CUTTER'S GROVE Page 24

  Oh, this is wonderful. He’s taking me to his killing ground. Until now I haven’t really felt any genuine fear. But suddenly that changes. A cold knot starts to form in my gut, nauseating me, making it hard to breathe. “Sonny---”

  “Shut up I said.” His breathing, too, is shallow and rapid. I realize he’s building up his courage to do something serious.

  I back the Jeep up and turn it in the direction of the barn, on the outskirts of town. It’s pitch black out and there are no signs of other vehicles anywhere along the way. When we reach the turn off to the barn, Sonny says, “Turn your lights off.”

  As I do so I’m reminded that my brake and running lights are inoperable. I haven’t gotten around to fixing them yet. My brake lights might have been my only method of attracting attention without Sonny’s knowledge. It’s ironic that I kicked them out in an effort to catch Anne Marie’s murderer in the first place and now it’s going to help her murderer get rid of me.

  When I get to the barn Sonny orders me out of the Jeep. “Inside,” he says.

  Time is running out. If I’m going to save my life I’ve got to come up with something very fast. “Move,” Sonny says when I hesitate.

  Inside the barn is inky black. Sonny produces a flashlight and points it at my face. “This ain’t the way I wanted this to go down,” he says. “I really did like you, Lucas.”

  “Yeah, right,” I respond, “so you’re going to shoot me to death. I hate to think what you’d have in mind for me if you hated me.”

  My pitiful attempt at humor falls flat.

  “Why couldn’t you just leave well enough alone?” Sonny says. “Let things be.”

  “You killed two innocent children, Sonny. I’m amazed you have to ask that question.”

  “Turn your back to me,” he says.

  “Just tell me why you did it. Please. It’s the least you can do for me in the circumstances, don’t you think?”

  “It’s a little late for this conversation, Lucas. Now turn around. It’ll be easier for you that way.”

  Sonny is too far away from me. Getting to him before he can shoot me is out of the question. There is nothing I can do to save myself.

  . In my mind I see an image of Beth crying at my funeral and it saddens and angers me that the life I had hoped to share with her won’t happen.

  Suddenly my knees go weak. I have a terrible urge to plead for my life, to beg and grovel without regard to my dignity. The utter futility of it, knowing full well it will do me absolutely no good, is all that keeps me from dropping to my knees in a pathetic, last ditch appeal for mercy.

  Fighting back tears of frustration I say a silent prayer, turn my back to Sonny, and await my destiny.

  53

  I hold my breath, waiting for the slug from Sonny’s pistol to tear through me. I'm wondering whether I’ll actually hear the gun being fired, or simply fall dead without ever knowing the bullet is on it’s way.

  But the sound that reaches my ears is not a gunshot. It’s the sound of a car’s engine racing ever closer to the barn. I turn my head and see Sonny’s dim silhouette in the glow from the flashlight. He’s clearly in a panic, wondering what the hell is happening.

  We hear footsteps pounding toward us. Then, a total surprise - Herb and Arliss rush onto the scene. Herb has a .45 in one fist and a flashlight in the other: Arliss is holding a shotgun.

  I never thought I’d be happy to see Herb but right now he’s the most magnificent sight I can imagine. Well … maybe magnificent is not the best choice of adjectives.

  When they see us - me with my hands up and Sonny holding a pistol on me - they’re completely bewildered. They don’t know whether to cover Sonny or me or both of us.

  “What the hell is going on here?” Herb barks.

  Sonny doesn’t know what to do. He’s torn between shooting me to shut me up, shooting Herb and Arliss to save his life, and shooting himself to end the misery his life has suddenly become.

  I figure I’ll just let nature take it’s course, remain non-threatening, and say nothing.

  Herb again: “Gimme that gun,” he says to Sonny.

  “This ain’t your business,” Sonny tries.

  “Listen, baldy,” Herb says, “I don’t give a shit if you blow this peckerwood to tiny little bits after we’re through with him. But first he’s got something of ours we need to get back. You kill him before we get it and I’ll personally see to it that there’s nothing left of you that’s identifiable at your funeral. Now gimme that gun. I ain’t screwin’ around here.”

