The Shepherd's Voice (40 page)

“Who is it?” a female voice called from the second floor. “Who’s there?”

“It’s us, Pauline,” Akira answered, turning toward the stairs. “Gabe and Akira.”

A few moments later, Pauline appeared near the ornate railing. The right side of her face was puffy, her eye nearly swollen shut, the skin beginning to discolor.

Akira gasped. Gabe felt a white-hot fury shoot through him. Together they raced up the stairs.

Akira reached Pauline first. “What happened?”

“He was in a horrible temper.” Pauline gingerly fingered her cheek, wincing when she touched her cheekbone. “If Carruthers hadn’t been here, I don’t think he would have stopped this time.”

Gabe clenched his hands into fists. “Where is Hud now?”

“They went to the mill. About an hour ago. I suspect Carruthers had more bad news about money.” A tear slipped from her left eye. “I’m packing. I’m leaving. I don’t care what else happens. I won’t stay here.”

“Akira, help Pauline get her things together. I’m going to the mill to see Hud. When I get back, we’ll take Pauline home with us.”

“Don’t go, Gabe.” Akira took hold of his hand. “Let someone else confront your father. It doesn’t have to be you.”

He pulled away from her and took a step backward. “Yes, it does. It
has
to be me.” He moved to the top of the stairs, distancing himself from Akira, too angry at his father to be near her.

“Don’t you see? I came crawling back, looking for help, looking for a little human kindness, maybe a little fatherly affection. I let him humiliate me because I didn’t think I deserved anything better.” He grabbed hold of the banister. “I haven’t been turning the other cheek like Brodie thinks. I’ve been letting Hud kick me. Again and again and again.” He looked at Pauline. “And not just me. I’ve let him do this to you. I knew it was happening. I knew and I didn’t try to make sure it didn’t happen again.”

Pauline shook her head. “I made my own choices. You couldn’t —”

“All Hud does is destroy the people around him who aren’t what he wants them to be or who don’t do what he wants them to do. Anything he can’t control, he ruins. He’s got to be stopped.”

He spun around and descended the stairs, three steps at a time.

“This is your fault, Carruthers.” Hudson grabbed the small book from his secretary’s hand. “It wouldn’t have happened if you’d done your job right.”

“My fault, sir?” Rupert stared at him with a bemused expression.

“I should have fired you years ago. You’re inept.”

“Inept?”

Hudson hurled a curse at his secretary. “Stop repeating my words. You sound like an idiot. Now get out. You’re fired.”

“Fired?” Rupert didn’t move.

“You heard me. Get out.”

The small man’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “I’ve worked for you for forty-seven years. From the very beginning, I’ve done anything and everything you needed done. I’ve doctored papers and documents. I’ve helped you buy politicians. I’ve lied whenever you asked me to. I’ve helped you destroy men who got
in the way of your success. I’ve broken the law in more ways than I can remember. I helped you make your fortune. You couldn’t have done it without me. And now you think you can just fire me, tell me to get out, like one of your stupid mill hands?”

“Precisely.” Hudson grinned at him. “Get out …
stupid
.”

An odd, choked sound escaped Rupert’s throat.

Hudson turned away. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way.”

“You … miserable …”

That was all Hudson heard before pain exploded in his head. He fell face forward onto his desk. Instinct—or perhaps the guttural noises of his assailant—warned him not to stay still. He moved in time to avoid a second crushing blow to his head.

He straightened and whirled about, somehow arriving at the side of his desk. Rupert was holding the brass-and-onyx lamp stand in both hands, ready to take another swing.

“You fool!” Hudson shouted. “Put that down this instant.”

“You’re not doing to me what you’ve done to others.”

Dizziness caused Hudson to stagger. His knees nearly buckled. Fear sluiced through him as he realized the precariousness of his position. He steadied himself with a hand on his desk and began to inch away.

Rupert followed him.

Hudson tried to move more quickly, but his legs seemed unable to obey. Something trickled down his forehead. He put his fingers on his face and felt a warm stickiness. Blood!

Rupert raised the lamp stand higher above his head. “You’re not destroying me like everybody else. Not me.”

Hudson leaned to one side. The sharp edge of the stand glanced his temple. At the same moment, his hand fell upon the letter opener.

Instinctively, he closed his fingers around the cold metal
handle and lunged toward Rupert before he could lift the stand again. The sharp point of the letter opener slid into Rupert’s belly with surprising ease. Hudson’s vision began to dim, but he had enough forethought to give the opener an extra thrust and twist before unconsciousness overwhelmed him.

Gabe’s fury had spent itself by the time he arrived at the mill. He turned off the Ford’s engine and sat there, hands gripping the steering wheel, staring at the Duesenberg parked near the entrance.

God, what am I doing? He’s never wanted anything to do with You, and even less to do with me.

