A Shooting at Auke Bay Page 12

  Finally she spoke without looking up.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Who paid you to kill Disher? And why did they want him dead?”

  “A guy I know came to the bar. Gave me the money and said his boss didn’t want Disher talking to this cop anymore. He wanted Disher out of the way.”

  “How did he know Disher was talking to Captain Booth?”

  Sharon’s answer was inaudible.

  “Speak up, Sharon,” Nettleton said. “I can’t hear you.”

  “I called the guy. Told him I thought Disher was talking to a cop.”

  “What’s his name, Sharon? Where can I find him?”

  “His name is Kevin Donovan. He works on a boat somewhere around here. I don’t know anything more about him.”

  “That’s good, Sharon,” Nettleton said. “That’s very helpful.”

  “I had to do it,” the woman whined. “If I didn’t do what Kevin told me, he would have killed me. I figured I didn’t have a choice so I might as well get some money out of it.”

  “I hope it was worth it for you, Sharon.”

  “So what are you gonna do for me?” she asked.

  “I don’t know if anyone can help you, Sharon,” Nettleton said.

  “But I helped you, didn’t I?” she pleaded. “You just said so. Ain’t that worth something?”

  “We’ll see. It might get you sentenced to life without parole instead of death. I’ll see what I can do.”

  July 19th

  “It’s time for a summit meeting,” Monk said.

  Booth had called Monk from Captain Nettleton’s office, reaching him at his Juneau home. The retired Alaska cop made his pronouncement after the three exchanged reports on Disher’s murder, the bartender’s arrest, and information gathered in both Seattle and Juneau.

  “We’re not simply trying to solve a single vicious act and bring one person to justice. The criminal activity that led to the shooting of Trent Marshall is systemic. It affects not only Alaska but Seattle, San Francisco, and perhaps the entire west coast.”

  The two younger cops listened as Monk outlined what he had in mind for his summit meeting and who should be involved. They would work together to organize the meeting. Each of the three was assigned names to contact based on their individual relationships. Monk would ask Van Patten to talk to his counterpart in Seattle. They hoped to determine a date and time for the meeting, which would be conducted mainly via telephone, as soon as possible.

  Darcey’s morning call to Kelli was especially unnerving.

  “Mommy, when are you and Daddy coming to pick me up?” the child had asked.

  Darcey’s heart was breaking as she tried to answer the unanswerable question.

  She felt helpless. She stared out the window and watched the drizzling rain fall.

  It was midnight in New Orleans. James Hackett stood in the shadows behind the brick wall protecting the Marshall-Anderson house in the Vieux Carre’. He wasn’t surprised when he saw the smaller of the two faded green doors in the wall open. Nor was he surprised when the alarm failed to sound. It was the attack he expected, carried out in the manner expected.

  He let the black-clad intruders reach the fountain in the center of the courtyard before he stepped out of the shadows.

  “That’s far enough,” he said. His Korth Sky Marshal was trained steadily on the pair. The small nine millimeter revolver with its stunted barrel was not completely visible to Hackett’s opponents. That was not his concern.

  The pair turned toward him.

  “Uh…We was told there wouldn’t be no guard,” one of them said, nervously.

  “Looks like you were told wrong.”

  “Let’s get out of here,” the second man said.

  “We got a job to do. There’s only one of him. There’s two of us,” the first man said, raising the semiautomatic in his hand.

  The second man followed his partner’s lead. Both were unsure. Hesitant. That was a mistake.

  Hackett fired four times. Each of the would-be assassins was hit twice. One in the chest; one a killing shot to the head.

  Hackett walked over to the two bodies now lying crumpled on the bricks. He kicked a weapon away from each of two lifeless hands. Berettas. The latest version of the M9, he thought. A highly reliable weapon favored by the U.S. military. If he was correct, each magazine held seventeen nine millimeter rounds. Thirty-four rounds between them. Hackett had six. He didn’t need all of them.

  From the gallery he heard Betty call out.

  “James? Are you all right? What’s going on?” she called.

