The Way You Say My Name (35 page)

Mitch traced the face in the picture with one finger, so much hurt and longing in that one gesture that Dillon wanted to weep. Not surprisingly, the tears were flowing freely down Mitch’s cheeks when he looked up and said, “He looks so grown up in this picture. God, I wish I could have been there, especially when . . . well, you know.” He took a minute to clear his eyes, then said, “Are there any more pictures of him in here?”
Jamie grinned. “Knowing Ben, not if he could help it. But you can flip through and see. The yearbook staff always fills the extra pages with snapshots of the student body.”
Mitch nodded. “That part of high school I do remember.” He picked up the book and started flipping through. “I’m glad at least that Ben was sticking it out with school. I quit and never went back. I--” Mitch stopped and his entire face froze. He dropped the book face down and jumped to his feet. “What the hell kinda game are you trying to pull?”
Dillon rounded the chair and picked up the book. “What are you talking about?”
“You told me you didn’t know anything about Burke’s partner. I wanna know what’s going on, and I wanna know now.”
Dillon opened the book to the page it had fallen on and saw the full-page picture of Dan Morgan. “This? You mean Principal Morgan?”
“That’s what he’s calling himself?” Mitch searched first Dillon’s and then Jamie’s faces. “My God, you really didn’t know. Your Principal Morgan is my Uncle Jared. We just found Burke’s partner.”
Dillon dropped the book like it was a live coal. “Jesus.” He took one look at Jamie’s horrified expression and said, “That’s it. We’re calling Brandon. Now. If he’s not back from Chicago, the dispatcher’s just gonna have to track him down.” He looked at Mitch. “If you’re not gonna back us up on this, then you can leave.”
Mitch shook his head. “I’m with you all the way on this one.”
Jamie reached for the phone, just as Dillon heard a loud pop and the living room window exploded inwards in a hail of glass and bullets.

Dillon threw himself towards Jamie, taking them both to the ground as glass showered the room. Mitch wasted no time following suit. Dillon tensed as he heard another shot being fired at almost the same instant, this one different in pitch. Worse though, was the silence that came afterwards.
He looked to Jamie. “Are you all right?”
“I’m not hurt, just pissed as hell that someone is shooting at us.”
Mitch, who was lying beside them, said, “Make that two someones.” When Jamie and Dillon both gave him blank stares, he said, “Unless I’m losing it, we have two separate guns firing on us.”
Well, fuck. Wasn’t that nice to know? Dillon reached for the cell phone he hoped he’d remembered to put in his pocket when they’d left for the auto-parts store what seemed like a lifetime ago. Pay dirt. He was just about to pull it out and call nine-one-one, when Sadie’s voice came floating through the window. “Are you boys all right in there?”
Jamie’s breath rushed out in a jagged rasp. “Oh God. Aunt Sadie’s out there by herself.” He struggled to get up. “We have to help her. We have to--”
Sadie’s voice came through just in time to put a stop to Jamie’s panic. “Jamie, if you’re through having the little episode I’m sure you’re having right about now, get your rump down here and help me tie this rascal up before the police arrive. I’m reasonably certain as to where his shot went. I know you’re all right.”
Dillon rose, pulling Jamie up with him and checking him from head to toe for injuries. He found a couple of shallow cuts on Jamie’s hands and arms, but nothing more serious. Jamie repeated the same inspection on Dillon and was quickly satisfied that Dillon’s cuts were no worse than his own. Mitch, too, seemed okay as he came to his feet and brushed the glass shards from his t-shirt and jeans. He had a few cuts himself, but all three of them seemed to have escaped any real harm. Sadie’s voice came through again as they were heading to the door. “Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear. Somebody better get down here right now and shut this piece of trash up before I shoot him again.”
That was all it took to get them moving. The three of them were out the door, across the deck, and down the stairs in a heartbeat. Good thing Dillon hit the on-switch for the floodlights around the apartment as he was going out the door. He wouldn’t have gotten the full effect of what he was seeing, otherwise.
Sadie was standing at the base of the old oak tree which provided shade and privacy to Jamie and Dillon’s apartment. She was wearing a pink nightgown, a fuzzy purple robe, and a pair of honest-to-God bunny slippers. She was also holding a still-smoking twelve-gauge shotgun, the barrels trained on Dan Morgan’s quivering, bleeding body. Dillon, Jamie, and Mitch stopped just a few feet from the pair, shock and amazement keeping them rooted to the spot.
Morgan was lying on his side, the black silk turtleneck he wore peppered with holes from the middle of his back, up. His arms were sprawled out beside him, his black-trouser-encased legs curled in a fetal position. He started whimpering and pleading the minute he saw Jamie.
“James, thank God. You have to help me. Your aunt’s gone crazy. I was coming over here to ask you a question about the G.S.A.” Morgan’s normally oily voice was thick with obvious pain, but Dillon felt no sympathy. “This crazy old witch blasted me the minute I came into the yard. No warning, no reason. You have to call an ambulance. I’m dying.”
