

There was a different guard at the gate when Keller pulled up. “Jack Keller for Mrs. Marks,” he said, and the guy waved him through. Well that was easier, he thought.

This time, he found the house with no trouble. He noticed there was a bright red soft-top Jeep Wrangler parked out front. It looked new.

Ellen Marks answered the door at the first ring. She was dressed in a tailored black pantsuit that showed off her curves without being ostentatious about it. She wore large tinted glasses that hid most of her eyes. “Hello, Jack,” she said. “Come in.” She turned and walked back into the house. At least she’s sober this time, Keller thought. Or at least she hasn’t had enough for me to smell it on her. Yet. He followed her back into the living room. He could see out the window to where a golfer was lining up his shot at the edge of the water hazard.

Ellen Marks sat down on the couch and lit a cigarette. She didn’t speak. She just looked at him. Finally, he broke the silence.

“You said you knew where Laurel might be,” he said.

“Let me ask you something, Jack,” she said. “If you find Laurel, you’re going to bring her in alive, correct? I mean, if you can.”

He nodded. “Right. If … something happens to her, the court may remit the bond. That means the bondsman may not have to pay the court. But it’s up to the court. Still, I don’t get paid if that happens.”

“So you’ve got an interest in keeping her alive until you bring her in. A financial interest.”

“Right.”

She laughed sharply. “Self-interest. That’s something I can trust.” She took another drag on the cigarette, then studied it for a moment, as if fascinated by the stream of smoke rising from the tip. Then she abruptly stood up. “Follow me.” She walked past Keller and out a side door.

Keller followed her down a long hallway. They ended up in what appeared to be an office. A large, heavily varnished oak desk dominated one end of the room, with papers arranged neatly on it. There was a leather couch along one wall. Over the couch was a small framed photograph. The frame looked as if it was made with old scrap wood, as if from a bam or old house. It looked jarringly out of place among the sleek leather furniture of the rest of the room. Ellen walked over and stared at the photograph.

It was a small black-and-white, an old Polaroid shot, going slightly yellow with age despite being sealed under glass. It showed a family standing and looking solemnly into the camera. The background behind them appeared to be a grove of trees. There was an unfocused white blur in the distance behind the trees that might have been a house.

There was an older man dressed in overalls, standing stiffly beside and slightly behind a younger woman. His face was lined with care and his body seemed slightly stooped, as if he had been broken and not put back together just right. The woman was younger, her face less worn. There was a hint of laughter in her dark eyes, fighting the sadness in the lines around them. She had her hand on the shoulder of a dark-haired girl about eight years old in a frilly white dress. The dark-haired girl stared into the camera with what looked like resentment, as if she wanted to be somewhere, anywhere else. Another, younger girl beside her looked off-camera, her mouth slightly open as if in surprise. Keller looked more closely at the older girl. She looked familiar.

“Tell me, Jack, would you have ever taken me for a farm girl?” Ellen Marks spoke up. Keller didn’t answer. “It’s a terrible life, you know,” she went on. “If there’s too much rain, the tobacco gets blue mold and you go broke. If there’s not enough rain, the crops dry out and you go broke. If there’s perfect weather, there’s so much
tobacco at market that the price goes down and you go broke.” She took another drag on her cigarette. “And when things work just right, you have to go out and pick it. Your back hurts from stooping over to pick the sand lugs. And you feel like you’ll never get that sticky juice off your hands.” He recognized the older girl now. It was Ellen Marks.

“Good thing you got out.”

“Yes,” she said. “Good thing.”

“So, is this your family’s old farm?” he asked.

She shook her head, as if suddenly coming back. “Still is,” she said. “I keep trying to convince my little sister to sell. But she won’t do it. My parents are buried out there, you see. And their parents as well. There’s a little family graveyard on the hill.”

“You think that’s where Laurel might be?”

“She always liked it there. Even after Daddy… my father died and the place started to fall apart. She loved to go see her granny. When she could.”

“You make it sound like it was a pretty rare thing.”

Ellen turned to look at him. “My mother couldn’t stand my husband, Jack,” she said. “And the feeling was mutual. It was … one of the things I found attractive about him.”

“But when Laurel was at her grandmother’s, her father was never there.”

She looked away, out the window. “Yes.”

“So where is this place?”

“East of Fayetteville,” she said. She walked over to the desk and picked up a paper. “I’ve already written out directions.”

Keller reached for the paper. She pulled back slightly. “There were some people here earlier,” she said. “From the FBI.”

“A man and a woman?” Keller said.

She nodded. “They said … they said that Laurel might be involved with those shootings that have been happening.”

Keller nodded. “Yeah. I’ve heard the same thing.”

“You won’t hurt her, will you?” Ellen said.

Keller ducked the question. “Like I said. I don’t get paid if she dies.” She took off her tinted glasses and looked at him. Her jaw was swollen and puffy and one of her eyes was blackened. “That’s not all there is, though, is there? It’s not just the money?”

Keller knew it wasn’t. The takedown was the thing, the end of the hunt when he delivered his quarry into the hands of the magistrate. But he didn’t feel like explaining that to Ellen Marks. “Yeah,” he said, “that’s pretty much it.”

She put the glasses back on and sighed. “I’ll have to trust that, then,” she said. She held out the paper and he took it from her hand.

“Mom?” a voice said from the door. Keller turned.

A young man who looked to be in his early twenties was standing there. He was barefoot, dressed in jeans and an unbuttoned shirt. His short brown hair was in disarray, as if he’d just gotten out of bed. His skin was pasty and his eyes were baggy and bloodshot. He looked badly hungover.

“Curt,” Ellen said. “You’re up.”

“Who’s this guy?” Curt said, jerking his chin at Keller.

Ellen Marks’s lips tightened at the rudeness. “This is Mister Keller,” she said. “We have some business to discuss.”

“About your sister,” Keller said.

The effect on the boy was remarkable. Anger flashed in his eyes. He stepped forward, his fists clenched and slightly raised.

I seem to be rubbing all the men in this family the wrong way, Keller thought. He raised a hand and the boy stopped.

“Hold on there, kid,” Keller said.

The anger remained in the face but the voice was a harsh, fearful whisper. “Go away!” the boy said. “Leave us alone!”

“Curtis!” Ellen snapped. “What’s wrong with you?”

He walked over to his mother and put an arm around her protectively. The action seemed to steady him. “My family’s been through too much,” he said in a stronger voice. “I don’t want my mother upset anymore.”

“She invited me here, Curt,” Keller said. “She thinks she knows where I might be able to find Laurel.”

“Why?”

“Mister Keller works for Laurel’s bail bondsman,” she said.

“She skipped out on us,” Keller said. “I need to find her and bring her back.”

“And you’re helping him?” Curt said to his mother. “Why?”

Keller started to speak, but Ellen cut him off. “It’s just better that she turn herself in, Curt,” she said. “She won’t be in as much trouble that way.” She looked significantly at Keller. He doesn’t know about the shootings, Keller thought.

“That’s right, Curt,” Keller said. “If I can talk her into coming in on her own, it might go easier on her.” There was a huge difference between might and would, but there was no need to tell the kid that. “Any hints on how I might convince her?”

Curt’s face crumpled. “What do you mean by that?” he said.

“Nothing,” Keller said. He remembered that Curt had talked Laurel into recanting her accusation of abuse. Suddenly the boy’s reactions came into focus for Keller. He felt a wave of revulsion flash through him. Too casually, he said, “I hear you can talk your sister into just about anything.”