Perfect Justice (19 page)

The five other men looked among themselves. No one’s hand rose.

“There is your vote, Colonel Nguyen. Now leave.”

Regretfully Nguyen left the chicken house. It was pointless to attempt to reason with Pham now. Nothing would stop him, not until he had brought the full fury of ASP down upon them and Coi Than Tien was utterly destroyed.

He considered gathering his family and their meager belongings and leaving, now, in the dead of the night.

He felt ashamed. If he did that, Pham would be right. He would be a coward. There had to be another way.

He would go into Silver Springs, as he did every day. He would try to find some meaning to
parade
and
surprise.
He would try to stop Pham and his men before the final die was cast.

Before it was too late for them all.

“I
S SHE CONSCIOUS?” BEN
asked. The doctor nodded. “In and out. We have a catheter connected to the base of her spine feeding her painkillers. Tends to make her sleepy. Which is for the best, under these circumstances.”

Ben and Belinda were at the emergency treatment clinic in Silver Springs, in an examining room that had been converted to a makeshift burn treatment center for Maria Truong. Ben was consulting with the doctor in residence, Harvey Patterson, a tall man in his midforties.

“How bad are her burns?” Belinda asked.

“Severe, I’m afraid. If they were any worse, she wouldn’t be alive. She’s got scorched lungs and third-degree burns all over her body. Her hands are useless, virtually gone.”

“You said she’s on painkillers?”

“Yes. Some of her burns are so profound she’s suffered nerve damage, so she doesn’t feel the pain there. Some of the lesser-degree burns are still stinging, though. It’s ironic—the least critical burns are the ones that are causing her so much misery; the ones she can’t feel are the ones that may kill her.”

“Then you think she’s—”

“We have a guideline known as the Rule of Nines. It’s a shorthand method for determining the percentage of the body that’s been burned. She scores over seventy percent. And that’s mostly third-degree burns.” He paused, then looked down at his clipboard. “Burn victims with greater than sixty-percent burns rarely survive. And even if they do—” His voice choked; he never finished the sentence.

“Is there anything we can do?” Belinda asked.

“We’ve done all we can for her here, and we’ve called for transportation to a burn center in Little Rock. She’ll get all the best treatment. If that’s what she wants.”

“What do you mean?”

Dr. Patterson shifted his eyes to his patient. “At the burn center they can run tests and try grafts and plastic surgery, but it won’t do much good. Look at her hands, her face. Even if she survives, what kind of life will she have? She won’t be able to function; she’ll be in constant agony.”

The doctor dropped heavily into a nearby chair. “I’ve been working all night and day, doing everything I can think of to save her.” His voice lowered. “But the whole time I’ve been wondering if I should.”

“You’re doing the right thing,” Ben said. He hoped he sounded confident. He wasn’t. “Is it all right if I speak to her?”

“I don’t see that it can do her much harm. But remember, she’s heavily medicated. I can’t vouch for the quality of her answers.”

Together Ben and Belinda approached the side of Maria’s bed. “Mrs. Truong?”

The top of her head was wrapped in bandages. Her eyes seemed unnaturally wide and hollow; after a moment Ben realized it was because her eyebrows and eyelashes were gone.

Slowly her eyelids opened. “Yes?”

“Ma’am, my name is Ben Kincaid.”

“Are you the one”—her voice was broken and hesitant—“in the fire—”

“No. That was Colonel Nguyen. He carried you out. Saved your life.”

“The Colonel. Yes.” She wet her lips with her tongue. “A great man.”

“Ma’am, I’d like to ask you a few questions. I’ve already spoken to the rest of your family, but they didn’t have much to tell me. I thought you might have seen someone, or might know something, about what happened last night. If you don’t feel up to it, though, just tell me and I’ll stop.”

Maria tried to nod, but found it difficult to move her neck. Her skin was thick and leathery; her burns were hardening to eschar.

Belinda reached across the bed and gently raised the woman’s pillow. Maria smiled appreciatively.

“Did you see what happened last night?”

“Truck,” Maria whispered. “Black. Threw something …”

“Did you see what was thrown?”

She shook her head.

“Did you see who was in the truck?”

Again she indicated that she did not.

“Do you have any idea why they would single out your house?”

She didn’t. Her eyes became watery. She moved her arm toward Ben, but it was restricted by the IV.

