Left behind in the car was the box with the money. And underneath that money, encased in plastic, was the severed head of Danny Butler.
You could walk right through it, and not know anything was happening.
Of course, there would be no particular reason for you to walk through it, unless you made a habit of strolling through desolate, uninhabited land in east Texas.
There was some equipment there, a few machines and some deconstructed oil rigs, but that was to be expected. This was land that was owned by an oil company, just like millions of acres in this part of the country.
It was bought up cheap, and there was no certainty that it had oil reserves worth even that cost. But like much land both on and off shore, there was the potential for cashing in, so the companies bought it all up.
Only seven percent of such owned land was developed; the rest could sit there for a decade or more, waiting its turn. This particular piece, officially designated TX43765, held no more promise than any of the others.
Also, this land was owned by Milgram Oil and Gas, which was not exactly a behemoth in the industry. Milgram had to be careful with its resources, financial and otherwise, and was less inclined to drill on this kind of land than its larger competitors would be.
Milgram couldn’t afford many dry wells, especially at this point, when they were being drained by an ongoing legal takeover fight. So they paid attention to the sites that were more likely to be moneymakers, and devoted the rest of their available cash to their wind-turbine program. That was the area that they hoped would save the company.
But while walking along the land would tell you very little, walking under it would be a revelation. Because down there was a series of underground mines and tunnels, built over the last six years. It was done without the knowledge of Milgram or any government entity, by people who literally came in under the cover of darkness.
As desolate as the land was, detection was always a danger. Milgram employed security, which patrolled the area on a random basis. As land leased by the government, federal agencies also had eyes occasionally open and watching. And the mining efforts themselves caused rumblings within the ground, detectable by instruments.
So the work was done in total secrecy, a little at a time, which was one of a number of reasons it was so time-consuming. Another was the danger inherent in the operation. Mining always came with its perils, but what these men were preparing to take out of the ground increased that danger many times over. To make it even more difficult, it was the deepest mine any of them had ever worked in.
But now the work was nearing a conclusion, and the men could only bide their time and wait for the signal.
The signal that would change the world forever.
If I’m ever in a foxhole, I want Becky Galloway in there with me.
Under the tremendous pressure and stress of the experience, she still acted intelligently and courageously. In a similar circumstance, I would have pissed in my pants and started calling for my mommy.
Her first concern was for Noah, and she didn’t want to do anything that could impact negatively on his situation. So after calling the school and arranging for Adam to go to a neighbor’s house, she called me. In a shaky, but remarkably calm voice, she told me what happened.
“Where is the package now?” I ask.
“Still on the seat of my car, in the grocery store parking lot. I put the lid back over it so no one can see in.”
“Can you drive the car?” I’m not asking it literally, I mean is she emotionally able to get back in the car.
“It’s not my first choice, but I can do it.”
“Okay, then…” I start, then change my mind in mid-sentence. I am concerned that the guy who threatened her might come back. “Go in the store, but keep an eye on your car. Somebody is going to come there; he’s going to be the scariest person you’ve ever seen, but he’s on our side.”
“What’s his name?”
“Marcus. You get in the backseat, and he’ll drive the car.”
“Okay. Thanks,” she says. Then, “Andy, I’m scared.”
“I know, but it’s going to get better.”
I hang up and update Laurie on the conversation. She immediately calls Marcus and gives him his instructions. He’s to bring Becky and the car to my house, where he will park it in the garage. Then we can figure out what to do.
Legally, our options are one and done. We are obligated to report what has happened, not so much because of the threat, but because of the severed head. We have knowledge of a crime, and even though that crime has long ago been reported in Vegas, it does not lessen our obligation.
Of course, I am not above disregarding legalities; it’s part of my charm. My first concern is for my client, and a disclosure of this incident will not go well for him. Dylan is already planning to imply that Noah’s friends disposed of Danny in a revenge killing; Noah’s wife being in the possession of the missing head can only make the implication much stronger.
Then, of course, there is the matter of the threat to Becky and her child, and we will have to protect her. There is also the question of what we tell Noah, and how he will react. Knowing him as I do, he could decide to protect his family by pleading guilty, since that was his instinct in the first place.
Marcus pulls the car into the garage, and as I watch, he opens the back door for Becky to get out. Marcus with manners; the world must be spinning in the wrong direction.
He takes the box off the front seat, and he, Becky, and Danny’s head come into the house. Laurie gives Becky a warm, comforting hug, and holds her as she breaks down crying. She kept her composure a lot longer than I would have.
Marcus puts the box with the decapitated head in it on the table. I take a quick look at it and instantly regret doing so. It is one ugly head.
Laurie examines it in a longer, more professional manner, and somehow deduces that Danny was strangled, and that his head was cut off after he was already dead. The fact that I sleep every night with a severed-head expert is a tad disconcerting.
“I’m sorry,” Becky says when she’s composed herself. “It was very frightening.”
“Did you get a look at the man?” Laurie asks.
She shakes her head. “No. He was careful about that. But I think I would recognize his voice if I heard it again.”
Under my prodding, she recounts everything she can remember about the incident. There is nothing in there that gives us a clue to his identity, and her mentioning that he was wearing gloves removes the chance of our getting fingerprints out of the car.
“Okay, first things first,” I say. “We need to protect you and your son.”
She nods. “I’ve thought about it. Adam and I can stay at my parents’ house in Ohio. My father will come get us.”
Laurie nods approvingly. “Good. Until he gets here Marcus can watch you.”
“We need to tell Noah; he has a right to know about this.”
Becky nods. “I’ll do that, but it’s not going to be fun.”
“His reaction will be to consider changing his plea,” I say.
“Maybe at first, but believe it or not, Noah is a fighter. He won’t want these people to win. And the fact that they’re out there will increase his belief in his own innocence. But there’s one other problem.”
“What’s that?”
“Our dog. My father is allergic to her.”
It’s funny, but even though a dog was the reason I’m defending Noah in the first place, I never thought to ask if he has one now. I’m about to say that their dog can board at the Tara Foundation, when Laurie says, “She can stay here. What’s her name?”
“Bailey.”
“Is she a golden?” I ask.
“No. Thank you, Noah wouldn’t have been able to stand it knowing she was in a dog run or a cage. He’ll be happy she’s here, with you and Tara, and so will I.”