Two for Flinching (33 page)

“Is she in danger? Sarah?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve got to call the police. Randy will
help you. I know he is angry with you, but he is still your
friend.”

The sun seemed exceedingly bright that day. I
closed my eyes again. “I can’t.”

“You have to.”

“Do you trust me, Hannah?”

“Well, uh…”

“To do the right thing with Sarah? To keep
her safe.”

“Absolutely.”

“Then trust me now. The police need time.
They have to go through channels, make plans, change plans, get
approval. I know. I’ve been there. It’s why I quit.”

“I thought you got fired for throwing your
boss through a window.”

“Semantics,” I said out of habit, fighting to
focus. “Maybe I can talk her down. Maybe I can’t. But I definitely
can’t wait on the police.”

Hannah said simply, “Okay.”

I popped the glove compartment. “You have a
gun in here?”

“At the shop.”

I love Alabama women.

“What else do you need?”

“Your minivan.”

Chapter Fifty-Nine

When Stella and I had first started talking
seriously about having kids, I had teased her relentlessly about
her need for a minivan. Stella was much more MILF than future
soccer mom and wouldn’t go for it, so when the time came for a new
vehicle, I bought the Jeep. Four wheel drive, you could haul a
family through the swamp (if the need should ever arise) as well as
to school without the minivan stigma.

Of course, that Jeep was still parked at home
or out with Erin—wherever she might be. Hannah’s minivan handled
the streets with no problem, but struggled up the rutted track. I
could probably have pushed it farther, if not for the fact that
Hannah would have killed me if I brought it back full of holes. I
got out and began the long walk.

The sun was still exceedingly bright. My
balance was off. The nausea came and went. My head hurt incredibly
bad. I felt as if I had been hit by a steel pipe.

In a perfect world, I would have set up long
before the meet—as in hours before. Take the high ground, set an
ambush, plan escape routes. Only in a perfect world, people didn’t
kidnap four year old little girls. So I had gone to the other
extreme, showing fifteen minutes late. I doubted Madison had been
here the entire time, too big a risk someone else might show up and
ask difficult questions. I figured Madison would arrive at the
appropriate hour, maybe a few minutes late, and I let her claim the
high ground, make her plans. I also hoped the time would work on
her nerves, make her grateful when I did show. More than fifteen
minutes and she might become resentful, angry.

“You’re late.” She came off the hood of her
sports car, in her leather jacket and knee high boots.

“I came as fast as I could.” I resumed
walking toward her, the gaping hole of the quarry behind her. The
trees were completely bare, desolate, without leaves until
spring.

Madison held up a hand. “Stop right
there.”

I stopped.

“Open your jacket.”

I unzipped it, held it out and did a slow
circle so she could see I wasn’t packing.

“Where’s your gun?”

“Cops have it.”
The truth, though Hannah’s
snub-nosed .38 was in my pocket.

“Don’t you have a backup?”

“Police have that one, too.”

I started walking again and again she raised
her hand. “That’s close enough.”

Not for a snub-nosed .38.

“Is that your blood on your shirt?”

“No.”

“Steven’s?”

“Most of it.”

“You don’t look so good.”

“I don’t feel so good,” I said, “Grade three
concussion.”

For a moment, her face filled with
compassion. A nurse’s reaction. “You should be in the
hospital.”

“Tell me about it,” I said. “Where’s my
daughter?”

The moment had passed. Madison smiled.
“Close.”

I struggled to keep my voice calm.
“Where?”

“Not yet.” Hands on her hips, she said, “Tell
me what happened.”

“I found Clarence and Fletcher going through
my office, looking for the journal you told them about. I shot
them.”

“I always liked Derik.”

“So did I.”

“You’ve never gone into that shitty little
office that early before.”

“No,” I agreed, “not in a while.”

“What about Steven and Reggie?”

“They showed up too late. I was fighting
Reggie when Steven sneaked up on me and hit me with a pipe.”