  When Sonny doesn’t comply, Arliss rushes him and rips the pistol from his hand.

  Although I’m still not out of the woods here, the immediate threat of dying has at least been temporarily lifted. I take a relieved breath. “Why don’t you tell these guys why you were about to kill me, Sonny?” I say.

  “I don’t give a good goddamn why he wants to kill you, asshole,” Herb says. “All I want is my dope. Now.”

  “I think you’ll want to know this, Herb,” I insist. “Tell him, Sonny. Tell him how you killed Anne Marie Alvarro and Rhonda Getty.”

  Herb’s eyes go wide. “What?”

  “That’s right, Herb. Sonny here is the---”

  “Shut up,” Herb says. “Everybody just shut the hell up.” He comes up to me. “Where’s the stuff?”

  “At my place,” I tell him.

  “Where at your place?”

  “I’ll have to show you. You’ll never find it on your own.” Anything to buy some time. I definitely don’t like the way things are shaping up here.

  Herb grits his teeth and leans in close to me. “If you’re screwin’ me around there ain’t gonna be no second chance. You’re dead. You clear on that?”

  “Straight goods, Herb. I swear.”

  “Alright,” he says, “let’s go.” Herb pokes me in the back with the .45 to get me going. Then he grabs Sonny by the arm and jostles him toward the barn door. “I don’t know what's going on here but, until I do, you’re coming with us.”

  Arliss trails along behind, covering us. We’re all outside, moving toward the vehicles when a barrage of high beam headlights is turned on us. They seem to be coming from everywhere. At the same time a voice booms at us through a bullhorn. “EVERBODY FREEZE! THROW DOWN YOUR WEAPONS NOW!”

  Darrel Yates’ voice is like the sound of God.

  Everything happens very fast now. Cops descend on us from every direction. Where the hell did all these guys come from? In the ensuing confusion Arliss panics and fires off a round from his shotgun. Suddenly it’s like war has erupted. Arliss is cut down by a hail of firepower that seems to go on forever. If there was any doubt before that these guys mean business, it has been seriously cast aside.

  Herb throws his gun to the ground and stretches his arms skyward, while shouting “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot.” Sonny reacts in a similar fashion.

  Cops are all over us. I’m thrown roughly to the ground along with Herb and Sonny and we’re held there by at least three officers each while we’re searched. I’m facing Arliss’ body. He’s lying in a twisted heap, riddled with bullet holes. There’s no way he’s getting up from that.

  There’s a lot of yelling. None of it makes any sense to me.

  All I can think of is that I’m alive. That I’ll live to see Beth again.

  My hands are cuffed behind me and I’m put in the back of a police cruiser by myself. Herb and Sonny are put in separate units. There’s a lot of activity amongst all the lights while Arliss’ body is dealt with. I look over at the cruiser containing Sonny. His head is slouched forward, his chin on his chest. He looks up after a moment and gazes at me. There’s a look of grim determination about him. His eyes are not the eyes I’m used to seeing. When I glance over at Herb he’s shifting around nervously, obviously scared.

  After ten minutes or so Deputy Chapin gets in the cruiser that I’m occupying. He doesn’t say a word, just fires up and starts driving. When I look back I see the two units conta
ining Sonny and Herb falling into line behind us. Our three car caravan proceeds to Tehachapi. It’s a long drive, and not particularly comfortable, handcuffed the way I am. But I’m not about to complain. I’m alive, and right now that’s about the only thing that seems to matter.

  On arrival at the sheriff’s sub-station my handcuffs are removed and I’m taken to a holding cell. Shortly thereafter I hear Herb and Sonny being dealt with but they’re taken to different cells, out of my sight. An hour and a half goes by, then Chapin arrives. He approaches my cell and inserts a key in the door. “Come with me,” he says when the door slides open.

  I follow him down a hallway to a waiting room with a table and four chairs around it. There’s nothing else in the room. Chapin tells me to sit tight, then leaves.

