Don't Back Down, page 23
Then all of a sudden his posture changed. He leaned forward and stopped the video, studied it for a few moments, rewound it a couple of seconds back, then started it. She saw his pupils widen and knew he’d just witnessed Vanzant getting shot. At that point, she held her breath because she knew the killer would already be appearing on the scene.
Cameron leaned back, watching as the killer was moving toward the trailer, and then pointed.
“His gait.”
Rusty’s heart skipped. She’d noticed that but had no reference point to make it important.
Cameron moved the video back a few frames and sat watching the killer appear, then backed it up and watched it again, and again, and this time all the way through.
“His hand.”
“What about his hand?” Rusty asked.
“See how he’s holding that laptop?”
She moved around behind him and leaned over until their cheeks were almost touching.
“You mean clutched against his chest?”
“No. With a thumb and three fingers. He’s missing his little finger.”
“I completely missed that,” she said.
“And his gait.”
She nodded. “Yes, he kind of leans to the right a little. Like maybe his back is crooked or something.”
“No. One leg is shorter than the other. I know who that is! It’s Dewey Zane.”
“Who’s Dewey Zane?” she asked.
Cameron hit Stop on the video and shoved his hands through his hair in disbelief. “He works at a bar called Fuzzy Fridays on the other side of the mountain. He’s one of Rance Woodley’s hunting buddies.”
Rusty gasped. “Woodley again! And Fuzzy Fridays was the drop-off location for Danny Biggers. I need to get Howard on the phone. I want you to talk to him.”
Cameron nodded as Rusty grabbed her phone and made the call.
***
Jay Howard was away from his desk. Pickard was manning the phones and had just taken a big bite of chicken chow mein when his partner’s cell phone rang. When he saw who was calling, he quickly chewed and swallowed before he answered.
“Caldwell, it’s me, Pickard. Jay’s away from the desk for a minute. Will I do, or do you want me to take a message?”
“You’ll do,” Rusty said. “Cameron recognized the man on the trail cam video. Here, I’m going to let him talk to you.” Then she put the phone on speaker and laid it between them on the table.
“Okay, Pope. I can’t wait to hear how you identified anyone from that footage,” Pickard said.
“Because it’s somebody I’ve known all my life, that’s how,” Cameron said. “When the man walks out of the trailer carrying the laptop, if you pay attention to the way he’s holding it, you’ll see he’s missing his little finger.”
Pickard nodded. “Missing a finger? How the hell did we miss that?”
“Also, he has an odd gait when he walks, right?” Cameron added.
Pickard frowned. “Yes, we noted the gait but that may or may not have been a permanent thing…you know…sprained knee or ankle, something like that.”
“No. It’s because one leg is shorter than the other. I know a man who’s missing a little finger and has one leg shorter than the other. His name is Dewey Zane. He works at a bar called Fuzzy Fridays. It’s just over the switchback on the other side of Pope Mountain.”
Pickard was excited and they could hear it in his voice. “Fan-freaking-tastic,” he said.
“That’s not the best part,” Rusty interjected. “Drive in the last nail, Cameron.”
“He’s Rance Woodley’s hunting buddy,” Cameron said.
Total silence, and then Pickard whistled softly beneath his breath.
“Jay just walked into the office. I’ll fill him in. We’ll review the footage again and then get a search warrant on the Dewey Zane residence in hopes we find the murder weapon, and take an arrest warrant to go with it. Keep all this to yourself. We still don’t have enough to pick up Woodley, but if he gets word Dewey’s been arrested and he’s guilty of what we suspect, he’ll run.”
“Yes, sir,” Cameron said, and then he and Rusty heard Howard’s voice in the background.
“What’s happening? What did I miss?” Howard asked.
“We’ll be in touch,” Pickard said, and disconnected.
Rusty saw a look of satisfaction sweep over Cameron’s face and laid her hand on the middle of his chest. The heartbeat was as steady as he was.
“Good job, partner.”
He took her hand, lightly rubbing her knuckles and thinking how delicate she looked, yet how very, very tough she was. “You were right. We’re on the right track. We’ll get them out of Jubilee for good, won’t we, baby?”
Rusty nodded. “And we’re not going to let up until they’re all under arrest. This isn’t just a little gang. This is big business, and someone with a hell of a lot of money and clout is running it. So far we’ve been fishing the little floaters with cane poles and bobbers, but I want the big fish. The bottom feeder. I want the boss.”
Chapter 15
Liz Caldwell was a fish out of water, but she already knew she was going to love this job. Gerald Devlin was welcoming and patient and soon figured out that Liz wasn’t just playing. She was in the middle of setups for a thirty-member book club hosting a visiting author at the inn and not messing around, pulling folding chairs and tables off of racks and helping with the placement of them around the ballroom. Making sure the PA system was in place and live at the podium where the author would be speaking.
When Gerald realized the flowers had yet to be delivered, he gave her the job of a follow-up call to the local florist to see what was wrong. She handled it quietly and competently, and within the hour, all of the arrangements had arrived.
