Joe Dillard: Reasonable Fear Part 15

"How much longer before you're done here?"

"Couple of hours. You in some kind of hurry?"

"Lips...o...b..and Pinzon should be at the jail by noon, right? I plan to be waiting for them."

Chapter Twenty-Eight.

I gave my statement to Rudy Lane about finding the bodies in the driveway, after which I hung around for another half-hour or so and watched as Bates and his people finished their forensic examination of the crime scene. I went back inside before the EMTs loaded Zack and Hector into the ambulances and took them off to the medical examiner's office.

Caroline was waiting for me in the kitchen. She was leaning back with the heels of her hands resting on the corner of the counter. She didn't look as though she'd cooled off.

"I want to know exactly what's going on," she said as soon as I closed the door. "I want to know why those two people were killed. I want to know who killed them. I want to know why they were put in our driveway. And the most important thing I want to know is what you're planning to do about it."

"I'm not going to talk to you if you can't keep your voice down."

"I'm upset! What do you expect?"

"Where are Sarah and Gracie?"

"Upstairs. Why?"

"I don't want them to hear this."

"Never mind about them. Explain it to me!"

"We told you, they were both witnesses against John Lips...o...b.. That's why they're dead. As far as who killed them goes, I don't know. Lips...o...b..or Pinzon or both probably hired someone to do it, but there's no way of proving it, at least not yet. They put them in the driveway as a message to me. They want me to back off, to let them go. As far as what I'm going to do about it goes, I just don't know yet."

I walked over to her and put my hands on her shoulders.

"I'm sorry, Caroline. I guess I should have done things differently."

"Stop it. Don't patronize me. You said one of those men saw Lips...o...b..get on the boat and the other one saw him drop a body into the lake, which means they were extremely important, if not indispensable, to your case, right?"

"Right."

"So now they're dead. Do you even have a case?"

"Not much of one. But we-"

"Then why don't you back off? You can put a stop to this right now. Just back off."

"Not a chance," I said. "What kind of message would that send? Kill a couple of witnesses and the state will give up?"

She started pacing around the kitchen.

"I don't care about messages," she said. "I've had all the messages I can handle. What I care about is you not winding up like those men in the driveway."

"You're overreacting."

"And you've got your head in the sand. What will it take, Joe? Don't you see these people are different? They're not going to let you win."

"This isn't about winning and losing. It's about right and wrong."

"Spare me the sanctimony. This is about your ego. This is about you showing the bad guys they can't mess with Joe Dillard."

"Maybe it is," I said, "but if you think I'm going to let some sc.u.mbag drop a couple of dead bodies on my doorstep and then tuck my tail between my legs and run, you don't know me like I thought you did."

I turned my back on her and walked off toward the bathroom to take a shower. She gave me a parting shot as I cleared the door.

"You're going to wind up dead in a gutter somewhere. And where will that leave us?"

I was seething when the transport van that contained John Lips...o...b..and Andres Pinzon showed up at the jail at ten minutes before noon. Caroline's words rang in my ears, and the look of terror on her face as she stood gazing at Zack Woods and Hector Mejia sitting in my driveway with their throats cut was branded into my brain.

Bates and I were standing in the booking area waiting for Lips...o...b..and Pinzon to walk in. A large gathering of media was in the parking lot. Bates was talking about Nelson Lips...o...b.. who had apparently left town.

"With his brother's money and contacts, he could be anywhere," Bates said. I barely heard him. "I reckon not picking him up right off the bat wasn't such a good idea."

I didn't respond.

"You okay, brother Dillard?"

I nodded.

"They'll make bond," Bates said. "If any one of them is determined to run, there isn't much we can do about it. But we'll find Nelson. Don't you worry, we'll find him."

The steel door buzzed, and Lips...o...b..and Pinzon walked through. Both of them were wearing uniforms issued by the Davidson County jail, and both were handcuffed and shackled. Pinzon looked like a mannequin, but Lips...o...b..had a narrow-eyed look of defiance on his fat face.

"I want to talk to Lips...o...b..alone," I said to Bates.

"Bad idea. You seem a little upset."

"I want to talk to Lips...o...b.. Alone. Now. Put him someplace where there aren't any cameras and where n.o.body can see or hear us."