Ben untangled the IV tube. He reached out to take her hand, then froze. It was not a hand at all. Not anymore.

He touched her shoulder lightly and hoped she had not noticed. “My understanding is that you lived with your husband and your ten-year-old son. Is that correct?”

“Yes. Are they—”

“They’re fine, ma’am. The boy’s a little shaken up, but he’s not hurt.”

“And Vanh?”

“He’s fine, too. They visited you while you were sleeping. I’m sure they’ll be in again soon.”

“That is … good.”

“Do you know why—” How should he put it? He didn’t know. It was best to just get it over with. “Do you know why a baby would be in your home?”

Even given the limited powers of expression her charred facial skin allowed her, Ben could tell she had no idea what he was talking about.

“Is there anyone who might leave a baby with you? A friend? Or a relative, perhaps?”

“A baby,” Maria repeated. “I always wanted a baby. Tim is my stepson. He was five when I married his father.”

“Do you know where a baby might’ve come from?” Ben repeated.

“No idea.” A horrified expression passed across her face. “Was the baby—”

“No,” Ben said quickly. “The baby is fine. Everyone else got out without injury.” So call him a liar. This woman had enough pain in her life.

Maria tried to roll over on one side, but her burns were too sensitive. She gasped suddenly, then released a small, stifled cry. She rolled onto her back, her face contorted in agony.

Ben fought back his tears. Burns had to be the worst kind of suffering. The absolute worst.

“Can you think of anything else that might help us determine who set this fire?” Ben asked.

He could tell Maria was trying to think, but nothing came to mind. She probably had more pressing concerns.

“Thank you for your help,” Ben said. “I understand they’re arranging transportation to take you to the burn center—”

“No!” Maria said suddenly. “No more … treatments.”

“Ma’am, they can help you—”

“No.” She held up her hands and gazed at the charred, misshapen stubs that remained. “I’m done.”

Ben looked to Belinda for help. On his own he couldn’t find the words.

“Mrs. Truong,” Belinda said, “you have our deepest sympathy for your misfortune.”

“Not so bad,” she whispered. “My boy is fine. My husband … also.” Her eyelids slowly closed. “That is enough.”

T
HE NEXT DAY BEN
rose shortly after the sun did. His usual Sunday morning routine was to tumble out of bed, feed his cat, pour a heaping bowl of Cap’n Crunch cereal, and work the
Tulsa World
crossword. This morning, unfortunately, he had no cat, no cereal, and no crossword. He would have to settle for a quick wash and a shave in the lake.

He’d had a good night’s sleep, all things considered. He only dreamed about the fire twice. Dreams—nightmares actually. Horrible nightmares. Ben hoped he never came anywhere near fire again.

He brushed his teeth and tried to shift mental gears. He had several tasks he wanted to accomplish today, and several people he needed to talk to before the trial began.

After he was dressed, he took a powdered doughnut from a plastic bag in his tent and waited for the rest of his staff to assemble. To his surprise, Christina was the first to arrive.

“Morning,” he said. They had not spoken since their previous argument. “Thought you were staying at Mary Sue’s.”

“I am,” she said flatly. “I came out early to catch the bass while they were still sleepy.” She took a Coke from a cooler and popped it open. “I hear you’re going to church this morning.”

“Seems appropriate,” Ben said. “After all, it is Sunday.”

“And you’re taking … that woman.”

“Belinda?” He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. She should be here any minute.”

“You two have been spending a fair amount of time together.”

“That’s true.” He coughed. For some reason, he was suddenly uncomfortable. “She’s a very brave woman. Smart, too.”

“I see.” Christina stared at her Coke can. “Why are you taking her to church?”

“It would be stupid to go alone.” He looked up suddenly. “And you won’t come.”

“Ben, I—”

“It’s not too late, Christina. The trial hasn’t started yet. I need a legal assistant.” He brushed the doughnut crumbs off his lap. “That isn’t quite true. I need you.”

“Ben—” She pressed the Coke can against her forehead. “I can’t do that. If I did, I don’t know how I could sleep at night. I don’t know how you—” She shook her head.

“Of all the people in the world,” Ben said quietly, “I thought you would understand.”

She turned away. “You were wrong.”

