Divine Justice

  Annabelle looked around and saw the tire marks and then a bit of gray metal lying on the road under the glare of lights. She bent down to pick it up.

  “Don’t touch that!” snapped Tyree.

  She stood quickly. “But Shirley’s car was red.”

  Tyree grabbed her by the arm and hustled her away from the accident scene and across the road while several of the men looked on curiously.

  She exclaimed, “Sheriff, what is going on? That wasn’t an accident. Someone hit her car.”

  “I know that. I just don’t want other folks to.”

  “But why?”

  “Because I said so, that’s why! Now, what did Shirley tell you that would get her killed?”

  Annabelle nervously licked her lips. Shirley had made it clear that she trusted no one in this place. So how could Annabelle?

  “Ma’am, I want to get to the bottom of this whole thing. It’s my town and I need to make things right.”

  Annabelle had a great BS meter and it was making no noise. “Come over here.”

  She led him to the van and opened the back door, revealing the others inside. She introduced them one by one and said, “Sheriff, you got some time to hear what we know? It’s going to take a while.”

  “Let’s get on over to my office then. Too many ears ’round here.”

  An hour later, sitting in Tyree’s office, the lawman rubbed his face, stood and glumly stared out the window. “So he’s not your father but he did work for the government and has been underground for years. And you and your friends are FBI agents tasked with bringing him safely back?”

  “That’s right,” said Annabelle. She’d of course made no mention of Joe Knox being after Stone for the murders of Simpson and Gray. Yet she had told the lawman as much of the truth as she could, which for Annabelle was a new way to operate.

  “You lied to me once and now I’m just supposed to believe you? How about I call the FBI in D.C. Will they know who you are?”

  Alex stood and held out his ID. “I’m not FBI. This is a joint task force. So how about you call my headquarters in D.C. and verify I am who I say I am. We’ll wait here while you do. But if you’re going to do it, do it now. We need to find him, fast.”

  Tyree eyed Alex’s creds and then shook his head. “I believe you.” He stepped back to his desk and perched on the edge while Annabelle shot Alex a grateful look. “And you think it has something to do with Abby Riker’s farm?”

  “The clue clearly referred to her place,” said Caleb.

  “But you’re not saying Abby has anything to do with it. That’s crazy.”

  Annabelle said, “I’m not accusing anyone of anything. But her son is missing.”

  “A drug ring operating out of Divine,” said Tyree. “And if Shirley said the boxes were coming to the courthouse with some missing, the judge must be in on it too. Pretty slick, because who’s going to check legal documents going to a courthouse? And using the miners going to get their methadone? Who the hell thought of that?”

  There was a knock on the door and a man came in. Charlie Trimble was dressed in khaki pants and a striped button-down shirt.

  “I know it’s late but I saw your light on, Sheriff—” He broke off when he saw the other people with him.

  “I’m sort of busy, Charlie.”

  Trimble looked keenly at Annabelle. “Ah, the daughter. Still looking for your father?”

  Annabelle did not like the emphasis the man put on the last word.

  “No, he’s actually not my father.” She turned to Alex. “He’s the man I was telling you about. The reporter looking to make a fast scoop.”

  “I see. At the expense of national security, I don’t think so.”

  “National security?” said Trimble, taken aback. He glanced at Tyree. “What are they talking about?”

  “Apparently Ben isn’t who we thought he was.”

  “I know that,” said Trimble excitedly. “But I think I do know who he is. I’ve got the story all ready to go. But I—”

  He shut up as Annabelle shoved her ID in his face. Alex did the same. “Trimble,” she began, “you’re not going to print one syllable of anything having to do with this matter.”

  Trimble said in a defiant tone, “Don’t think you can intimidate me.”

  “We’re not trying to intimidate you, just give you a fair warning,” said Alex.

  “Warning, about what?”

  “If you print your story and something happens to our guy, your butt will end up at the Castle.”

  “The Castle? What castle?”

  “Leavenworth.”

  “Leavenworth? That’s for military crimes. I’m not in the military.”

  “Actually,” said Alex, barely able to conceal a smile, “it’s also for national security crimes. And just for the record, you’re anything I want you to be.”

  “What about the first amendment?”

  Reuben towered over him. “What about the second amendment?” he said menacingly, the pistol in his belt clip clearly visible.

  “I . . . I mean, uh, nothing, nothing.”

  Annabelle hooked him by the arm. “Trimble?”

  “Yes?” he said shakily.