When one of the workers missed getting the legs locked on a folding table and it went crashing to the ballroom floor, she raced over and helped him right it, without making a scene. Despite the slight chill in the ballroom, by the time the setup was finished the room was comfortably warm, and Liz had beads of sweat running down her back.
“Good job!” Gerald told her. “I’m going to wait until the hostesses arrive and make sure everything is to their liking, so why don’t you take an early lunch, and when you come back, just come to the office. We’ll go over the way we take on clients, how we price, contact numbers within the hotel, and who we outsource to.”
“Yes, sir,” Liz said, and left the ballroom almost bouncing with every step and thinking So this what it feels like to be productive.
She grabbed a salad and a sandwich from one of the cafés on-site and carried them up to the penthouse to eat. The quiet engulfed her as she stepped off the elevator. The realization that she was lunching in the penthouse while other workers went to break rooms was not lost on her. But her truth was her truth, and she wasn’t going to apologize for it.
In the middle of her meal, she thought of seeing Michael later and wondered what she could take him as a gift, then discarded the thought. This visit was for forgiveness…not the time to come bearing gifts.
As soon as she finished, she changed from flats into sneakers and went back to the conference center, then down the hall to Gerald’s office. They spent the afternoon going through a binder he’d made for her containing rules and contact numbers.
As soon as her workday ended, she hurried upstairs to change her clothes and sent her dad a text telling him where she was going, then called downstairs to valet parking. By the time she reached the valet stand, her car was waiting.
She got to Hotel Devon, called the penthouse to let them know she’d arrived, and they sent the elevator down to get her. But the moment she stepped into the car, her emotions got the better of her. She had tears in her eyes when she exited the car.
Della, the Devons’ maid, was waiting for her in the grand foyer and welcomed Liz with a smile. “Good evening, Miss Caldwell. May I take your coat?”
“Good evening, Della. Yes, thank you,” Liz said, and unwrapped the scarf from around her neck and slipped out of her coat.
“Mr. Michael is looking forward to your visit. He’s in his suite. You know the way,” Della said, and hung the coat and scarf in the guest coat closet as Liz moved toward the hallway to her left.
Michael’s suite was the first one on the right. She knocked lightly. Heard him call out “Come in,” and then opened the door and went in.
Michael was in pajamas and lying down, but he was pale, and the neck brace he was wearing was scary.
“Oh, Michael. You poor darling,” Liz said and hurried to his side, then knelt on the floor beside him. “I want to hug you, but I’m afraid to touch.”
Michael managed a weak grin and then made a joke. “I look better than I feel.”
“Oh lord,” Liz said and clutched his hand. “Tell me how this happened.”
And so Michael told it from beginning to end, all the way to his dad coming to his rescue and the hours in the ER before he got to come home.
“Was the man who hit you injured, too?” she asked.
“No. He was braced for impact. I never saw him coming and caught the brunt of it, I guess. Anyway, the car is totaled, but I’m still in one piece. And you’re here, which means everything to me,” he said.
“This has been a horrible eye-opener for me. The mere thought of losing you for good hit home. I have been an utter ass. I am so sorry. I love you. I don’t want us to be mad like this ever again.”
“Deal,” Michael said. “Now tell me, how did your first day at work go? I’ve met Gerald Devlin. He seems nice enough. Do you like working for him?”
That opened a floodgate of information and excitement from Liz he did not expect. He listened to her and then finally lost track of what she was saying and just listened to the excitement in her voice, and watched the way the right corner of her mouth turned the tiniest bit up when she rolled her eyes, and fell the rest of the way in love.
***
The next morning, just after six
Four black SUVs rolled up on a weathered, ramshackle house just off of a county road, ten miles east of Jubilee. There was a red Dodge 4x4 truck sitting in the yard, a rusting tub full of auto parts beneath a tree that had long since shed its leaves, and a meager stack of firewood near the front porch. Wisps of smoke drifted upward from a leaning chimney.
As the vehicles pulled to a stop, a murder of crows took off from the fence beside the house, and a scrawny redbone hound crawled out from beneath the porch and set to baying.
Federal agents spilled out of the cars and headed to the house with their weapons drawn, swarming the porch in such quantity it sent the hound back under.
One agent began pounding on the door, yelling, “Federal agents. Federal agents. We have a search warrant! Open the door! Open the door!”
All of a sudden the door swung inward. A skinny blond wrapped in an old blue chenille bathrobe and with her hair still in tangles was standing in the doorway, wide-eyed and shaking.
The agents pushed their way inside and slapped some papers into her hand. “We have a search warrant for this house and an arrest warrant for Dewey Zane. Is he here?”
A door opened in the hallway. A skinny, fortysomething man emerged bare-chested, wearing saggy sweatpants and a pair of dirty white socks.
“I’m Dewey Zane. What the hell’s goin’ on here?” he shouted.
They surrounded him and slapped him in handcuffs, with Special Agents Howard and Pickard leading the way. The missing finger and his awkward gait as he stumbled trying to get away were enough for the agents to know they had the right man. Seconds later, he was taken into the living room and shoved into the nearest chair. They put his wife, Carly, in a separate chair, but she just kept crying.
