A Deadly Wilderness, page 18
The offer surprised him, and he found he couldn’t respond.
After a moment, she walked over and leaned in the passenger window. “Are you all right?”
When he still didn’t answer, she pulled the door open and slid onto the seat next to him, close. “Ray?”
“He didn’t cry.”
“Who didn’t cry?”
“Ethan. He didn’t cry.”
She shook her head, her face sad. “Shock, I imagine. He’ll cry plenty later.”
He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about last night.”
“I don’t know how you guys do it. I’ve always known what Samuel faces at work, but to see it up close and personal like that. It explains a lot of things about the way my brother is.”
“Your brother would have done a better job than I did.”
“You did what you could, Ray. I know you’re beating yourself up. Don’t. We all think things should work out in the end, but sometimes they just don’t.” She sighed. “At least, I learned one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“I made the right career choice. I helped people last night: Sarah. Ethan. The poor maid. She was devastated. Mostly they talked, and I comforted, but it felt right.”
They were both silent then, listening to the sounds of a neighborhood waking up.
“Why don’t you come in? I’ll fix you some coffee. Decaf—you look like you really need to sleep.” She touched his face with a cool, soft hand.
He swallowed hard, gritting his teeth until his jaw hurt. He kept his gaze fixed on the street in front of him.
“Have you eaten? I’ve got bacon and eggs. Marco and Benny are in there, watching some show about dolphins. You could watch with them while I fix you something. Or you could take a nap on the couch.”
“All this didn’t scare you away—from me?”
“I’ll be honest with you, Ray; it scared me a lot.” She stopped.
Ray allowed himself a quick glance at her face. Fear and sadness danced together there. He shifted his gaze to the windshield and waited for her to finish the thought.
“I’d like to be as brave as you are, but I’m not sure I can, or that I want to go through this again and again. Right now, I just want to be here for you.”
“I’m not all that brave.”
She moved closer and put her hand in his. Without thinking, he lifted it to his lips and kissed it. She smiled at him, her eyes sympathetic, inviting him to talk.
“You remember all the things I told you when you were angry at God about Javier dying, all the verses I quoted you when you first moved back here.”
“Of course. You were a good friend when I really needed one.”
“I must have sounded pretty arrogant, thinking I knew what God’s plan was for you or for anybody. For the life of me, I have no clue what his plan was last night.”
“No, you sounded like you’d given these things a lot of thought.” Her voice was confident. “Like you had suffered like I was suffering. You sounded like you knew you could rely on God to get you through, and you expected me to do the same. Just like we have to do now.”
“Thing is.” He stopped, not wanting to voice the thought spinning in his head. “Thing is, I’m the one who told her about the affairs. I sent her over the edge, out onto that balcony. I was so busy trying to peg a murderer, I didn’t stop to assess the impact on her emotionally.”
“No. Melody knew her husband was having an affair. He had a history of doing this to her. Don’t forget, I talked to Melody on the phone. I talked to her at the fund-raiser. She might not have had the name, but she already knew. Her husband’s death, her in-laws—a combination of events and circumstances pushed Melody over the edge.”
Maybe, but he should have found the words to bring Melody back in.
“Ray, listen to me.” Susana leaned in, her hand tightening around his. “You’re not the Lone Ranger. Rest a while.”
“Maybe I just want to wallow a little first.” She was right. God was in control. Not him.
“Allowed.” She didn’t smile.
They sat there for a while, not talking. The sun climbed, the air warmed. He let his thumb rub across the soft skin on the back of her hand, her scent enveloping him as he entwined his fingers with hers.
“Mom!” Marco shoved open the screen door, a telephone in one hand. “Mom, it’s Tía Lily—hey, Ray, aren’t you gonna come in?”
Ray exhaled.
Susana squeezed his hand and let go. “I’ll head him off at the pass. You go home and get some sleep.”
He tried to muster a smile. “I think I’m headed back to the station.”