“He’ll do that.”

“Not anymore.”

Madison made a face I had a hard time
deciphering. Mild surprise, not shock, regret without sadness.
Something a sociopath would do.

“You killed Amber.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“She was your sister.”

“There’s your answer.” Madison crossed her
arms. “It was time for her to go.”

“So you could have Steven. The only man she
wouldn’t share with you.”

Madison laughed. “I was tired of being the
little sister, the hellion who was always in trouble while Miss
Perfect had the world handed to her.”

“You were jealous.”

“Jealous?” She shook her head. “Never. I was
tired of her. Amber never shared Steven. I took him when I wanted
him. She couldn’t stop me—even if she wanted to. That was enough. I
didn’t
want him
.”

“Then why?”

“Why not?” she said again.

“Did you help Steven kill Stella?”

“No, I never heard of Stella.” She took a
pack of cigarettes from her jacket, shook out one, fired it up. “I
guess I did. Four years ago, Steven came to me, asking if I could
get him enough drugs from the hospital to knock somebody out. When
I did, I told him to be careful, too much would kill and Steven
goes, ‘And?’ So yeah, I guess I helped him.”

“And when he decided to kill Amber,” I said,
wanting to keep her talking as well as to get to the truth, “he
came back to you.”

“No. It was my idea.” Madison took a deep
drag, tilted her head and blew a grey plume to the blue sky. “The
restaurant was in trouble—big trouble. Steven got drunk, came to me
for comfort and…something else. I reminded him of the insurance
money.” She shrugged. “We were off and running.”

“When I started digging, he sent you to me to
find out how the investigation was going.”

“You are so stupid, you know that? Are you
sure you’re a detective? No wonder you’re two steps from the
unemployment line.” She shook her head. “Amber told me all about
you two. How she felt so
alive
when she was with you. I
fucked you because you were the last guy she fucked. Because I
could.”

“Listen, Madison, you need help. I can—“

Anger flared in that once beautiful face.
“Don’t even try that. There is nothing wrong with me.”

“You murdered your only sister, for what? To
show you were somehow better than her?”

She spun suddenly on her heel, yanking open
the passenger door. “You want to see your precious daughter?” She
pulled Sarah out of the car by her hair. It was all I could do not
to rush her. She put one arm under Sarah’s jaw, with the other she
held a pistol to her head.

Sarah was barely conscious, rubbing her eyes
the way she did when she was on the verge of sleep and fighting it.
“You drugged her.”

“Yes.”

“What did you give her?”

“Does it really matter? Dead is dead.”

I held up my hand, stumbled, almost fell.
“Wait! Wait!”

Madison cocked her head. “Why?”

“Why are you doing this?” I demanded.
“Because I killed your lover? Because I figured it out?”

“Please.” She backed to the edge of the
crater, pulling Sarah along with her. “I never cared for him.”

“Then why?”

Madison made a face, sadness creeping into
her eyes. “All my life, I’ve been the second banana. I thought we
might have something, you and I. I thought I could be the one for
you. I knew you had been with my sister, but it was obvious you
didn’t care for her, not the way the others had. Then, that night
at your house, when you carried this…thing home in your arms, I
could see it in your face. She would always be number one to you.
All I wanted was somebody to look at me the way you looked at her.
To be the most important to someone.”

She cocked the pistol, watching me. Nero
arose silently behind her, his climbing harness still attached,
from where he had been hanging for the better part of an hour. His
hand closed around the pistol and she pulled the trigger, the
hammer slamming into the webbing of his thumb. With his free hand,
Nero reached around her face and twisted it around until she was
facing him, her body remaining rigid, the neck snapping and
crunching. Nero turned and dropped her into the abyss.

Sarah blinked. I ran to her, only falling
once. She rubbed her eyes. “Daddy?”

I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her
close. “Daddy is here, baby. I’ve got you.”

“I don’t like that woman.”

“Neither do I.”