  “Go home. Now! Before you get hurt.”

  The journalist nearly shot out of the room.

  She turned to Tyree. “I think it’s time we go to see where a bottom turns into an ass.”

  CHAPTER 71

  TYREE LED THE WAY in his patrol car with the van behind. About a quarter mile from the farm he pulled off and the van slid in behind him.

  Getting out of the car, he said, “We’ll make the rest of the way on foot. Don’t want to spook anybody. We got time before the miners come.”

  They threaded their way through the woods until they came to the outskirts of the farm and set up an observation post near the house, which was dark. Abby’s pickup truck and the Mini Cooper were parked out front.

  Tyree said in a near whisper, “There’s another back road into the farm that leads to an old barn. We should probably post some folks there too just in case.”

  Reuben, Harry and Caleb headed that way following directions Tyree gave them.

  Both groups hunkered down and waited. And waited some more.

  Finally, Alex checked his watch. “Four in the morning. I don’t think it’s happening. Maybe they don’t transport every night.”

  Tyree stretched his limbs. “They killed Shirley so maybe they postponed the shipment.”

  At that moment Harry came hurrying up to them.

  “Did you see anything?” Alex asked excitedly.

  “Not a person, but we did see something. Come on.”

  They hurried after him. When they reached the spot where Caleb and Reuben were waiting, Harry pointed to the woods at a spot right across from the entrance to the barn. “You can see somebody’s gone crashing through there. Brush and low tree limbs all busted up.”

  “Let’s follow it,” said Tyree, taking the lead. He pulled out a flashlight and slipped another off his belt and handed it to Alex.

  “Never worked with a fed before.”

  “It’s sort of a first time for me too, Sheriff,” Alex said wryly.

  They came to a dirt road in the woods.

  “Look,” said Annabelle.

  It was Joe Knox’s truck.

  They ran to it and looked inside.

  “No rental docs,” said Tyree. “Any idea who it belongs to?”

  Annabelle glanced at the others, her thoughts moving rapidly. Does this have nothing to do with the drug dealers? Has Knox gotten to Oliver, killed him already? But why would Knox’s truck be here then? Has Oliver killed Knox?

  “No,” she said.

  Tyree saw the bloodstains in the woods a bit later. “There, and there, and over there,” he said, making stabbing motions with his light.

  “That’s not good,” Caleb said quite unnecessarily.

  Annabelle’s spirits sank further. It seemed like one of the men had been hu
rt or killed. But which one?

  They followed the trail across the road and up the slope. There were more bloodstains here. They moved across some more ground and then stopped. There were lots of footprints in the soft mud and more dark stains. Annabelle’s gloomy expression changed now and she became more alert. As they followed the marks they came to a spot where it appeared as though the people had marched in lockstep.

  “Or carrying something. Or somebody,” Alex deduced.

  They followed the trail back down to the road but at another spot. There were more dark stains here, and also what looked to be a slick of oil.

  “It looks like someone was put in a car or truck,” said Harry.

  “A truck,” noted Tyree. He flashed his light on the asphalt. “Tire ran over some of that oil and left a mark. That’s a tire tread from a truck. Maybe we can track it that way.”

  As the edges of the night began to lift around them they hustled down the road, desperately looking for more clues.

  Reuben was the first to see it. “The truck cut across here.” He pointed to the smear of oil on the road. “And went into that field.”

  They rushed into the open space. It was quite easy to see the ruts the truck had made in the soft earth here. As they got to the middle of the field, Alex swept his light in a wide swath.

  Harry said, “Stop. Hold it right there.” Alex did so and Harry knelt down and grazed his hand along the top of a long depression in the dirt.

  He looked up. “That’s a mark from a chopper’s skids.” He eyed Tyree. “Who has a chopper around here?”

  Tyree’s light was square on this mark, his features were very grim.

  “Tyree, does anybody you know up here have a chopper?” Alex said, tugging at the lawman’s arm.

  “Yeah,” he said slowly. “My damn brother.”

  There was a buzzing sound. Tyree reached in his pocket and pulled out his phone.

  “Tyree?”

  The tall lawman’s legs buckled. “What? When?”

  Annabelle said, “What is it?”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  He clicked off and looked at the others.

  “What is it?” Annabelle demanded again.

  “That was a fellow I deputized to look after Abby Riker. He just came to.”

  “Just came to?” Alex said uneasily.

  Tyree was already rushing back to the road. “They’ve got Abby,” he yelled.

