R. Jagger - A Way With Murder

Spencer stopped.

He tilted his head as if in thought.

“Tell her it’s her lucky day. She’s off the hook,” he said. “You too for that matter. Anything else?”

“No.”

Wilde headedinto the building. It was windowless and the only light was the little bit that trickled through the door. That was enough to get him oriented to the stairway.

He headed over and felt his way up.

At the second floor, the light from the first floor disappeared altogether.

He continued up.

“Alexa Blank. Are you in here?”

There was no response.

He shouted louder.

“Alexa? Are you here?”

A muffled sound came from an upper floor, barely audible but recognizable as a voice, a female voice.

Wilde increased his speed.

“Alexa!”

“I’m up here!”

“I’m coming. I’m a friend-”

“Help me!”

“I’m coming. Just hold on.”

“Please! Help me-”

Day Four

July 24, 1952

Thursday Night

Thursday nightafter dark the heavens let loose with a storm to end all storms. Mean heavy rain pummeled the earth with a monstrous rage. Lightning raked across the sky, one bolt after another, pushing explosive cracks of thunder across the world. Waverly took what cover she could with her back against a scraggly pinion pine, the same as she had for the past hour. She was at the upper turnout on the Lookout Mountain switchbacks west of Denver. Normally the million lights of the city played to the senses and brought the lovers here. Tonight not a single flicker cut through the weather. All the lovers were somewhere else, somewhere saner.

Tucked in her belt was a Smith amp; Wesson.

She put her hand under her T-shirt and ran her fingers over the handle.

The grip was rough, slip resistant.

Su-Moon’s words rang in her ears.

“Don’t do this. If you do it you can’t undo it. It’s forever.”

That’s what the woman said before she headed for the airport. That and “I don’t want any part of this. I’ll never tell anyone, you don’t have to worry about that, but I won’t be a part of it. You better be damn sure you have the right person, too. If you ask me, you should be taking a good hard look at Emmanuelle.”

She got in the car.

It merged into traffic and disappeared.

That was late this afternoon.

Now it was 9:40 p.m.

If all went as planned, Jaden and Bristol would be showing up in the next twenty minutes.

Waverly pulled the gun all the way out, pointed it at the rocky cliff behind her and pulled the trigger. A blast of yellow fire shot out of the barrel and the weapon kicked back, almost out of her hand.

Okay, good.

It worked.

She tucked it back in her waist.

The barrel was warm.

It felt good.

Emmanuelle.

Emmanuelle.

Emmanuelle.

Could she really be the killer?

Was she really keeping tabs on Waverly instead of helping her? The more Waverly thought about it the more it quivered up her spine. If she was going to kill Bristol, she needed to be absolutely sure he admitted to the killings and that the admission was unambiguous.

Suddenly lights snaked up the mountain from below.

Waverly wedged back into the rocks.

A car pulled into the turnoff, it’s front bumper against the boulders that had been placed there to keep cars from running off the edge.

The headlights went out.

The engine turned off.

Waverly stayed where she was.

No one got out of the car.

It was too dark to see who was inside.

She pulled the gun out of her waist.

Then she crouched down and made her way slowly towards the back end of the vehicle, ending up on the passenger side, next to the tire. Suddenly the window rolled halfway down.

Waverly heard a woman talking.

The voice belonged to Jaden.

This was it.

Her chest tightened.

Her lungs hyperventilated.

She crept forward until she was next to the passenger door, staying down in case a bolt of lighting struck too close.

A man said, “Hold on a minute, I have to take a piss.”

The voice belonged to Bristol.

The driver’s door opened.

The vehicle rocked slightly as the man got out.

The door shut.

Waverly didn’t move a muscle.

Bristol wouldn’t go far, one or two steps away from the car at most. He’d piss, he’d get back in and that would be it. Waverly concentrated on keeping down and not moving even an iota.

Suddenly the side of her head exploded in pain.

Lights flashed inside her skull.

Her legs gave out and she crumbled to the ground.

Gravel grabbed her cheek and bit in.

Then rough hands grabbed her, yanked her up and threw her into the back seat. Before she could get her bearings, Bristol was in the front seat, twisted around, pointing a gun into her face.

“Surprise,” he said.

His face was contorted, almost insane.

Waverly looked at Jaden.

The woman’s face was cold.

It showed no compassion.

“I don’t understand,” Waverly said.

“It looks like I’m really not your friend after all,” Jaden said. “It looks like you’ve been set up.”

“No!”

Bristol swung his arm back and smacked Waverly on the side of the head.

“I gave you every chance to back off,” he said. “You worked yourself into this corner. You don’t have anyone to blame but your own stupid self.”

Waverly foughtthrough the pain.

Think!

Think!

Think!

She reached into her back pocket with as little motion as she could and pulled out a knife. She unfolded it. Bristol was too far away.

Jaden was right in front of her though.

Waverly grabbed the woman’s hair, yanked her head back and put the blade to her throat. Then she hardened her face and looked into Bristol’s maniac eyes.

“Put the gun down!”

He smiled.

“You won’t kill her.”

“Yes I will.”

“Show me.”

Jaden squirmed.

Waverly pulled harder on her hair and sunk the edge deeper against her skin.

“I’ll do it, I swear to God.”

“Go ahead,” Bristol said. “You’ll save me the trouble.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Kill her,” he said. “Do it.” He brought the barrel of the gun up over the seat and pointed it at Waverly’s face. She was trapped. There was no way she could get her hand out from around Jaden’s neck and over to him. He’d be able to pull the trigger five times. “I’m going to count to three,” he said.

“One.”

Waverly couldn’t move.

“Two.”

She couldn’t breath.

She couldn’t think.

She couldn’t do anything.

“Three!”

The gun fired.

Day Four

July 24, 1952

Thursday Night

Wilde took refugefrom a violent storm under River’s boxcar, waiting for the man to return. The rail yard was darker than death. A few city lights could be seen through the weather but only as washed out shells.

Wilde’s heart was hard.

Alabama was dead.

River was the one who did it, him and his twisted little sidekick. Now it was time for them to pay the price. Screw the police, screw the courtrooms, screw the hundred little chances they would have to squirm their way out.

Wilde would never regret doing it.

He already knew that.

The only thing left to do at this point was to do it.

Headlights suddenly cut through the weather. Wilde crawled out and hugged the opposite side of the boxcar, then scurried around the vehicle from behind as it came to a stop.

He opened the back door, darted in and shoved the barrel into the back of River’s head.