Smoke Screen

CHAPTER 27

RALEY DROVE AS FAST AS HE DARED, WANTING TO PUT DISTANCE between them and the city of Columbia. He avoided main highways and kept to back roads that he’d come to know well during his exile.

He kept one eye on the rearview mirror, but if anyone was in pursuit, he hadn’t spotted them. They weren’t being chased by a convoy of squad cars running hot, but then he hadn’t expected Fordyce to send police cars after them. More like innocuous sedans. A private posse.

“I believed that smooth-talking son of a bitch,” he said angrily as they blew through a sleepy town with only a caution light at its main intersection.

“So did I,” Britt said, “and I can usually detect when someone’s trying to bamboozle me.”

“Lying bastard.”

“He seemed so contrite when he apologized to you.”

“I’m sure he couldn’t believe his good luck. His goons have been chasing us all over kingdom come, trying to kill us, and we showed up at his house! That so-called guard was probably lying in wait somewhere near the capitol, waiting for us to arrive at eleven o’clock. We would never have made it into the building.”

“You were smart to deviate from that plan.”

“But not smart enough to see through Fordyce’s bullshit. Marriott, my ass,” he snarled. “While we were standing in the hallway, grateful that we had an ally and protection, he was calling his hired hand, alerting him to a sudden change of plan.”

“I may have killed him,” she said shakily.

“I don’t think so, but…” He gave her a glance. “But it might not be a bad idea for you to go to the police and turn yourself in. We have the videotape. We have Fordyce saying-”

“Nothing, Raley. Nothing substantive. The tape is useless. Fordyce played straight to the camera. On this video, our earnest attorney general was full of remorse and apology. We have contrition, but in no way, shape, or form did he incriminate himself in the matter of the fire, Suzi Monroe, or anything else.”

Realizing she was right, he cursed.

“He knew exactly what he was doing,” she said, “and we fell for his manipulation.”

It infuriated Raley to realize how easily they’d been duped. “If we went to the police now, making accusations, Fordyce would say that we barged into his home, armed-Aw, fuck! I left the pistol on that table.”

He berated himself for that oversight, but there was nothing he could do about it now. Besides, he doubted that he could ever actually shoot someone. But none of his enemies knew that, and he missed the false sense of security that came with having a loaded piece.

“Fordyce would say we told him a story that deserved further discussion, at the very least. But then when he summoned a guard to protect us until he could check into it, you-unprovoked-clouted the man with a vase.”

“I can’t prove that the guard killed Jay,” she said. “But I know he was there.”

“Do you remember seeing him at The Wheelhouse?”

“No. But I’m positive he was at Jay’s town house, and that he had a partner.”

“Butch? Sundance?”

“Neither. Another man.”

“So we’ve got Butch and Sundance, the guy who came to Fordyce’s rescue, and another we haven’t seen yet. Four total, working in two pairs.”

“I suppose,” she said. “I’ll be able to identify the fourth man when I see him again, because now I have a vivid mental image of him, bending over me-”

When she stopped abruptly, Raley snapped his head toward her. “A mental image of him bending over you…What? Did he rape you?”

“No, just…” She shuddered, took a moment, then plugged the camcorder into the cigarette lighter again. “In case something happens to me, to us, this should be recorded.”

It was a sobering thought, but Raley agreed with a nod.

She began. “Jay and I went into his apartment. I sat down on his sofa, where he joined me. He offered me scotch, but I told him that I wasn’t feeling well, that the wine had hit me hard. He said he was feeling the effects of his drinks, too, and blamed his medications. We were more or less sprawled there, side by side, our heads back.

“He took my hand and told me again that he had a story that was going to blow a huge hole through the PD and city hall. I remember asking him to let me get my notepad out of my purse before he began, but I lacked the wherewithal to do it.

