The Last to Die (42 page)

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Jim to-ok the pa-per, scan-ned the he-ad-li-nes:

IS JAZZY INNOCENT?

DID JAMIE'S FIANCEE DO IT?

then tos-sed the new-s-pa-per asi-de. "Rub-bish. La-ura didn't kill Jamie any mo-re than I did. Bri-an Mac-Kin-non li-ke to sen-sa-ti-ona-li-ze ever-y-t-hing. If I tho-ught it wo-uld dc any go-od, I'd call Far-lan and tell him to re-in in that son of his."

"Are you sa-ying that the-re's not-hing we can do abo-ut what the new-s-pa-per prints abo-ut La-ura?" An-d-rea as-ked, her ga-ze fo-cu-sed on Jim.

Jim glan-ced at the dis-car-ded new-s-pa-per. "My bet is that the re-por-ter who wro-te that pi-ece of trash stop-ped just short of slan-der. The facts are pro-bably cor-rect, even if they've be-en dis-tor-ted a bit."

"I've re-ad the en-ti-re ar-tic-le," An-d-rea sa-id. "Eit-her so-me-one in the she-rif-fs de-par-t-ment has be-en tal-king or that re-por-ter has do-ne so-me dig-ging-de-ep dig-ging-in-to La-ura's past."

"My God, do they know abo-ut-" Ce-cil shut up the mi-nu-te his wi-fe glo-we-red at him, ma-king Jim won-der what he'd be-en abo-ut to say.

"Yes, they know that the Ro-berts boy ac-cu-sed La-ura of trying to run him down with her car when she was six-te-en." An-d-rea glan-ced qu-ickly back and forth from Ce-cil to Jim. "I as-su-re you that La-ura did not try to harm that boy. It was an ac-ci-dent."

Jim fi-gu-red the-re was mo-re to the story than either Andrea or Ce-cil was let-ting on, but at pre-sent his big-gest con-cern wasn't La-ura. He knew the girl, knew how gen-de and kind she was. The very idea that she had tor-tu-red Jamie to de-ath was lu-dic-ro-us. Of co-ur-se, he didn't re-al-ly be-li-eve Jaz-zy Tal-bot was ca-pab-le of such cru-elty, eit-her.

I know that you've se-en to it that the DA has ra-il-ro-aded an in-no-cent wo-man, had her
ar-res-ted for a mur-der she didn't com-mit. I know all abo-ut how po-wer-ful Big Jim Up-ton is.

Hell, may-be you're right. May-be I'm not yo-ur gran-d-son. If Jamie Up-ton was the re-sult of
yo-ur pa-ren-ting skills, then I'm damn lucky I didn’t do what my mot-her wan-ted me to do and
co-me to you and Miss Re-ba when I was six-te-en
.

He had he-ard Ca-leb McCord's words re-pe-ating them-sel-ves in his mind, aga-in and aga-in, ever sin-ce yes-ter-day when he'd con-f-ron-ted that yo-ung man stan-ding out-si-de Re-ba's hos-pi-tal su-ite.

Jamie's mur-de-rer was pro-bably still at lar-ge, free to kill aga-in. Hell, she'd al-re-ady kil-led aga-in, if the she-rif-fs gu-ess was right, that the sa-me per-son had kil-led that Wat-son man. Ne-it-her La-ura nor Jaz-zy was gu-ilty, he felt cer-ta-in of that fact. If he did what he knew was right, he'd ma-ke a pho-ne call to Wa-de Tru-man and see if it was too la-te to get the char-ges aga-inst Jas-mi-ne Tal-bot drop-ped.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Why now
? Jim as-ked him-self.
Are you wil-ling to go aga-inst what Re-ba wants just be-ca-use
of what that yo-ung pup McCord sa-id
?

''We'll ma-ke su-re La-ura is ta-ken ca-re of," Jim told her pa-rents. "How is she this mor-ning?" He glan-ced aro-und her ro-om. "Didn't she fe-el li-ke co-ming down for bre-ak-fast? And what abo-ut She-ri-dan?" Jim was be-gin-ning to dis-li-ke She-ri-dan mo-re and mo-re. The-re was so-met-hing de-ci-dedly unap-pe-aling abo-ut the girl. His gu-ess was the yo-un-ger Wil-lis da-ug-h-ter had be-en
The Cherokee Pointe He-rald
re-por-ter's so-ur-ce of in-for-ma-ti-on abo-ut La-ura. It was pla-in to see that She-ri-dan des-pi-sed her ol-der sis-ter.

