Judas Burning (36 page)

The air went out of her lungs in one big
whoof
, and she fell to the floor. Eustace swung the gun like a club. When it made contact with her body, it shuddered in his hand, and he had the satisfaction of hearing what he hoped was a bone snap.

He took a minute to catch his breath. J.D.’s voice calling his name drifted to him, muted by the closed windows. With any luck at all, Vivian was dead. When he reached down to touch her, there was nothing there but bare floor. It was impossible. He’d hit her hard. Really hard. Where had she gone?

A sound like material ripping came from his right. He didn’t even recognize it as a sound that could be made by a human, but it was Vivian. He shifted just enough to miss the full force of her attack and was able to spin away from her, pushing her against a sofa. She was completely insane. She had the strength of ten women, and she meant to kill him.

Eustace made for the hall. He’d almost reached the front door when he heard her. She was running after him, breathing so harshly she sounded like a freight train. When she was almost on him, he fell to the front porch, half in the house and half out.

J.D. was on the front walk, his attention focused on the house. He held his gun at the ready. Dixon realized he didn’t know that Camille had come up behind him. She wore a long, white nightgown, and her red hair hung in loose waves down her back. She looked as much a child as a woman, and she was in a state of shock. Dixon started toward her. She didn’t want to startle Camille or give Vivian warning that her daughter was in the yard.

“Camille,” Dixon said gently. “Camille.”

If J.D. heard, he ignored it. He was fully focused on the house. Dixon took a step closer to Camille.

“Come over here with me,” Dixon said in a voice she might have used on a stray dog. “It’s okay. Just come with me.” She had almost reached Camille when Eustace burst through the open front door and fell to the porch.

Vivian followed and stood over Eustace. She had a butcher knife, and her face was a mask of hatred. A guttural noise came from her throat, and she raised the knife.

“Vivian!” J.D. pointed his gun at her. “Vivian!”

The shot was so loud that Dixon had no idea where it came from. She looked at J.D., who still held his gun pointed. Vivian looked at him, too, surprise on her face. Red began to seep across her blouse. She sank to her knees and dropped the knife. She fell, face forward, across Eustace.

Dixon saw J.D. turn, his gun still at the ready. The barrel swung past Dixon and pointed at Camille, who held a pistol. Slowly she lowered it and let it fall to the sidewalk. Ignoring everyone, she ran up the porch steps. She pushed her mother’s body aside and knelt beside Eustace.

Eustace pushed himself up to a sitting position. One side of his shirt was soaked in blood. He put his arm around Camille and held her, rocking as he whispered into her ear.

J.D. walked forward, and Dixon galvanized herself to stay beside him. He stepped around Eustace and Camille and entered the house, snapping on lights as he went.

Dixon heard thumping, and she followed J.D. into the back, where he kicked open a locked door and found Beatrice Smart in the laundry room, tied hand and foot and gagged.

J.D. removed the gag. “Are you hurt?”

“No.”

J.D. cut her bonds to release her hands and then her legs. She looked toward the doorway. “Where’s Vivian?”

“She’s dead,” J.D. said. “Where’s Calvin?”

“In the bathroom. She killed him. She thought we were having an affair. She said she was going to kill me, too.”

“Dixon, can you give her a hand?” J.D. stepped out of the room and called Waymon.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Dixon helped Beatrice to her feet.

“I’m okay. Vivian wouldn’t listen to reason. She said she’d sacrificed everything to have this marriage with Calvin, and she wasn’t going to let me or any slutty teenager take it away from her. Calvin was having an affair with Angie Salter.” Beatrice swallowed. “I’ve counseled Vivian for the past year. She was always accusing Calvin of philandering, but I never believed her. I never believed her.”

“She killed Angie and Trisha,” Dixon said. “Then Camille killed her.”

Beatrice started out of the room. “Is Camille hurt?”

Dixon restrained her. “She’s outside with Eustace. I think we should leave them alone.”

Dixon could hear an ambulance in the distance. She watched Beatrice walk down the hall and into the night, then she turned to follow J.D.

Calvin had been stabbed in the neck. Blood, already turning dark, covered the black and white tiles where he lay beside the bathtub.

“Damn it all to hell,” J.D. said tiredly.

“At least she didn’t kill Beatrice,” Dixon said.

“If I’d listened to you about Tommy Hayes—”

“Nothing would have changed. It would have ended like this.”

“If I’d put more heat on Hayes, he would have folded. He was involved from the moment those girls disappeared. Someone had to help Vivian bury those girls, and my money is on him. Whatever his reasons.”

“Knowing that wouldn’t have changed anything,” Eustace said from the doorway. He held a towel to his shoulder. “Vivian and Calvin would still be dead. I intended to kill both of them.” He came into the room and closed the door. “They both deserved to die for what they did to Camille. When you hear it, you’ll agree.”

Dixon lingered in the sheriff’s office, writing down the events of the night as she sat at Waymon’s desk. Waymon had been unable to get any information from the prison, but J.D. was calling. Across the room Olena and Zander sat on plastic chairs and watched the minute hand notch down the face of the big clock.

“What will they do with Francisco?” Olena asked.

“Once he’s released from the hospital, he’ll be taken to a mental institution. Someone from Mexico, a priest, is coming to take charge of him.”

“A priest?” Olena hadn’t missed the irony.

“A friend.”

Dixon shifted on her chair and called Tucker at the newspaper. He was writing the story, and she was more than glad to let him. It would probably catapult him out of Jexville. Some big newspaper would offer him five times what she could pay, and she would lose her only reporter. Nevertheless, she couldn’t stand in his way.

