Witch House (38 page)

“That’s far enough,” he said. Adam had
assumed a shooter’s stance, his gun, a .38 police special, leveled
at my chest, steadied by both hands. “Where is Trish?”

“We have her in custody.”

“What are you charging her with?”

I raised my shoulders and dropped them
lightly. “Not sure yet, accessory maybe.”

“She had nothing to do with my dad’s
death.”

“Sure she did. She lured him out into the
alley so that you could shoot him.”

“No. She went there to talk sense into him.
He was going to share that money with me. That was always the plan
when he was in prison.”

“So, what happened?”

“What happened was he got out. He said that
some people were after him, bad people; said if we took off with
the money that they would come after us and kill us both for
it.”

“You didn’t believe him?”

“Believe him?” Adam dropped his left hand and
marched toward me, waving the gun wildly in his right. “What I
believed, Detective, was that he cared for me. I believed every
moment I suffered on the outside waiting for him to get out of
prison would pay off when he got out. That is what he promised me.
That is what I believed. Instead, what did he do? He got out, came
straight to my house and told me to my face that I should forget
about him and the money. That wasn’t the deal!”

“So, you killed him.”

The rain was coming down harder now, soaking
us both to the bone. Still, I could see the tears spilling off his
cheeks and disappearing in the cascade of falling raindrops.

“No.” His voice had calmed some. “It was not
supposed to happen that way. Trish and I went to the bar with a
plan. See, my dad never met Trish before. We knew he had been
hitting the bottle, and that he had not been with a woman in nearly
eighteen years. I told Trish to go in there and try to pick him up.
I figured if he were drunk enough, maybe he would take her to a
motel and then she could get him to tell her where he hid the
money.”

“You would do that?” I asked. “You would let
your fiancé sleep with your own father for a buck?”

“A buck?” He laughed. “No, Detective, not for
a buck, but for six million? Hell ya!”

“So, what happened?”

He shook his head. “He didn’t take the bait.
He asked for Trish’s phone number; told her he would call her in
the morning. Can you believe that? Eighteen fuck’n years without
pussy and he passes up a fuck like that. It ain’t natural!”

“It’s insulting,” I said.

“Damn straight, it’s insulting. What the
hell? Did he think he was too good for her?”

“Maybe he knew?”

“What?”

“Maybe he knew who she was. You have a
picture of her on the end table in your apartment. He probably
noticed it.”

At once, a wave of cognition stole across his
face, freezing his expressionless stare. He lowered his gun,
letting his finger slip off the trigger. Since my return to prime,
I have experienced spontaneous clairvoyance on many levels. There
are times when witchcraft creeps into my conscience like a fog,
showing me hints of other people’s secrets that no one else can
see. Other times the visions hit me like a second sight, as if I
were standing in the middle of events as they unfold. This was one
of those times. In my mind, I could see the horrid events of what
took place Monday night last, every vivid detail playing out in
textural recall. After Adam sent Trish home from the bar, he went
inside to confront his dad. The two talked quietly at first, but
soon tempers flared. René suggested they take it outside, and it
was there that things quickly spiraled out of control. I said to
Adam, “You did not mean to shoot your dad, did you?”

He looked up at me, void of emotion. “I only
wanted to scare him. I pointed the gun at him and told him I wanted
my share of the money, and that I would not take no for an answer.
He started toward me with his fist clenched. Next thing I knew, the
gun went off. I didn’t know I pulled the trigger. It was an
accident. I didn’t want to kill him. I just wanted my share of the
money. I earned it after saving his life.”

“You saved his life?”

“I did, right there, practically where you’re
standing.”

“Yes, I see now, you killed Johnny Buck.”

“You’re damn right, I did. I came up here in
my boat.” He pointed the gun out toward the lake. “I came in the
cabin through the back door. Johnny Buck and my dad were out front
here arguing. I didn’t know they had robbed the armored truck a few
days before. I just knew that Johnny had a gun on my father. He was
yelling at him, wanting to know where the money was. Dad told him
he would get his share, but—”

“But Johnny Buck didn’t believe him, did
he?”

“No.”