“You need to go home. Grab a couple hours sleep, take a shower, get some fresh clothes. You’ll be a new man.” The corners of her mouth lifted slightly. “Not that there’s anything wrong with the old one, but it’ll do you a world of good.”
Melody Doyle would still be dead. “Can I call you later?”
“I’ll be mad if you don’t.”
She leaned over and kissed him. He let her soft touch envelop him as her arms wrapped around his neck in a quick hug. When she backed away and slid across the seat to get out, he gripped the steering wheel to keep from snatching her back.
“Hang in there, Ray Johnson,” she said through the window. Then she turned and sauntered up the sidewalk toward Marco. “Ray’s gotta head out, m’ijo. He’ll call you this afternoon, okay?”
Marco looked uncertain, but he waved. Ray waved back. Hang in there, Ray Johnson. Susana’s words sang in his head like the refrain of a song. He started the engine, rolled up the windows, and turned on the AC. Lukewarm air hissed through the vents, doing nothing to cool his damp body.
Rolling away from the curb, he glanced in the rearview mirror. Susana and Marco stood on the sidewalk, still waving. A flash of silver forced his gaze from them. He slammed on the brake and twisted to look back. A BMW hurtled down the street, bearing down on the Bronco. The passenger side window was down and a man, dark and wearing sunglasses leaned out. He balanced the long barrel of a weapon on the doorframe.
Ray’s hand shot toward his Glock.
The frenzied staccato of automatic weapon fire filled the air.
Chapter Twenty-three
Susana and Marco were out in the open.
Ray threw himself sideways, trying to slide, but his legs tangled under the steering wheel column. He had to get to them.
Popping sounds peppered the air as lead met glass and metal. The window shattered. Glass showered down and sprayed his face. He ducked his head. Time took on a nightmarish quality. He shoved himself at the passenger door. His body continued to function, even as his mind zeroed in on that one single pinpoint of thought.
They were out in the open.
He fumbled for the handle, prepared to dive headfirst to the ground. As quickly as it had started, the gunfire died. Tires screeched. An engine raced and backfired. Silence descended, then Susana screamed.
“Ray! Ray!” She screamed his name again and again.
He pulled himself up and slid out, bringing a shower of broken glass with him. Susana knelt, her arms wrapped around Marco. Her son slumped to the ground, his arms flung over his head, his tight, high whimpers building. The child couldn’t endure any more tragedy. Ray wasn’t sure he could either.
“Are you hit? Are you hit?” He covered the ground between them in long stumbling strides, dropped to his knees, and hugged them. Shudders shook their bodies. “Marco, are you okay?”
Marco jerked away, trying to rise. “What if they come back? We gotta hide, we gotta get inside. They’re coming back.”
“It was a drive-by, Marco. They’re not coming back. It’s over. It’s all over.” Ray ran his gaze over the boy. No blood. Just the icy pallor of shock. He turned to Susana and slid his hands over her face and her hair, not believing she was unscathed. He grabbed her again and pulled her into his chest. Her heart pounded against his. “Thank God, you’re okay. Thank God, you’re not hit.”
“He wasn’t shooting at us.” She sounded angry. “He was shooting at you. I thought . . . I saw you fall over. I thought . . .”
She struggled against him, but he tightened his grip. Even if she didn’t need him, he needed her.
“Let me go. I can’t do this. It’s too much. Let me go.”
“You’re fine. Marco’s fine. Just lean against me a second.” He used one hand to pull his cell phone from his belt, punched in nine-one-one, made the report. If a patrol unit was in the vicinity, maybe they could pick up the BMW before it left the area.
Susana pulled away from him, wrapping her arms around Marco again, her head down, her chest heaving.
“Marco? Aunt Susana!” Benny stood in the doorway, holding open the screen door. “What was that noise? It sounded like firecrackers. What are you guys doing? Why are you on the ground?”
Susana turned a tearstained face to Ray. He could read it all in her eyes. Anger. Resignation. He opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out.