“Dewey, Dewey, what did you do?”
Dewey kept cursing and shouting, “Shut the hell up, Carly. Just shut the hell up,” watching in horror as a dozen other agents began searching through his house, while an agent named Pickard informed him of the charges against him and read him his rights.
“Dewey Zane, you are under arrest for the murder of Kevin Vanzant. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.”
It was the word murder that got Dewey’s attention.
“I don’t know nothin’ about no murder, and I don’t know nobody named Kevin Vanzant.”
“Sorry, but we know that’s a lie. The whole thing was caught on a trail cam. From the time you shot him and walked into view of the camera, leaned your rifle against the trailer, and went inside. You pulled the body into the trailer, turned off the lights, and when you came out, you had Vanzant’s phone and laptop. That silver laptop was shining in your arms like a brand-new baby as you came down the steps. You retrieved your rifle and walked away with the laptop and your gun.”
Dewey’s heart was hammering so hard he couldn’t breathe right. “You didn’t see me on no trail cam,” he muttered.
“Yes, we did. We already have someone who can identify you from the footage.”
“That’s a lie!” Dewey shouted. “It was dark and you can’t see nothing for the hood.”
And the moment that came out of his mouth, the horror in his eyes gave it away when he realized what he’d said.
“I never said anything about the killer wearing a hoodie…did I?” Pickard said.
Carly shrieked. “You killed a man? For a laptop? What’s wrong with you?” she screamed.
Dewey wouldn’t look at her and dropped his head.
Moments later, an agent came up from the back of the house carrying a rifle he’d already bagged. “Same make and model,” he said.
Another agent came out carrying a black hoodie they’d bagged and tagged.
Dewey’s sudden interest in a worn spot on the floor was notable.
“We know it was a hit. Who are you working for?” Howard asked. “Who ordered it? How much did you get paid to commit murder?”
“I want a lawyer,” Dewey said.
They got him dressed and walked him out the door in handcuffs and drove away.
Carly followed all the way to the edge of the porch, yelling and crying, but there was no one left to hear her except the hound still cowering beneath the porch.
***
The bed was warm, and Cameron’s body against Rusty’s back was even warmer as she slept, buried beneath the covers with his arm lying across her waist, and then suddenly the weight of him was gone.
She heard the tick, tack of Ghost’s nails on the wooden floors and guessed Cameron had gotten up to let Ghost out. She rolled over, saw the time, and groaned. The house was chilly, but she’d already heard the central heat come on and knew Cameron would stir the ashes and put more wood on the fire.
She lay there for a couple of minutes until she felt warmth coming from the heat vents in the ceiling and rolled over to check her phone. She had a text from Jay Howard. They’d arrested Dewey Zane. Details in an email.
Elated, she got up and dressed, then grabbed her laptop to read the details of the arrest. Zane’s accidental admission of guilt was icing on the cake. The only downside was Zane refusing to name who he worked for. It was a flight of fantasy to pretend Sheriff Woodley wouldn’t hear the news, but she was certain they already had him staked out.
Whither thou goest, Rance Woodley, the feds are sure to know, she thought, and got up and dressed for the day.
Melinda Woodley Sheets nèe Lehigh was still in the wind, and Rusty wanted to know where she’d gone and how she was able to completely disappear. If Dewey Zane refused to tell who hired him, and they could find her, she could be the key component to either linking Woodley to the gang or clearing him.
***
It was midday.
Carly Zane had locked up the house after the feds carted off her husband and crawled back in bed, too scared to function. She couldn’t believe what had just happened. Dewey as much as admitted he’d shot a man in cold blood, but why?
When her mother called her later to ask if she wanted to go with her to Bowling Green, Carly turned her down. She’d never lied to her mother, but she was too ashamed to admit her man had turned into a killer.
Finally she got up and dressed, then began putting everything up that the feds had pulled out—putting her house back to rights and thinking about what she’d make for supper tonight. Then it hit her.
Dewey wouldn’t be there for supper.
He wouldn’t be going in to Fuzzy Fridays to work evenings.
He wouldn’t be going off to Barton’s campground. He wouldn’t be coming home. Ever.
Still holding one of his dirty shirts, she dropped into one of the kitchen chairs and started bawling anew. She was still crying when a car rolled up in front of the house.
Frightened that it might be the feds come back to take her, too, she ran to the window, then breathed a sigh of relief. It was just Rance. And then it hit her! Rance was the sheriff! He’d know what to do! He knew all about crimes and jails.
***
Rance Woodley was all the way up the steps, carrying a six-pack of beer, when Carly opened the door. He looked up and smiled.
“Hey, Carly. How’s my best girl, and where’s your lazy-ass husband? He was supposed to meet me for coffee this morning.”
“Oh, Rance! Dewey’s gone! The FBI come to the house before we was even out of the bed and arrested him for a murder. Said he stole a phone and a laptop and they caught it all on a trail cam.”
Rance felt faint.
“Say what?”