  CHAPTER 72

  KNOX AND STONE ate their breakfast in silence, doing their best to act as lethargic as the rest of the prison population actually was from their drug dose the day before. Both men’s gazes were in fact sweeping the cafeteria.

  Near the end of the meal, Knox, who was sitting across from Stone so they could watch both sides of the room and not be surprised from the rear, gave a little rehearsed cough and his gaze darted to nine o’clock. An instant before the blow struck, Stone lifted his tray up and used it as a shield. The shiv glanced off the hard plastic. In the next motion, Stone had hooked Manson’s leg with his own, and the big guard’s momentum caused him to slide across the table. He crashed through plates and plastic cups until he toppled to the floor on the other side, taking two prisoners next to Knox down with him. In the commotion that followed, Knox edged his plate off the table with his elbow and his uneaten grits plopped directly on Manson’s head.

  When the other guards came running they found Stone and Knox sitting there calmly, but with bewildered expressions, and staring at the pile of bodies on the floor.

  When the guards pulled Manson to his feet, he was still holding the shiv.

  “Frank, what the hell are you—” began one of the guards before Manson roughly pushed him away. With an enraged scream he tried to jump over the table at Stone. Only Knox had stood on his foot at that precise moment and his leap turned into an abrupt fall. His chin slammed down on the table in front of where Stone was sitting. As if on cue, Knox stood, blocking the view of the other guards.

  “Let me get out of your way so you can deal with the psycho guard,” he said politely.

  In that instant, Oliver Stone delivered a crushing blow to the back of Manson’s neck with his elbow. When the guards finally got around Knox, Stone had slipped to the other end of the table and seemed to be innocently watching the events.

  Manson was carried off on a gurney unconscious and barely breathing. Even the most comatose con in the room had a smile on his face at the sight.

  Later that morning Stone and Knox were standing in the rec yard. No one had come after them about what had happened to Manson, though Stone had been popped once in the head for apparently chewing too loudly.

  “How hard did you hit him?” Knox asked.

  “Hard enough.”

  “I like your style.”

  Donny boy smiled at them as he passed by. He gave a stupid thumbs-up to Stone. The guards on the pod towers were making their rounds, eyeballing the gaggle of cons with binoculars and scopes on stationary tripods. And the guns. The guns were always front and center. The power. The deterrent. Stone thought this as he leaned against the cement block wall and wondered how the older guard was going to accomplish it, whatever it was.

  Knox kept checking the periphery without seeming to do so as he stood next to Stone.

  One inmate was bouncing the ball. He made a layup, caught the rebound and went back for a jumper. Like most of the inmates Stone and Knox had seen, he was black, young, tall and muscular. He seemed to have all his wits about him, so maybe Donny had let out his secret to others about the carrots. He missed the jumper and Stone stiffened as the black guy jogged to get the ball that had rolled past the blue line.

  Before he could get there though, another inmate crashed into him, knocking the man across the line where he landed on the ball. The two men got up and faced off. A horn sounded. And the riflemen on the towers took aim. A shot was fired, but it didn’t come from the tower. The guards looked everywhere for the source of the round.

  As if on cue one inmate hit another inmate, sending him down with a bloodied nose. Another shot was fired. Whistles erupted, horns blared and a cluster of cons in the middle of the concrete playground bolted, screaming. Two guards who ran up to stop this human stampede were run over, their caps and billy clubs disappearing beneath the tidal wave of fleeing prisoners.

  Hands closed around Stone’s and Knox’s wrists and they were pulled forward.

  “Back to your cells, now!” barked a voice.

  Stone’s gaze fell on the older guard, the one who’d nodded at him. He was pushing Knox and Stone toward one of the entrances into the prison.

  As they passed a throng of prisoners standing there watching the melee, Knox spotted Donny, who was smiling and cheering on the fighters.

  Knox sucker-punched him and old Donny boy, the killer of three kids, slid unconscious to the cold concrete lawn of Dead Rock.

  “Now, that’s what I call accountability,” Knox muttered as he followed behind Stone.

  Inside the building the guard herded them up a set of stairs and into a small room, where he closed the door.

  “Turn around.”

  They did so, a little hesitantly.

  He quickly cuffed and shackled them, then spun them back around to face him.

  “We don’t have much time. I was Josh Coombs’ best friend. I heard you helped Willie.”

  “I did. He’s dead now, I guess you heard. Bob too. Blown up.”