“You thought he was going to shoot your
dad.”

“He was going to shoot him.”

“So you went back and got the shotgun.”

“Yeah, I got the shotgun, came out here and
shot Johnny Buck dead. Dad ran up and took the gun away from me. He
told me to get back into the boat and to go home and wait for him
there. I did, but he never came home. Later, the papers said that
Johnny Buck died in the cabin fire, and that the money went up in
flames with him. So, you see, he protected me. I saved his life and
he saved mine.”

“Adam, your father’s death was an accident.
Why don’t you come back to town with me and let me take your
statement? I’m sure we can—”

“No!” Adam leveled the gun at me again. “I’m
done waiting for what’s mine. Step away from the money or I will
kill you.”

I sidestepped the hole I had been standing in
front of and opened up a view for Adam to see into it. “It’s
empty,” I said. “The money is not here.”

“What?” He moved in closer, directing me to
step away further with a wave of his gun. “Let me see. What are you
talking about?”

“Look for yourself. It’s not here. We found
the money this morning in John Davis’ grave.”

“I don’t believe you. I got Trish’s text
mail. She said she found the money.”

“I told you. Trish is in custody. We sent you
that text. Now, what do you say you give me that gun and we’ll talk
about—”

“No! I’m done talking. I ain’t saying
anything.”

I began reaching under my coat, when Adam
stiffened his arm and ordered me to freeze. I surrendered my hands
to where he could see them both. “I’m not reaching for a weapon. I
just want you to see something.”

He stared me down for a full ten count, and I
could see in that time his curiosity deepening. “Okay, lose your
gun first.”

“All right, I’m losing it, no problem.” Using
my left hand, I slowly pinched my coat open and withdrew my weapon
with my right.

“Toss it,” he said, his chin directing his
preference. I pitched it out into the woods with an underhand
toss.

“Okay,” I said. “I want you to see this.” I
repeated the move in reverse, slowly peeling back the other side of
my coat to reveal a clip-on microphone attached to my shirt with a
wire feed leading to a tape recorder tucked in the inside pocket.
“I have your confession on tape, Adam. You might as well
cooperate.”

“No.” He shook his head defiantly, sending an
umbrella of water out in a centrifugal shower. “What you have is
your own death warrant, Detective. Do you think I can let you go
now?”

“I don’t think you have a choice.”

“Oh, I have a choice. I can ask you to get
into that hole there and after I shoot you I can bury you using
your own shovel.”

“You won’t get away with it.”

“Says who?”

I shot a look over his shoulder. “Says
him.”

On that cue, Carlos stepped out from behind
one of the burned out walls and drew his weapon down on Adam. “Drop
it!” he ordered. “Police!”

Adam spun about in a blur, losing his balance
in the soft mud while staggering back and laying down two shots at
Carlos in quick secession. My ass puckered in anticipation of
Carlos returning fire, but he did not. As Adam dug his heels in and
caught his balance, he managed another two shots, both splintering
charred wood only inches from Carlos’ head. In that split instant,
I realized why Carlos had not returned fire. Adam had staggered
directly between the two of us, placing me directly in Carlos’ line
of fire. Instincts kicked in at once. I turned quickly and made a
swan dive into the muddy hole in the earth behind me. I no sooner
hit the bottom than I heard another two rounds popping nearly on
top of one another. I knew that Adam had a five-shot revolver, and
that he had already gotten four shots off on Carlos. Two more shots
meant that Carlos had gotten off at least one on him.

The heavy rains kept the gun smoke low to the
ground, enough so that I could smell it from down in the hole. What
I did not know was if the smoke smelled like victory to me, or
smelled like death. I rolled over onto my back and blinked up into
the rain, knowing that my fate lay in the hands of the next man who
looked into that hole. A long pause meant that Adam won the
shootout and that he was retrieving Carlos’ gun to finish me off. A
quicker discovery meant that Carlos won, and that the sight of me
on my back in the mud would be the punch line to a joke that I
would never hear the end of. Frankly, I could not decide which was
worse.

