‘-for viewing in an open casket,’ Luther’s voice went on. ‘That business about bloating and decomposition? There was none. He loved her, see? He’d kept her alive-’
Back on the dais, a chair scraped loudly and fell over; Clamp might have been lurching up. Mac didn’t turn; he was transfixed by the old man, now standing right below the dais. He’d pulled a revolver from his camera bag.
The beard was gone, but Mac knew the man. He stepped quickly from behind the lectern and threw up his arms. Someone yelled.
A gun fired once, and again.
He fell, wondering crazily if it had been him, shouting.
EIGHTY-ONE
They said four days passed.
Four days of blurred shapes and bright fluorescents and IV drips and deep drugged sleep interrupted by brusque doctors and nurses tugging him to consciousness to look at his back. And each time seeing April or Maggie or Jen Jessup, and not being able to tell whether it was night or day or whether that even mattered.
Other snatches, too, he remembered.
April smiling. ‘The bullets were lodged so very close to your spine. They got them, Mac. No impairment.’
Then: ‘I’ve had enough of your frickin’ bullshit.’
Men in dark suits, hovering at the foot of the bed. Powell was among them, dressed flawlessly in faint pinstripes, asking Mac why he’d stepped out from behind the lectern.
Maggie furious as a hornet, raising her spare five feet under Powell’s chin to tell him to get out.
Jim Rogenet sounding stronger that he’d been in months, saying, ‘Oh, they’ll pay,’ squeezing Mac’s shoulder and leaving.
Reed Dean shifting from one foot to the other, twisting a NASCAR cap into rope and mumbling, ‘Thank you,’ over and over.
Maggie talking to Jen Jessup like they were old friends, to which Mac said, ‘This must be meds,’ and both of them laughing hysterically.
Jen alone, crying at the side of his bed.
On the fifth day, he woke to pain and clarity.
April sat beside his bed, reading through a sheaf of papers.
‘Was it the first or second bullet that got me?’ It came out barely audible, a dry croak.
‘Water?’ She dropped the papers on the chair beside her.
‘Sure.’
She poured a little into a plastic cup, bent a straw and brought it close to him. ‘Don’t lean forward.’
He leaned forward and gasped at the pain.
She laughed as he slumped back, moaning. ‘Thank goodness your mulishness survived.’
‘First, or second?’ he asked again, when the pain had subsided.
‘Both, actually. Even with Ridl raising a gun, Clamp Reems had the presence of mind to keep his priorities straight.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Clamp shot you first… and second…’ She looked at the door, as though to make sure no one was close by. ‘There’s confusion over who is responsible for that. Some think Clamp was aiming at Ridl in self-defense and you stumbled into his line of fire, waving your damned arms. Some say – though this is too incredible for most folks to believe, except those who know you well – you were trying to protect Clamp and deliberately stepped in front of him, to face Ridl. Of course, there’s a third scenario that has Clamp aiming right at you, since he shot you twice, and in the back. Fortunately, that’s the one Roy Powell likes. Clamp’s been arrested. Powell’s been here a half-dozen times, antsy to get your statement.’
He remembered seeing Powell, and Maggie throwing him out.
‘Jonah Ridl?’
‘Powell’s real frustrated with Jen Jessup,’ April said, ignoring his question. ‘He thinks she took cell phone pictures of you on the dais. Jen says she didn’t, and no one else has come forward with other photos, so there’s no proof you’re dumb enough to step in front of a gun.’
‘Jonah Ridl is dead?’
‘Jimmy Bales got him, though it took four shots, the first three of which struck the dais and the lectern. It was justifiable; Ridl was waving a gun. He just couldn’t hold it steady enough to fire.’
Mac closed his eyes. ‘Ridl asked me if there’d be justice.’
‘He was full of cancer, Mac. He had a month, two at most.’
‘What’s Clamp saying?’
‘You stepped into his line of fire, obviously.’
‘I meant about the skull.’
‘Nothing yet, but it’s Betty Jo’s, top and jaw, and it’s screaming bloody hell. That professor from Champaign drove up the vertebrae. They fit the new skull perfectly.’
‘Was there a bullet?’
‘Incredibly, still wedged deep in her forehead. It’s been removed at long last.’
‘No wonder Clamp hacked at her head, just as Luther admitted in Jen’s recording.’
‘Unfortunately, Luther’s statements are not admissible, since he made them under threat of a gun. Besides, they’re hearsay; he’s claiming he only overheard things.’
‘Luther will slither out of everything?’
‘They’re saying they might never identify the arsonist, so badly was he burned.’
‘So Luther skates.’
‘Jen says no, but she’s holding something back about that, like some think she’s holding back about having cell phone pictures.’
‘I suppose Luther’s a small potato, anyway.’
‘A Tater Tot for sure, if you can overlook the fact that he hired an arsonist to kill you.’
‘What about linking Clamp to Betty Jo?’
‘Now that he’s got that bullet from Betty Jo, rumor is Powell is going to charge him. Another rumor has it that Powell is seeing a run at the governor’s mansion from this, and is going to prosecute the case himself.’ She held up his cup for another sip, then said, ‘Want a laugh? Once the shooting was done, Jimmy Bales led a team of deputies up to Clamp’s farm, saying he’d had a brilliant inspiration.’
Mac managed a smile. ‘To extract a few slugs from Clamp’s fence or barn, on the hunch they’ll match the one from Betty Jo Dean?’
‘Just like you told him.’ Then: ‘Powell is saying Clamp will do life for Betty Jo.’
‘And Pauly?’
‘No bullets from him still exist, so Clamp won’t be prosecuted for that.’
‘How about the other victims?’
‘You want Clamp punished for killing Horace Wiggins?’
‘I want him accountable for Delbert Milner and Laurel Jessup and Dougie Peterson.’
‘Roy Powell is a smart politician. He’ll only try cases he can win. Be happy for Betty Jo Dean.’
‘Rogenet was here?’ he asked, changing the subject to another blur.
She smiled broadly. ‘To drop off those,’ she said, pointing to the papers on the chair. ‘Peering County is offering me three hundred thousand dollars for my half interest in the pile of charred wood once known as the Bird’s Nest.’
‘They’re nervous because Luther’s a county trustee, even though he won’t be charged for the arson.’
‘They want us to forget about suing them.’
‘You’d still have a lot left over, after we pay off the note.’
She grinned. ‘That three hundred thousand is net, same amount for each of us. Luther’s bank will cancel the note if we also promise to not come after them. Everybody wants to make us rich, Mac.’
‘What’s Rogenet say?’ he asked.
‘He says we ought to take the deal on the arson, and you should sue Peering County in civil court for their chief deputy shooting you in the back while Powell tries him in criminal court for shooting Betty Jo Dean.’
‘What about Reed?’
‘Rogenet is representing him as well, and that’s where the huge money is going to rain down. Peering County is going to pay big-time for their chief deputy murdering Betty Jo Dean. Reed and his sister Bella are destined to become two of the wealthiest people west of Chicago.’
He asked for another sip of water.
‘There’s other good news, Mac,’ she said. ‘Pam Canton, your waitress friend from the Willow Tree, saw us on the national news and called Maggie. She’d gotten a threatening call, no doubt from Clamp though she didn’t recognize the voice, and decided she’d always wanted to work in California. She’s fine, and relieved to be gone. And a kid from Dixon turned himself in for running down Farris Hobbs. It was a hit and run, not at all connected to your investigation of the Dean case.’