Hallowed Ground (37 page)

“You don’t think Rondelle had a legitimate reason for keeping Linderman’s threats from her brother?”

“No!” She threw up her hands; her knuckles hit the metal electric hand dryer but she didn’t notice. “Harvey could’ve helped her. He could’ve saved her. She wouldn’t have had to keep lying to Linderman. But she was so damn stubborn, and now she’s dead!”

I stared at her in disbelief. Wanted to wrap my hands around her skeletal neck and shake some goddamn sense into her.

“And you didn’t think Harvey, an enforcer with the Hombres, would do more than just ‘beat the shit’ out of Linderman? For Christsake, the Hombres aren’t known for their negotiating skills!

How could you be so fucking naïve?”

When her head drooped to her chest, and the hiccupping sobs became wails, I knew.

Shit.

I took a deep breath, and settled across from her on the cold floor, wondering how long it’d take until she’d calm down.

When her sobs softened to weak sniffles, I tossed her a paper towel.

She blew her nose with gusto. Clenched the soggy brown paper in her fist. The Black Hills Gold rings adorning her fingers were vivid against the stark whiteness of her knuckles.

“You wanted Harvey to kill Linderman, didn’t you?”

She nodded.

“Robin, that’s why we have cops—”

“Don’t give me that ‘let the authorities handle it’ line of bullshit. Don’t you get it? Guys like him, guys like the Carluccis, they can do whatever the fuck they want, to whoever the fuck they want, whenever the fuck they want and they never have to answer to anybody. Never.” Eyes closed, she pressed her head back into the wall. “The cops or the legal system can’t touch them.

They
always
get away with it.”

An unsettling thought struck me: Was Martinez one of those guys that gets away with everything too?

I pushed it aside and let her words, her anger sink in. She was absolutely right. But that didn’t mean she’d done the right thing.

“You should’ve seen her face when Linderman sent those pictures of Chloe with those men. It’s a parent’s worst nightmare that something so sick could happen to their kid.” She shuddered and hugged her knees to her chest, practically becoming one with the wall. “I worked for Linderman at that old time photo place in Spearfish Canyon for a while. He’s a manipulative bastard, he would’ve done every single thing he threatened. The fucker would’ve enjoyed it too.”

“Didn’t you think about what might happen to Harvey if he killed Linderman?”

“Yes. But I didn’t think he’d go after him in such a public place. I thought ...” She looked straight at me. “I thought Harvey could just make Linderman disappear.”

“But if he’d gotten caught?”

“Don’t be so fucking naïve, Julie,” she retorted, throwing my words, my tone back in my face.

“You know the Hombres’ lawyers would’ve gotten him off.”

I wasn’t so cocksure. Then again, Martinez’s lawyer, the invincible Mark Adderton,
had
been waiting for him in the parking lot when we’d gotten to the Sheriff’s Department last evening.

He’d seen to it no charges had been filed against anyone. He’d made sure Martinez only had to answer the most basic questions. He’d handled all the arrangements for Harvey’s remains.

“What about the Little Joe? Didn’t you consider him? She actually had proof of him raping her.”

“You know about that?”

“Rondelle told me.”

“What else did she tell you?” Her red-rimmed eyes widened as if she’d just thought of something. “Hey, how did you get my name?”

I didn’t want to drag her into this any deeper, so I didn’t ask about the missing money. “When she told me about the disk, she said you were her only friend here.”

A fresh wave of tears spilled out. “Some friend. My brilliant idea made a man kill himself.”

The, “There, there, sweetie, it’s not your fault,” words she wanted to hear were firmly stuck in my throat. Maybe Harvey would’ve figured out a way to deal with Rondelle’s death, but we’d never know now.

“But you helped her get the disk, didn’t you?”

She nodded.

“Do you know where the disk is now, Robin?”

“No. And before you ask, I don’t know where Chloe is either.”

She scrambled to her feet. Splashed water on her face.

Our eyes met in the mirror. “I’ve got a girl the same age as Chloe. If it’d been me getting those pictures I’d have done the same damn thing. That’s why I helped her. Makes me sick that nothing will ever change and no one cares.”

At the door, I turned back and looked at her. “You are wrong. I care. Whoever did this will pay.

Count on it.”

THE TREK TO DEADWOOD HADN’T PANNED OUT THE WAY I’d imagined. Robin had made the call—which may or may not have been the final straw for Harvey. Since he’d learned of Rondelle’s murder, he’d been a ticking time bomb. Who’s to say something else wouldn’t have set him off? Maybe with even more disastrous results?

The inside of my car was like a furnace. I didn’t mind, I welcomed the warmth since a strange chill had settled inside me.

My mind was going a million different directions as I merged into the surprisingly light traffic.

Where had all the tourists gone? I squeaked through the last traffic signal and my four-cylinder Sentra struggled up the steep hill. Although I was anxious to get home, I hugged the guardrail in the slower right-hand lane.

At the top of the hill, the road gently curved before it began the deep descent into the canyon. I’d kept my speed at an easy 30 mph until I reached the last sharp corner where the road dropped.

I tapped the brakes.

Nothing happened.

I hit the brakes again, harder.

Nothing.

Crap.

What the hell was going on?

Don’t panic. My foot kept pumping the brake, like it would miraculously catch and bring me to a sudden stop.

It didn’t.

I glanced down at the speedometer. My speed was now at 35 mph.

And I’d just started the descent.