  “It’s ok, Betty. Keep Kelli inside. We had visitors but the trouble is over. I’m calling Jordan now.”

  In the courtyard, New Orleans police forensics experts were combing the courtyard. The medical examiner had taken the bodies away.

  In the house, Jordan Baron sat in the kitchen with Betty and James. He was sound asleep when the call woke him but he came immediately awake when he heard Hackett’s report. He was at the house on Governor Nicholls Street in less than half an hour.

  “The alarm didn’t sound when they opened the door?”

  “Not a peep,” Hackett said.

  “Then they either had the code or they bypassed the system.”

  “It’s not that hard to bypass a security system,” Hackett pointed out.

  “They also picked a time when the plain clothes officers I assigned to patrol the house would be away,” Jordan added.

  “Which they could figure out just by watching,” Hackett said. “It’s easy to fall into a routine with that kind of patrol duty. And routines are easily spotted.”

  Ivy was upstairs with Kelli. The child had hardly noticed anything going on. She was a sound sleeper. Ivy was sitting with her so she wouldn’t be alone if she woke up.

  Betty was showing the toughness of the Belmonts, her northwest Louisiana pioneer ancestors. She had also become accustomed to the action that surrounded her daughter’s husband, and anyone around him.

  “We all thought this would be the safest place for us,” Betty said. “Now I’m wondering if anyplace is safe.”

  “We were trying to be low key,” Jordan said. “That’s why I didn’t assign an entire squad to stand guard here. We thought a discreet patrol plus James would be enough. And I guess we were right since James handled the situation. How was it you were in the courtyard when they came in, James? Have you been standing guard every night?”

  “Not exactly,” James said, a little embarrassed. “At my age, Jordan, you don’t sleep so well. I wake up in the middle of the night and can’t get back to sleep. Since I’ve been here I’ve used those times to walk around the house and courtyard just to be sure all is well. That doesn’t qualify me as a dotard though.”

  Jordan smiled at Hackett’s refusal to be labeled senile.

  “I’d say you’re about as far from dotard status as anyone could be. It’s too bad we didn’t get one of them alive though. We might have found out who was behind this attack.”

  “I was outgunned, Jordan,” Hackett defended his action. “I responded the only way I know how. Shoot to kill and worry about the consequences later.”

  “Can’t argue with that,” Jordan said.

  “Any idea who they were?” Hackett asked.

  “No IDs on them but we’ve seen these two before. They’re a couple of small time wannabes. A job like this one was way out of their league.”

  “Someone armed them well,” Hackett said. “The Berettas they carried are very good weapons. Not the kind of handguns you’d expect to find on the likes of them.”

  “Whoever sent these men has to be the same guy responsible for the attack on Trent,” Jordan said. “I’m wondering how he tracked y’all here.”

  “Yeah, good question,” Hackett agreed.

  “And I’m wondering what we do now,” Betty added.

  “Trent would tell us we can’t let the enemy be in control,” Jordan mused. “They found y’all h
ere and figured out how to get to you. I think we move. Give them something new they have to evaluate.”

  “Move to where?”

  “How about to the Pines?” Jordan said.

  “My farm? Do you think that’s a good idea? It doesn’t have a wall around it like this house.”

  “No, it doesn’t, and two bad guys were able to walk right through the wall tonight,” Jordan pointed out. “But your house sits on high ground and is defensible. Anyone attempting to attack the Pines has to either come up the easily blocked drive or cross open ground. We’ve got James, and Jack Blake will make available all the resources of the sheriff’s department. And if that’s not enough, I’m going along for extra coverage.”

  “Well, if you think so, Jordan,” Betty complied.

  “It’ll be dawn soon,” Jordan said. “I suggest we try to get some sleep. I’ll leave a couple of men on duty in the courtyard. No point in trying to be discreet now. Let’s use tomorrow to rest and get packed up. We’ll leave on Friday.”

  Same Day. Dimension Unknown.

  Trent Marshall felt the presence.

  Not a warm presence as had been the others.

  A dark presence.