“He said, ‘You won’t need notes, you’ll remember this.’ I didn’t argue. Actually, I was too far gone to care about accuracy, about anything. Jay took off my sandals, put my feet in his lap, and began massaging them. He asked if I was comfy because it was going to be a long story.

“I told him I was almost too comfy, that I could barely keep my eyes open. He laughed and said, ‘Then how ’bout one last roll in the sack for old times’ sake?’ I said no thank you. He said, ‘Ah well, I’m so drunk I don’t think I can get it up anyway.’ And I said, ‘That’s a first, isn’t it?’

“We were still laughing over that when the two men walked in. The one we saw today, and another. They came in by way of the back terrace. One minute they weren’t there. The next they were, as though they had materialized through the French doors.

“My first thought was to wonder why in the world they were wearing gloves on such a warm night. Then I noticed they were latex gloves, but that didn’t particularly alarm me. I don’t remember being afraid. Instead, I remember being unafraid. I felt euphoric, indifferent.

“But Jay was sober enough to be concerned. He stood up and confronted them. ‘Who are you? What do you want?’ The one who came to Fordyce’s house said, ‘We’re here to party,’ and pushed Jay back down onto the sofa.

“They ordered him to pour each of us a glass of scotch. They forced us to drink it. Then another. I remember feeling terribly sick. They didn’t give me any more, but they made Jay continue drinking until most of the bottle was empty.”

She stopped talking. Raley looked over at her; her eyes were closed. He reached out and took her hand. “Save the rest for the authorities. You don’t have to tell me any more.”

“Yes, I do.” Giving him a wan smile, she held up the camcorder, reminding him that the whole story needed to be recorded. “Since that night, I have imagined horrible things that could have been done to me. I’m relieved to remember. It was bad, but it could have been much, much worse.

“They made us undress, first Jay and then me. They had to help both of us. Neither of us could stand on our own. I lost minutes of time I’ll probably never get back, because I don’t actually remember getting from the living room to the bedroom, but I remember lying naked on the bed.

“Then one of them-not the one who came to Fordyce’s house, the other one-fondled me. Between my legs. It wasn’t even sexual, it was…like the most demeaning insult. He leered down at me, saying directly into my face, ‘It’s a shame having to waste this nice-’”

She stopped, unable to go on. Raley squeezed her hand. He thought he might be able to shoot somebody after all. If he ever got a chance with either one of these creeps, he could kill them. Easy.

Britt looked away from him, out the passenger window, speaking softly. “His friend laughed all the time he was doing it. That’s probably why I recognized him instantly. I remembered his grin, his obscene laugh. I don’t know how I kept from crying out when he stepped through Fordyce’s front door. I guess because I knew we had to get out of there. I realized if we didn’t, we’d soon be dead. But if I didn’t kill him with that vase, I hope I hurt him very bad. Anyway, back to that night, his partner told him he couldn’t be a Romeo. ‘One smear of spunk other that this guy’s and the plan is blown.’”

“They knew better than to leave DNA evidence.”

“That’s probably what saved me from being raped. It certainly wasn’t a matter of conscience.”

“Was Fordyce mentioned by name? Or George McGowan?”

“No. I’m almost positive. These pros would know to be careful about that, too.”

“What about Jay? What was he doing all this time?”

“He was lying on his back beside me. He didn’t put up a struggle. I think he may already have been unconscious because of all the alcohol he’d consumed.” She sighed and looked over at Raley. “The next thing I remember is waking up the following morning, thinking I had the worst hangover in history, but with no memory of any of this until Fordyce opened his front door to that sadistic bastard.”

“Earlier you told me that, when you woke up, Jay was turned away from you.”

“I suppose after I passed out, they held the pillow over his face and then set the stage to make it look like a drunken lovers’ quarrel that ended in murder.” She stopped recording and turned off the camera but left it plugged in to keep the battery charging.

