A Darker Justice (9 page)

“Welcome to Willett’s Den.” He looked at Cabe proudly. “Pretty neat, huh?”

Tommy stared, awed and envious. How wonderful it would be to have your own hideaway where Tallent and Grice couldn’t find you. “Where’d you get those Cokes?”

“One of the ladies from the Baptist Church had an extra six-pack. She gave that to me when I helped her unload some clothes for us. Want one?”

“Sure.”

Willett reached up and grabbed two cans, tossing one to Cabe. “Drink that and then I’ll show you some more. There’s some pretty cool old stuff in here.”

Tommy opened his can and took a sip. It tasted wonderful. He hadn’t had a Coke in months. Coca-Cola was a Jew industry, Sergeant Wurth told them. True Patriots didn’t support Jew industries, so on special occasions Wurth provided them with pissy-tasting lemonade.

“Okay, Willett,” Tommy teased as he drained his can. “Where’s your secret weapon that will destroy Sergeant Wurth?”

“I wasn’t kidding, man.” Willett seemed miffed at Cabe’s levity. “I really have got the goods on Wurth.”

“Okay. So where is it?”

“Here.” Willett set his Coke down and reached back into a fissure in the rock. Tommy cringed, thinking anyone would have to be crazy to stick their hand inside some dark crack in a cave, but Willett grinned, withdrawing something wrapped in a plastic sandwich bag. “This,” he said reverently.

“What is it?”

He unfolded the plastic and withdrew a single unlabeled computer disk. He held it up to Cabe, his eyes serious.

“I’m not sure what Wurth is into, but it’s big and bad. And all on this disk.”

“What do you mean?” Cabe whispered, his palms already growing sweaty. “How did you get that?”

“One Sunday when Wurth sentenced me to copying the Bible, I picked the lock on his office door and copied this. He and the Troopers were all out playing baseball.”

Cabe was stunned by Willett’s audacity. “But how did you know what it was?”

“I didn’t. I just wanted to surf the Net while they were outside playing. I sat down at his computer and all this weird military stuff about targets and assassinations was on his screen.” Willett shrugged. “So I made a copy.”

“Jesus, Willett.” Cabe could barely speak. “Do you know how much trouble you could have gotten in?”

“Yep. I also know how much trouble it could get Wurth in.” Willett carefully returned the disk to the sandwich bag. “That’s why I keep it here. You’re the only other person who knows about this, Tommy-boy.”

“What are you going to do with it?”

“Someday I’m gonna smuggle it out of here and get it to the cops. Then I’m just going to sit back and watch AR and the rest of that old castle blow up around Wurth’s ears.”

Cabe grinned. “That would be pretty neat, wouldn’t it?”

“I dream about it every night, Tommy-boy,” said Willett as he restashed his treasure deep in the fissure of his den. “It’s the only thing I want for Christmas this year.”

CHAPTER 12

Several miles away from Russell Cave, Irene Hannah led Mary Crow into her kitchen, where the aroma of roasting turkey filled the air. Three newly minted pecan pies sat cooling beside the sink; an array of apples and carrots spilled from an overturned sack on the long kitchen table.

“We’re cooking Christmas dinner,” Irene explained with a laugh. “For us and our four-legged friends.” Just then the bristly-haired gentleman who had flung open the front door walked into the room, having pulled on a bright red wool sweater. He smiled at Mary, the tips of his full gray mustache curling like little wings.

Irene put an arm around Mary’s shoulders. “Hugh, we just got the most wonderful Christmas present we could possibly have! This is my darling Mary Crow. I adored her mother, and I’ve adored Mary ever since I pushed her, kicking and screaming, into law school. Now she’s a tiger of a DA down in Atlanta.”

“A prosecutor, is it?” Hugh’s thick brows arched in amusement. “Then I’d best watch me p’s and q’s.”

“Mary, meet Hugh Kavanagh, my next-door neighbor. Hugh’s western North Carolina’s premier horse breeder, tomato grower, and purveyor of hothouse snapdragons to every pricey restaurant west of Raleigh.”

“Hugh.” Mary extended her hand. “It’s a pleasure.”

“Aye.” He grasped only her fingers, in the manner of Europeans.

“Hugh’s from Ireland,” Irene explained. “But he’s been in the States for what, Hugh, forty years?”

“I came to New York in sixty-four.” Hugh laughed. “I didn’t move next door to Irene here until last spring.”

Irene looked at Mary and smiled. “Okay, darling girl. Now that my heart’s calmed down from the shock of seeing you, tell me why Santa Claus dropped you on my doorstep. I hope the news is something wonderful, like you’ve just married Jonathan or been appointed attorney general for the state of Georgia.”