“Will you get a quote from J.D. for me?” Tucker asked.

Tucker had it bad. He was a newshound, and he would never go back to the safe life of academia. “I’ll have him call you.

“Thanks, Dixon.” He hesitated. “Are you sure you don’t want to write this story?”

“Go for it, Tucker.”

Voices came from J.D.’s office. Waymon was huddled in the back with him.

“Will the prison call Sheriff Horton back?” Zander asked her.

“I think so. It just takes time for things to happen in institutions. If J.D. didn’t think they’d call back, he’d send all of us home.”

The telephone rang.

J.D. answered, and Waymon closed the door to his office. Olena had begun to cry, her hands wringing a tissue. Zander put his arm around her.

The door opened, and J.D. stepped out of his office. He nodded at Dixon and spoke to Olena and Zander. “It was touch-and-go for a few hours, but Mr. Jones is going to make a full recovery.”

Zander’s head dropped to his chest, and he covered his eyes to hide his tears.

Olena stood up and held out her hand to the sheriff. “Thank you.

“Someone from the prison will call you tomorrow and explain the details to you.” J.D. put his hand on Zander’s shoulder. “I’ll drop by tomorrow and see if there’s anything I can do. I feel certain we can arrange a visit.”

“Thank you,” Zander said. He put his arm around Olena as they left.

For a long moment, Dixon didn’t say anything. She blinked back tears. “I don’t think he killed my father.”

“Are you hanging out here because you’re a masochist, or are you afraid of the dark?” J.D. took her elbow and maneuvered her out the door of the sheriff’s office.

“I refuse to answer on the grounds that I might incriminate myself. Listen, I’m pretty done in. Would you care for a drink? I promise not to salt my booze with tears.”

He gave her a sidelong look. “You’ve been through hell tonight. Are you sure it’s a wise thing to drink?”

“I’ve never been accused of being wise. Look, I’m going to drink with or without your company, and I’d like your company. And I might need your help.”

“Then I accept your offer.”

“We can go to the house. Why don’t you follow me?”

“You’ve got it,” J.D. said, and he squeezed her arm lightly before he took a right to get his SUV.

Dixon eased the truck toward Peterson Lane. J.D. fell in behind her, his lights reflecting in her rearview mirror.

It was midnight in Jexville, and the streets were empty. On the surface it appeared to be a picture book town, all snuggled down for the night, children in bed with their prayers said, parents sleeping side by side. Dixon knew better but decided she didn’t want to try to reason her way through the events of the last six hours.

She stopped short in her driveway. Robert Medino’s rental car was parked under the oak trees.

J.D. pulled up behind her and rolled down his window. “You’re home safely, Dixon. Call me if you need me.”

“Thanks, J.D.” She walked up to the porch, where Robert was sitting on the swing.

“You’re mighty late,” he said.

“It’s been a long, bloody night. Calvin and Vivian are dead. Vivian is the one who killed Angie and Trisha.”

Robert frowned. “What about the hangings and burnings?”

“That was Chavez. It was some sort of protest or ritual. I didn’t understand everything he said.” She started to walk past him.

“I found some interesting stuff in Jackson.”

As tired as she was, Dixon felt her heart beat faster. “Something solid?”

“Solid enough to reopen the case. Willard Jones is telling the truth.”

Eustace watched the sun climb over the oaks in the courthouse yard. He hadn’t slept all night. J.D. had been out of the office, but he was on his way back now.

J.D. pulled into the yard. He helped Tommy Hayes, handcuffed, out of the cruiser. Eustace rose and followed them. At the door to the jail, Eustace touched J.D.’s arm. “I have to tell you something. It’s about Chavez. About his wound.”

J.D. led Hayes to a cell in the back. He locked him in and turned to face Eustace.

“J.D., I have to tell you the truth. I stopped by the room where you put Chavez. He’s going to be okay, isn’t he? What’s going to happen to him?”

J.D. led the way to his office. He closed the door. “You look like hell.”

“I shot him. I meant to kill him, but I didn’t get a clean shot.”

J.D. poured two cups of black coffee and handed one to Eustace. “Frank Pierce is the surviving vigilante who came to your house. He confessed that he and the other two men had been paid by Vivian to kill you. Camille’s actions were self-defense.”

“I’m trying to tell you that I tried to kill Chavez.”

J.D. sipped his coffee. “Is that so? It’s an odd thing, but Chavez said it was Vivian Holbert who shot him. He said he saw her clearly.”

“Are you making this up?”

“You know me better than that. When I talked to Chavez at the hospital, he told me Vivian shot him. He signed a statement to that effect. Want to see it?”

Eustace shook his head.

J.D. put his hand on Eustace’s shoulder and moved him through the office and into the hall. “I don’t have a clue what’s going on here, but take my advice and leave. Take this gift and go.”

Eustace looked at his old friend. “Come see me and Camille. Come have dinner with us.”

“You bet.”

Dixon woke up with a pounding headache. The sun was full up and glaring through the window. She moaned and covered her
eyes
. The night before, she’d had several drinks in rapid succession without eating. Now she was paying for it. Beside her, Robert slept on his back.

She slipped from the bed and made coffee, leaning against the counter as she waited for it to drip. When she had a cup in her hand she went in the bathroom, found the aspirin bottle, and tapped three into her hand. She closed the medicine cabinet door and met her reflection. Age touched the skin around her
eyes
, but there was something new in her reflection, a hint of the twenty-two-year-old woman she’d once been. In the years since her father’s death, she’d lost so much, and now she was beginning to find herself again.