Dawn's Light (30 page)

“Come through?” Brad asked. “You call this coming through? Everything that's happened with your family? This, with Beth? That doesn't look like coming through to me.”

Mark realized he was losing this argument. Mentally, he kicked himself for not being more prepared. He was supposed to be ready for these questions. Why hadn't he rehearsed them in his mind?

“We're not in charge, Brad. God is. Those of us who believe trust that he's working out our lives according to his plans. It's not always easy. Sometimes life just stinks. But we can hang on, knowing that someone bigger than us is in charge.”

“That wouldn't give me any comfort,” Brad said, “when that ‘someone’ allows cruelty. When good people are on their knees begging for relief, and nothing happens.”

“We don't believe that nothing happens.”

“Then you're kidding yourselves.” With that, Brad crossed the street and headed home.

Mark let out a long sigh and watched him leave. Under his breath, he muttered a prayer of apology for handling things so poorly.

T
HAT NIGHT, AS
M
ARK WALKED THROUGH THE JAIL FEEDING THE
prisoners, he saw that Clay had a few bruises that Mark hadn't given him. Clay's cell mates had taken Kay up on her suggestion. Wheaton had moved him to an otherwise empty cell for his own safety.

When he saw Mark coming, Clay rushed to the bars. “Did my wife bail me out?”

Mark gave him a disgusted look. “You know you're being held without bond. You're not going anywhere.”

“But that's not right. Others get bond!”

“You're a flight risk, Tharpe. And a danger to the community.”

“No, I'm not. I've never even been arrested before.” He lowered his voice, and Mark saw the desperation in his eyes. “I'm not like these guys in here.”

“You're right,” Mark said. “Most of them aren't murderers.” He pulled a loaf of bread out of his bag, but didn't give it to Tharpe. Tharpe reached through the bars for it, but Mark held it out of reach. “Just tell me one thing, Tharpe. Tell me how you knew Beth was gonna be in the park that day.”

“Give me the bread,” Tharpe said. “I'm starving.”

“Answer me,” Mark bit out.

Tharpe stopped reaching and closed his fingers over the bars. “It's not what you think,” he said finally.

Mark's disgust kicked up a notch. “What I
think
is that we found two bodies in your backyard, and that you attacked a girl I care about.” His teeth came together. “So how did you know she was going to be there that day?”

“Because she came every day at the same time.”

Mark frowned. That didn't even make sense. If Clay had seen her there every day, why hadn't he tried to shut her up before? Mark had assumed all along that Tharpe hadn't been able to find her—until the day he tried to kill her.

Tharpe reached through the bars again, trying to grab the bread. Mark backed away.

“Please,” Tharpe said. “I'm starving.”

Bluffing, Mark dropped the bread back into the bag and started to walk away.

“Please! I'm dying, here.”

Mark turned back, his lips tight. “How did you know she went there every day?”

“Because I was told she did.”

Mark froze. “Are you saying there was someone else?”

“That's what I'm saying. I didn't want to kill anybody. I just needed money.”

Mark stared at him. “Did someone pay you to do it?”

Tharpe opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to change his mind. Beads of sweat sprang to the skin above his lip. Either he was bluffing, or Mark had just hit the target.

“Give me the bread.”

Mark pulled the loaf back out of his bag and moved closer to the bars. “Tell me about this other person! Is that who saw Beth coming to the park? Is that who tipped you off that she went there every day?”

Tharpe snatched the bread out of his hands. “I'm not saying anything else,” he said as he backed away with his food. “Just get me a lawyer.”

seventy-three

T
HE NEXT DAY
, M
ARK WAS STILL PUZZLING OVER THAT
exchange with Tharpe. Tharpe had suggested he'd had an accomplice in Tomlin's death. If that was true, was it the same person who'd let him know he could find Beth at the park?

Tharpe would go to court today for his preliminary hearing, and Deni and Doug had decided to come watch. Kay chose to stay with Beth, too repulsed by Tharpe to face him again.

As one of the arresting officers, Mark would present the evidence the sheriff's department had gathered. He came in full uniform, ready to testify about the stolen car, Tharpe's flight to Huntsville, and the bodies they'd found in his backyard.