"After the ter-rib-le ti-me we had at the she-rif-fs of-fi-ce yes-ter-day af-ter-no-on, Dr. Mac-Na-ir ca-me ho-me with us and in-s-t-ruc-ted Mrs. Con-ley to ke-ep La-ura se-da-ted so that she'd get a go-od night's rest," An-d-rea ex-p-la-ined.: "And She-ri-dan has al-re-ady go-ne out this mor-ning."

Or ne-ver ca-me ho-me last night
, Jim tho-ught.

"If the-re's an-y-t-hing La-ura ne-eds, you just let me know." Jim fi-nis-hed off the last bi-tes of his bre-ak-fast, was-hed them down with cof-fee, then sco-oted back his cha-ir and sto-od. "Ple-ase ex-cu-se me. I ha-ve so-me bu-si-ness to at-tend to."

"Yes, of co-ur-se." An-d-rea of-fe-red him an ar-ti-fi-ci-al smi-le.

''Thank you, Jim," Ce-cil sa-id. "We ap-pre-ci-ate yo-ur kin-d-ness."

Jim nod-ded, then he-aded stra-ight for his study. The mi-nu-te he was alo-ne and the do-or loc-ked, he sat be-hind his desk and lif-ted the te-lep-ho-ne re-ce-iver. He pun-c-hed in the num-ber and wa-ited as it rang.

"Powell In-ves-ti-ga-ti-ons," the re-cep-ti-onist sa-id.

"Griffin Po-well, ple-ase. Tell him it's Jim Up-ton."

"Yes, sir."

In less than a mi-nu-te a man's de-ep ba-ri-to-ne vo-ice sa-id, "Mor-ning, Jim."

"What do you ha-ve for me?"

"Not a lot," Grif-fin rep-li-ed. "After all, we just star-ted on this in-ves-ti-ga-ti-on la-te yes-ter-day af-ter-no-on."

"Do you ha-ve an-y-t-hing at all?" 'The-re is a mar-ri-age re-cord for Me-la-nie Up-ton to a Franky Joe McCord-six months be-fo-re the birth of a child na-med Ca-leb Up-ton McCord-thir-ty-two, al-most thir-ty-th-ree ye-ars ago."

"My Me-la-nie?" 'That's what we're chec-king on," Grif-fin sa-id. "I sho-uld ha-ve a mo-re-de-ta-iled re-port for you by la-te to-day. Two of my best men flew in-to Mem-p-his last night."

"I want ever-y-t-hing they can dig up on my da-ug-h-ter du-ring her ye-ars in Mem-p-his. If she mar-ri-ed this Franky Joe McCord, the mar-ri-age wasn't le-gal. She was al-re-ady a mar-ri-ed wo-man. Byron didn't get a di-vor-ce for se-ve-ral ye-ars af-ter Me-la-nie left him."

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

"I don't sup-po-se that fact mat-ters any now, ex-cept that wo-uld ma-ke Ca-leb McCord il-le-gi-ti-ma-te."

"I want to know every de-ta-il of Ca-leb McCord's li-fe. And if he is my gran-d-son, I don't gi-ve a rat's ass that he might be a bas-tard."

"It'll ta-ke ti-me to get the in-fo you want."

"Do a rush job. You know that mo-ney is no obj-ect."

"I do ha-ve the guy's blo-od type, if that will help."

"How'd-no, don't tell me. I don't ne-ed to know how you get the in-for-ma-ti-on, just get it," Jim sa-id. "So what's his blo-od type?" ‘’Type O."

"Humph! Half the world is type O. I'm type O. So we-re Me-la-nie and Jim, Jr. No gre-at re-ve-la-ti-on the-re, but at le-ast it do-esn't ru-le the boy out. He might be my gran-d-son."

''Tell me this, Jim-do you want him to be yo-ur gran-d-son?" Grif-fin as-ked.

"I've tho-ught abo-ut that all night. Co-uldn't think of much el-se. Do I want Ca-leb McCord to be my gran-d-son? Yes, I do, if he's a de-cent hu-man be-ing. If he won't bre-ak Re-ba's he-art a do-zen ti-mes over the way Ta-mie did."