Chapter Sixty

Sarah was on my left, between my father and
I, my brother and his family next to dad. Erin and my sister and
her husband sat beside Gus. Hannah Strange was on my right. Sarah
remembered nothing beyond the mysterious aunt checking her out of
preschool. Of that, I was eternally grateful. She had spent the
night in the hospital for observation after having her stomach
pumped. An awful experience for all involved, yet so much better
than the unthinkable alternative.

Felicia and Orrin sat in the row behind us.
So far, she had been unsuccessful in her attempt to cash in on the
insurance policy. Not that the insurance company was willing to
hand the money over to me. But Eric Hendricks was on the case and
assured me it was only a matter of time. He
loved
battling
insurance companies. We’ll see.

Jeremiah was sitting in county lockup. He had
been picked up after an anonymous tip and eight kilos of cocaine
had been found in his car. Jeremiah had not gone easily, screaming
and raising hell about a plant, claiming (probably honestly) that
he had been set up. He
never
drove a vehicle containing
dope. Word on the street was that the Fulton County Crew of Atlanta
wanted to have a serious conversation with him about eight kilos of
theirs that had been jacked by an unknown man.

Nero had left for the Afghanistan/Pakistan
border the previous day on a six month contract.

Steven Noble had killed Stella Camp and
Adrian Shipley because he was jealous.

Steven Noble had also killed his wife with
the help of his half-brothers and Derik Fletcher.

Madison Hogan had died in a terrible
accident.

In a startling moment of compassion, Randall
Rogers agreed that no good could come from the entire truth getting
out. The fact that Madison killed her sister could only destroy
their parents. If anybody questioned the accident, Randy and I both
discreetly mentioned she was distraught over the death of Amber and
the matter was quickly dropped. Nobody wanted an accident turned
into a suicide. I believed that anyone who knew Madison well had to
suspect she was mentally unstable.

Melvin and Cynthia Jenks were in the main
collection of mourners. They were holding hands.

I knew Randall was less than certain Melvin
was telling the complete truth when he claimed to have heard Steven
admit to killing Stella. But he was in no hurry to go after a bank
president on the witness stand.

Melvin was having a hard time with the fact
that he had taken a human life. And I was glad about that. I was
confident he would put it behind him. Eventually. Most of it. I
owed Melvin for much more than saving my life. Not only had he paid
off my back mortgage, he had paid the next two months as well. That
was breathing room I desperately needed. When I tried to thank him
and offered to pay him back, Melvin waved me off. I had saved his
marriage and to him, that was priceless. With the prospect of
collecting on the insurance, I could give the private detecting a
little more time before getting a real job. Another we’ll see.

Luther Drake sat one row behind Melvin and
Cynthia. I had not spoken to him since the day I had cracked his
ribs. Nor did I plan to.

Stella Camp lay in the mahogany coffin.

The family was to the side, separated from
the main body by a velvet curtain. Reverend Ignatius stood at the
podium, talking about a woman he had never met, had never known. A
woman apparently no one had known.

None of us is all good or all bad. The
natural tendency to label others as such does us all a disservice.
Stella had been an adulterer and a liar, and I laid most of the
blame for that on her mother, her environment. Stella was an
insecure person and I had to take some of the blame for that. She
had blocked me off and I had not fought for her the way she cried
out for me to do. She had left me the clue long ago to find her
killer and I had ignored it, leaving the address for Steven in our
checking account. I had plenty of blame to carry. She might not
have been an ideal mother, but she might have grown into one.
Stella gave her life to save her daughter’s. What more could you
ask?

Her journal was in the casket and would go to
the grave with her.

About the author

Todd Morgan is an airline pilot who lives in
northeast Alabama with his wife, Tammy, and two children. He
welcomes your comments, complaints, or suggestions at
[email protected]
.
He thanks you for your time spent reading his debut novel.

Special thanks to Lesli Bass, artiste
extraordinaire, for the cover.