  A threatening presence.

  “So you finally got it. Someone finally gave you what you deserve. I just wish it could have been me.”

  Trent knew that voice. He hadn’t heard it in more than a decade.

  Josh Blair!

  When Trent’s mother passed away, the boy went to live with his father in Baton Rouge. It was there that he met Josh. With Joey gone, Josh became Trent’s best friend. They were inseparable through high school and beyond.

  The Blair family was among the richest in Louisiana. Their power was immense. Josh learned at an early age that he could do as he pleased. His family’s money and influence would protect him. He marched through life like a feudal lord.

  Trent knew Josh wasn’t normal. He saw the way his friend mistreated, even humiliated, others just because he could. He tolerated Josh’s behavior in silence, believing he had to be loyal.

  Then came the day when he could no longer protect Josh. The day he discovered Josh was heavily involved in a corruption scheme Trent had uncovered. With great sadness, he watched as Sheriff Jack Blake arrested Josh at his lake house in Sabine Parish.

  It was the story for which Trent won a Pulitzer Prize. It was the story that destroyed Josh and, eventually, his son. It almost destroyed Trent.

  Trent still couldn’t open his eyes. Couldn’t talk. Yet he heard himself answering his friend.

  “You’re probably right, Josh,” he heard himself say.

  “My good friend,” Blair sputtered, spittle flying from his lips. “You got me sent to prison. You knew I wouldn’t survive.”

  “I would have prevented it if I could, Josh.”

  “Liar!” Blair shouted. “My blood on your hands wasn’t enough to satisfy your lust. You had to kill my son! You killed Johnny!”

  “Johnny was as deranged as you are,” Trent replied. “He killed your wife, his own mother, Josh.”

  “Yes, with a knife,” Blair raged. “A razor sharp blade to draw across her throat and yours as the prison thug sliced through mine!”

  “When I shot him he was preparing to kill Darcey before he killed me. There was no way I would allow him to do that. I might have harmed you but Darcey never did anything to you,” Trent said. “Johnny was no longer the little boy who called me Uncle Trent. He was a mad man.”

  “You made him that way!” Blair tried to shout again. But his voice was fading. He was fading

  Trent was wiped out. So tired.

  He was unaware of the degeneration of consciousness into darkness.

  Dimension still unknown.

  July 20th

  Darcey was shaken. Her morning call to New Orleans brought far more than heartbreak. It brought fear. Fear to the brink of panic.

  The need to move strategically in a different direction was axiomatic. She was as surprised as anyone that her family had been found in the house on Governor Nicholls Street. She was even more surprised that the two striving assassins so easily penetrated their defenses.

  “I’m going to Louisiana,” she announced to Nancy.

  “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

  “What else can I do? My daughter is in danger,” Darcey said. “She needs her mother and I’m three thousand miles away.”

  “Kelli has Betty and Ivy,” Nancy pointed out. “And she has Robert’s friend, Hackett, and Jordan Baron. When they get to Sabine Parish, she’ll have Jack Blake and his army of deputies. I can understand how you feel, Darcey, but Trent needs you here.”

  “You can’t ask me to choose between my husband and my daughter. I can’t do that. It’s not fair.”

  “No, it’s not,” Nancy replied, speaking as gently as she could. “But nobody ever promised fair.”

  Darcey’s shoulders sagged in a gesture of defeat.

  “I suppose you’re right,” she said finally. “But if Trent needs me, why am I sitting here? I’m going to the hospital.”

  “But Robert said…”

  “I don’t care what Robert said,” Darcey interrupted. “I’m going to the hospital.”

  Dr. Shannon looked up as Darcey entered the room into which Trent had been moved.

  “I thought you were going to stay away?” she said. “Didn’t Colonel Monk say it was dangerous for you to be seen coming and going?”

  “Yes, but I could only stay away for so long.”

  Dr. Shannon sighed. She was not pleased.

  “I suppose I can understand that,” she said. “But we also have to be concerned for the safety of our other patients.”

