June Bug (27 page)

26

Sheriff Hadley Preston fiddled with his cell phone and listened to the squawk of the radio. He had parked at the back of the waste-treatment facility, which he thought was ironic given the people and circumstances he was working with. His job brought him into contact with people wasting their lives in some vain pursuit of satisfaction or happiness or what they thought could bring a moment of joy. Empty pleasures for a second or two that left a lifetime of pain for them and others. More often than not they got caught up in some pursuit that doomed their chances. A failed love affair that ripped a marriage apart and led to murder. A late-night joyride that left some teenager injured or dead. Stupid choices people made that they probably wouldn’t if they’d thought about it for a split second longer.

Preston knew the little silver Honda that Bentley drove. He’d seen it at several accident and homicide scenes, so he watched the parking lot of the Kwik-Mart that sat about five hundred yards below him. A couple of straggling cars pulled up to the gas pumps, but most people went across the street to save five cents a gallon.

Something about this didn’t add up. There was no question that Walker was guilty of firing on his deputy and that he’d serve time, but as far as the Edwards girl, Preston wasn’t sure. He’d talked with the Kentucky State Police about the impounded RV. They’d told him that other than the cocaine and the money, the vehicle was a dead end. It looked like somebody had been living out of there for a while, but it didn’t appear it was the perpetrators. If the people who’d been arrested were to be believed, it was a man and a girl—which was borne out by some of the contents of the RV. The woman in Colorado believed the missing girl was traveling with a man in it, but that still felt like a long shot, even though she seemed credible.

The silver car zoomed into the lot and parked in the space by the air pump. Preston kept a pair of binoculars in his glove compartment, usually to watch the deer on some distant hill, a grouse feeding in a field, some diversion amid the monotony. At times the field glasses were useful in police business. There were two people in the car, and Bentley, in the driver’s seat, craned his neck to see inside the store and the rest of the lot.

The edge of the sun had dipped behind one of the hills, so there was still light. Everything around was sprouting with life and green as it would get all year. He’d heard from a buddy that the fish were biting down at East Lynn Lake, and he would have given anything to be down there in someone’s bass boat, drinking a cold one and putting a line in the water. Didn’t matter if he caught anything, of course, it was just being there. That’s what most people didn’t understand about fishing. It was just being in the moment, being fully in the water or on it, with the sights and sounds and smells and memories. Catching something was gravy, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually kept a fish he’d caught. He always released it back into the water and watched it swim away, glad to have been part of the story.

He waited as the passenger in the car got out. The man had something slung over his neck, and as Preston figured, it was a camera. This would be front-page news tomorrow if everything worked out like they planned. The photographer walked into the Kwik-Mart, out of sight, and Bentley climbed out and stood by the car, folding his arms, glancing one way, then the other at the road. Probably wondering if there’d be a line of police cars showing up to scare away his big story.

It was a waiting game no matter how you sliced it. Most of his work was. Most of life was. A few years earlier Preston would probably have stayed up all night exhausting his energy and resources looking for Walker, turning over every rock and dragging people out of bed. But time had taught him that waiting was sometimes best. Just like fishing. Sitting and watching, keeping a line out, fresh bait.

He also knew that the easiest time to lose the fish was right when you were pulling him into the boat. The hook could slip and the fish would flop back in the water, leaving you with nothing but the memory of that silver beauty flailing and squirming until it found freedom. It had happened more times than he wanted to count, and he didn’t want it to happen here.

He heard it before he saw it, the old beater of a car rumbling below him, heading west down Route 60. Muffler sounded like the tailpipe had separated and was dragging. When it came into view, sparks lit up underneath as the car slowed and wove its way across the double yellow lines until it made the agonizing turn into the Kwik-Mart, scraping the curb. It was mud-splattered and the hubcaps were a distant memory. The car finally came to rest near the store, then chugged a few times before it quit and black smoke plumed.

Preston tossed the binoculars aside and rolled down the hill. By the time he made it to the Kwik-Mart, Bentley was standing with Walker and the photographer was busy as a hillbilly paparazzo. When they noticed the cruiser, Walker put his hands above his head and Bentley stepped in front of him, his recorder to his lips.

Preston parked behind the old beater and reluctantly put his lights on. He didn’t want to draw any more attention than he had to, but this was needed. He checked for the cuffs on his belt and struggled out of the car.

As soon as he was out, Walker yelled, “I swear to God I never meant to hurt anybody up there, Sheriff. I didn’t know who was coming in that door. I swear.”

“We’ll work this out at the station,” Preston said, holding up a hand to calm him down. He tried to read him his rights, telling him anything he said could be used against him in a court of law, but it took several times to get through.

“Do you understand what I just said?” Preston said.

“Yeah, I understand.”

He turned him around and cuffed his wrists, then led him to the cruiser.

A crowd had gathered inside the Kwik-Mart, their faces pressed to the windows. A few people who were driving stopped or slowed down to gawk. Bentley had his notebook out, asking what he’d be charged with and for a statement from the sheriff.

“He shot at my deputy,” Preston said. “I’m going to charge him with that first.”

“What about the Edwards girl?” Bentley said. “Do you have reason to believe he was involved?”

“Watch your head,” Preston said as he guided Walker into the backseat. He was about to close the door when Walker looked at him, talking through the Jack Daniel’s or the Two Buck Chuck or whatever it was that he’d gotten his hands on. Preston had almost closed the door on him before he said the words that changed everything.

“I didn’t kill her,” Walker said. There was something about being arrested that always brought out the emotion. Maybe the finality of it or the relief or the fear. “I didn’t even know she was in the car. You can’t convict somebody for something they didn’t know, can you, Sheriff?”

