William Bernhardt - Perfect Justice

“I’ll have to take that chance.”

“Then I’m coming with you.”

“No. You take Christina home. And don’t leave her alone. If there’s trouble tonight, it could spread throughout the entire town.”

“But how will you find the meeting place? I told you, it ain’t at their camp. I don’t know where it is.”

“Neither do I,” Ben said as he grabbed his windbreaker. “But I know someone who does.”

To Ben’s dismay, Sheriff Gustafson was the only peace officer on duty at the jailhouse.

“I want to see my client,” Ben said. “Immediately.”

Gustafson’s upper lip curled. “Do you, now? Well, that’s a shame. Because I don’t believe I care to let you in.”

“You don’t have any choice. He has a constitutional right to counsel.”

“During the trial, sure. But as I understand it, the trial is over. All but the fat lady singing, anyway.”

“I don’t have time for this crap. I want to speak to Sheriff Collier. Where is he?”

“Out at Coi Than Tien. Seems those Vietnamese folks had another spot of trouble out there. He went to investigate. In fact, everyone on duty did.” He smiled, baring all his teeth. “Except me.”

Ben reached down, grabbed Gustafson’s brown tie and twisted it around his fist. “Listen to me, you stupid simple-minded son of a bitch. I’ve had about as much of you as I can take. You got your licks in on me last week, and I didn’t say a word about it afterward.”

“Because you were scared shitless.”

“Wrong. Because I have a sister, too, and I wouldn’t like it if someone hurt her. In fact, I’d be mad as hell and I’d probably want to kill the man who did it. But enough is enough. I didn’t have anything to do with that firebombing and I don’t have time to screw around with some redneck moron trying to alleviate his guilt by throwing his weight in my way. So give me the goddamn keys!”

Gustafson peered at Ben through narrowed eyes. And a few moments later he slid the metal key chain across his desk.

“Thanks for your cooperation.” Ben snatched the key chain and unlocked the back door that led to the cells.

As before, all the cells were empty except for Vick’s.

“We’ve got to talk,” Ben said.

Vick’s face was lined with concern. “Has the jury returned?”

“They’re still deliberating. That’s not what I want to talk about. ASP is having some kind of top-secret special meeting tonight in a top-secret special location. And I want to know where it is.”

“I’ve been in this cell for weeks. I don’t know—”

“Spare me the ignorance routine. How many special meeting places can they have? You must have some idea where they’re gathering.”

“M-Mr. Kincaid …” He looked down at the floor. “I swore an oath.”

“I don’t want to hear about it.”

“But I promised—”

“And I am sick to death of hearing about your insipid promises! Let me tell you something, pal. I’m the only friend you’ve got in this town. You were determined to stick your neck in a noose, and for some crazy reason, I was determined to get it out, even if I stuck my own neck in there in the process. I have a chance now to solve this whole gigantic mess, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let it pass just because you swore some stupid ASP oath!”

Ben gripped the metal bars between them. His eyes burned a line straight into Vick’s. “I’ve done the best I could for you. And you haven’t done a damn thing for me. But that’s going to change. Starting right now. ”

61.

BEN INCHED THROUGH THE tall green pines surrounding the Aryan Covenant Church. The forest was dark and almost deathly quiet. But Ben knew the peace was an illusion. Violent forces were at work. All he could hope to do was to avoid them for as long as possible.

The church building was dark; there was no sign of movement inside. But Vick had prepared him for this. He wouldn’t be fooled by appearances.

He crept around to the back of the church, between the kennel and the garage. Dried leaves crackled underfoot, reminding him that each step could easily be his last. Despite his anxiousness to get inside, he had to go slow. He had to be careful.

He held his breath as he tiptoed past the dog kennel. Brother Curtis’s hunting dogs appeared to be sleeping on the other side of the pen. Lucky break—a chorus of angry barking would bring everyone running.

Ben tiptoed past the garage and headed toward the back of the church. He heard a sudden clattering noise and froze.

He looked all around him. Where had the noise come from? Had he been spotted? He didn’t see anyone. Not that he could see much of anything in this pitch blackness.

He wiped his brow and took deep steady breaths, trying to still his racing heartbeat. His hands were shaking and his teeth were rattling. He tried to tell himself to relax, that if the ASPers caught him, they probably wouldn’t hurt him. It was useless. He knew better.

Just as he was about to push off, he heard the clattering noise again, this time even louder than before.

It was coming from the garage.

As quietly as humanly possible, he crept to the front garage door, a wide descending door the width of two cars. The door was down, but there was a row of windows across the top, just above Ben’s eye level.

Leaning gently against the door, Ben pushed up on his toes and peered through the window. The overhead garage light was off, but a kerosene lamp was lit. There were two men inside. Ben didn’t know their names, but he recognized them from the ASP parade. They had been at the front, close to Dunagan.

And now they were standing on opposite sides of a pickup. A black pickup.

At least partially black. One of the men held a paintbrush; the other was wielding a spray gun. They were painting the pickup red.

So that was how it was done. These ASP thugs would make their raids on Coi Than Tien, then retreat to this church garage, barely a hundred yards away. Small wonder they were never caught; they would be safely tucked away long before the sheriff arrived. Then the painting would begin. By the time the sheriff thought to look in the church garage, if he did, the pickup would be painted and all traces of the operation would be washed away.

Ben noticed that the pickup’s two left tires were flat, although he saw two new tires nearby. The men would probably put them on as soon as the painting was completed. The rear window had been shattered. That would be harder to replace. It looked like Coi Than Tien got a few good licks in. Neither of the men appeared to be wounded, however.

Pity.

That resolved one mystery, but there was still more Ben wanted to know before he returned to town. He was just about to push away from the garage when he heard a voice behind him.

“Don’t move.”

Ben jumped a foot into the air. Panicked, he whirled around and saw—

Christina. Christina!

“I said, ‘Don’t move,’ ” she hissed. “Do you want a tête-à-tête with those goons in the garage?”

“Christina!” She was dressed in black from head to toe—black turtleneck, black jeans. She was carrying a satchel over her shoulder.

They moved away from the garage so they wouldn’t be heard. “How did you get here?”

“I followed you, obviously.”

“But—why?”

“Someone has to keep an eye on you, Ben. Let’s face it, you get lost going home from the grocery store. I’m surprised you made it this far.”

“But—I mean—you wouldn’t help me before—”

“Is that a fact? Who do you think called in Mike and Jones and Loving?”

“I—” Actually he hadn’t even thought about it. “But I mean, about the trial—”