Sandra Brown - Smoke Screen

When she stopped abruptly, Raley snapped his head toward her. “A mental image of him bending over you…What? Did he rape you?”

“No, just…” She shuddered, took a moment, then plugged the camcorder into the cigarette lighter again. “In case something happens to me, to us, this should be recorded.”

It was a sobering thought, but Raley agreed with a nod.

She began. “Jay and I went into his apartment. I sat down on his sofa, where he joined me. He offered me scotch, but I told him that I wasn’t feeling well, that the wine had hit me hard. He said he was feeling the effects of his drinks, too, and blamed his medications. We were more or less sprawled there, side by side, our heads back.

“He took my hand and told me again that he had a story that was going to blow a huge hole through the PD and city hall. I remember asking him to let me get my notepad out of my purse before he began, but I lacked the wherewithal to do it.

“He said, ‘You won’t need notes, you’ll remember this.’ I didn’t argue. Actually, I was too far gone to care about accuracy, about anything. Jay took off my sandals, put my feet in his lap, and began massaging them. He asked if I was comfy because it was going to be a long story.

“I told him I was almost too comfy, that I could barely keep my eyes open. He laughed and said, ‘Then how ’bout one last roll in the sack for old times’ sake?’ I said no thank you. He said, ‘Ah well, I’m so drunk I don’t think I can get it up anyway.’ And I said, ‘That’s a first, isn’t it?’

“We were still laughing over that when the two men walked in. The one we saw today, and another. They came in by way of the back terrace. One minute they weren’t there. The next they were, as though they had materialized through the French doors.

“My first thought was to wonder why in the world they were wearing gloves on such a warm night. Then I noticed they were latex gloves, but that didn’t particularly alarm me. I don’t remember being afraid. Instead, I remember being unafraid. I felt euphoric, indifferent.

“But Jay was sober enough to be concerned. He stood up and confronted them. ‘Who are you? What do you want?’ The one who came to Fordyce’s house said, ‘We’re here to party,’ and pushed Jay back down onto the sofa.

“They ordered him to pour each of us a glass of scotch. They forced us to drink it. Then another. I remember feeling terribly sick. They didn’t give me any more, but they made Jay continue drinking until most of the bottle was empty.”

She stopped talking. Raley looked over at her; her eyes were closed. He reached out and took her hand. “Save the rest for the authorities. You don’t have to tell me any more.”

“Yes, I do.” Giving him a wan smile, she held up the camcorder, reminding him that the whole story needed to be recorded. “Since that night, I have imagined horrible things that could have been done to me. I’m relieved to remember. It was bad, but it could have been much, much worse.

“They made us undress, first Jay and then me. They had to help both of us. Neither of us could stand on our own. I lost minutes of time I’ll probably never get back, because I don’t actually remember getting from the living room to the bedroom, but I remember lying naked on the bed.

“Then one of them-not the one who came to Fordyce’s house, the other one-fondled me. Between my legs. It wasn’t even sexual, it was…like the most demeaning insult. He leered down at me, saying directly into my face, ‘It’s a shame having to waste this nice-’”

She stopped, unable to go on. Raley squeezed her hand. He thought he might be able to shoot somebody after all. If he ever got a chance with either one of these creeps, he could kill them. Easy.

Britt looked away from him, out the passenger window, speaking softly. “His friend laughed all the time he was doing it. That’s probably why I recognized him instantly. I remembered his grin, his obscene laugh. I don’t know how I kept from crying out when he stepped through Fordyce’s front door. I guess because I knew we had to get out of there. I realized if we didn’t, we’d soon be dead. But if I didn’t kill him with that vase, I hope I hurt him very bad. Anyway, back to that night, his partner told him he couldn’t be a Romeo. ‘One smear of spunk other that this guy’s and the plan is blown.’”

“They knew better than to leave DNA evidence.”

“That’s probably what saved me from being raped. It certainly wasn’t a matter of conscience.”

“Was Fordyce mentioned by name? Or George McGowan?”

“No. I’m almost positive. These pros would know to be careful about that, too.”

“What about Jay? What was he doing all this time?”

“He was lying on his back beside me. He didn’t put up a struggle. I think he may already have been unconscious because of all the alcohol he’d consumed.” She sighed and looked over at Raley. “The next thing I remember is waking up the following morning, thinking I had the worst hangover in history, but with no memory of any of this until Fordyce opened his front door to that sadistic bastard.”

“Earlier you told me that, when you woke up, Jay was turned away from you.”

“I suppose after I passed out, they held the pillow over his face and then set the stage to make it look like a drunken lovers’ quarrel that ended in murder.” She stopped recording and turned off the camera but left it plugged in to keep the battery charging.

Raley wanted to go back and mop the marble floor with both Britt’s attacker and Fordyce, but that would be a personally motivated, vengeful, and stupid action. Instead he had to focus on what they must do next. How could he bring Fordyce’s treachery to the public’s attention before Fordyce could have them eliminated? They were driving a marked car. They only had several minutes’ head start.

And Fordyce had facilitators on retainer who responded to his summons at a moment’s notice. There were at least four of them. They acted swiftly and lethally, then faded into the woodwork. They’d had less than one day to orchestrate Jay’s execution, yet they’d carried out the plan perfectly.

This morning, if Britt hadn’t recognized the man and acted swiftly, they would already be dead. By one means or another, they would have been expediently sanctioned. Fordyce could invent any story about how they came to be dead and he would be believed. He could say they’d attacked him, and he’d had no choice but to kill them in self-defense. Or that they had threatened him, and when he tried to defend himself, they fled, never to be seen again.

Whatever story he contrived, it would be believed. Their conversations with Candy and Pat Wickham, Jr., would substantiate that they were aggressively seeking revenge on those who, they believed, had wronged them. It would be surmised that their paranoia had made them dangerously delusional, so that, by the time they barged into the AG’s home, they had lost all reason.

If they died or simply disappeared, Lewis Jones might smell a rat and create some noise, raise some questions. So might Delno Pickens. But who would listen to either of them, the neo-Nazi father of a reprobate and arsonist, and an unwashed old hermit who lived in the swamp?

With him and Britt out of the picture, the police station fire and all those deaths that came after it would remain in the history books as recorded. No one would ever know about the colossal miscarriage of justice being perpetuated as long as George McGowan and Cobb Fordyce were leading their lives with impunity.

Raley couldn’t tolerate even the thought of that. He gripped the steering wheel and reminded himself that he wasn’t dead yet. He might not survive, but as he and Britt sped along the narrow, two-lane road, he resolved that he would fight to his last breath to set things right.