“Not exactly,” Mary replied, edging away from the mention of Jonathan’s name. She glanced at Hugh, wondering if Safer would want her to explain her mission to Irene in front of a stranger. Safer hadn’t mentioned Hugh being a part of Irene’s life, but perhaps he hadn’t considered it important. Hugh seemed to sense Mary’s hesitation. He smiled at Irene. “Why don’t you take Mary down to the stable and check on Lady Jane? I’ll mind the dinner until you get back.”

“Would you, Hugh?” Irene’s eyes danced. “I’d love to show her off for Mary.”

“It would be an honor to be of service to two such learned ladies,” Hugh replied.

Irene threw him a kiss, then pulled Mary out the back door.

“Does he live with you?” Mary whispered when they got outside. She hadn’t overlooked Hugh Kavanagh’s easy familiarity with Irene’s kitchen.

“Oh, no.” Irene tucked her arm through Mary’s and led her across the patio, Lucy and the dog following. “We’re neighbors and fellow horse breeders. He’s a widower who loves to cook. I’m a widow who loves to eat. We get on nicely. That’s his dog, Napoleon.”

Mary turned. The big shepherd wagged his tail at her, but kept a wary eye on the goose. “Where’s Chico? And when did you get Lucy?”

“Chico died in his sleep back in October. Then a week later she hobbled up here with an arrow through her wing. I called the vet, who said it looked like someone had used her for target practice. She’s been here ever since.”

“Does she get along with the other animals?”

“She’s crowned herself queen of the barnyard.” Irene chuckled at the bird waddling regally behind her. “I can’t figure out if she thinks she’s human or we’re all just lesser geese.”

Past the grape arbor lay the rest of the farm. A red stable stood between two white-fenced paddocks, where more horses grazed. Two yellow cats huddled in the hayloft window, watching as low clouds scudded in from the north. Mary turned her face to the sky and breathed in. She could almost smell the icy tingle of snow on the breeze. Tomorrow might bring her first white Christmas in years.

“Now.” Irene spoke in her bench voice, the voice that Mary knew would eventually ferret out anything the judge wanted to know. “Tell me the real reason you’re here. Not in trouble, are you?”

“I’m not,” replied Mary. “You might be, though.”

“Me?” Irene frowned. “What did I do?”

“Irene, yesterday afternoon I got called away from my best friend’s wedding and into my boss’s office. A federal agent was sitting there with a briefcase full of some very troubling evidence.”

Irene turned and spoke sharply. “If this is about Rosy Klinefelter, I know all about it. A bunch of Feds have been hounding me ever since Thanksgiving.”

Mary blinked. “Doesn’t it bother you that somebody might want to kill you?”

“Not nearly as much as the FBI bothers me. They wanted to assign two female agents to guard me around the clock. I think some are circling this property right now.”

“But aren’t you even a little worried?” Mary couldn’t believe Irene’s insouciance.

“Mary, if I got FBI protection every time someone threatened me, I couldn’t do my job. Once you give in to fear, you’re not worth a damn on the bench.”

“But the Feds think this is real. They drove me up here to convince you to accept their protection.”

“So that’s why you’re here? To talk me into having a bodyguard?” Irene started laughing.

“They suggested I bring this.” Mary unzipped her jacket and exposed the Beretta. “That’s how seriously they’re taking this.”

“My God.” Irene stopped laughing as she saw the black pistol nudging up against Mary’s left breast. “You actually go armed now?”

“Not usually. But after I convicted a guy whose family kept waiting for me in shadowy parking lots with piano wire up their sleeves, my boss gave me this. Said it might go against my moral code, but it would sure help him sleep better at night.”

“I can’t believe this. This is not like you, Mary.”

“Irene, Rosemary Klinefelter was decapitated. It was horrible. I saw her picture. The Feds would like to spare you that fate.”

“I’ve got plenty of protection around me.” Irene’s dark eyes flashed. “I’ve got thirty acres on a county road in the middle of the thickest forest in the Carolinas. I’ve got horses and chickens and—”

“Give me a break, Irene!” cried Mary. “Klinefelter got nailed in her own courtroom. One New York judge was stabbed in front of a Manhattan apartment. Another seemingly dropped dead at a Steelers game. They’ve killed eleven judges, Irene. One from every district except the Fourth. A flock of chickens and that stupid goose aren’t going to save you.”

“I don’t care what will or won’t save me, Mary.” Irene’s cheeks flamed with anger. “I’m a stubborn old woman, and I refuse to be part of a judiciary that has to be guarded. And Lucy is not stupid!”

With that, Irene stomped past her into the stable. Mary watched as she disappeared into the shadows, Napoleon and Lucy on her heels. With a helpless shrug of her shoulders, Mary followed. She needed to reason with Irene, not yell at her from the middle of a barnyard twenty feet away.

Inside, the stable was warm and dark, the air sweet, like hay. “Walk down here with me,” Irene said softly, her anger already forgotten. “I want you to see something.”

