Burning Proof (3 page)

“HEY!
Earth to Molly. You with me here?”

Molly shook her head to clear the confusion from her mind and turned to face her partner.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m with you.”
Am I?
she wondered as she bent to help him with the ambulance stretcher after tossing the emergency equipment bags on top. They pulled the gurney from the back of the ambulance and jerked it toward the crash, to the scene that had captured her attention and sent her insides twisting into a fist of paralyzing fear.

They were on a lonely stretch of two-lane highway out in the desert, crowded now with emergency vehicles, lights flashing, and stinking with the acrid smell of flares. It was a single-car crash; the driver probably fell asleep and wrapped the car around a tree.

Firefighters had ripped the crushed car open with the Jaws of Life to free the passenger, a young girl about the same age Molly had been when she was trapped in the trunk of a car ten years ago.

But Molly’s ordeal had not been the result of an accident.

And now the horror of that black day clutched at her from the past, seizing her by the throat. And she didn’t know why. She’d worked through that day long before this, put it behind her, come to terms with it. All the normal platitudes had been applied to her situation and she’d moved on. The fact that she did this job
 
—well, according to the commendations on her wall
 
—bolstered her confidence.

So why was the past, that dark incident, stalking her, striking with sharp teeth at her heart when she could least afford it?

Concentrate,
she told herself as she gritted her teeth, knowing her partner and
 
—most of all
 
—this young girl depended on her to keep it together.

But it was only the grip she had on the rail of the stretcher that kept her hands from shaking. She wondered if she’d lose it altogether right here and suddenly need rescue herself.

LUKE SAW HIS LIFE
pass before him. He thought of his daughter, his mother, and he thought of Abby Hart.

He stepped back and looked for cover or an escape route. The gate still separated them. There was no way he could take the gun away from the fugitive.

“Kinda sorry you did that favor now, aren’t you?” Oscar said, viciousness in his eyes.

Luke peered over Oscar’s shoulder and held his breath. Woody, gun in hand, was slowly creeping up behind him.

Cardoza noticed Luke’s gaze and sneered. “You think I’m gonna fall for that trick, you’re crazy. I haven’t stayed free all these years by being stupid. Step over to the padlock. I’ll show you what I do with nosy PIs.” He dropped his free hand to the ring of keys on his belt.

“Think.” Luke raised his hands, stalling, giving Woody time to get closer. “I don’t have to tell anyone you’re here. I can keep a secret.”

The old man cursed. “The only reason I won’t shoot you
where you stand is because I can’t drag your body where I want it. You shouldn’t be poking your face into other people’s business.”

“And you shouldn’t be hiding out on a property with holes in the fence.” Woody placed the barrel of his gun in the old man’s back.

Luke watched the shock spread, saw Oscar blanch. The gun dropped from his hand.

Hands raised, he stammered, “Aw, I was just trying to scare you. I wasn’t serious.”

“Yeah, right,” Woody said. “And I’m a big gray-headed Easter bunny.” He unclipped the ring of keys from Oscar’s belt and tossed them to Luke. “Open the gate, partner. Let’s secure this clown.”

Luke caught the keys and fumbled with them for a moment before he found one that looked as if it fit the lock. He slid the key into the padlock and let the chain fall, then pulled the gate open. He always carried plastic restraints with him but had never had to use them before this. Once he had Oscar’s hands secure, Woody put his gun away and picked up the dropped .22.

The fugitive’s tone changed. “Why, you guys just might be doing me a favor. I’m dog-tired. Not going to fight you. Tired of running and hiding and looking over my shoulder. Don’t figure now that prison will be any worse.”

Woody just glared at him, and Luke had to stifle a chuckle. All cop, even out of uniform, Woody’s expression and posture would brook no nonsense.

“Do you have a working phone in your house?” Luke asked Oscar.

“Nope. I’m as off the grid as I can be.”

Luke had not planned on transporting the man but saw no other course of action.

Woody seemed to read his mind. “You live with anyone? Anyone else home?”

Oscar shook his head.

“I’ve got him,” Woody said. “Why don’t you go check out the house, then lock it up?”

“Great idea.” He looked at Oscar. “Do you need anything from inside?”

“Nah, what’s the point?”

Luke turned for the house. As he walked away, he heard Oscar try to get on Woody’s good side.

“Look, sorry about the gun bit, really. For thirty years I’ve been looking over my shoulder, wondering if the feds would kick down my door. I’m done with it. Get me to jail.”

Woody’s harsh response told Luke he didn’t believe the guy and would not be letting his guard down. Luke smiled, glad he and Woody were a team. With a quick glance back when he reached the steps, Luke saw that Woody had Oscar’s arm and was moving him toward the truck.

Luke hurried into the manufactured home. The place was a mess. Oscar was a hoarder. Newspapers were stacked everywhere, leaving a narrow walkway resembling a maze. There was also trash and boxes, containing who knows what. The smell nearly knocked Luke back. Mold, body odor, decay, rot. It surprised him that the outside of the property was so neat.