"McCord was a Mem-p-his cop and his re-cord with the MPD is ad-mi-rab-le," Grif-fin sa-id. "So far we ha-ven't fo-und one dark blot on his re-cord sin-ce he jo-ined the force at twen-ty-two. From what we've un-co-ve-red so far, McCord is so-me-one any fat-her or gran-d-fat-her co-uld be damn pro-ud of. He re-sig-ned from the po-li-ce for-ce af-ter his par-t-ner was kil-led and he was se-ve-rely wo-un-ded."

Jim swal-lo-wed. A gran-d-son he co-uld be pro-ud of! Damn it, he co-uldn't get his ho-pes up, co-uldn't start ma-king plans for a boy who might turn out to be a fra-ud. "If you find so-lid pro-of that Ca-leb McCord's mot-her was my Me-la-nie, you call me. And send mat pro-of by co-uri-er on the next pla-ne out of Mem-p-his."

"We'll do the very best we can."

"I want this kept top sec-ret for now. You un-der-s-tand."

"Yes, I un-der-s-tand," Grif-fin rep-li-ed. "And you ha-ve my word that we'll ke-ep this un-der wraps."

When Jim he-ard the di-al to-ne, he re-tur-ned the re-ce-iver to the ba-se, then le-aned back in his desk cha-ir and cup-ped his hands be-hind his he-ad. Was it pos-sib-le? Was it ho-nest to God pos-sib-le that he and Re-ba had anot-her gran-d-c-hild? Was God go-ing to be mer-ci-ful to them af-ter all?

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

In a fit of ra-ge she to-re the mor-ning new-s-pa-per in-to pi-eces and threw them in every di-rec-ti-on all aro-und her. How da-re they print such vi-ci-o-us li-es! How da-re they ac-cu-se La-ura Wil-lis of Jamie's mur-der. This was wrong. All wrong! Jaz-zy was the wo-man who sho-uld be pu-nis-hed. She was the one who had be-en Jamie's true par-t-ner in wic-ked-ness. La-ura was an in-no-cent child. Her pa-rents sho-uld ha-ve ta-ken bet-ter ca-re of her. They sho-uldn't let bad things hap-pen to her. This was all Ce-cil Wil-lis's fa-ult. If he'd be-en a bet-ter fat-her… but so-me men didn't know how to be go-od hus-bands and go-od fat-hers. Her baby's fat-her had be-en a bad man. A bad fat-her. She co-uldn't al-low this to hap-pen. The-re had to be a way to turn things aro-und, to ta-ke the sus-pi-ci-on off La-ura. But how?

Kill so-me-one el-se and ma-ke su-re La-ura has an ali-bi
.

This was all that man's fa-ult. That Stan Wat-son. If he hadn't se-en her dig-ging a ho-le in the wo-ods to bury the we-apons she had used to kill Jamie and the ot-her items from the ca-bin, no-ne of this wo-uld be hap-pe-ning. Wat-son had be-en anot-her man who had ru-ined her plans, as ot-hers had in the past. But she co-uld fix things. La-ura Wil-lis hadn't be-en ar-res-ted. The she-riff had no so-lid evi-den-ce aga-inst her. For the ti-me be-ing La-ura was sa-fe.

But what abo-ut Jaz-zy? If they didn't pro-se-cu-te her for mur-de-ring Jamie, she wo-uldn't suf-fer.

She wo-uldn't en-du-re the tor-ment she de-ser-ved.

Then it will be up to you to ma-ke su-re she suf-fers ter-ribly be-fo-re you kill her.

It was ti-me to re-vi-se her plans, to con-si-der her op-ti-ons. She co-uld still ac-com-p-lish most of what she'd set out to do, tor-tu-re tho-se who de-ser-ved to be pu-nis-hed. Tor-tu-re and kill them. She wo-uld kill him slowly and pa-in-ful-ly. She had dre-amed of kil-ling him, of ma-king him pay for what he'd do-ne to her and her baby.

No, that's not right. Think, damn it, think. You've al-re-ady hil-led Jamie. Yo-ur baby is sa-fe.

He can't hurt her. You ma-de him pay.

But what abo-ut him? What abo-ut him?

Who
? an in-ner vo-ice as-ked.

"You know who!" she cri-ed. "Yes, of co-ur-se. I'll kill him first. And then I'll kill Jaz-zy. It's her fa-ult. It's all her fa-ult. If it hadn't be-en for her, he wo-uldn't ha-ve left me.