For a second I gave into my growing distress and jerked the steering wheel.

My tires connected with loose gravel and the back end shimmied as I corrected the skid and kept the car as far to the right as possible.

Okay. Stay calm. Consider the options. Quickly.

Another big curve loomed ahead. If I remembered correctly, it leveled off into a small meadow.

If I could just get there before I gained more momentum . . .

Trees whizzed past. Thoughts moved through my head like lightning.

I was going to crash. No doubt about it. But if I could control the crash, and keep my car from plowing into another car, at least innocent people wouldn’t suffer for my bad maintenance habits.

The speedometer stayed steady at 40 mph.

I tested the brakes one last time.

The brake pedal went all the way to the floor.

Fuck.

One option left.

My right hand palmed the emergency brake between the bucket seats. I pressed my thumb into the button and eased the stick up, holding my breath.

Please, please, please.

The tires grabbed and the car slowed slightly.

A semi-truck full of logs passed me, nearly blowing me off the road.

I glanced at the speedometer. Thirty.

The highway flattened, straightened.

This was my only chance. Rock walls and deep drop-offs lined the remainder of the road as it wound down through the sleepy canyon.

A ditch ran along one side, a steep, empty creekbed along the other. The ditch was lined with barbed wire fence, the creekbed with boulders.

No brainer which side I’d choose.

Again, I pulled the emergency brake. Slowly.

No head-on traffic. No one behind me, either.

I crossed the median to the shoulder of the opposite lane.

My speed had dropped to 25.

At the last second, I tried to drop the gearshift into the lowest gear. It was stuck in “D.”

Frustrated, I bore down with all my might and the damn thing finally slipped gears.

The engine made a horrible grinding, crunching sound. Ignoring it, I jerked the hand brake and aimed for the ditch, hoping like hell I wouldn’t roll this sucker before it stopped.

I clutched the steering wheel with only my left hand and held my breath.

Tires screeched. Then I hit the backside slope of the ditch. My body bounced inside the car. Dirt and grass flew over the windshield. Someone screamed.

The last thing I remembered was the airbag exploding in my face and far off, in the back of my mind, I thought it was strange, how that loud BANG sounded exactly like gunfire.

Cool hands touched my skin. Followed by sharp needles jabbing into my skull.

Ouch. God. Stop it.

I attempted to move, to get away from the pain. I couldn’t. I was paralyzed. I struggled to talk, but nothing came out. Felt like my throat was coated with glass.

The sharp needles turned into burning spikes.

Goddamn. Quit it. That fucking hurts!

“Hey, hey, where’s the fire?” Those same cool hands curled around my bare shoulders. “Relax.”

“Hurts,” I managed.

“I know, sweetie. But if you hold still it won’t hurt as much.”

“’Kay.”

I drifted back into the blessed blackness where there was no pain.

“Julie Collins? Come on. Open your eyes for me.”

A dull throbbing echoed inside my head. “I can’t.”

She tsk, tsked. “You didn’t even try. Come on. I need to see those pretty blue eyes again.”

I squeezed my eyes shut.

She laughed, a girlish high-pitched squeak. “I knew you’d be difficult the minute they wheeled you in here.”

Story of my life. “Where am I?” I asked, without opening my eyes.

“Mmm. Not surprised you don’t remember.” She paused. Metal clanked on metal next to my ear.

“You’re in the Lead hospital. You were in a car accident.”

Then I remembered. I peeled my eyes open. One at a time.

A white flash cut into my retinas like a laser. “Fuck. Can you cut the goddamn stadium lights?

You’re frying my fucking eyeballs.”

She tittered again. “Oh it’s not that bad. Hang on. Let me look at the other side and you’re done.”

“What’re you doing?”

“Checking your concussion.”

My eyes watered. “And what’s the diagnosis, doc?”

“I’m not the doc. Just a lowly nurse.”

Her icy hands disappeared. Rubber shoes chirked against the linoleum. Breathy voice connected with a face as she swam into focus.

Five foot nothing. Long hair the color of goldenrod. Soft, purple eyes that reminded me of a spring pasque flower.

And about twelve years old.

Okay. More like eighteen. Manners forgotten, I demanded, “How old are you?”

“Old enough to be a real nurse with a real degree and everything.” Her generous mouth curved.

“And a really, really big needle if you get smart with me.”

“How long have I been here?”

“A couple of hours.”

Hours had passed? “What happened?”

She became briskly efficient. “Hang on. I’ll get someone who can answer that.” She pulled the curtain aside and vanished.

I looked down at my body. Ugly pale blue hospital gown covered me to the knees. An IV stuck in my left arm. I scooted up. Groaned. God. It felt like someone had whacked me in the chest with a barstool.

My face hurt. I lifted my right hand to my nose. Swollen, but not broken. Ran my tongue around my teeth. Whew. All intact. My neck was sore and my head didn’t even feel like
my
head, but a very heavy cement block teetering atop a flimsy aspen limb.

The curtain parted. A Lawrence County Deputy stepped forward, Styrofoam cup in hand.

“Hi. Julie? I don’t know if you remember me—”

“Dave Tschetter, right?”

He nodded, and I could tell he was a bit surprised.

What? Did everyone suspect I had brain damage?

“I’d say it’s nice to see you again, Dave, but that would be a complete lie.”

He smiled. “Gotta say, you looked a helluva lot better at the county law enforcement conference last year.” A pause when the intercom paged Dr. Danielson. “You in the private sector full time now?”