He called out to see if anyone else was home and heard nothing. After a quick look through, he gratefully backed out of the place and locked the door. A thorough search would have to be left to the deputies. Taking a deep breath of fresh air, he jogged
to the truck. Woody had already put Oscar in the backseat. He was studying the handgun Oscar had dropped.

“He had a round in the chamber. Could’ve been ugly.”

“I thank you, my friend. How’d you know to move up so quick?”

“I think there are bodies buried in the yard.”

“What?” Luke felt his hands go numb.

Woody nodded, expression grim. “I could be wrong
 
—it might be pets or something else
 
—but there are mounds there. He’s buried something. The hair stood up on the back of my neck, and I knew I had to get out here and watch your bacon.”

It took a moment for Luke to find his voice. “Thank God you were with me today.”

“I second that. Someone was watching over the both of us today.”

Luke tried not to kick himself for not taking this more seriously. He’d really believed it was going to be a wild-goose chase and had not been on guard nearly enough.

On the road returning to civilization, Luke kept his questions to himself, but Oscar got talkative. His demeanor was on a switch: evil and murderous one minute and harmless old codger the next. He told them about his life on the run. Claimed he hated the deserted area he lived in but it was the only place he felt safe. He’d been supporting himself with an old friend’s Social Security checks.

“I didn’t kill him. He died of natural causes, so I just became him. I’m amazed that the PI in Arizona connected Parker to me. I thought I was so careful.”

Luke wondered if the friend was buried in the backyard.

Oscar rambled on about hiding from the cops, how it had
worn him down. Luke listened and thought about how sin would do exactly that to a person. He thought about Abby Hart and the cold case that connected them. He wanted to believe that if there was another guilty party in her parents’ and his uncle’s murders, they were as tortured by guilt and fear as this shriveled-up old man behind him.

Curious about how it all started, Luke asked, “Why’d you kill that man in the first place?”

“I wanted the car, plain and simple. It was a beautiful ’54 Chevy, completely restored with shiny new leather seats and a powerful motor. I still think about that car and how the want of it made me pull the trigger. Dumbest thing I ever did. Don’t think I had it twenty-four hours before cops were all over me. Back then I thought I was invincible.”

From the look on Woody’s face in the rearview mirror, Luke knew he thought everything the old man was saying was hooey.

Luke reached into his glove box and pulled out a pocket New Testament. He carried them to give to runaways. “Don’t know how long you’ll be able to keep this, but why not read it while you can. Woody can put it in your shirt pocket.”

Woody took the little book and showed it to Oscar.

“God stuff? I’m too evil. God would never pay someone like me any account.” He made a face.

Woody looked in the mirror, eyebrows raised.

Luke waved his hand. “Put it in his pocket,” he said to Woody, then addressed Oscar. “You were wrong decades ago when you pulled the trigger, and you’re wrong now. God’s forgiveness is for everyone. Just read the book. What could it hurt?”

Oscar shrugged and Woody shoved the New Testament into his shirt pocket. Luke prayed he’d read it.

When they reached the main road, they hit cell service and his phone came alive. So did Woody’s. Luke paused at a stop sign to check it and his heart stopped. Looking in the rearview mirror, he knew Woody had seen the same thing. A police shooting in Long Beach. Luke also had a message from his friend Bill. He could put two and two together.

“I see it,” Woody said. “Abby called me, left a message. I’m going to call her back.”

Luke nodded and hurried to get Oscar to the proper authorities, all the while praying for Abby and her partner, Bill
 
—praying they were safe and it was the bad guy who was hurt by the shooting. From Woody’s side of the conversation it sounded as if Abby was okay, and Luke relaxed. He got the feeling Woody didn’t want to say much in front of the prisoner, so he didn’t ask any questions.

Now he found it difficult to concentrate on Cardoza and was grateful that Woody was with him. Once back at the sheriff’s substation, Luke and Woody gave the officers all the information they had about Oscar and left the fugitive in their hands. They were very interested in Woody’s take on the backyard. Luke knew they’d have to officially confirm Cardoza’s identity, probably get a search warrant for the property, and then contact the authorities in Montana about extradition if no charges were filed against him here.

Luke was finished with his part, and he called to let the Arizona PI know. She was excited and grateful, but Luke didn’t want to waste any time being congratulated. He couldn’t get back to his truck fast enough.

“What did Abby say?”

“Not much. She wants me to go by her house and let the
dog out. She’ll be tied up for a bit. I can call my neighbor to look after mine.”

“I’ll head right there. NFD?” Luke was learning cop lingo from Woody, like the shorthand for “no further details.”

“She promised Bill would call with more. It’s the Joiner case.”

Luke said nothing after hearing that. It probably meant Abby was the shooter, and that made his stomach cramp with anxiety. He was familiar with the case and guessed that the partners must have confronted a suspect. Luke made a point of following cases involving kids, and this one was about a ten-year-old’s rape and murder. He knew that Abby and Bill had evidence but were sweating out a lab backlog. If they had a suspect, the lab must have come through after all. There must have been a hit right away, and since there’d been a shooting, Luke thought that maybe the suspect didn’t want to go quietly.