Mark knew Brad had already decided to recommend that the judge send the case to the Grand Jury. All they had to do was get the judge to agree to it.

Tharpe had managed to secure a lawyer, and according to Brad, the lawyer had been trying to cut a deal. But Brad wasn't backing down. He had every intention of charging Tharpe with first-degree murder, among other things. In Alabama, that meant the death penalty or life in prison.

Though he could have waited at the front of the courtroom with the other deputies, Mark sat at in the gallery with Deni and Doug. He held Deni's hand and felt her pulse racing. Doug stared straight ahead, as if one movement might send him over the edge.

When the judge had been seated, silence fell over the courtroom. A side door opened, and several inmates dressed in orange prison garb shuffled inside, their shackles rattling on the tile floor.

It was the first time Deni had seen Tharpe, so Mark pointed him out. Again, he wondered about that second person Tharpe had mentioned. Someone who wanted Tomlin dead. Someone who perhaps had given him information about where Beth would be and when.

He saw Melissa Tomlin and her father, Scott Anthony, slip inside and sit on the other side. “That's the dead man's widow,” Mark whispered to Deni and Doug. “And he's her dad.”

They both looked where he pointed. Melissa looked like she hadn't slept in days. Her father appeared just as ragged. He kept his arm around her, comforting her as she looked toward the man who had murdered her husband.

Mark wished there were more light. The courthouse wasn't one of the buildings considered a priority, so they couldn't get gasoline to keep a generator running. The only light came from the windows, making the place seem dismal and gloomy. They went through the docket, hearing cases of several other inmates one by one. Finally, they got to Clay Tharpe.

Mark squeezed Deni's hand, then got up and joined the lawyers at the front. Tharpe stood and rattled to the judge's bench. They read the charges, and Mark testified to the evidence he and the others had found.

Finally, the judge looked at Tharpe. “Do you understand the charges against you?”

“It's not what you think, Judge. I'm not a killer.”

Mark heard a sudden movement in the gallery. He looked back and saw Melissa Tomlin's father standing. Anthony pulled a pistol out of his belt, raised it, and pointed it toward the cluster of men at the front. In the time it took for what was happening to register in Mark's mind, Mr. Anthony pulled the trigger.

The gun blasted.

Clay Tharpe dropped to the floor.

Screams crescendoed as the scent of smoke filled the room. People dropped behind the benches, and the bailiff dove for the judge. The attorneys flung themselves under their tables. Mark drew his weapon and stooped to get out of the line of fire. “Drop it!” he shouted.

Melissa's father dropped the gun and put his hands in the air. Melissa cried, “Daddy!”

“Move away from the gun,” Mark ordered.

Anthony took a step to the side.

Mark moved up the aisle, grabbed the gun. “I've got it,” he yelled.

The bailiff came up from behind the judge's bench, his weapon drawn, and the other two deputies who'd been at the front of the room ran back and cuffed the shooter. Wiping the sweat out of his eyes, Mark glanced at Tharpe. He lay on the carpet in a circle of blood. Someone was taking his pulse.

Mark went back to Deni, and she came into his arms. “Is he dead?”

“I don't know.” Mark could hardly catch his breath.

“Ambulance!” cried one of the people kneeling beside Tharpe. “Somebody get an ambulance!”

“I'll get them.” Deni shouted. She pushed through the people and made her way outside.

D
ENI BURST OUT OF THE COURTROOM AND RAN AS FAST AS SHE
could toward the place several blocks away where the ambulance was always parked. Since there was no way for people to call them, they stayed in a central part of town where they could usually be found when needed. Thankfully, they were there. She ran to George Mason's open window.

“George,” she said, gasping for breath, “there was a shooting at the courthouse.”

“Get in.” He started the ambulance and turned on the siren. “What happened?”

Deni held on as they rounded a curve. “Someone shot the guy who attacked my sister.”

They turned a corner, tires screeching. “Don't they check for weapons before you go in there?”

“They search your stuff and frisk you, but without metal detectors, that's all they can do.”

“He must have been hiding it well.”

At the courthouse, the paramedics jumped out and grabbed their gurney and their bags. Deni followed them in. The courtroom had emptied, and she saw her father pumping Tharpe's chest. Sweat dripped into his eyes as he looked up at the medics.

