High in Trial (20 page)

Buck couldn’t remain seated. He stood, paced a few steps across the small room, pushed
his hand through his hair. The golden retriever watched him alertly. He drew in a
breath and released it in measures. He tried to focus on the pieces that were falling
into place. All he could think about was how easy it was to believe what you got used
to seeing. All those years, he’d never guessed. No one had.

He said, “Judge Stockton was afraid Berman would recognize him if the case went to
trial. That’s why he pushed the deal.”

“In part,” Maude admitted. “In other part—he was afraid Berman would be convicted.
It was a death penalty case. He couldn’t have lived with that. The young man was no
saint, and no doubt he deserved a good deal more than the twenty years he
served
if all
the crimes for which he’d never been
convicted were taken into account. But if he’d been convicted of a first-degree murder
that he didn’t commit… no. Jon couldn’t let that happen.”

“Then Berman saw the judge’s obituary and recognized the photograph.” Buck’s voice
was toneless and his eyes flat. He was thinking aloud. “He put it all together and
realized what happened. The judge must’ve been afraid something like that would happen.
That’s why he wanted Roe to keep an eye on him.”

A slow alarm darkened Maude’s eyes. “Something like what?”

Buck looked at her sharply. “You’d know, wouldn’t you, if any strangers had been poking
around here the last few weeks? Any strange phone calls Raine might have gotten?”

Maude said, “No, nothing that I know of. Do you think…? Is there cause to be concerned?”

Buck’s lips tightened grimly. “Raine needs to know about this,” he said. “You handle
it any way you want, but she’s going to have to know.”

Maude’s hand fluttered to her throat. “Is she in danger, Buck? Is she in danger because
of me?”

“Not now,” he said. “Not yet. But twenty years in prison is a long time to hate somebody
who did you wrong, and it must’ve made him even madder when the judge died before
he could get out and get even. The obituary would’ve listed the details about his
survivors. That’s why he carried it around for so long. That’s what he meant by ‘sins
of the father.’ He’s a long way from here now, and maybe we’ll catch him before he
finds Raine, but she’ll have to be warned. And sooner or later she’ll want to know
why.”

Maude said softly, “It will break her heart.”

For a moment her pain was reflected in Buck’s eyes. “I know.”

Maude nodded slowly and turned back to the window. “I’ve a brother in Florida, you
know. He’s just bought a hotel, and he asked me to consider helping him run it. Perhaps
it’s time for a change.”

Buck knew he should say something, but he didn’t know what. In the end, all he could
manage was, “You do what you have to do. But tell Raine to give me a call when she
gets in, will you?” He started for the door.

Maude said, “That won’t be until Sunday.”

He looked back her.

“She’s at an agility trial in South Carolina,” Maude said. “I should think she might’ve
mentioned it to you. It’s all she’s posted about on Facebook for days
.
Cisco won a blue ribbon.”

Facebook.
For some reason that word seemed to echo in his head and along with it a dozen police
bulletins he’d received over the past year, all of them jumbled up and unrelated to
each other. Everything within him seemed to go cold. He said, “Where in South Carolina?”

“Pembroke. It’s the big season opener at the agricultural fairgrounds there. She always—”

Buck snatched out his phone and started dialing, his heart going like a freight train.
Maude moved toward him in alarm.

“Buck?”

“Damn,” he said tightly. “Voice mail. Damn it…” He pushed out the door with Maude
following helplessly. “Raine, listen to me. You’re in danger. Get in your car and
drive to the nearest police station, do you hear me? Call me from there. Do it now.”

“Buck,” Maude called after him. “Is there anything I can do?”

But he was already on another call, lengthening his stride until he was almost running
as he moved toward his car. “This is Sheriff Lawson, Hanover County, North Carolina.
North Carolina ID NC7548—”

The rest was cut off as he slammed the door of the cruiser and spun the car around
in the narrow parking lot. He sped down the driveway, leaving a plume of dust and
gravel in his wake, and all Maude could do was watch.