"You're about to do something you'll regret," Bates said.

"Take his cuffs and shackles off."

Bates walked over and whispered something to Rudy Lane, who took Lips...o...b..by the elbow and led him to a cell in the far corner of the booking area. I followed closely behind. I'd dressed in a pair of dark-gray dress slacks and a white, b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rt for the arraignment, which was scheduled to start at one o'clock. I'd left my tie and my jacket in Bates' office.

Lips...o...b..hesitated at the cell door, but Rudy shoved him inside. The door was steel, painted gray like everything else around me, with a small window at eye level. I stood outside the cell while Rudy removed Lips...o...b..s cuffs and shackles. My peripheral vision began to close in, and within seconds, I could only see what was directly in front of me. As soon as Rudy was finished, I walked in.

"Close the door behind you," I said to Rudy without taking my eyes off of Lips...o...b.. who was standing in the middle of the cell three or four feet in front of me.

"You sure about this?" Rudy asked.

I didn't answer. Rudy eased by me, the door clanged shut, and I stepped to within a foot of Lips...o...b..

"Is this where I get the rubber hose treatment?" he said.

I backhanded him across the mouth with my right hand. A loud thwap echoed off of the concrete block walls as Lips...o...b..stumbled backward.

"That's for what you said about my wife."

I moved close to him again. The backs of his legs were against the concrete bunk. A small stream of blood was already trickling from the corner of his lip to his chin.

"Your wife is a s.l.u.t," he mumbled, and I slapped him so hard with my open right hand that my palm and fingers immediately went numb. He fell back onto the slab and his head thumped into the wall.

"That's for what you had your hired thugs do to my sister. Who told you about Zack Woods and Hector Mejia?" He didn't respond, so I leaned down close to him. "I know what you are, and one way or another, I'm going to prove it and put you away for good. If you think killing a couple of witnesses and planting them in my driveway is going to keep me from making you pay, you've underestimated me. If you or any of your murdering friends come anywhere near me or my family again, I'll hunt you down and do the same thing to you that they did to Zack and Hector."

Lips...o...b..folded his hands in his lap and rested the back of his head against the wall. The laughter started slowly and quietly, like a train pulling out of a station, but it soon gained momentum and volume, a frightening, high-pitched cackle that sounded like it was emanating from the labyrinths of h.e.l.l. I stood over him, panting like a wild animal. I wanted to beat him to a b.l.o.o.d.y pulp, a feeling that intensified as the laughter a.s.saulted my eardrums. I reached down and grabbed the front of his jumpsuit and was pulling him to his feet when he spit a stream of mucous and blood directly into my face. I drew my fist back, ready to break his jaw.

"Dillard!" The voice was Rudy Lane. I froze.

The warm, sticky fluid on my face began to sicken me, and I let Lips...o...b..go and backed away. I hurried out the door past Rudy and turned left down the hallway that led from the booking area. Behind me, I heard Lips...o...b..s voice.

"You're a dead man, Dillard! Do you hear me? A dead man!"

Chapter Twenty-Nine.

I walked straight out the front door of the jail and to my truck, forgetting completely about the tie and jacket I'd left in Bates' office. I felt disoriented, disconnected from the world around me, and I started to drive aimlessly. A short while later, about ten miles west of Jonesborough, I drifted off the road on US 11-E and sideswiped the railing of a bridge that crossed a creek near in the Telford community. The noise of metal grinding jolted me back to awareness, and I slowed the truck down and pulled to the side of the highway. I shut the engine off, gripped the top of the steering wheel with both hands and rested my forehead on them. I didn't want to move or think. I just wanted to melt away.

I don't know how long I sat there, but eventually, I became aware of a tap, tap, tapping. When I realized someone was knocking on the window, I pulled myself together at least enough to look to my left. A bearded face came into focus.

"You all right in there, partner?" I didn't recognize him. He was wearing denim bib overalls and a green and yellow John Deere cap. I sat back and nodded my head, unwilling to roll the window down.

He stood there looking at me intently for a few seconds.

"The world ain't such a bad place, you know. All you gotta do is look for the good. It's all around you."