Sadie held the gun steady, her eyes pinned to the bead at the end of the barrels. A bead directly in line with Morgan’s head. “You’re not dying, you miserable weasel. I knocked your sorry self out of that tree with birdshot.” Sadie snorted. “Dying, my eye. I’ve been bird hunting at my daddy’s knee since I was old enough to hold a rifle. Not to mention the fact that I was the Reed County Country Club’s reining skeet champion six years in a row. Believe me, if I’d wanted you dead, you would be. You wouldn’t even be breathing, let only sniveling like the coward you are.” Sadie’s voice took on a menacing quality that sent chills coursing over Dillon’s skin. “But this is a double barrel shotgun, and I’ve only fired one shot. Do you know what that means?”
Morgan stammered a full ten seconds before getting out, “N-no.”
“It means, my boy, that I have one shot left. And you can bet your worthless butt that the second shell doesn’t contain game load. No, sir. It’s a slug, and I have no objection whatsoever to firing it directly into your empty skull.”
Mitch and Jamie were too shaken to speak, but Dillon went back to something Sadie had just said, “Aunt Sadie, did I hear you right? You shot Morgan out of that tree?”
“That’s exactly what I said. I was just heading down to the kitchen for a late night snack when I heard a noise in the back yard.” She spoke to Dillon, but never took her eyes off Morgan. “At first, I thought maybe I’d heard you and Jamie coming in from a date or some such, but when I looked out, I could see that your living room light was on, meaning you were probably up in the apartment, already. I felt like I should check on you, just to make sure everything was all right. I never go outside this late at night without some sort of protection, so I grabbed my father’s shotgun. Thank the heavens above I keep it loaded. The first thing I saw when I stepped out the back door was this imbecile,” she inclined her head towards Morgan, dislodging one green curler in the process, “climbing through the branches of that old oak. Even with the security lights on, I couldn’t tell just what he was doing until he got about twenty-feet up, just level with your living room window. That’s when the no-account-son-of-a-bitch pulled a revolver out of his pants and took aim.” Sadie gave a put-upon sigh. “Only a true idiot would use a pistol to shoot someone from that range, but his ignorance worked to my advantage. Morgan and I fired at almost the same instant, but my shot unbalanced him causing his shot to go wild. The recoil from the revolver, combined with the pain of the birdshot I sent up his way, knocked his fool ass out of the tree.” She nodded towards a shadowed spot a few feet away. “I believe you’ll find his weapon over there in the bushes. He dropped it when he fell.”
Even as injured as he was, Morgan kept protesting his innocence. “She’s crazy, I tell you. Looney as a tune. All I did was walk across the yard--”
Jamie spoke then, his voice laced with so much rage and raw hatred even Dillon flinched. “You’re the liar, Morgan. Or should I say, Uncle Jared?”
Morgan’s eyes went absolutely wild. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You have to help me, James. I’m bleeding to death.”
Mitch stepped up. “You know exactly what he’s talking about, you piece of shit. And I’m going to tell the cops every last one of your dirty little secrets. When I’m through with you, you’ll be lucky if they don’t crucify your ass.”
Morgan’s face twisted into a snarl, as much from the pain as anger. “Oh yeah? Who’s gonna believe the word of a ten-dollar whore like you?”
Dillon narrowed his eyes. “If you’re so innocent, Mr. Morgan, then how did you know Mitch used to be a hustler?”
Watching Morgan try to backtrack his way out of that one would have been funny if the guy hadn’t been so pathetic. As it was, Morgan’s pleas of denial made Dillon feel like he was going to be sick. Of course, Dillon’s nausea could be attributed to the fact that Morgan had just tried to kill them. The approaching sounds of sirens brought Dillon’s mind back into focus and away from his churning stomach.
A swarm of police officers and sheriff’s deputies filled the yard, but Dillon’s attention was centered solely on Brandon Nash, who was bearing down on them at a fair clip. He had his weapon drawn, but re-holstered it the minute he caught sight of Sadie and her shotgun.
“Miss Sadie, you wanna tell me why the principal of Plunkett High is lying in a bleeding heap with the end of that big ole’ gun you’re holding pointed at his head?”
Jamie answered for her. “Because Dan Morgan is a liar, a child molester, and a killer. I can prove it, Brandon. I think he killed Ben and his former foster father, and I know for a fact he just tried to kill us.”
Morgan was really desperate now. “You think I killed Ben? No, Burke did that. Don’t you see? He’d have killed me, too, if I hadn’t gotten to him first.” He raised one trembling arm and pointed to Mitch. “This is all your fault, you bastard. If you hadn’t come to Reed tonight, none of this would be happening.”
That was all it took to set the lot of them off. Mitch started shouting, swearing to see Morgan pay for what he’d done. Sadie was also carrying on about making Morgan pay, but not for his crimes. No, she wanted him to pay for the damage done to her window and the cleanup of any broken oak branches from her yard. Jamie was listing Morgan’s believed sins one by one, from blackmail, on. Dillon was doing his best to tell Brandon the story as he knew it, when Brandon put two fingers in his mouth and gave an ear splitting whistle.