~*~

SEVENTEEN

Eight minutes before the shooting

J
eremiah Allen Berman once again admired the wonder of this fine new century into which
he had been released: the ease with which people moved to and fro, the determination
that allowed them to focus only on themselves and not on what was going on around
them. He’d been born for this time. He had.

It had taken him less than an hour to get to the park. No one had stopped him. Why
should they? At first he’d worried about how he would transport an assault rifle across
an open parking lot and into a pavilion crowded with people, but it turned out to
be amazingly simple. This was a dog show. People were carrying all kinds of crazy
things—pop-up tents, oversized coolers, foldaway dog houses with air-conditioned fans,
roll-up mats, and collapsible canvas chairs. He walked to a vendor’s booth, spent
twenty dollars on what looked like a yoga mat printed with dog paws, went back to
his car, and concealed his weapon inside. The yoga mat had a shoulder strap. No one
looked at him twice as he climbed to the very top of the bleachers and settled the
mat between his feet, waiting for a certain woman with a brown ponytail in a golden
retriever sweatshirt to arrive.

Last night it’d been dark. The mistake was easy to make. But he had over a dozen
pictures of her now, scrolling over and over on the wallpaper of his phone. He knew
his target. And by now he was just mad enough to enjoy a little collateral damage.

He was calm; he was ready. He didn’t break a sweat as he saw her cross into the shadow
of the pavilion with the yellow dog. A man was walking toward her. Not a problem.
Collateral damage. He began to unwrap his weapon from the paw print mat. No one even
glanced his way. His hand where the dog had bitten him hurt like a son of a bitch,
and his trigger finger was swollen to twice its normal size. That only made him madder.
He hoped he’d be able to pick off a few black and white dogs while he was at it.

He slipped down behind the bleacher seat in sniper position. He lifted the rifle,
sited his target, and waited for his shot.

*    *    *

I
reached automatically into my pocket for my phone and remembered too late it was tucked
inside my day bag, which was secured inside Cisco’s crate, because that was what I
always did with my valuables at a trial. The big-shouldered man kept coming toward
me, mouth grim, eyes cold. My hand tightened on the leash and I glanced around a little
frantically, but where could I go and what would I do when I got there? There were
people everywhere, setting up the course, watching from the stands, gathering in groups
outside the ring. Surely I was safer here in front of all these witnesses than anywhere
else, and besides, what could he possibly do to me? Then I remembered Neil’s knee
and one swing of a lead pipe from those powerful arms, and I took an involuntary step
backward.

He was upon me.

“Raine Stockton?” he said.

He reached inside his jacket and I drew a breath to scream, but suddenly Cisco gave
a happy bark and lunged forward to the end of the leash, sending me stumbling after
him. At first I thought my brave dog was protecting me, but then I saw Sarah and Brinkley
cross the pavilion toward the practice jump, and Cisco’s gaze was rapt upon them.
I burst out, “Damn it, Cisco!” and then I realized the man hadn’t pulled out a gun,
but an ID wallet.

He said, “I’m Special Agent Seth Ledbetter, with the State Bureau of Investigation.
I wonder if I could talk to you for a minute.”

I stared at him. More importantly, I stared at the badge and the photograph ID inside
the wallet. I’d seen enough law enforcement badges to know this one was authentic.
Nonetheless, I said, “No, you’re not. You were with Marcie yesterday at the hotel.
I saw you.” Cisco barked again and I said sharply, “Cisco, sit!” He complied automatically,
but his attention was on the opposite side of the ring and he licked his lips anxiously.
I ignored him and looked back at the man opposite me suspiciously. “How did you find
me?”

He put away his ID. “I spoke with the detective on the case, who told me you found
Marcie Wilbanks’s body. And the gentleman at the hotel, Mr. Young, told me you were
here.”

I knew if I checked my messages I’d find one from Miles. Still, I was cautious. “What
were you doing with Marcie yesterday?”

