The Treacherous Teddy (35 page)

Maybe it was because I was so tired, but Kurt was faster on the draw. He yanked a small stainless-steel revolver from his coat and pointed the weapon at me. His right hand looked dark against the silvery metal of the gun, and I realized he was wearing the same brown leather driving gloves he’d had on when we’d first met yesterday morning. I suddenly knew the origin of the trace evidence on the arrow’s shaft. Kurt had been wearing the gloves when he’d plunged the arrow into his father’s chest.

“Get your hands up or you’re a dead man!” Kurt was suddenly so panicky that his voice squeaked.

I let go of my cane and raised my arms. Then, as if there weren’t enough to occupy my attention, my cell phone began to ring. I was terrified, but also knew that my only chance for survival rested on my ability to make Kurt understand that there was no chance of escape and also no profit in killing me.

Trying to keep my voice calm, I said, “You hear that phone?”

“Don’t answer it!”

“I don’t need to. That’s the sheriff’s office, and they already know that you and I are here. I called and told them that just before I got out of my truck.”

“That’s a lie.” He took some shuffling steps closer to me and paused. It was obvious that he was a novice at taking hostages and was trying to figure out how to grab the gun from my shoulder holster without getting too close to me.

“When you start hearing sirens in a little bit, you’ll realize I’m telling the truth.” My bad leg buckled and I nearly lost my balance, but I quickly regained my footing.

He retreated a couple of steps but kept the revolver shakily pointed at my chest. “Stand still and keep your hands up!”

“Dude, with only one good pin, this is the best I can do,” I said, hoping the fact that I hadn’t gotten a bullet for the sudden move meant he wasn’t eager to kill me. My cell phone stopped ringing and I added, “They’ll be coming soon.”

“You are so full of crap your eyes are brown.” Kurt did his best to sound scoffing. Then, in the distance, a siren began to yelp and he shot a nervous and fleeting look in that direction.

I heaved a weary sigh. “So, what’s the plan? Sherri Driggs is already in jail and charged with murder, so you can’t blame her for
my
death.”

“In jail? But you said that—”

“Oh, she’s not under arrest for your dad’s murder. Sherri killed Jesse Hauck earlier this evening by pushing him over the hotel balcony.” I briefly glanced to the west, where two more sirens had begun wailing. “Her incentive to kill was pretty clear-cut. She murdered her assistant because he was blackmailing her. But I don’t understand your motive.”

“Just shut up!” His hand trembled as he brandished the gun.

“I’ve got to know. What in the name of God did your dad do to deserve to be skewered like a butterfly on a display board?”

“It was an accident. He changed his mind about selling the farm and we argued, but I didn’t mean to kill him.”

“That’s kind of hard to believe, considering our present situation.” I nodded toward the jiggling gun. “For instance, how’d you even end up with the arrow in your hand?”

“It was stuck in the side of the house when I got here. Dad never even saw it, until I yanked it from the wall.”

“And that happened while you were fighting?”

“I swear to God, we weren’t fighting! It was just an argument.”

“And you lost your temper because his decision not to sell the farm meant that all your big career plans with Amerriment were ruined.” My arms were beginning to become sore and quivery from the effort of keeping them elevated. “That’s disappointing, but not much of a reason to off your old man.”

“It didn’t happen like that,” Kurt said through clenched teeth. “Dad was standing there in the yard, spouting some crazy crap about how it just wouldn’t be right for him to hurt his friends and neighbors by selling his land. I had my back turned to him . . .”

“And?”

“Then he said that there was something almost sinful about the idea of putting an amusement park where my mother died.” There was a pause and when Kurt resumed speaking, his tone became both soft and more frightening. “Imagine that. My mother died because that old bastard kept her out here in the middle of nowhere, and then he has the freaking gall to use his crime as an excuse not to sell the farm.”

“I can see how that would have made you angry. What happened?”

“I spun around to scream at him, but he’d moved. He was a lot closer to me than I thought . . . right behind me. I was holding the arrow by the shaft . . . and it just went into his chest.” Kurt now sounded slightly nauseated.

“So it was a tragic accident.” I allowed my arms to drop a millimeter or so.