  A few minutes later Yates comes hustling into the room, trailed by Beth. I stand and she rushes into my arms. Her face is wet with tears. She squeezes me hard and hangs on, and I hold her until the trembling in her body begins to subside.

  “Are you okay?” she splutters through her tears.

  “I’m fine.”

  “I’m sorry, Lucas, but I had to.”

  “Had to what?” I say softly.

  “I was so worried when you left the diner. I called you a couple of times but there was no answer. I was sure something bad was happening. Finally, I couldn’t stand it anymore so I called Sergeant Yates. I told him everything.”

  “Why don’t you folks sit down,” Yates says. “I’ve got some things to clear up.” Beth and I join him at the table. “I wish you’d been honest with me from the start, Mr. Tunney. It might have saved us all a lot of trouble.”

  “Yeah,” I say sheepishly, “I know that now. I’m sorry.”

  “Katlin’s smart enough to get lawyered up before saying anything,” Yates says, “but we found what we believe to be the murder weapon - a homemade garrote - in his truck. Forensics will be able to verify it for us but, between us, I don’t think there’s much doubt that it’ll turn out to be what we suspect.”

  “I still find it hard to believe,” I say. “Even after everything that’s happened.”

  Yates nods his head. “Something like this is never easy. But I might as well warn you now, he’s already being looked at as a suspect in a number of other disappearances of young children throughout southern California and Arizona.”

  Beth bites her lower lip and shakes her head.

  “So, does that mean I’m in the clear?” I ask.

  “For what it’s worth,” Yates says, “you were never a suspect in the murders. That one week vacation you were on - the times were close but not exact. But I felt pretty strongly that you knew something important that you weren’t sharing. I rattled your cage the other day, hoping it would lead you to give something away. Didn’t figure on this much action, though, I must admit.”

  I nod my head.

  “When Miss Wunderlich here called me and told me what was happening with Katlin,” Yates continues, “we got as many officers together as we could on quick notice. But things started happening so fast we nearly didn’t make it in time to get to you. You’re a lucky man, I hope you know that.”

  I squeeze Beth’s hand. “Yeah, Sergeant, I do know it.” Beth picks my hand up in both of hers and holds it against her cheek. “What’s next?” I ask.

  “What charges that will be brought against you at this point are uncertain. We’ll want a detailed written statement from you. And I mean detailed. All about moving Anne Marie from the grave in the desert, burning the tarpaulin, all of it. Then we’ll see.”

  “Okay.”

  “So, where’s the dope?”

  “Dope?”

  “Don’t get cute, Tunney.”

  I hesitate for a few heartbeats. “You might want to check out Herb’s car. Actually, you were going to get an anonymous phone call suggesting that very thing before all this went down. ”

  Yates smiles. “You probably saved yourself a world of grief by getting that stuff out of your possession.”

  I don’t respond. I’ll have to give some thought to just how honest I want to be in that statement I give. And also to how I might go about explaining the manner in which this all came about in the first place. Because, despite everything that’s happened, I still can’t quite bring myself to believe, unconditionally, that I’ve really experienced a ghostly encounter. Call me crazy, but that’s where I’m at.

  54

  After a long night in the Tehachapi sub-station, Beth and I are told we can go home, but we’re cautioned not to leave Cutter’s Grove for any reason without Yates’ permission. Deputy Chapin drives us back to Cutter’s Grove. We get there right about breakfast time.

  “I reckon Herb will be spending some time as a guest of the state of California,” I say as Beth and I watch Chapin pull away from the garage.

  “I guess that means I’m unemployed,” she says. She doesn’t really sound all that broken up about it.

  “Well, we know for sure that Sonny won’t be back anytime soon, so that makes both of us.”

  Beth looks at me and purses her lips. “Sad business, huh?”

  I nod my head dismally. “Sure is.”

  “Let’s get some sleep,” she says. “We can decide later what we’re going to do.”

  “You want to stay here?”

  “Uh uh. I need some real sleep. Take me home. We’ll get together for dinner.”

  “Okay.”