He wished he could fly back to the city. As it was, they were way south in Perris, at least an hour and a half away from Long Beach on a good traffic day. He clicked on the radio station that gave news updates every few minutes and hit the freeway hoping for clear sailing and light traffic.

They were halfway home when Bill called. Luke put it on speaker, asking if they had tangled with an uncooperative suspect.

“Not him. We found him on the couch,” Bill said. “He looked at us and held his hands out for the cuffs, saying he’d rather be in prison than hurt anyone else. No, man, it was worse. We stepped out the front door and the victim’s father was waiting for us. He tried to kill the suspect, got off a couple of shots before Abby dropped him.”

“Abby shot . . .” Luke’s voice faded as a horrible picture flashed in his mind.
Abby shot a victim’s father?

“Yeah, it’s worse still. He’s dead. Abby’s pretty tore up about it. But she saved us all as far as I’m concerned. Thank God the father shot wild. He could have killed me; he could have killed Abby.”

Luke couldn’t imagine being in Abby’s shoes. He felt he knew her well enough that being “pretty tore up” was an understatement. All he could think about were her beautiful green eyes, filled with pain and guilt over taking a life.

GOD,
why did you let me kill him?

Abby threw water on her face from the sink in the locker room after she’d finished with the last interview. It was close to 9:30 p.m. She and Bill had been going over the shooting with everyone in the city for a lifetime, it seemed. She was beyond exhausted, moving around in a walking zombie state.

A day that had begun dreamlike and upbeat turned nightmarish and dark as if a coin were flipped.

She kept seeing Clayton fall and then the life leave his eyes as the paramedics worked on his bloody form to no avail. He wasn’t officially pronounced dead until he got to the hospital, but Abby knew there on the lawn that he was gone.

Abby couldn’t help but flash back in her mind to another shooting
 
—the day she’d confronted Gavin Kent about her parents’ murders. Like Clayton, she’d waited a long time for a suspect, a reason for the deaths that ripped her world apart. And like Clayton, she’d had a gun in her hand when she confronted the monster.

She’d wanted to pull the trigger.

She’d wanted to be judge, jury, and executioner just like Clayton wanted to be.

She and Kent had faced each other, guns drawn. But Kent pulled the trigger and killed himself, wrenching the opportunity away from Abby. And today it was excruciatingly obvious to Abby that she could have been Clayton
 
—a millisecond of difference and she would have been Clayton.

But why is the bad guy safe and the good guy in the morgue? Why, God, why?

“You made the hard choice, and you did your job.”
Bill said those words to her over and over as if sensing how disturbed she was about what she’d had to do.

Abby listened and tried to take his words to heart, but she wanted to talk to her friend and mentor, Woody. So far she’d managed only a brief conversation with him between interviews. She’d called him as soon as she was able. A retired cop, he understood that she’d be consumed by interviews and investigation for hours, and she wanted him to go to her house and let her dog out.

When they finally were able to talk for a few minutes, he’d tried to quiet her doubts, her self-flagellation.

“Guy points a gun at you, you have to shoot. He could have killed you or your partner. Would you want that?”

Abby leaned against a row of lockers, and the sound of clanging metal reverberated through the empty locker room.

Clayton’s wife was inconsolable.

“How could you take his life protecting that monster?”
she’d screamed as uniformed officers held her back from scratching Abby’s eyes out. In between sobs the woman explained that when Clayton saw Bill and Abby pull up, he just knew. She’d tried to stop him, but he was determined to avenge his daughter.

“I told him to leave it to God, but he wouldn’t listen,”
Althea cried.
“Why didn’t he listen?”

Abby listened. She heard the woman’s pain and felt guilt to the core. She knew exactly what drove Clayton Joiner and realized some of the same emotions drove her as well.

How could I kill him protecting a monster?

Her phone chimed and she saw it was Ethan, her fiancé, and felt guiltier. He’d called earlier and she’d never called him back. The interviews she had to give regarding the shooting had left her voice dry and weak. It wasn’t Ethan’s fault she just didn’t want to talk anymore.

Sighing, she answered the call, knowing he only wanted to help and be supportive.

“Hey,” he said, “I’m worried about you. Are you still at work?”

“On my way out.”

“You sound tired. I can’t imagine how you must be feeling.”

“I’m numb right now.”

“Do you want any company? I can stop by.”

“Ethan, I’m just tired. All I want right now is bed. Thanks for the offer.”

“I understand. I’ll call you in the morning. Can I pray for you?”

“I’d love that.”

“Lord, I lift Abby to you tonight. You know what’s going on in her head and her heart. Heal what needs to be healed. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

Abby thought about Ethan’s prayer as she drove home through quiet, dark streets.
“Heal what needs to be healed.”

She didn’t think healing was possible because there was no way to replay the moment and put the bullets back in her gun.