John Katzenbach - Just Cause

Matthew Cowart started to steer Andrea Shaeffer back down the path toward civilization. She leaned against him. He could sense her teeth gritting against pain, but she did not complain. His mind began to churn beneath the weight of the wounded detective. Write it so that she gets a commendation for bravery. Tell everyone how she stood up to a sadistic killer and took a bullet for her trouble. Heroine cop. The television boys will eat it up. So will the tabs. It'll give her a chance, he thought. Words began to pump into him, strengthening him. He could see columns of newsprint, headlines racing from high-speed presses. He threw an arm around Shaeffer's waist. He'd managed perhaps ten feet when he turned and looked at the police lieutenant, still standing on the edge of the clearing.

'Is this right?' the reporter asked. The question burst from him, unbidden.

Brown shrugged. 'There's never been any right in this. Not from the start. Never been any choice, either.'

Cowart nodded. It was the only truth he felt comfortable with. He didn't smile, but said, 'Seems like an odd time to start trusting each other.'

Then he turned and continued to help the wounded young woman toward safety. She moaned slightly and leaned against him. It was a small thing he was doing, he told himself. But at least he was saving one person. He took solace in the thought he might have saved others as well.

Tanny Brown watched Cowart help Shaeffer. He saw the two disappear into the tangle of lights and shadows. Then he headed back through the brush to the edge of the swamp. It only took him a few minutes to locate Ferguson's body.

The dead weight pulled against him as he extricated Ferguson from the trap of brambles. The swamp water was cold against his body as he slid into it. He put his foot down and felt the sucking ooze beneath him. Then he pushed away, dragging the body through the water, away from the land, toward a maze of trees, laden with hanging ferns and vines, some fifty yards away, deeper into the swamp. He half-dragged, half-pushed the killer's body through the water, puffing with exertion, struggling with the bulk, until he came to the spot. He gathered his last strength and pushed hard on Ferguson's body, submerging it, forcing it underneath and between the roots, until it was snared beneath the surface of the water. He had no idea if it would stay there forever or not. Ferguson had wondered the same thing once, he realized. He pushed himself back and then looked from a few feet away and saw that he could see no sign of the body. The roots held all. The water covered all.

Light penetrated the trees and hit the black water surface, making it gleam for an instant. He turned away from the dead spot and swam easily toward the home shore.