I waited for what seemed like an eternity,
and after neither of them looked into the hole, I began to suspect
the worst, that perhaps the shootout had produced another
unforeseen outcome. Perhaps both Carlos and Adam were dead!

I stood up and stretched my neck to see above
the hole, only to find Carlos standing there, waiting for me to
poke my head out like some goddamn hedgehog. He smiled upon seeing
me and joked, “You done playing in there yet?”

I noticed a tear in his jacket just above the
right shoulder where one of Adam’s bullets had grazed him. “Did he
hurt you?” I asked.

“Nah.” He shook his head and then reached his
hand out to help me out of the hole. “Not as much as I hurt him,
I’m sorry to say.” After climbing out, I saw what Carlos meant. He
had cut Adam down with a single gunshot wound to the chest,
striking him square in the heart. As we stood over Adam’s body, I
heard Carlos say softly, “It’s my first time, Tony.”

I put my arm around his shoulder and gave him
a comforting squeeze. “I know it is, pal, but you had to do it. He
gave you no choice.”

“Yeah,” he said, and nothing more. We stood
in silent reflection, with only the downpour to drown our thoughts.
I did not care, though, the mud, the lingering smell of gun smoke;
it meant nothing. I would have waited all night in the cold rain if
Carlos needed that much time to absorb the gravity of the
situation. In any case, I never imagined that he was waiting on me
to call an end to the moment. When he finally realized that the
ball was in his court, he said to me, “Tony?”

I took a deep breath and let it out with a
tired sigh. “Yes?” I said, in the most somber tone I could muster.
“What is it, buddy?”

He rolled his shoulder to shed my hand. “You
think you can lay off me now? My shoulder hurts like hell.”

I looked at him and laughed. “Come on.” We
started walking. Across the lake, the call of distant sirens rolled
through the hills in faint echoes. “That’s Spinelli,” I said. “I
hope he brought an ambulance.”

“Ambulance? Ha!” Carlos pulled his collar to
the rain and chill. “What I need now is a Snickers Bar.” You know
if I had one, it would have been my honor to give it to him.

The following morning, I invited Carlos,
Dominic and the girls to The Percolator for brunch on me. We
arrived at that sweet hour between the breakfast and lunch crowds,
guaranteeing us seats in the corner booth by the window. Carlos,
having been at the hospital the night before to treat his bullet
wound, was playing up the sympathy card big time, insisting he sit
in the middle of the booth, sandwiched between the two girls. It
did not help matters that the captain put him on desk duty, which
is standard procedure after discharging a firearm resulting in a
death. Carlos considered that validation and a mandate that we
treat him extra special. I wanted to point out to him that the
bullet barely cut into his skin, but I held my tongue. I figured if
it did not bother Dominic, who nearly died from his gunshot wound,
then what voice did I have in the matter?

We were finishing our omelets, waffles and
pancakes, exhausting all manner of idle chitchat before the
conversation took its inevitable turn toward the events of the day
before. Dominic broke the ice, saying, “Tony, explain something to
me. Was Johnny Buck in on the scheme to hide the money in Davis’
casket or not?”

“I think so,” I told him. “Knowing what we
know now, it is likely that René and Johnny Buck were the best of
friends, down to the end. I think they both broke into the funeral
home and made the switch: the money for the body. That explains how
René and Johnny Buck were at the cabin with only the one vehicle.
Now, what got them arguing, we may never know. Suffice to say, the
argument must have been heated enough for young Adam to think his
dad’s life was in danger; otherwise, he would never have shot
Johnny in the back. I think that is why René left the clues in his
letters to Adam as to where he buried Johnny Buck. He wanted
someone to find him and give him a proper burial. He probably
figured he would be long gone with the money by then.”

“Wow, and see I would have missed that. I had
my bets squarely on Powell. I honestly thought he was our man.”

“Not me,” said Carlos. “I figured Stephanie
Stiles, the jaded lover conspiring with the warden and the parole
officer. The three of them are just plain shifty, if you ask
me.”

I started to comment on that, when Ursula
chimed in. “Nay, `tis that scoundrel Indian what bested my guess,”
she said. “They are naught but the devil’s varlets, you know, such
knave vermin.”