  “We’ll be cautious, but I stayed away for as long as I could. Chief Kline has undercover men here standing guard. And I travel with my own armed escort,” she smiled wanly as she tilted her head toward Nancy standing near the entrance into the room.

  “Well, this is a good day for you to be here,” Dr. Shannon said. “There’s something going on in Trent’s healing brain. I’ve just been going over the overnight monitoring reports. He had a period of several minutes last night when he seems to have been quite agitated.”

  “Oh, what does that mean? Is that bad?”

  “We really have no way to know what it means. We monitor his brain functions constantly. So far his brain has continued in control of the important things, though he probably isn’t aware of it,” Dr. Shannon explained.

  “What important things?”

  “Bodily functions that we take for granted. Regulation of body temperature, blood pressure, respiration, heart rate, kidney functions, and production of hormones needed to make all those things work. Also all the senses,” the doctor continued.

  “The senses? Do you mean Trent might know if I’m here, might hear what I’m saying, even though he’s unconscious?”

  “That’s an area of some uncertainty, but yes, it’s possible,” was the answer.

  “Then like it or not, Doctor, you can expect to see me here every day,” Darcey declared.

  Segal was feeling good. The rain had stopped. The sun was shining. It promised to be another warm day. Warm by Alaska standards.

  The report from New Orleans the night before was good. It was unfortunate that the two men sent to invade the compound on Governor Nicholls Street were killed. Unfortunate but not unexpected. The assault was not intended to succeed. The goal was to drive Marshall’s family from behind their brick wall to a less secure location. That goal was achieved. The two assassins were not only incompetent, they were superfluous. There were many more like them.

  He was looking forward to going to the restaurant today. He was enjoying the attention Fiona was giving him. The expectancy of taking the young woman to Juneau brought pleasure to his day. Even more so the thought of getting her alone on his boat, far from prying eyes and ears. He could almost feel the predictable euphoria in his imagination.

  At JS Bistro o
n Fifth Avenue, two others were thinking of Fiona’s coming trip to Juneau.

  In the Kitchen, Fiona was imagining what it would be like to be on the boat alone with Segal. It was a moment she had anticipated for a long time. She was in no hurry for the point in time to arrive. She wanted to savor each minute leading up to it.

  In the upstairs office, Jayne Colombo’s eyes blazed when she thought of Segal and Fiona alone on his boat. He had never invited her to accompany him to Juneau, much less onto the boat. She would make him pay for the slight.

  Christopher Booth landed in Anchorage in the late afternoon. Nancy had worked hard on a meat sauce for spaghetti. She used ground beef, mushrooms, and lots of spices.

  Christopher mixed the martinis when the cocktail hour arrived. He spent some time telling them about his adventures in Seattle.

  Darcey was feeling much better after seeing Trent. She would see him again the next day.

  And the next.

  And every day thereafter.

  July 21st

  It was hot when they left New Orleans.

  It stayed hot as they drove north and west on I-10, then north again on I-49.

  It was hot when they turned off the interstate at Lecompte for lunch at Lea’s, famous for its ham sandwiches and pies. Kelli clapped her little hands when Betty and Ivy bought four pies, two chocolate and two pecan.

  It was still hot when they arrived at the Pines in late afternoon. Jack Blake was waiting for them. Two of his marked cars, each with two deputies, waited with him. One blocked the entry into the long, winding drive up to the old house. The other was hidden from sight in the barn, the deputies assigned to watch the pasture on one side of the large building and the woods on the other. He had also stationed a car with two deputies at the old warehouse on the far side of the thick stand of trees bordering the rear of the large house. There had been mischief launched against the family from that warehouse in previous escapades.

  “Welcome to the real Louisiana,” Blake said, with a wide grin as New Orleans native Baron introduced him to James Hackett.

  Baron laughed.

  “That only means they don’t allow go cups here, James,” he said.

  Hackett appreciated the friendly nature of the relationship between the country sheriff and urban policeman. He wasn’t fooled by their lighthearted nature. They were fighting men. He had no doubt they would be formidable allies. Or enemies.