Raley wanted to go back and mop the marble floor with both Britt’s attacker and Fordyce, but that would be a personally motivated, vengeful, and stupid action. Instead he had to focus on what they must do next. How could he bring Fordyce’s treachery to the public’s attention before Fordyce could have them eliminated? They were driving a marked car. They only had several minutes’ head start.

And Fordyce had facilitators on retainer who responded to his summons at a moment’s notice. There were at least four of them. They acted swiftly and lethally, then faded into the woodwork. They’d had less than one day to orchestrate Jay’s execution, yet they’d carried out the plan perfectly.

This morning, if Britt hadn’t recognized the man and acted swiftly, they would already be dead. By one means or another, they would have been expediently sanctioned. Fordyce could invent any story about how they came to be dead and he would be believed. He could say they’d attacked him, and he’d had no choice but to kill them in self-defense. Or that they had threatened him, and when he tried to defend himself, they fled, never to be seen again.

Whatever story he contrived, it would be believed. Their conversations with Candy and Pat Wickham, Jr., would substantiate that they were aggressively seeking revenge on those who, they believed, had wronged them. It would be surmised that their paranoia had made them dangerously delusional, so that, by the time they barged into the AG’s home, they had lost all reason.

If they died or simply disappeared, Lewis Jones might smell a rat and create some noise, raise some questions. So might Delno Pickens. But who would listen to either of them, the neo-Nazi father of a reprobate and arsonist, and an unwashed old hermit who lived in the swamp?

With him and Britt out of the picture, the police station fire and all those deaths that came after it would remain in the history books as recorded. No one would ever know about the colossal miscarriage of justice being perpetuated as long as George McGowan and Cobb Fordyce were leading their lives with impunity.

Raley couldn’t tolerate even the thought of that. He gripped the steering wheel and reminded himself that he wasn’t dead yet. He might not survive, but as he and Britt sped along the narrow, two-lane road, he resolved that he would fight to his last breath to set things right.

Without the pistol, their only weapon was the video recording. As she had pointed out, it was hardly a signed confession. But it was all they had, so they had to make the most of it.

“Can you make a copy of that video?” he asked.

“I’d need two machines, and videotape only duplicates at real time. I don’t have access to the machines and-”

“We don’t have the time.” But he’d begun to formulate an idea. “Actually, just the threat of the video might be enough.”

“Enough to do what?”

“To get George McGowan to spill his guts.” He glanced at her, saw that she was listening closely. “On the video, Fordyce doesn’t implicate himself, but he doesn’t refute my allegation that the three detectives were guilty. He even went so far as to venture that George had disposed of Jay. I don’t think George will take too kindly to that.”

“He won’t want to take the fall all by his lonesome,” she said. “He’ll want to set the record straight.”

“If I can coax something out of McGowan that would incriminate them both, then the video of Fordyce would be useful after all. We’d have caught him lying and trying to transfer blame.” He motioned toward the camcorder. “Take out that tape and put in a fresh one. Has it been juiced up enough to run? Show me how to operate it.”

“I’ll do the camera work.”

He shook his head. “I’ll go to George. You have another chore.”

She held his gaze for a moment, then said, “You want me to turn myself in.”

“It’s the only way you’ll be safe, Britt.” He outlined his plan to her. When he was finished, she asked, “What about Clark and Javier?”

“I don’t trust the PD. I don’t want you anywhere near police headquarters. McGowan and Fordyce have too many friends there. The tape might conveniently disappear.”

“My lawyer?”

“We’re not sure how trustworthy he is, but we know for certain he’s got no balls.”

She thought about it, then said, “All right, I’ll do it. But it won’t be easy. Especially today.”

“If someone accosts you, you start talking fast, create a scene, draw attention to yourself if you have to do cartwheels up and down Broad Street. Produce that tape, make sure some of your media pals see it. Make yourself heard.”

She smiled at him. “That I can do.”

“But can you drive my pickup?”

“Automatic shift?”

He nodded.

“Then I can drive it.”