Mary followed her to a double-sized stall at the end of the corridor. Inside stood a small brown mare with a white blaze on her face. She raised her head and pricked her ears at Mary. Her belly was swollen as if she’d swallowed a truck tire.

“She’s beautiful,” Mary said. “But isn’t she a little fat?”

“She’s pregnant.” Irene dug a lump of sugar from the pocket of her jeans and held out her hand. The mare thrust her long neck forward and nibbled it from her palm. “This is the brood mare I bought from Hugh. Her name’s Lady Jane. Any day now she’ll be having her sixth foal.” Irene handed Mary a lump of sugar. “Here. Make friends with her.”

Mary held out the sugar. Lady Jane stretched out again and sniffed Mary’s palm. Her lips felt like velvet as they gently lifted the sugar cube from her hand.

“Shouldn’t you be calling a vet or something?” Mary had never seen a pregnant horse before. She barely knew the protocol for whelping puppies, much less colts or fillies.

“Not unless we have problems. Hugh will be helping me out. Lady Jane will be safe here.”

“That’s great for her.” Mary seized the chance to turn the conversation back in the direction she wanted it to go. “But what about you?”

Irene frowned. “Oh, Mary . . .”

“Do you know how many places you could be attacked from? What about—”

“Look around you,” Irene interrupted. “I’ve got a footbridge that makes one person sound like a Roman legion. The guineas in the front yard shriek their heads off every time a cloud passes in front of the sun. Lucy follows me like a dog and Napoleon sleeps across the back door most nights. I have more bodyguards than I know what to do with.”

Mary picked at a sliver of wood from the top of the stall door. She hated to mention it, but Irene left her no choice. “I walked across the bridge this morning. The guineas shrieked like banshees and Lucy honked right along with them. I banged on your front door three times. When nobody heard me, I came around and peered in the back door, Lucy honking the whole time.”

Irene looked at her quizzically for a moment, then she understood. “You saw us? In front of the fireplace?”

Mary nodded.

At first Irene said nothing, then she threw her head back and laughed so hard that Lady Jane gave a sharp whinny, her ears flicking in alarm.

“Caught!” Irene howled. “In flagrante delicto, at the age of sixty-two!” Tears rolled from her eyes. “At least it was you, and not one of those FBI thugs!”

Although she wanted desperately to laugh with Irene, all Mary could think of was Rosemary Klinefelter. “Irene,” she said softly, “if someone had wanted to kill you this morning, neither Lucy nor Napoleon could have saved you. You and Hugh would have died, and died horribly.”

Slowly the laughter faded from Irene’s brown eyes. “You really believe this might happen, don’t you?”

“I’m scared that it could. Please let them guard you. If nobody gets killed during the holidays, they will have at least broken the pattern.”

Irene gazed at Lady Jane as if pondering some point of law, then she turned back to Mary and shook her head.

Then she shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mary. I’d like to do it, if only to please you, but I can’t. I can’t live this long on principle and then fold my hand just because the game gets dicey. Please tell your friends that I’m a stubborn old goat who’s probably not worth guarding, anyway.”

“Irene, you don’t understand—”

“I understand perfectly. Don’t you see? For me to turn away from the rule of law in favor of rule by the gun would make me a coward. Worse—a fraud.”

“No, it wouldn’t.”

“Sorry, Mary. You and I both know it would.”

“Wait!” Mary insisted. “Let’s reason this out.” She walked to the stable door, frustrated, searching for a compromise. Suddenly she found it. She ran back to Irene. “If you won’t let them stay with you, then let
me.
I’ve got a gun. I can guard you as well as they can.”

“Absolutely not!” cried Irene. “If I’m in any jeopardy at all, I certainly don’t want you here!”

“Too bad!” Mary crossed her arms and glared at her. “If you can live by your principles, then I can live by mine.”

“That’s unfair.” Irene’s voice sharpened in anger. “And unacceptable.”

“How is it unfair? Unless you call Stump Logan to come out and remove me from your property, I’m here and I’m staying. And you can plan on me for the Rose Bowl Parade, ’cause me and my Beretta aren’t budging anywhere till you go back to Richmond.”

Irene looked at Mary. Several times she opened her mouth to speak, but each time she stopped. Finally she smiled. “Nice work, counselor. You’ve just beaten your old teacher at her own game.” She gave a deep, courtly bow.
“O-stah.”
She congratulated Mary in Cherokee.

“I learned from the master,” Mary replied quietly. “But I’m not playing games.”

“I know you aren’t. I’ve seen that look on your face too many times before. I know when I’m licked.” She reached over and took Mary in her arms. “Okay, darling girl. Merry Christmas. I won’t sic Sheriff Logan on you. You can stay here and bodyguard me all you want. Bodyguard me until
you
feel safe again.”

“Thank you,” Mary whispered as she buried her face in the silvery softness of Irene’s hair.