She wo-uldn't let him go. It's her fa-ult that he was so me-an to me,t-hat he didn’t lo-ve me.

Was that her na-me-Jaz-zy? It do-esn't so-und right. That's what he cal-led her.

Of co-ur-se it's her. Jas-mi-ne Tal-bot. He lo-ved her. Ne-ver me. Ne-ver me.

She wo-uld kill him first. And an-yo-ne el-se who got in her way. And then she wo-uld kill that hor-rib-le wo-man who had ta-ken ever-y-t-hing away from her.
Kill them to-get-her. Do it at the
sa-me ti-me. Let him he-ar her scre-am. Ma-ke her watch him die.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Jazzy hadn't pres-sed Ca-leb to tell her why he'd di-sap-pe-ared yes-ter-day mor-ning, why he'd run away from Che-ro-kee Po-in-te-from her. They'd ma-de lo-ve at his ca-bin af-ter Genny left.Wild, crazy, ani-ma-lis-tic mon-key-fuc-king. And it had be-en go-od. Hell, it had be-en gre-at. But it had be-en dif-fe-rent than when they'd ma-de lo-ve the night be-fo-re, when Ca-leb had be-en both pas-si-ona-te and ten-der. The-re had be-en no ten-der-ness in the-ir lo-ve-ma-king yes-ter-day af-ter-no-on. She had felt that he'd be-en trying to brand her as his pro-perty, to con-su-me her com-p-le-tely, to pro-ve so-met-hing eit-her to him-self or to her. May-be to both of them. And she knew that Jamie was the re-ason.

She had he-ard the do-ubt and fe-ar in Ca-leb's vo-ice when he'd as-ked, "How do you fe-el abo-ut Jamie Up-ton? And I want the truth."

Damn! Wo-uld she ne-ver be to-tal-ly free of Jamie? He-re she was ac-cu-sed of Jamie's mur-der-des-pi-te sus-pi-ci-on fal-ling on La-ura Wil-lis now, the DA hadn't drop-ped the char-ges aga-inst her-and when she'd fi-nal-ly fo-und a man she tho-ught she co-uld lo-ve, Jamie's ghost sto-od bet-we-en them.

How co-uld she con-vin-ce Ca-leb that he had no re-ason to be je-alo-us of Jamie? How co-uld she pro-ve to him that he was the only man she wan-ted?

After they'd spent the af-ter-no-on in bed to-get-her yes-ter-day, Ca-leb had dri-ven her in-to town and she'd show ered and chan-ged clot-hes be-fo-re co-ming to work he-re at Jas-mi-ne's. She had tho-ught things we-re okay bet-we-en them, that wha-te-ver had be-en wrong with Ca-leb, they had wor-ked it out in bed. But last night when she'd tho-ught he wo-uld go ho-me with her af-ter they left Jaz-zy's Jo-int, he'd sur-p-ri-sed her and sa-id go-od night at the do-or.

"I ne-ed so-me ti-me to think," he'd told her. "I've al-re-ady cal-led Sally and she's on her way. I'll wa-it in the car un-til she gets he-re.

"Caleb, what's wrong?"

He'd kis-sed her, but hadn't an-s-we-red her qu-es-ti-on be-fo-re he wal-ked away, down the sta-irs and to his car. She'd wan-ted to go af-ter him, to de-mand so-me an-s-wers. In-s-te-ad she'd go-ne in-si-de her apar-t-ment and had her-self a go-od cry.

She hadn't se-en him all day to-day. If he ne-eded ti-me, she'd gi-ve him ti-me. Her days of run-ning af-ter a man, beg-ging for his lo-ve, we-re long go-ne. She'd ma-de a fo-ol of her-self over Jamie Up-ton when they we-re te-ena-gers. On-ce he re-ali-zed how much she lo-ved him, he'd wal-ked all over her. But she wo-uld ne-ver let anot-her man do that to her. Not even Ca-leb. If he didn't want her, if he'd de-ci-ded he co-uldn't han-d-le his stu-pid je-alo-usy of a man she didn't lo-ve an-y-mo-re, then so be it The pho-ne on Jaz-zy's desk rang. Wit-ho-ut thin-king she lif-ted the re-ce-iver, then tho-ught, What if it's Ca-leb?