Robert Browne - Kill Her Again

And true to form, Troy gestured to his crew and said with barely controlled fury, “I’ve had it with this moron. He’s more trouble than he’s worth. Take him out to the desert and do that thing you do so well.”

“Wait a minute,” Pope said, feeling panic rise. “What the hell are you doing? I saved your life for chrissa-”

Another quick blow, straight to the gut. Pope doubled over.

Goddamn that hurt.

“I knew you’d bring that up,” Troy said. “And I believe I’ve repaid that debt several times over. But you’ve failed me twice in one morning, Daniel. And that’s more chances than most people get.”

He gestured with two fingers and the twin defenders started dragging Pope toward the doors.

“Hold on, boss. Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Sharkey speaking now.

Coming to the rescue.

“He’s a liability,” Troy said. “Knows more than I ever should have allowed him to know. And if he’s careless enough to invite a federal agent into this hotel, he deserves whatever he gets.”

“But if he’s got the FBI sniffing around him, won’t it be a little suspicious, he suddenly goes missing?”

Troy took a moment to consider this.

“Maybe. But the man has a history of self-destructive behavior.” He paused, the wheels still turning. “Make it look like suicide.”

“ What do you people want from me?” Rick shouted. “I didn’t do a goddamn thing!”

“Then why the hell did you run?”

The interior of the tent was an oven. There was enough sweat in the room to drown a small rodent. Even Royer had done the unthinkable and taken his jacket off. But he seemed to be enjoying himself.

Anna thought if he were interrogating a prisoner at Guantanamo, he’d be the first to suggest they try something with a little more oomph. Something to ratchet up the stakes.

She could hear the echo of angry voices outside, the sound of barking dogs, more deputies and volunteers arriving, gearing up to go through the encampment from tent to trailer, looking for the missing girl.

Mr. Rock and Roll was kneeling at the center of the tent, hands still cuffed behind his back.

“I’m tellin’ you,” he said, “I didn’t touch the bitch. It’s her word against mine.”

Royer stood over him in gladiator pose, fists clenched. “I don’t give a damn about some high school pop tart.”

“Then what’s this about?”

“The girl,” Royer said. “Where’s the girl? Where’s Kimberly?”

Rick frowned at him, looking confused. “Kimmie? What do you want with her?”

“We found the boy, numb nuts. He puts all four of you in the car together.”

Rick swiveled his head toward Anna and Worthington. “Will one of you assholes please tell me what the hell is going on here?”

“Eyes front,” Royer said, snapping his fingers.

“Fuck you.”

Without even a moment of reflection, Royer swung a fist into Rick’s face, knocking him to the ground. The attack was abrupt and brutal, Royer grunting like a Neanderthal.

It was a classic case of overkill. Royer trying to prove he had as much testosterone as Worthington and his deputies. This show was more about ego than finding a missing girl.

Anna hated macho posturing almost as much as she’d come to despise Royer, and she didn’t believe in this hands-on approach to interrogation.

Fortunately, Worthington didn’t seem to like it much, either, and as Royer reached again for the suspect, the deputy threw his hands up.

“All right, that’s enough.”

Royer turned. “Do you want the girl or don’t you?”

“Putting him in a coma won’t help us find her. Now back off.”

Royer eyed him defiantly, then finally stepped away. “Fine,” he said. “He’s all yours.”

Worthington crouched down and helped Rick sit upright. His mouth was bleeding, a nasty purple bruise forming on his left cheekbone-a nice compliment to Royer’s earlier tune job.

“One chance,” Worthington said. “That’s all you get. You understand?”

Rick stared at him. “You people are certifiable.”

“Just tell us what you did with Kimmie.”

“I didn’t do shit with her. Why do you keep asking me that? What happened? Is she okay?”

“Cut the crap,” Worthington said. “Agent Royer wasn’t lying. We know those kids were in your Mustang. So if you don’t want me to sic him on you again, you’d better goddamn well explain.”

“Explain what? I took them for a ride, got some burgers. What’s the big fuckin’ deal?”

“I think you know.”

“That’s the thing, man, I don’t. What are you gettin’ on me for? Is this about the restraining order? ’Cuz if it is, you got one helluva way of enforcing it.”

Worthington frowned. “What restraining order?”

“The bitch went to court on me. I’m not supposed to get within a hundred yards of her house.”

“Which bitch are we talking about now?”

“Who the fuck you think? Rita. She thinks she’s too goddamn good for me.”

“Is that why you killed her?”

The words stopped Rick cold. He looked as if he’d just been struck by another one of Royer’s blows. And in that instant, his whole demeanor changed.

“Wait a minute; wait a minute,” he said, then paused a moment, as if he were having trouble translating something spoken in a foreign tongue. “What exactly are you telling me here? Rita’s dead?”

“That’s the long and the short of it,” Worthington said.

Rick just stared at him, dumbstruck, his eyes getting moist. He blinked a couple times, forcing the tears back, and with sudden clarity, Anna knew they had the wrong man. She’d seen a lot of suspects lie in her time, but nobody was this good of an actor.

He didn’t know about the murders.

He didn’t know anything.

“Oh, for chrissakes,” Royer said, his face twisting in disgust. “Let me at this guy.”

Worthington held a hand up, looking intently at Rick. “Let’s start this from the beginning. How do you know Rita Fairweather?”

Rick took a moment, then said, “We used to hook up when I came to town. Until about three, four years ago.”

“What happened then?”

“She went psycho on me. Tells me she wants me to quit the show and move in with her. Maybe get married, give them all a stable home. I told her she was nuts, so she cut me off.”

“Why the restraining order?”

“I kept trying to get with her. Called her up a lot, even went out to that dump she calls a house. She got so pissed she went straight to court on me.” He paused. “That was a couple years ago.”

“So she was afraid of you.”

Rick shook his head. “She wasn’t afraid of shit. She’s a Bitch with a capital B. She’d already stuck the knife in; she just wanted to twist it a little.”

“Interesting choice of words,” Worthington said. “But none of this explains why you took Evan and Kimberly on a field trip last night.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. She wouldn’t let me near them. Kept me in the dark so goddamn long that when she finally dropped the bomb, I just wanted to meet them. Evan, at least. He’s the only one she was sure of.” He shrugged. “So I sweet-talked the babysitter into bringing him to me.”

“This is such bullshit,” Royer said. “Why would you give a damn about Rita Fairweather’s son? Unless you wanted to diddle the little bastard.”

Both Rick and Worthington looked at him as if they thought this was one of the dumbest questions they’d ever heard, and Anna had to agree.

The answer was obvious.

“What do you think, Einstein. I’m his fuckin’ father.”

It had all been a waste of time. Dragging Evan out to the Oasis, the raid, interrogating Mr. Rock and Roll. Maybe if Evan hadn’t had a seizure they would have learned something useful, but it was too late now. They couldn’t risk putting him under again.