“Hold on just a damn minute here. Miss Banks, give me that gun.” Once he’d gotten it away from her, Brandon emptied the slug from the chamber and handed it off to one of his deputies. “Bag that for me, please. And search the bushes around the house and the base of that tree. I’m almost certain I heard the word ‘revolver’ somewhere in the jumble of explanations and accusations they’ve all been spouting.” When the deputy was gone, Brandon rolled his eyes. “Why is it always you people? Thank God one of your neighbors heard the shots and called it in.” The ambulance pulled up, and a team of paramedics rushed out and headed towards Morgan. Brandon spoke to the man in charge. “Take Principal Morgan to County General, and make certain they understand that he’s to be kept under lock and key. From what I’ve just heard, I’m pretty sure he’s guilty of something.” Motioning for one of his deputies to step forward, Brandon said, “Dewey, send two of our men along with the ambulance, and have the rest of them canvas the scene.”
Dewey nodded. “You got it boss. Uh, what do you want me to do with them?” He pointed to Sadie and the rest.
Brandon sighed. “Take every last one of them down to the station, Miss Banks included. Oh, and Dewey?”
“Yes, sir?”
Brandon raked his fingers through his hair. “Make sure we have plenty of coffee. This ought to be one hell of a long story.”
* * *
Jamie knew even before he turned over everything he’d been hiding for so long that he was looking at some serious trouble, but after five hours of answering questions and going through the story time and again, Jamie was starting to realize just how screwed he really was. Not even when the sheriff left to process all that evidence, was Jamie capable of feeling any relief. Brandon had been gone for almost an hour by Jamie’s count, leaving him alone in the interrogation room to stew about what was to come. If Bran’s intention had been to drive Jamie crazy with guilt and worry, it was sure working.
Just when Jamie thought he was gonna crack, the door opened and Brandon came back in. He looked haggard and worn, but not exactly angry. More like resigned. He sat down across from Jamie and slapped the folder he was holding on the table. “Go ahead. Read it.”
Jamie reached for the folder, not certain he wanted to open it, but doing so, anyway. Scanning the top paper, he said, “What is this?”
“A list of all the evidence you’ve turned over to us tonight, as well as a summary of your statement. Read over it and see if we’ve gotten it all. Oh, you might not want to read that last page, though.”
“Why? What’s on the last page?”
“A list of all the things I could charge you with right about now.” Brandon smacked his hand down on the table. “Jesus Christ, Jamie. What in the hell were you thinking?”
Damn. He just had to ask what was on that last page. But Brandon had asked him a question, and Jamie was gonna answer it. He was tired, and scared, and not a little bit angry. No, Brandon asked him a question, and damned if Jamie wasn’t gonna answer it.
“I wasn’t thinking, Sheriff.”
Brandon made the mistake of taking Jamie’s statement as an apology. “You’re damn straight you weren’t thinking. You--”
Jamie stood up, cutting Bran off in the process. He was filled with a rage he hadn’t felt since the night Ben died. All the months of worry, of agonizing over who killed Ben and why, mixed in Jamie’s gut along with the all-consuming fear that he could’ve lost Dillon to Morgan’s bullet tonight. And all of it was due to the fact that Jamie couldn’t let well enough alone, with no one to believe him or offer him help, besides. All of that helpless wrath was what Jamie turned on Brandon, now. “Like I said, I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t thinking about the fact that my best friend was murdered and no one would believe me because they thought he was nothing but a two-bit hustler who deserved what he got.”
“Now wait just a minute, kid--”
Jamie gave him no quarter. “And I wasn’t thinking about the fact that Ben left me in charge of forty-two thousand dollars worth of dirty money and a letter that nearly destroyed an innocent guy’s life.”
“Jamie, wait--”
Jamie shook his head. “I’ve been waiting. Waiting for the truth to come out. Waiting for the same guy who killed Ben to come after me and Dillon. And that’s exactly what he did, Sheriff. Morgan came after me and the man that I love all because you dropped the fucking ball. I came to you for help and you let me down. You charge me all you want. Hell, it’s about time you sent someone to prison. Might as well be the guy who cracked the case you were too damn incompetent to break yourself. But whether you charge me or not, keep your damned lectures to yourself. Save them for someone who gives a shit.”
A deep, throaty chuckled sounded from the doorway. Jamie looked up to see a grinning Hank Kilgore standing just outside the interrogation room. Jamie had been so into his tirade, he hadn’t even heard the door open.
Kilgore said, “He’s got your number, Nash.”
Jamie looked at Brandon, surprised to see that he was smiling. “He may have my number, Kilgore, but you have to admit, he’s got yours, too. It’s a piss-poor day indeed when an eighteen-year-old kid cracks a case that two police departments and a ream of seasoned detectives couldn’t.”
Kilgore nodded. “True, but the kid had help. If I hadn’t screwed up and left Carpenter’s file within easy reach, James here couldn’t have swiped that paper with Mitch Harding’s name and contact info on it.” He turned to Jamie. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you should be in for that, kid? Tampering with evidence, coercion of a witness.” Kilgore grinned, again. “Practicing detective work without a license.”