“You don’t believe me.” He glanced toward the driveway.

The first siren was very close now—perhaps a half mile away—and I suspected Ash was driving the patrol car. Situated as we were in the darkness between the house and vehicles, she wouldn’t be able to see Kurt and me when she pulled into the yard. That meant she was driving into a potential ambush, and I couldn’t let that happen.

I needed to come up with some magical combination of words to defuse the situation; otherwise I’d be forced to launch a suicidal attack on Kurt. However, that wasn’t much of an option. The odds were that he’d shoot me, and the very best outcome I could hope for was that Ash would kill Kurt and that I might stay alive long enough for the paramedics to arrive.

Trying to keep my tone casual, I said, “It doesn’t matter what I believe, and the fact is, I can’t disprove your story. All you have to do is sell your version of the tale to one member of the jury and you’ll be a free man. But the only way you can make that happen is if you do the smart thing right now.”

“And surrender? So that I can be sent to prison? I don’t think so,” Kurt snarled. “Shut up and give me your gun. I’ll take my chances—”

Kurt stopped midsentence, interrupted by the sound of something crashing through the brushwood that hemmed the driveway. We both turned to look, and I saw a dark and large figure on all fours burst from the undergrowth and quickly lumber across the yard. It was the biggest black bear I’d ever seen. Obviously frightened by the earsplitting howl of the approaching siren, the animal was running for the safety of the abandoned quarry.

As the bear drew abreast of our vehicles, its head swiveled in our direction and it half stumbled, surprised by our presence. The bear growled, and Kurt pivoted his upper body to point the revolver at the creature. That was all the opportunity I needed. I jerked my pistol from the shoulder holster just as Kurt snapped off a wild shot at the bear. There was a deafening crack and the yellowish-white geyser of muzzle flash from the revolver was blinding.

Closing the short distance between us in two large and very painful strides, I pointed the business end of my gun right between Kurt’s terrified eyes and said, “Throw down the gun, young man, or I’m going to give you a forty-caliber lobotomy.”

Kurt dropped the revolver. It bounced off the trunk of his Lexus and fell to the ground, where it would be relatively safe for now. I glanced to my right and couldn’t see the bear, so I backed away from Kurt and ordered him to raise his hands and slowly walk out into the yard. Meanwhile, the siren stopped and bright flashing lights suddenly illuminated the driveway as the patrol car arrived. The cruiser slid to a stop on the gravel, its headlights shining on a now-quaking Kurt.

Ash shouted, “Brad, are you all right?”

“I’m Code Four, honey. I’ll cover him while you take him into custody,” I replied, as I limped toward her. “And be careful. This desperado murdered his daddy and was ready to do the same thing to me.”

I made a point of ensuring that Kurt could see my pistol pointed at his noggin as Ash searched him for weapons and handcuffed him. We squeezed him into the narrow backseat of the cruiser and slammed the door shut, and then Ash used her portable radio to notify the other responding units that everything was all right. Tina acknowledged the message and in another rare breach of radio discipline said it was a good thing that
someone
was fine, because she was on the verge of having a heart attack.

As we walked back over to the Lexus to retrieve my cane and Kurt’s gun, I asked, “So, how did you know to come here Code Three?”

“Sherri Driggs changed her mind about not talking and told me that she’d telephoned Kurt Rawlins on Thursday afternoon when the real estate deal went south. Kurt told her he’d drive down and promised that he’d get his father to sign the papers,” said Ash, shining her flashlight on the ground as she searched for the revolver.

“Which means that this was the car Wade Tice saw pull up in front of the house, after he shot the arrow,” I said, pointing to the Lexus.

“That’s what I thought, too.” She stooped to pick up the gun. “And then I realized you’d gone off to meet the killer alone. Thank God you called dispatch and told them where you were.”

I slowly knelt to grab my cane. “And thank God you came as fast as you did.”

“Why?”

“Because he had the drop on me. He was on the verge of killing me and then ambushing you,” I said, taking her hand.

Ash inhaled sharply. “But how did you get the gun away from him?”

“With a lot of luck and a little help from an oversized teddy bear. You may not believe the rest of this story, but it’s the
bear
-faced truth . . .”