The way their luck had been running, they were surprised to find the truck where they’d left it at the deserted airstrip. It was covered with a thick layer of dust but otherwise appeared not to have been touched.

“This spot is still our secret,” Raley remarked as he brought the sedan to a stop.

Britt unplugged the camcorder. “You’re clear on how to use it?”

“A three-year-old could do it.”

They got out of the sedan. Raley climbed behind the steering wheel of his pickup, started the engine, checked the gas gauge. “Half a tank, which should be plenty to get you into Charleston.”

She offered to take the sedan.

He shook his head adamantly. “Too dangerous. They’ll be looking for it. I only hope I can get to George before Fordyce’s heavies get to me.”

“They could be looking for the truck, too.”

“They could, but it’s meaner than the sedan. Harder for them to push off the road.” Even though he’d said that, she read the worry in his expression as he got out of the cab, leaving the motor running.

“I’ll be okay,” she said.

“Are you trying to reassure me or yourself?”

“Both,” she admitted. “But once I get where I’m going, I’ll be safe. In handcuffs, perhaps, but safe.”

He placed his hands on her shoulders and gave her a long, meaningful look. “Britt…”

She smiled gently and pressed her fingers vertically against his lips. “You don’t have to say anything, Raley Gannon. I know you like me, and more than a little.”

He pulled her against him and kissed her long and deeply, then released her and in a voice made gruff by emotion said, “Be careful. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

Before he could talk himself out of it, he boosted her into the cab of the pickup.

He followed her in the sedan from the airstrip to the main road, and then for several miles until their paths split. She waved to him from the driver’s window. He gave her a thumbs-up, but for a full five minutes after they separated he was tempted to say screw it to this plan, make a quick U-turn, and go after her. He didn’t want to let her out of his sight. He would much rather they stuck together no matter what.

But he kept to the plan. Each had an assignment, and both were equally crucial to success. The video recording of Fordyce empowered Britt. As long as it was in her possession, she would have a measure of protection and control. Raley was unarmed, except for the camcorder, which was nothing more than a stage prop, really. He hoped George McGowan would fall for it.

He wanted to ambush George before he had time to call the police, or his lawyer, or to prepare answers for Raley’s accusations. Raley didn’t want to give him time to summon Les and Miranda for backup, either. He wanted him alone and defenseless.

But, first, he had to know where to find him.

He stopped at a service station and used a pay phone to call Conway Concrete and Construction. When the receptionist answered, Raley gave her a fictitious name and told her he wanted to speak to George McGowan about a potential project. He only wanted to verify that George was in the company office and intended to hang up once it was confirmed.

Instead, the receptionist informed him that Mr. McGowan was feeling under the weather and, after having put in only a brief appearance at the office, he had gone home and was expected to stay there for the remainder of the day.

Even better, Raley thought.

He thanked the receptionist and was about to hang up when she said in a near whisper, “Actually, I think he was upset over the news about Attorney General Fordyce.”

Raley’s hand was arrested in motion. Indeed, everything inside him went terribly and suddenly still with foreboding. “Attorney General Fordyce? What about him? What news?”

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” Now there was an underlying excitement in her voice, the inflection of someone titillated by tragic news. “It’s just awful. Cobb Fordyce was shot this morning in his home.”

Raley’s stomach dropped.

“His wife found him when she returned from an errand. She was hysterical, of course, but told the police that her husband had greeted the man and woman who shot him. They’d arrived unexpectedly, but he’d let them come inside. Mrs. Fordyce was wary, but he told her that everything was okay, for her to go ahead and drive their sons to baseball practice. She’ll never get over leaving him alone with them, you can be sure of that. And she’s almost positive that the woman was Britt Shelley. You know that reporter who’s been missing? Her.”

Raley squeezed his eyes shut and leaned heavily against the telephone. “You said he was shot. Is he dead?”

“They haven’t announced it officially, but he’s as good as. He was shot in the head, and his condition is critical.”