Coincidences

Sundown in Zion

CHAPTER FORTY-Five

            It was after eight o’clock in the evening before Nelson reached his house. Angela Masterson’s car was parked on the street and Charlie’s was in the drive. Nelson pulled in behind it, exited his truck, and walked up the front steps, and into the house. There he found Charlie and Angela sharing a meal. He nodded.

            “Well if it ain’t Deputy Do-Right,” Angela said. “Come join us.”

            “First things first,” Nelson said. He walked past them and took a glass from a cabinet. From another cabinet, he took a bottle of Jack Daniels. He filled the glass with ice. Soon, he was sitting across from the two, drink in hand. “At last,” he said, making a mock toast. “It’s been a long day.”

            “Articulate for the uninformed,” Charlie said. “We were wondering why you were denying us the pleasure of your company.” Angela made a derisive snort. “Well,” Charlie said, “we didn’t spend all our time thinking about you. We, uh, engaged in some creative physical therapy.”

Angela raised her eyes toward the ceiling and shook her head. “Just shoot may ass,” she said. “Ignore him. The healing process is a long and tortuous path, marked by joyous experimentation. Do you catch my drift?” she asked Nelson.

            Before he could answer, Charlie broke in. “Oh,” he said, “speaking of joyous experimentation, your favorite professor called complaining that she couldn’t reach your cell phone.”

            “I turned it off some during the day. Business necessity.”

            “She left a message.”

            Nelson waited.

            “Tied up for the next few nights. She’ll talk to you later.”

            Nelson cocked his head. “Did she say what she would be doing?”

            “No,” Charlie said. “I didn’t hear any heavy breathing, so it may not be due to any competition for you.”

            “That’s fine,” Nelson said. “It’s just that we had made some plans for the rest of the week and she didn’t mention any conflicts.”

            Angela broke in. “I’ve known that woman for a long time,” she said. “Much longer than you. Have you ever sensed anything odd about her?”

            “Odd? In what way?”

            “I just feel the need to alert you,” Angela said, seeming to avoid answering his question.

            “Alert me about what?”

            “Has she ever mentioned her late husband?”

            “First night I met her,” Nelson said, “she told me the whole story.”

            “Did she indicate the marriage had been a happy one?”

            Nelson thought. “A very happy one. And she said she missed him terribly.”

            “An understatement if there ever was one,” Angela said. “Do you think she has gotten over his death?”

            Nelson took a drink and stared upward. “I’m no psychologist,” he said, “but she seems to be coping with the loss as well as a person could. So, it seems to me she may be getting over it.”

            “Well, she’s not,” Angela said. “Trust me, but let’s not discuss this woman any further. We’re more interested in you.”

            Nelson nodded and took a drink. Both Charlie and Angela leaned forward as if expecting great news. After a moment, Angela said, “So are you going to tell us why you had your cell phone turned off most of the day?”

            Nelson finished his drink, stood, and walked to the refrigerator. He filled his glass with more ice and added bourbon. He came back to the table and sat. “Long version or short version?”

            “Long version,” they said in unison.

            He started at the first and told them most of the day’s happenings. He hinted that a plan was afoot but left out some sensitive facts. By the time he finished, he was on his third drink. He ended the narrative with, “If being a deputy involves telling a mother her daughter has been murdered, I don’t think I want to make it a career.”

            “You’re not buying this gang-related crap, are you?” Angela asked.

            “Oh hell no,” Nelson said. “But we think it may give the real gang a false sense of security. Let them think they have us chasing false leads.”

            “Did the symbols they painted on that poor girl’s body tell you anything?”

            Nelson thought. “They told us that these guys are not very bright. At least they aren’t professionals. At least they aren’t professionals in the art of murder. They did think to take the Stubblefield’s car that Abbey was driving back to Little Rock. That leaves some questions unanswered. Everything else has been half-assed, particularly the gang signs. Agent Benson told us that his folks had never seen such an amateurish effort. In fact, he told Sheriff Love it was ‘pathetic,’ to use his words.”

            Angela had stiffened slightly at the mention of Agent Benson’s name. “You know Agent Benson, do you?”

            “Only by reputation,” Nelson said. “Why?”

            “Oh,” Angela said, “I’ve just met him now that I’m doing some consulting work for the office here.”

            Nelson eyed her with caution. He sat his drink on the table, leaned back, and looked her in the eyes. “Speaking of consulting work,” he said, “is there a possibility that you might do a little favor for me?”

            It was Angela’s turn for caution. “What kind of favor?”

            Nelson closed his eyes, grimaced in thought, and said, “Can I trust you?”

            “No,” Charlie said. “There’s a persistent rumor out there that she has been known to fake an orgasm if the mood suits her.” They all laughed.

            “Only for the purpose of rehabilitation,” Angela said, winking at Charlie. “Never for undirected deceit, or out of boredom.” She paused. “And I have only divulged secrets during the rare occasions when the bad guys fondled my breasts. But not to worry, I’ve promised him,” she nodded toward Charlie, “that I won’t let that happen again—at least as far as the bad guys are concerned.”

            Nelson nodded his head in a gesture of mock analysis. He then spoke slowly, “We have a target we need some high-res photography on as well as whatever info your magic machines can produce. Most of what we have seen is concealed by tree cover. What we can see looks innocent enough, but we suspect otherwise.” He took a deep breath. “The reason for going along with the gangbanger crap is to keep the real perps from panicking, but we don’t expect the subterfuge to last, so we need to expedite the execution of our mission. How’s that for ‘cop talk?’”

            “That would probably get you a scholarship to the FBI Academy,” Angela said. “What kind of high-level Armistead County crime are you investigating, poaching, hunting without a license?”

            “A bit more serious.”

            “Dog fighting?”

            “There are numerous dots we are trying to connect. This site seems to be exerting a lot of gravitational pull on all of them. And all good scientists know, don’t they, that where there is gravity, there is mass?”

“True,” she said, and pointed at Charlie. “The more weight this one puts back on, the harder it is to get him off his ass.” She patted Charlie’s arm, smiled at him, and turned back to Nelson. “There’s also a scientific adage that where there is stink there is …, oh never mind. So what mysterious site do you want the dope on?”

            “That’s a good term to use for it,” Nelson said. “It’s a well-protected site near Armistead, supposedly a hunting club, but far from it we suspect. He described the location.”

            Angela’s face grew white. Her eyes bore into Nelson’s like sharp black stakes. She shook her head slightly. “Jesus,” she said. “Jesus H. Christ.”

            Nelson stared at her. “What?"

            “Can I trust you?”

            “I certainly hope so.”

            “I mean really trust you?”

            “Ask Charlie.”

            “With your life,” Charlie said to Angela. “I owe mine to him.”

            They had all grown serious. Nelson pushed his glass away. “What’s the problem?”

            “Only the possible loss of my security clearance and a few years in a federal prison.”

            “I’m confused,” Nelson said.

            “What is said here stays here?” Angela said.

            “Absolutely.”

            Angela looked at the ceiling and back at Nelson. She mimicked making the sign of the cross, then said in a forced bass voice, “Amen.”

            Silence settled over the room like an unclouded darkness covering a sunset. Finally, Angela spoke. “Christ almighty, Deputy Do-Right … I think you’re talking about the same place the FBI has me contracted for.”