“Go back inside, honey. Marco and I are coming in.” The emotion in her voice was gone. She leaned down and picked up the phone Marco had dropped, punching a button to end the monotonous beeping. “I need to call Lily and let her know what’s going on. If she could hear any of that, she’s going crazy.”
“She’s probably on her way over.” Ray stood and grabbed Susana’s elbow to pull her up.
She immediately pulled away. Marco scrambled to his feet and slid under his mother’s arm.
“Susana—”
She shook her head, her eyes bleak.
Ray let his hand drop. “I’ll call Samuel.”
“Yes. You’d better do that.” She eased back a step, her arm tight around Marco’s shoulder. “You have blood on your forehead. I’ll keep the boys inside.”
Together, she and Marco tottered away, leaning against each other as if they were too tired to stand.
“Susana, please don’t . . .” She glanced back and then turned and kept walking. He touched his forehead, his fingers came back wet. It didn’t hurt, not nearly as much as the look on her face.
* * *
Five minutes after the paramedics got there, skidding tires and burning rubber heralded Samuel’s arrival. Without a word, he disappeared into the house and then reappeared several minutes later with a plastic tumbler of iced water.
He sat down on the curb next to Ray and handed it to him. “Paramedic get you patched up?”
“Yeah.” Ray felt the exhaustion roll over him in waves. He took the glass and lifted it to his mouth. He couldn’t raise his head to look at his friend. Lily, her face fierce with anger and fear, had arrived at the same time as the ambulance. After one look at his face, she’d darted inside. Deborah had been the last to arrive. She stood talking to an Evidence Unit investigator as he dug a round from an AK-47 from a tree in Susana’s front yard. They had recovered dozens of rounds from the Bronco and the ground around it. Others, they’d dug out of the front of the house.
A shudder ran through Ray. “Are they okay?”
“Lily’s fixing her some tea. She’s cold—shock, I guess. Benny’s keeping Marco company.”
“I should see them. Talk to her.” He tried to push off the curb with one hand. His legs felt like rubber, and his ankle was on fire.
“No.”
Ray studied Samuel’s face. It was kind, but his eyes were the eyes of a brother, not a friend. “Samuel, I would never—”
“You could never have imagined this would happen. But it did. You let her walk into the violence at the Doyle house last night. Then, you brought violence to her doorstep this morning.”
Ray swallowed hard. “Nobody feels worse about it than I do.”
“Doesn’t change anything.” Samuel’s eyes were dark and hard.
“So she and I—we’re, I mean, you’re saying—”
“I’m not saying anything. She’s a grown woman. She’ll make her own decisions. I want the sorry excuse for a human being who fired dozens of rounds from an AK-47 at you and my sister and my nephew. I want him behind bars. Instead of sitting here mooning over her, get going. You can’t be around her if this is going to happen. So, stop it.”
“How exactly would you do that?” Hands shaking, Ray set the glass on the curb, spilling the liquid into the grass.
“You’re a cop. Figure it out. Melody Doyle’s gun killed Vicky Barrera. Now, Melody’s dead. She wasn’t following you around, and she wasn’t shooting at you in front of my sister’s house.” Tension made Samuel’s deep voice drop. “If this person wanted you dead, you’d be dead right now, Susana and Marco, too. So, who’s trying to scare you? Who wants you to back off? Figure that out, and you’ll figure out this case.”
“Right.”
“I’ve already put a BOLO out on the BMW. We’ll see what the crime lab has to say about the ammo.” Samuel had switched to boss-mode somewhere in the middle of the tirade. “Go home, get some sleep, and we’ll re-group in the morning.”
Feeling like he’d been punched, Ray took a deep breath and let it out. Samuel was right. “I’d like to say good-bye.”
Samuel stood and took a few steps. He stopped between Ray and the front door. “I’ll tell them for you.”
