The Pied Piper of Death (26 page)

“He drank a bottle of liquid courage, volunteered his men for a suicide mission, and then was too drunk to lead them. He sacrificed hundreds of men while safely passed out behind a rock.”

“You haven't changed since college.”

“Damn it, Peyton! I'm not debunking a dead man for no reason. What Caleb did on that bridge more than a century ago is what has infected your family. Can't you understand that?”

“Bullshit!”

Lyon impatiently turned away from his former classmate. “What do you think, Rocco?”

The large police chief moved to the center of the room, where he dipped his fingers into the box of minié ball cartridge packages that sat on the center of the table. “This carton is half full. I think that over the years the others have been fired at people.”

Peyton moved to Rocco's side and bent over to examine the cartridges. “Confederates.”

“The same type that were found in Swan,” Lyon said.

“Interesting,” Rocco said.

“There was a Major Swan on that bridge,” Lyon said. “He was mortally wounded, but lived long enough for his wife and teenage son to visit him. It's been said that he made his son take a vow. No one seems to know what that vow was, Peyton, but I think you know.”

“Your overly dramatic imagination is reaching again.”

“I know what he means,” Rocco said. “Over the years the Swans have been doing you Pipers in. They've been filling up your Pie out there. You found out and you took care of Mr. Swan to protect your family.”

“I was going to fire him because of his sexual escapades.”

“You were down South on business and happened to be near Sharpsburg, Maryland. You stopped off out of curiosity and talked to Ranger Rusty West about the battle.”

“Thousands of people a year stop to visit battlefields,” Peyton responded.

“Ranger West has identified your photograph,” Bea said with such authority that even Lyon believed her.

“He remembered you quite distinctly,” Lyon said. “Particularly your accent and friendliness. You knew about the colonel, the bridge, and you knew the name Swan.”

“Suppose I don't deny that knowledge? Those are historical facts,” Peyton said.

Lyon was about to speak when he intuitively stopped. Rocco was primed. The police chief's voice automatically slipped into his official non-judgmental monotone.

“We've reconstructed the circumstances carefully, Mr. Piper,” Rocco said. “You were aware of the Swan family connection. You were aware of the grave danger your daughter faced. When you found out about the note Swan sent to Paula you knew the situation was critical. You killed Swan because you perceived that you had no other choice.”

“I'm fed up with this crap! You can all get the hell out of here,” Peyton said. “I would be appreciative if you got off my property as soon as possible. Tomorrow morning this room will be sealed with concrete and will never be reopened. It will remain a burial place for those two poor souls, and a shrine to the lost men of the bridge.”

“Look around you,” Rocco said. “I've sat through a lot of criminal trials, but I've never seen anything as effective as photographs of this room will be. A good defense lawyer will play up your love for your daughter, your fear of Swan—hell, you'll be out in two years.”

“Your confession will allow Loyce Swan to be released,” Bea added.

Peyton turned to glare at Bea. “You'd love it, wouldn't you? My political career shattered before it starts, and you become the heroine in this mess. I don't give a crap about Loyce. Let her twist in the wind.”

“You'd let her go through a trial?” Bea asked.

“Better her than me.”

Lyon watched that remark register with Rocco; the emotional play on his friend's face reminded him of the young Ranger captain he had seen fearlessly facing down the Army general. Although Rocco knew criminal law, his Paladin sense of justice sometimes overrode logic.

“You won't get the nomination for Lord High Executioner when I'm through with you,” Rocco said as he snapped handcuffs on Peyton Piper. “I'm arresting you for the murder of Markham Swan.”

“Are you out of your mind? I have the best lawyers money can buy. They'll cut your legs off. You will be dismissed by the Murphysville town fathers, Herbert. You'll end up as a minimum wage security guard working a five-and-dime discount house.”

Rocco shook his head. “You discovered his notes, which made it obvious that Swan's family were the murderers. Since Swan hadn't done Paula any physical harm at this point, there was no legal protection you could obtain. You killed him to protect your family.”