“I think it's too late.”

George and Will took over, trying to revive him, but the man who'd shot him had been a good marksman. He'd shot him right through the heart.

Deni felt nothing as they pronounced Tharpe dead. Justice had been served.

She turned to see the man who'd pulled the trigger. The gray-haired man looked harmless as he stood placidly in a back corner, where Mark and his colleagues were shackling him and reading him his rights. They had handcuffed him, but he wasn't resisting. He looked fragile and broken, and filled with grief.

It could have been her or someone in her family with that gun in their hand. Her own mother could have done it. Pity for Scott Anthony swelled in her chest. His emotion had gotten the best of him.

Melissa Tomlin stood next to the group surrounding her father, clearly distraught. What a nightmare. She'd lost her husband to murder, and now she would lose her father to prison.

Mark was stooped in front of the man, shackling his feet. As they got him up and began escorting him out, Mr. Anthony turned toward his daughter. “I love you, sweetheart,” he said as they took him away.

seventy-four

T
HE NEWS OF CLAY
T
HARPE'S DEATH BROUGHT
K
AY A
strange mixture of emotions. On one hand, she was not unhappy that he had come to a violent end. Whether it was God's vengeance or Scott Anthony's, she didn't know. But vengeance had come.

Still, shame plagued her over those feelings.

Maybe if Beth woke up, she would get past that burning feeling of hatred that threatened to smother her when she least expected it. Now that Tharpe had died, did it even matter how she felt about him? Was it a sin to hate someone who had done such a horrible thing, and never expressed remorse? Now that he was dead, was she accountable to forgive him?

“Mom, I've made a decision.”

Kay turned to Deni. “What?”

“Mark says there's a second person who helped Tharpe pull this off. He thinks it's someone in the Tomlins' neighborhood, since it's across from Magnolia Park. Someone who lived there might have seen Beth on her route and alerted the killer.” Kay was stunned. “Another killer? Someone else was that evil—that they would help Tharpe …? I'm going to do one more story for the paper.”

“Mark thinks so. And the sherrif's department hasn't made headway on finding that person. I want to help.”

Kay knew where she was going with this. “Deni, isn't there some way you can do the story without going there?”

Deni shook her head. “Being a reporter can get me into places that the sheriff's department can't get. People are afraid to talk to cops. They aren't that afraid to talk to reporters. I want to go door-to-door and talk to the neighbors in Magnolia subdivision.”

“About what? You think they'll tell you if they were Tharpe's accomplice?”

“No, but they might tell me something else that will blow their cover. If we have even a clue who it was, we might be able to dig deeper.”

That was all Kay needed. Another daughter in a killer's line of fire. “No,” Kay said. “I don't want another one of my children tangling with murderers.”

Deni sighed. “What if I get Mark to come with me?”

“Just let Mark do it alone!”

“Mom, it'll take a lot longer. I can get things out of people. I'm really, really good at it. Don't you want the second person to be found?”

Kay let out a long breath. “Yes, but not at the cost of another child.”

“I'm not a child, Mom. I'm a grown woman. A professional reporter.”

“You quit your job.”

“That's a technicality. I haven't been back to the recovery team since Beth's attack. I don't even know if I want to go anymore. Reporting is in my blood … and I can use those skills to find Tharpe's accomplice. I have to do this, Mom. Maybe I shouldn't have told you.”

Kay bit her lip, and started massaging Beth's legs again. “Maybe not.” She looked back up at her. “Deni, please be careful. Go tell your father and listen to any advice he gives you about how to approach this.”

“I will. Don't worry.” Deni was out of the room in a flash.

D
OUG DIDN'T LIKE
D
ENI'S PLAN ANYMORE THAN
K
AY DID, BUT HE
felt better when Mark promised to go with her.

But as they left the hospital, Mark let her know that he wasn't crazy about the idea, either. “If it gets dangerous, Deni, I want you to promise me that you'll get out of the way.”

She rode her bike beside him. “Don't worry, I will. I don't want trouble. I just want to probe a little.”

She'd asked Mark to change into plain clothes for the visits, since people were more likely to talk to them if they didn't know he was a cop. He'd agreed, but still carried his weapon in an ankle holster under his jeans.