“Right.” Ray forced himself toward the battered Bronco, ignoring Deborah’s stare. She hadn’t said much when she’d arrived, except to ask if he was all right. Everybody kept asking that. He’d gotten a faint whiff of stale whiskey on her. Who knew where she’d gone after the fiasco at the Doyle mansion. A good partner would have made sure she was okay.
She furiously chewed gum and kept her distance. He pulled open his door and swept glass from the seat. As he eased in, he heard it crunch under his boots. He put his hand on the key, still in the ignition. Anger ripped through him. Don’t I get to be happy, God, or is that too much to ask? If there was a message in all this, he didn’t know what it was. Become a minister or lose her? Get out of the murder business? That couldn’t be right. Somebody had to stop this monster. Why did it have to be an either/or?
God, what do you want from me?
He pounded on the steering wheel until his hand ached. He could see Samuel standing in the yard, watching. Deborah stared. He didn’t care. They could look all they wanted.
A killer could mess with him, but not the people he loved. Not and get away with it.
Chapter Twenty-four
The red light was blinking on Ray’s answering machine when he laid his holster on the kitchen counter. He considered ignoring it, but the thought that Susana might have left him a message during the time it took him to drive from her house to the ranch made him reach for the button. The thought of what she might say made him jerk back his hand. He was caught: unable to go forward, knowing he couldn’t go back.
“Get it together, Johnson.”
His voice echoed in the empty house. He laughed, the sound harsh. He needed caffeine before he got cleaned up and went back to the station. He needed to finish what a killer started. He jabbed the button.
“Detective Johnson, it’s Melody Doyle.”
His hand froze. Her voice was so familiar now, with the valley girl cadence she had affected that made her seem younger than she was. He sat down on the stool at the counter, muscle spasms making his legs quiver.
“I heard them talking. I know what they’re doing.” She sobbed. A TV blared in the background. Cartoons with a laugh track were out of sync with her panicked voice. “You’ve got to stop them. Milt’s in danger. I tried to talk to him, but he didn’t believe me. You’ve got to stop them. Please. I need to talk to you, face-to-face, about what they’re doing at the dealerships. Please call me. Call me.”
The message had been left while he was eating dinner with Susana. He’d turned his cell phone off for just that brief hour. If he’d been working, instead of socializing, things might have turned out differently. After playing it twice, he popped the tape from the machine, replacing it with another. He dropped it on the table next to his gear and headed for a shower, replaying Melody’s message again and again in his head.
Why was Milton Doyle in danger? What were they doing at the dealerships? What did Joey’s death have to do with the dealerships? What was Joey’s big scheme? The Doyles’ youngest son had bragged to Melody. He’d bragged to Candy. He’d bragged to Vicky. Now two of the three women were dead.
That didn’t sound like great odds for Candy Romano.
* * *
“Detective, as you can see I’m fine.”
Milton Doyle didn’t look fine. Ray saw the ravages of grief and alcohol on his puffy face and in his bloodshot eyes. His voice had lost its boom. The amber in his tall glass wasn’t tea. He sipped, his hands shaking so badly the ice cubes clinked together. He set it down and sank into the same leather recliner he’d sat in the first day Ray had met him. This time Doyle seemed shriveled, his skinny legs protruding from golf shorts, his wrinkled arms skin and bone. Cynthia Doyle had vehemently protested against letting Deborah and Ray in the house, but Milton had brushed her aside and led them into the living room as if his wife hadn’t been screaming at him. As if she hadn’t even been there.
“I know this is a difficult time, Mr. Doyle, but I’m following up on a message I received from Melody.”
Ray ignored the glacial stare Mrs. Doyle tossed his way. She perched on a leather chair and crossed her arms.
“The voice beyond the grave.” Doyle laughed, no mirth in the sound. “You been hitting the sauce, boy?”
“Obviously, she left the message before her death.” Ray schooled his irritation from his voice as he eyed Milton’s drink. For the first time in years, it looked good to him. He could almost smell it.
“And she says I’m in danger. From whom?”
“She didn’t say.”