  Later that afternoon I hear from Deborah in Bakersfield. “Harold and I are coming home,” she says. “Sergeant Yates called the institution and cleared the way for Harold’s release.” She’s so happy she’s close to bursting.

  “That’s wonderful, Deborah. I couldn’t be happier for you.”

  Suddenly she turns morose. “I was so shocked and … I don’t know … heartbroken to hear Sonny is the one who did those horrible things to those poor children. I just can’t believe it.”

  “Me neither.”

  There’s a brief silence while we each wrestle with the overwhelming tragedy of it all. “Well…” she says, “I’ll see you later, Lucas.”

  “You want me to pick you up in Tehachapi?”

  “No, it’s okay. Adele, from the pharmacy, said she’d do it. Thanks anyway.”

  “No problem. I’ll see you when you get here.”

  ****

  The memorial service for Anne Marie is held the day after Deborah and Harold’s return. The whole town turns out for it. Although Bonnie is in tears throughout the ceremony, there’s a peacefulness in her face that I haven’t seen before. Paco sits with his arm tightly around her shoulders throughout the service, spilling a lot of tears of his own.

  At the Catholic cemetery, the tiny casket containing Anne Marie’s remains is lowered into the ground. Bonnie takes a handful of earth and sprinkles it lovingly over the casket. When she steps away from the gravesite she searches the crowd, looking for someone. I’m surprised when her eyes settle on me. A small smile comes to her face and she mouths a silent ‘thank you.’

  Rhonda Getty’s funeral, held the following day, is equally well attended.

  Afterwards, Mel Hocking approaches me. “Hell of a thing,” he says sadly.

  “Yeah.”

  “You in any trouble over how this all went down?”

  I look at him questioningly. “What makes you ask?”

  “I’ve got pretty good connections around here, Lucas. I’ve heard most of what happened.”

  “I guess you do,” I say. “I’m not sure yet, Mel. Yates is being pretty tight-lipped so far.”

  “My daughter, Alicia, is real broken up over what happened to Arliss.”

  I don’t know how much Mel knows or suspects about what Arliss and Alicia were up to. I do a little studying on my shoes without responding.

  “You know anything else you’re not telling?” Mel asks.

  It’s none of my business but Mel looks like a father whose plenty worried about his little girl. “I’d go easy on Alicia, Mel. M
y guess is she was in love with the guy.”

  Mel squints into the sun and shakes his head. “I kind of figured.”

  ****

  Before the week is out Yates makes an appearance at the garage. “I’ve had several meetings with the District Attorney ,” he tells me. “After taking everything into consideration, he’s decided not to press any charges against you.”

  This, of course, is a tremendous relief. “Thank you, Sergeant. I’m sure you had a good deal to do with that decision.”

  He allows himself a tight smile. “You’re alright, Tunney. A little stupid, but alright.”

  I nod. You can’t argue with the truth.

  “You’re free to leave town if you want,” he says, “but make sure you let my office know where you can be reached. You and Miss Wunderlich will be called as prosecution witnesses at Katlin’s trial.”

  “Sure.”

  “So, what are your plans?”

  “Don’t know just yet. I was a little reluctant to make any plans until I knew what was in store for me.”

  “Will the plans include Miss Wunderlich?”

  “I hope so.”

  He squints into the sun. “She’s a hell of a woman. No telling where you’d be right now if she hadn’t taken it upon herself to call me when she did.”

  “I have a pretty good idea where I’d be,” I say. “I’m sure you do, too.”

  He nods. “Just one final thing,” he says.

  I know what’s coming. “What’s that, Sergeant?”

  “In your statement you were a little vague about what inspired you to get involved in the whole matter of Anne Marie Alvarro’s disappearance in the first place. Care to satisfy an old lawman’s curiosity before you go?”

  I reward his instinct with a little smile. But, the fact is, I know that if I were to come clean he would never really buy into the idea of my ghost story anyway. I decide it’s enough to discreetly acknowledge his notion that there’s something more to the whole affair than I’ve owned up to, and leave him wondering what it might be. “There are some things that simply defy explanation, Sergeant,” I say, “no matter how badly we might want to account for them.”