He turned and walked away to his vehicle, and I looked at the clock on the dashboard. I was due in court in half an hour for Lips...o...b..and Pinzon's arraignment. I turned the rear-view mirror toward me and looked at my face. There was dried blood around my mouth and smeared on my cheeks where Lips...o...b..had spit on me. I looked down at my s.h.i.+rt and it, too, was speckled with small blood stains.

I pulled back onto the highway, made a U-turn, and headed back to Jonesborough. It was lunch time, so with any luck the office would be empty. I parked in the back lot at the justice center and used my key card to go in through a door that led directly to our offices. I made it to the closet in my office where I kept an extra set of clothes without seeing anyone. I grabbed the suit and was about ten steps from the bathroom when Rita Jones walked around the corner. She stopped in mid-stride and gasped.

"What happened to you?"

"Nothing."

I kept walking and ducked into the bathroom, leaving her standing in the hallway. I went straight to the sink, took off my s.h.i.+rt, and started was.h.i.+ng the blood from my face. I should have locked the door behind me, because a few seconds later, Rita walked in.

"You're bleeding," she said.

"It isn't mine. This is the men's room, in case you didn't notice."

"There's a lot of talk going on about you around here."

"What are they saying?"

"They're saying you've gone off the deep end. They're saying the governor is going to have you removed from office."

"Doesn't really matter, does it? You're the one who runs this place."

"I'm serious, Joe. I know you've been through a lot lately with Sarah and Caroline and everything that's going on here at work. Are you okay? I mean really okay?"

I'd known Rita for nearly twenty years. She was an excellent secretary and paralegal. She was also a beautiful redhead with a body and demeanor that reduced most men to driveling idiots. She'd wrecked more than her share of marriages, and in years past, had taken more than one shot at wrecking mine. I'd always managed to fend her off, and I liked her, but at that moment, I didn't feel like talking. I was queasy, and had to put both hands on the sink for a minute as a wave of dizziness swept over me.

"I'll be fine," I said. "I had a rough morning, that's all."

"Maybe you should see someone. A professional."

"A shrink?"

"Someone who can help you work through some of the things that have happened to you."

"I appreciate your concern, Rita, but I'll be fine. Now if you don't mind, I need to change my pants."

"You look terrible," she said.

"Thanks."

"I mean it. You look like you haven't slept in a month and you're pale. You should see a doctor."

"Will you please get out of here so I can finish getting ready to go to court?"

"Fine, but if you need to talk, you know where to find me. And Tanner is in his office. I'm going to tell him to go to court with you. You look like you could use some help."

I stayed in the bathroom splas.h.i.+ng cold water on my face until a few minutes before one. The nausea wouldn't go away, so just before I walked out the door to the courtroom, I went into one of the stalls and stuck my finger down my throat. I gagged several times, but nothing would come up. I hadn't eaten that day.

I took the back steps up to the main courtroom, which still smelled of new carpet and fresh paint. Court wasn't yet in session, but Tanner Jarrett was already sitting at the prosecution table, six lawyers were sitting at the defense table, and the gallery was packed with reporters and camera crews. As soon as I walked through the door, a group of reporters surged toward me.

"Mr. Dillard! Can you confirm there have been two more murders? Mr. Dillard! Is it true that the victims were left in your driveway? Mr. Dillard! Mr. Dillard!" I looked past them and saw Erlene Barlowe leaning against the wall at the back of the courtroom.

A bailiff stepped to the front and warned the crowd to turn off their cell phones and stay quiet. When he was finished, he walked over and knocked lightly on the door to the judge's chambers. The door opened, and Judge Adams walked through with a flourish, chin held high, black robe flowing behind him.

"All rise," the bailiff called, "the Criminal Court of Was.h.i.+ngton County in now in session, the honorable John Adams presiding."

Adams, the newest judge in the district, was a blue-blood alcoholic. Judge Leonard Green, who'd been on the criminal court bench for decades, had been murdered a year earlier. The state Supreme Court promptly appointed a former medical malpractice attorney named Terry Breck to replace Green. Breck was bright and personable, and it appeared that at last, we finally had a decent judge. But Breck succ.u.mbed to a heart attack a couple of months later, and John Adams, a former ambulance chaser who just happened to be a member of the lucky sperm club his father made a fortune in the textile business before the industry packed up its sweat shops and moved abroad entered the picture.