An expression of such raw grief and regret crossed his eyes that I knew that whatever
he said next would be nothing but the truth. He frowned a little, as though in attempt
to hide the emotion, and his lips tightened. “I’ve been trying to bust a loan sharking
ring for over a year now, and Marcie—Ms. Wilbanks—offered to help us set a trap. Over
time… we probably became closer than we should have. Yesterday… we were within hours
of closing in on them, and the stress was getting to her. No one expected her ex to
throw a monkey wrench into the plans with the dogs, and she was upset.”

My head was spinning. “Wait a minute. Marcie was working with you? She wasn’t in debt
to loan sharks and she wasn’t trying to fix the Standard Cup?”

He said, “It was a setup. We were trying to get the guys to tip their hand by actually
extorting money from her. We didn’t count on them going after Kellog, but when they
did… we rounded up every one of them within hours.”

My mind was busy trying to rearrange the puzzle pieces that had once fit together
so well into an entirely different picture. I wasn’t having much luck. “But I don’t
understand. I saw Marcie at dinner last night. I could swear she didn’t know anything
about Neil being attacked, and she was as nervous as a cat.”

He nodded. “She knew it was coming to a head this weekend. We both did. But we didn’t
learn they’d moved in on Kellog until the police were called after the attack. The
hit man still had the bloody tire tool in his car.”

“Tire tool?” I repeated. “Not a lead pipe?” Was it possible Cisco had uncovered nothing
of more significance than an old piece of construction debris? I’d been wrong about
everything else; it hardly seemed far-fetched that I’d been wrong about this too.

He said, “I called Marcie to let her know it was all over about nine last night, and…”
He shifted his gaze away, but not before I saw the jagged scar of pain there. “That
was the last time I spoke to her.”

I said slowly, “But… if you arrested everyone who was involved in the scam, who killed
Marcie?”

He said, “That’s what I was hoping you could help me figure out.” He gestured toward
the bleachers. “Could we sit down? I know you’ve already gone over this with the police,
but if you could tell me again everything that happened from the time you got back
to the hotel last night until you found her this morning, maybe…”

The ring steward called, “Standard Open! Judge’s briefing in five minutes!”

Everyone started moving, hurrying to crate their dogs, put away their course maps,
double-knot their shoelaces, pull back their hair, and reassemble in the ring. I felt
a pang of jealousy. I’m ashamed of it, but I really did.
One more run
…

And then I saw Miles, leaning with one shoulder against the pillar where Cisco’s crate
was set up, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his navy windbreaker, Atlanta Braves
cap shading his eyes, waiting. How much of his time had been spent waiting for me
since we’d met? And how much longer could I reasonably expect him to continue to wait?

I said, “Um, sure. Just a minute, though, okay? I need to put my dog away.”

I said, “Cisco, with me.” And we started toward Miles.

We’d gone less than a dozen steps when the inevitable happened. Brinkley sailed over
the practice jump, made a perfect loop to return to Sarah, and Cisco thought it would
be a great idea to join him. Completely forgetting about the leash that connected
me to him, he spun around and lunged toward the practice jump and his best friend,
jerking me completely off course and very nearly off my feet.

That was probably what saved my life, because it was at that very moment that the
ground exploded in a pop of dust less than
six
inches from where I was standing.

People say at first you don’t know what’s happening. I’ve been around gunfire all
my life and there was a part of my brain that knew
exactly
what was happening. And there was a part of my brain that was saying,
No, no, not here, it can’t be,
while yet another part registered screaming and running and people falling on the
ground. Milliseconds, only milliseconds passed while dirt exploded all around me and
people fell and dogs barked and legs ran and voices screamed. Agent Ledbetter reached
for his gun but spun to the ground before he could draw it. Somewhere
close
a siren screeched and then another. I heard a name—my name—and suddenly Miles barreled
into me, not just pushing me, but
throwing
me toward the shelter of the bleachers with such force that I thudded into a support
post and lost my breath. I lay gasping like a beached whale and everything was in
slow motion, slow desperate motion because Cisco was no longer with me. His leash
had been torn from my hand and now I could see him standing in the middle of the pavilion
looking confused and uncertain, looking for me. Inside, I screamed,
Cisco!
But I had no breath to make words. Miles pushed away from me and rushed toward Cisco.