Twenty-nine

In crime fiction and cop TV shows, nobody ever sits for hours writing paperwork. Real life is very different. We had arrest reports to complete and evidence to log, not to mention the search warrant affidavits that still had to be written. It was after eleven P.M. when Tina called it a night and said it was time for all of us to go home. There was still at least a full day’s worth of investigative work in front of us, but after the last few days we were almost dazed with fatigue and it would have to wait. Work would resume tomorrow, after lunch.

We drove by Tina’s folks’ house, picked up Kitch, went home, and were snug between the flannel sheets of our bed not long after. My last sensation before going to sleep was the faint yet delicious smell of Ash’s cinnamon bun-scented lip emollient.

The following morning we woke up late and had a leisurely time over coffee and hot cocoa in our living room. Kitch was obviously glad to be home. By both breed and personality he isn’t a lap dog, but he’d climbed up into my easy chair with me. Meanwhile, Ash was on the sofa, curled up beneath a quilt.

She said, “With all the craziness yesterday, I think I forgot to tell you something.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Come tomorrow morning, Ev Rawlins’s dog Longstreet is going to be released from doggy jail. Tina told Sergei about him, and he’s decided he needs a dog.”

“That’s good news. I don’t mind locking up people, but pets? That’s a whole other kettle of fish.”

“I know. So who actually forged Everett’s signature on the escrow papers?”

“We won’t know for certain until the questioned-document specialist examines the paperwork, but my money is on Kurt,” I replied, while scratching Kitch between his shoulder blades. “It was thoughtful of him to have the documents in his car.”

Ash nodded. “It’s creepy to think that he took the documents from the house after he killed his dad.”

“He won’t cop to it, but that seems to be the only way the papers could have been removed from the house.”

“And if the escrow documents were forged, that means the real estate transaction is null and void. Amerriment doesn’t own Everett’s farm.”

I nodded. “That’s the silver lining to this entire sordid spectacle. What’s more, with the PR nightmare of two murders linked to their theme park project, I don’t think Amerriment will try to build one of their carnivals around here.”

Ash drank the last of her hot cocoa. “And could Kurt actually convince a jury that killing his dad was an accident?”

“Unlikely. He’s going to have a huge problem selling the ‘oops’ defense to a jury. Kurt’s big problem is that he never called the paramedics. That’s hard to explain if skewering his papa was just an accident. Add the subsequent forgery, the false information he gave us—”

“And his attempt to kill you.”

“All of which contribute to showing consciousness of guilt. Bottom line: Kurt is going to be flipping burgers in the prison chow hall for a long, long time.”

“Good,” said Ash, as she got up from the sofa. “I’m going to make myself some more hot cocoa. Can I refill your coffee?”

“Please.”

As I held out my cup, the telephone began to ring. We exchanged looks of dread. Folks don’t customarily telephone on Sundays before noon, so we both feared it was Tina inviting us to respond to a fresh calamity.

The receiver was on the end table beside my chair, and I picked it up. The tiny ID screen showed that the caller was a J. Janovich, and I allowed myself to relax a little. I had no idea of who he was, but I could be reasonably certain he wasn’t calling to ask us if we’d like to get dressed and come look at a corpse.

I said, “Hello, this is Brad.”

“Mr. Lyon? I’m Jeff Janovich from Hawksbill Creek Realty. You don’t know me and I hope I’m not calling too early, but I left several messages on your phone yesterday.”

“We were out all day and most of last night, and frankly we haven’t been in a hurry to listen to our messages. Why is it so important that you talk to me?” I sat up in the chair and pushed Kitch from my lap.

“Because Miss Ewell’s instructions were that I was to contact you immediately.”

“About?” I signaled Ash to come closer and listen in on the conversation.

“About a home she might be interested in selling to you.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that Elizabeth Ewell wants to do
us
a good turn? Look, Mr. Janovich, it’s been nice, but I’m going to hang up now and have another cup of coffee.”

“Wait! Please!” Janovich implored. “It’s her understanding that you are looking for an older residence in or close to Remmelkemp Mill that could be renovated and converted into a teddy bear shop.”