“What notes are you talking about?” Peyton snapped. “Wentworth went through all that junk of Swan's.”

“The notes you destroyed after you read them,” Rocco replied.

“All right, I did go down to the cottage to fire him that night. I found him already dead, with his wife standing over the body with the gun in her hand. That's going to be my story, Herbert.”

“You shot him—twice,” Rocco said.

“You think anyone is going to believe that I would have done it myself? If I wanted to kill the creep I would have Barry do it. Barry would kill his own grandmother for the right price.”

“No,” Rocco said, “you wouldn't have wanted to sell your soul to Barry for the rest of time.”

“Loyce Swan would have gotten off eventually and I would have compensated her for her time. It was necessary that I remain untainted in order to run for the Senate.”

“I think they call that the divine rights of kings,” Bea mumbled.

“Let's go,” Rocco said as he pushed Peyton toward the entrance.

They climbed up through the tomb and out through the stone passage to the concrete deck near the obelisk.

“What in the hell is going on here?” Peyton said as he looked out over the Pie.

S
IXTEEN

Uneven clumps of dirt had been piled between the neat rows of tombstones that radiated from the obelisk. Several headstones had been knocked over while others canted at precarious angles. It appeared as if an impatient giant had brushed past the Pie while his fist sprinkled a constant stream of soil.

Rocco instinctively tightened his grip on Peyton's arm. “I don't know what your people are doing out here, Piper, but don't even consider making a break for it.”

“I had nothing to do with …”

The industrialist's words were lost under the chugging roar of a large yellow backhoe that skidded around the corner of the mausoleum. It sped past them to the edge of the pie, where it dumped another load of dirt. The heavy machine continued on to the edge of the cemetery where its oversize tires swiveled in a half circle. The engine died with a coughing hack.

Rabbit, a semiautomatic rifle slung across his back, jumped from the cab to the rear of the large machine. He crouched behind the hoe's bucket where he was well protected by the folding arm. He unslung the rifle and braced the barrel against a rear strut of the undercarriage.

The metal click of the magazine's seating and the clank of the bolt were audible across the Pie. The rifle barrel traced a narrow arc across the walk in front of the crypt.

Rocco drew his service revolver. “Everyone down,” he whispered to the others on the stone walk. “Drop that rifle!” he bellowed across the Pie.

A short burst of closely spaced fire whined off a band of scrollwork running along the top of the mausoleum. Pieces of stone flaked off under the barrage and pelted them as they huddled by the wall.

Rocco threw himself flat. “Are you crazy, Rabbit?” He steadied his right wrist with his left hand as he aimed the pistol toward the heavy equipment parked at the far end of the pie. “Everyone okay?” he asked the others around him.

“So far,” Lyon answered as he looked at his wife with concern.

The rifle cracked again and another round ricochetted off the marble facade above their heads. “In case you have any ideas, Herbert,” Rabbit yelled, “I have a thirty-thirty and plenty of ammo. You are exposed. You know that at this range your handgun is next to useless. If anyone tries to run, I will make it very unpleasant for them. That goes for everyone except Bea. Give me your word you won't go for help, Senator, and you can sit in your car until this is over.”

“I'll stay with Lyon,” she called back.

“Go on!” Lyon insisted. “She's going, Mister R.”

“No, I'm not.”

Rabbit fired a shot in the air. “Discussion is over. Nobody goes anywhere.”

“This is an official order,” Rocco yelled across the Pie. “Throw down your rifle and come forward with your hands in the air.”

The answer was another shot that splattered against the wall.

“What in the hell does he want?” Rocco whispered to the group huddled around him.

“He's obviously flipped out,” Peyton said. “I always knew he was unstable.”

“He obviously wants something,” Lyon said. “He can shoot any or all of us at a time of his choosing.”

As if in reply to their questions, Rabbit called across the Pie. “Send Piper to me.”

“Nonnegotiable,” Rocco yelled back. “I never release a prisoner.”

“Damn it! This isn't my doing,” Peyton said. “This is all the runt's idea. I don't need him or this. I'm prepared to make a fool of you in court, Chief. I'm not going to live as a fugitive on the run.”