Fortunately at that moment Jones emerged from his tent and joined them. “Did you get that report I left you, Boss?”

Jones had pieced together a bundle of information on ASP financing and ASP activities, both official and unofficial, during the last three years. He gave Ben the lowdown on the survival camps, the scare tactics, the outright terrorism in Montgomery and Birmingham and elsewhere. Ben suspected it would be helpful at trial.

“Thanks,” Ben replied. “I appreciate your hard work.”

“I live to please, Boss.”

“Nice to hear that someone does,” Ben commented. “I have a new assignment for you, Jones.”

“Shoot.”

“I pulled a woman out of the fire the other night at Coi Than Tien. Slim, maybe a hundred and ten pounds, dark hair. White. I think. It was very dark and smoky—I can’t be certain I saw her clearly.”

“Okay. What about her?”

“I want to know who she is, and why she was there.”

“Why didn’t you ask her?”

“She disappeared before I had a chance.”

“Know anything else about her?”

“ ’Fraid not.”

“That doesn’t give me much to go on. But I’ll do my best. Mind if I use Loving?”

“Of course not. If he can spare the time.”

“I think he can. Most of the thugs he’s working on don’t come out until after dark. Kind of like vampires.”

Ben spotted Mike approaching from the riverbank. “Where have you been?”

“Just out for a bit of exercise,” Mike said, “and to commune with nature. You know, doing the Thoreau bit.”

“Natch. Got Portia working yet?”

Mike sullenly grabbed the doughnut bag. “No comment.” He took two doughnuts, one for each hand, and alternated bites from each.

“Find out anything about the infant?” Ben asked. It sickened him just to raise the topic.

“Um-hm,” Mike answered, wiping the powdered sugar from his mouth. “Baby girl. Newborn.”

“Anyone claimed her?”

“Not yet. And no one knows who she is, or how she got there.”

“Including the Truongs,” Ben said. “I’ve talked to them.”

“That’s hard to imagine.”

“Granted. But I believe them. After all, they got themselves to safety. It wouldn’t have been that hard to carry a six-pound baby with them. If they’d known she was there.”

“This is one strange case, Ben. Hell of a way to spend a vacation.” He shoved the rest of both doughnuts into his mouth.

Ben agreed. “Normal cases start to unravel as you acquire more information. The more we learn about this case, though, the more tangled it becomes.”

A car drove up the dirt road beside the campsite, then honked twice.

“Sounds like my ride,” Ben said. “See you later. I’m off to church.”

“Church?” Mike almost choked on his doughnuts.
“You?”

“Well, of course. It’s Sunday, isn’t it?”

“And,” Jones added with a wink, “he’s taking Belinda.”

“Is that a fact? How romantic.”

“See you goons later.” Ben stood, then hesitated a moment. “So long, Christina. We’ll continue this discussion later, okay?”

Christina looked up, but didn’t say a word.

B
ELINDA PULLED HER JEEP
Cherokee into the space cleared away for parking in front of the Aryan Christian Church. It was an old-fashioned wooden church building with a tall steeple and an iron bell. A smaller separate structure—a garage, probably—was in the back. Attached to the church was a smaller house—preacher’s quarters, Ben guessed. And beside the quarters was a wire-enclosed kennel with five barking bird dogs inside.

“Looks like the preacher is a hunting man,” Ben commented.

“Not surprising,” Belinda replied. “Men in these parts take their hunting very seriously. When deer season is on, you can’t find a blue-collar worker for a hundred miles around.”

“They hunt deer with dogs?”

“No. The preacher must go after ducks. Or maybe raccoons.” She turned off the ignition, then turned to face Ben. “Are you sure we should be doing this?”

“Hey, I was invited.”

“I wasn’t. When they see me, they’ll pitch a fit.”

“I need your help, Belinda. You have far more background and experience with ASP than I do.”

“Granted. Maybe neither of us should go in there.”

Ben touched Belinda’s shoulder. “I have an obligation to defend my client to the best of my ability. The trial starts Monday afternoon. I can’t let pass an opportunity to talk to people who may well have been responsible for the crime my client is accused of committing.”

“I suppose you’re right. I just—” She looked down at his hand on her shoulder, then placed her hand over his. “When you ran into the flames the other night to save that woman, I—I was so scared. I didn’t know whether you’d ever come out again. I—”