Preston glanced at Bentley, who had his recorder held out and a look on his face like he’d just found buried treasure. Preston grabbed the recorder and tried to find the Stop button but it was too small and complicated, and he probably could have stayed there all night and not figured it out.

“You didn’t hear that,” Preston said.

“I heard what I heard,” Bentley said.

Preston handed the recorder back. “If you want to get the whole story, you didn’t hear that. Not in tomorrow’s paper. You understand me?”

Bentley took the device and nodded.

Preston slammed the door and reached in the front and rolled up all the windows and put the air conditioner on high. Then he walked to the other side and got in next to Walker. “What are you talking about?”

Walker looked like some scared little kid. “I want immunity or whatever it’s called. And that thing about your deputy, I don’t want to be charged with that.”

“Gray, that’s not going to happen. You could have killed an officer of the law.”

“But I didn’t know that’s who it was. He busted in.”

“Tell me what you know about Natalie, and I’ll make sure you get the best deal possible.”

Walker stared at him. “You promise?”

“I give you my word, and that’s about as good as you’re going to get around here.”

Walker nodded. “I believe you’re a fair man.”

Preston let his words hang there. It was the hardest thing not to say something, to just sit and wait, but that’s what he did.

Then Walker began. “That night, it was her that put me up to it. Said it was for insurance or something. I don’t know.”

“Her?”

“That woman. The mother.”

“Dana?”

“Yeah. Skinny with big lips and lots of curves. She said if I’d take her car to the reservoir and drive it in that she’d . . .”

“That she’d what?”

Walker looked up with guilty eyes. Like a teenager who’d been caught parking over on Gobbler’s Knob. “She promised me and her would get together. I told her I wasn’t going to do something that she’d accuse me of later and have me thrown in jail.”

“Back up,” Preston said. “How’d you meet her?”

“Friend of a friend. I’d seen her around, but she’d never talked to me before until she called. Told me to meet her at the Dew Drop and she’d buy me a drink. And maybe more. That’s what she said. Just like that. ‘Maybe more if you’re good to me.’”

“So you met her there.”

“Yeah. It was mid-June. She was flirting around with a bunch of guys when I got there, and I watched from outside. They were hooting and hollering, and she had them all going. Then she saw me and came outside and told me to wait, so I did. She finally came out and said she had something for me to do. I asked what it was.” He looked up again. “I swear to you, I didn’t know she was back there.”

“What happened?”

“She said she wanted me to drive her car into the reservoir. And I said why would she want me to do that. She said insurance or something. That there’d be a big payoff. I don’t know what was going on in her head. I swear that girl was half-loony. She had a hot body, but she was off in the head, you know?”

“So you drove the car.”

“Not right off. I said I needed payment before I did the job and after. And she smiled and we went to my car.” He stared out the window at the gathering crowd, like a kid caught tipping cows or soaping windows. It was almost like he was stuck back there, like he’d been a prisoner of what had happened.

“Sheriff, you gotta believe me. This thing has eaten me up inside. All these years I never told anybody. I never let on what happened except a couple of times it slipped. And I guess that came back to bite me.”

“Why didn’t you tell? If you weren’t guilty of anything, why didn’t you come to us?”

Walker cursed. “Guy like me. You going to believe a guy like me over some mother crying her eyes out?” He shook his head. “I lit out of here as fast as I could. Next day I was gone. Drove up to Cleveland. I saw it on the news, her standing there crying, saying what she said. I couldn’t take the lies and I figured the truth would come out, but I turned it off. I couldn’t think about it after that. Something just shut down.”

Bentley was right at the window leaning down and Preston wanted to drive away, but this was like hooking two fish at the same time and dragging them into the boat. He knew he had to see it through.

“So you two go back to your car. What happened after that?”

“She was a big tease. She made it look like she was all hot to trot. Kissing me and doing stuff and whispering things. I was excited; I’ll admit it. There’s not a man on earth who’s still breathing that wouldn’t be. But all of a sudden she just stopped. She said it was time to get to her car. And she told me right where it was deepest and how to do it. It was like she’d thought the whole thing through and planned it out right down to telling me to make sure there was at least one window rolled down.”

“And that’s what you did? You drove up there?”

“Sheriff, I was half out of my mind before I even got to the Dew Drop. I don’t know how I remember any of this. But, yeah, I took her keys and she showed me her car. I got in and drove with her driving my car behind me. We snaked up that road—you remember how narrow that thing used to be. It’s a wonder I didn’t drive over the side, the shape I was in.”

“You didn’t see the girl in the car seat? How could you miss that?”

“I swear, I never even looked back there. It was pitch-dark and the car’s dome light didn’t work. You couldn’t hardly see the dashboard to tell how fast you were going. It never occurred to me there’d be somebody, especially a little kid, in the back.”

“So you drove up there . . .”

Walker took a breath. “I drove up to the incline. It was just dirt. There was this drop-off at the edge where the water was pretty deep, and I knew why she’d picked that place. Nobody’d find the car there unless the whole lake dried up. She had planned that out right, I can tell you. I was maybe twenty yards from the water at that point. And I got out and saw her parked above, waving and giggling. I left the front door open and put it in neutral—then I shifted it into drive and pulled the brake off and let it roll. As soon as it picked up speed, the front door closed and I remembered about the window. I’d forgotten to put it down. So when it ran over the embankment, it hit the water nose-first, then flattened out and floated there for what seemed like an hour, but it was probably only a few minutes. Then it pitched forward and sank.” Walker closed his eyes, like something was stinging them.