“Peyton's got a point,” Lyon agreed. “Rabbit has another agenda.”

“I wish someone would tell me what it is,” Rocco said as he unlocked Peyton's handcuffs. “Don't get ideas, Piper. The cuffs are off because we may have to move away from here fast.”

“It's over, Peyton,” Rabbit yelled. “The Covenant of the Bridge is complete. A hundred years of blood will stop. I am changing the rules. It won't be Paula that fulfills the covenant, but you, Peyton, and then it's over.”

“What in the hell is he talking about?” Rocco asked as he searched the target area for a clear shot of the hidden man with the rifle.

“You've got it screwed up, little man,” Peyton said as he instinctively rose to his knees and cupped his hands around his mouth. “It was Swan. Swan! The dead man!”

“I researched it,” Lyon added. “The dying Major Swan made his young son take an oath. Major Swan and his son created the covenant.”

“Right,” Rabbit replied. “They did. Except that young Swan entered the Union Army the following year and was killed at Petersburg.”

“Oh, my God,” Peyton chuckled. “Don't tell me it's your family, Rabbit?”

“We've been around a long time, Mister Big Man.”

“Why the dirt?” Piper asked.

“Fitting, I thought. Both our ancestors are buried in this soil,” he answered. “I'm giving you a chance.”

“I think he's laid some land mines under the pie,” Lyon said.

Peyton's veneer began to dissolve. His voice cracked. “Jesus, I think you're right. He's only covered them with a few inches of dirt and I can see one of the pressure plates.” He yelled across the headstones again. “You have Tommies planted in the Pie, Rabbit.”

“Hey, good guess,” the man with the rifle called back. “I didn't have time to do a whole field, but there's enough explosive doo-dads out here to make your walk interesting.”

“What walk?” Peyton's voice skirted panic level.

“In many places of the world a typical Sunday afternoon stroll through fields sown with mines is not unusual. So, you're going to walk through your own toys. Come on, Mr. Piper. They don't cost much to make and all they can do is blow you apart. If you're tall enough they might only separate you from your lower half and make you a little person. I think the men who died on the Bridge would approve this fitting end.”

“You're going too far, Welch,” Rocco yelled in his most authoritative voice. “You are committing a number of felonies.”

The answer was another shot that whined off the stone.

“Make Peyton take his walk and it's all over,” Rabbit said.

“As soon as I'm in the clear away from the others you'll shoot me. You've always hated me, Rabbit. Always have and always will.”

“There's no need for this,” Lyon shouted. “Rocco has arrested Peyton for Swan's murder. You don't need to do anything to him.”

“That means I can work something out with you. It's like the gas station, R.,” Rocco said. “We can put a package together if you drop the rifle immediately.”

“If that son-of-a-bitch doesn't start tiptoeing through the mine field in five seconds, I'm going to start adding bullets to his wardrobe.”

“You're fired!” Peyton screamed at Rabbit. “Get off Piper property.”

“Like I'm going to obey that command,” the man with the rifle said. He fired a single round. “Unless you come toward me, the next one will be a gut shot, Peyton. If you can make it all the way over here without cracking, then you get to go home tonight. I don't think you can, Peyton. I think the Pipers are all poisoned with the same cowardice as that colonel on the Bridge. Prove me wrong, big man. Walk over to me like the tall man you think you are.”

“Stop him,” Peyton pleaded to Rocco as the last vestige of his control crumbled.

“Tell me how to do that, Piper,” Rocco answered. “We have to either wait him out until he makes a mistake, hope that my office comes looking for me, or get lucky with a clear shot at a small target. I suggest we wait and lie here and pray he won't shoot us.”

“You mean shoot me.”

“You, me, us. He can pick off whomever he wishes whenever he decides.”

Peyton lurched forward to the outer rim of the spread dirt where he grasped the edge of a headstone. His fingers curved over the top surface to give him the support he needed to remain upright. He spoke in a strained cracked voice whose words often faded. “We got to talk, Rab … Mister R.”