He remembered the dying town he and Akira had driven through earlier. He thought of the cold mansion on the hillside and Pauline’s bruised and battered face. He thought of the sawmill before him, a business without employees. He remembered the slaughtered sheep.

He’s lost it all, hasn’t he, Father? He’s lost the only thing that ever mattered to him. His money. It’s easier for a camel to go through a needle’s eye than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.

Gabe sighed. Maybe that was why he was here. If his father had lost his fortune, maybe now he would listen to the truth. More importantly, maybe Hudson would meet Truth.

He got out of the car, took a deep breath, then walked through the snow toward the entrance. The silence that greeted him inside the building seemed eerie. He supposed it was because he’d never been in the mill when machinery wasn’t running, creating a neverending cacophony of noise. He looked up the stairs leading to Hudson’s second-story office. He assumed that was where he would find his father and Rupert Carruthers.

Go on. Get it over with,
he admonished himself, then headed up the stairway.

He paused in the anteroom. The door to Hudson’s office was ajar, but Gabe heard no voices. He hesitated, then said, “Hud?”

There was no reply.

He shivered involuntarily.

“Hud? Carruthers?”

He walked to the door and pushed it open. The scene before him caused his heart to sink, and for a moment, he couldn’t think what to do. Hudson lay on the floor beside his desk, a dark pool of blood staining the Persian rug beneath him. Rupert lay on his back about ten feet away from him. He was clutching his stomach with his hands. The lamp stand had been overturned, and items had been swept off the desktop onto the floor. Papers were scattered everywhere.

Reason returned as suddenly as it had vanished.

Gabe went first to his father. Kneeling down, he touched Hudson’s throat, feeling for a pulse. It seemed strong, and a cursory glance at the head wound suggested it wasn’t life threatening.

Hudson groaned, and his eyelids fluttered, then stilled without opening.

Gabe rose and went to his father’s secretary. Again he knelt down and felt for a pulse. It was faint, erratic. His gaze moved to Rupert’s belly where blood oozed between the man’s fingers. That was when Gabe noticed the end of a knifelike object sticking up. He moved Rupert’s hands out of the way for a better look and knew immediately he was too late.

Rupert sucked in a raspy breath. Gabe looked toward his face. The wounded man’s eyes were open now. He worked his mouth, as if to say something, but the only sound he made was an ominous death rattle.

And then he was gone.

Still kneeling, Gabe glanced over his shoulder toward his
father. Hudson was pulling himself up, hanging on to his desk with one hand while holding his head with the other. Their gazes met for an instant. Then a sound from the outer office drew their attention.

Andy Newton stood in the doorway. “What the —?” “Arrest him, Sheriff,” Hudson cried, pointing an accusing finger at Gabe. “He tried to kill me.”

TWENTY-NINE

Gabe couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He looked at his father, then back at the sheriff. “That’s not true. I didn’t —”

“He hit me over the head with that lamp stand,” Hudson interrupted, his voice rising. “And when Carruthers tried to stop him, he stabbed him.” He took a step toward Gabe. “Is he dead? Did you kill him?”

Gabe raised his hands in a gesture of innocence, only to see they were bloodied from his attempts to help.

“Step over to the window,” Andy commanded in a low but firm voice, “and don’t move. Talmadge, sit in that chair before you fall down.”

When both men had obeyed, the sheriff knelt beside Rupert, checking for a pulse as Gabe had done only minutes before.

“Is he dead?” Hudson demanded.

“Yes.” Andy stood. “He’s dead.” His gaze moved to Gabe.

His father leaned forward in his chair. “You murdering dog. I hope they hang you this time. They will if I have anything to say about it.”

It was surreal, the way Gabe seemed to step outside his body and watch from a distance. This wasn’t happening to him. It couldn’t be. It had to be a nightmare from which he would awaken any moment.

But he didn’t awaken.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to take you in, Gabe,” the sheriff said. “You’ll have to come with me too, Talmadge.”

“Me? Am
I under arrest?”

“No sir. But until I can go over things in this office, nobody can be in here. Besides, your head needs to be looked at.”

“But this is
my
office,” Hudson objected. “You can’t lock me out of my own place of business.”

The sheriff wasn’t dissuaded. “It’s a crime scene now, Talmadge. Let’s go.” He took hold of Gabe’s arm above the elbow. “Sorry,” he added softly, then sent a pointed look in Hudson’s direction. “I’m afraid you’ll have to leave everything here until I conclude my investigation.”

“I trust I can at least take my suit coat.” Even as he spoke, he picked up the article of clothing and slipped his arms into the sleeves. Then he led the way out of the office.

Andy looked at Gabe.

Gabe looked down at Rupert’s body. “I didn’t kill him. I found them like this.”

The sheriff’s only reply was to tighten his grip on Gabe’s arm and steer him out of the room.