Читать книгу Vendetta - Meredith Fletcher - Страница 12

Maricopa County Jail

Phoenix, Arizona

Thursday, May 16, 1968

The Past

Panic swelled through Marion as the prisoner held her. The crushing pressure against her windpipe was merciless. She knew she was only inches from death.

“How do you feel now, muffin?” the prisoner whispered in her ear. “Are you afraid? Fear isn’t going to get you out of a situation like this. You’ve got to control your fear. Use it. When you can work with it, fear makes you faster, stronger. You’re never more alive than when you’re at the edge of death. Don’t you feel it?”

Marion didn’t answer. She reached for the nightstick.

The prisoner pulled the nightstick tighter. “Don’t. Get your hand down or I’ll snap your pretty little neck.”

With effort, Marion got control of her fear and dropped her hand. She swallowed hard and hoped she didn’t throw up. Her senses swam, but she was certain that was more from the blood flow getting cut off to her brain than anything else. She almost fell.

The pressure from the nightstick lessened.

“Don’t pass out on me, muffin,” the prisoner commanded. “We’ve got places to go. Things to do. We’re going to start with getting out of here.”

Across the room, Whitten got to her feet. The big woman gasped and wheezed. She helped one of the other jailers to her feet. The jailer cradled her broken arm.

The third jailer lay on her back. Blood pooled beneath her from the laceration on her face. Whitten touched the woman’s neck. Marion’s stomach gave another sickening lurch when she realized Whitten was checking to make certain the woman was still alive.

“I didn’t kill her,” the prisoner snarled. “I could have if I’d wanted to.” Savage joy resonated in her words. Marion heard it. But desperation was there as well. “I could have killed you too, piggy.”

“You’re not getting out of here,” Whitten croaked.

“I think I will.” The prisoner shook Marion. “I’ll bet nobody around here wants their token women’s libber in the D.A.’s office to end up dead this morning.”

Whitten beat on the door without taking her eyes from the prisoner. Marion saw anger on the big woman’s face, but she saw fear as well.

The door opened and a deputy shoved his head inside. He took in the scene at a glance, drew his weapon and started to come into the room.

“Stay out,” the prisoner ordered. “Or I’ll kill her.”

The deputy froze.

“Get the sheriff,” the prisoner said. “Get Keller.”

The deputy stepped back outside. Whitten started to step through the door, too.

“Not you, piggy,” the prisoner said.

Whitten pointed at the unconscious woman lying on the floor. “She needs a doctor.”

“She can wait.”

Marion felt the prisoner’s breath hot against her neck and ear.

“Are you still with me, muffin?” the prisoner asked.

Speaking past the nightstick pulled tight against her throat was hard, but Marion managed. “I’m still here.” She was surprised at the defiance in her voice.

“You sound spunky. Good. I don’t need you passing out on me when we walk out of here.”

“I’m not going to pass out.” Marion held on to her anger and used it to bolster her strength.

“I hope not. But just so you know, if you do pass out I’m going to drag you out of here anyway.”

Marion forced herself to focus through the panic that threatened to paralyze her. Her heart hammered inside her chest. You can get out of this. Even as she told herself that, though, she realized she had no doubt that the prisoner would kill her.

She couldn’t help thinking how her parents would react if something happened to her. Three weeks ago at an accidental death, she’d seen parents devastated by their son’s overdose on heroin. She didn’t want to put her parents through that.

“Let’s go, muffin,” the prisoner grated. She pushed Marion toward the door. “Stay back, piggy.”

Whitten glared at the prisoner but lifted her hands in the air and stepped back from the door.

Out in the hallway under the bright fluorescent lighting, Marion felt light-headed. Panic ripped at her with sharp claws. Her legs trembled with the desire to run.

The prisoner stayed close behind Marion. She felt the woman’s body pressed against hers. The warmth took away some of the chill of her damp clothing.

Six deputies stood in the hallway with drawn weapons. Sickness swirled in Marion’s stomach. She forced herself to sip air.

“Keep moving, muffin,” the prisoner ordered.

“Y-you’re not h-helping your case,” Marion said. Embarrassment flooded her as she heard her stuttered words.

The prisoner laughed. The sound was totally without mirth. “You sound like you’re still going to try me.”

“I am. Y-you’re not going to g-get out of here.” Marion wished she could keep from stuttering. That would have helped her sound more convincing.

“I’m going to get out of here,” the prisoner replied. “I don’t have a choice about staying here. If I stay here, I’m dead. There are people who’ll kill me long before you ever get me to trial.”

Marion seized on those words and wondered what the woman meant by them.

“If you play your cards right,” the prisoner went on, “you’ll get out of here, too.”

“H-how do I know you w-won’t kill me like you did Marker?”

“I don’t have a reason to kill you.”

“What reason did you have to kill Marker?” Marion couldn’t believe she was asking questions with her life on the line. But she couldn’t be quiet and there were so many questions swimming in her mind.

“That’s my business and none of yours.”

“H-how did you f-find him?”

The woman sounded irritated. “You talk way too much, muffin. This isn’t part of a guided tour. Keep your trap shut.”

Sheriff Frank Keller stepped into view at the end of the hallway. He had a two-handed grip on his revolver and stood with his left foot forward.

Marion closed her eyes for just a moment and resisted the urge to be sick. You’re going to lose that battle one of these times, she told herself.

“Hold it right there,” Keller thundered. His pistol never wavered.

Marion tried to stop, but the prisoner kept pushing her from behind.

“Move,” the prisoner commanded.

“You’re not leaving this building,” Keller declared. “If you don’t cease and desist this instant, I’m going to shoot you.”

Disbelief swept over Marion. She stared at the cavernous mouth of Keller’s big pistol. Surely he was kidding.

“Are you that good a shot?” the prisoner taunted.

Marion knew the woman was crouched tightly behind her. She stared at the unwavering muzzle of the pistol Keller held. Bare inches of the woman had to be exposed.

Keller’s face was cold stone. “I think I am.” He thumbed the hammer back on the pistol. “I’m not going to tell you again.”

“I guess we’re going to find out how good you are,” the prisoner said, “because I can’t be here long. I’ve already over-stayed my welcome.”

Knowing that she was trapped, Marion chose to take command of her fate. She rammed her head back into the prisoner’s face. Something crunched. The prisoner’s breath gushed out against the back of Marion’s neck.

Reaching up, Marion caught her captor’s forearm and the loose folds of the jumpsuit just as the nightstick tightened and shut off her wind. She held on tight as she bent forward suddenly.

The prisoner flipped over Marion’s back and slammed against the tiled floor. Blood streamed over the woman’s face as she gazed up at Marion in shock. The prisoner’s recovery was inhumanly quick, though. She pressed her hands against the floor, vaulted to her feet lithe as a cat and crouched.

Marion backed away before the woman could come after her. She didn’t stop until she reached the wall behind her.

“Down on your face,” Keller commanded.

For a moment, the prisoner hesitated. Marion’s breath caught in the back of her throat as certainty that she was about to see the woman executed in front of her eyes surged within her.

Then, with a wry smile through the blood, the prisoner dropped to her knees and put her hands on top of her head. She bent forward till she lay prone on the ground. The movement was fluid and effortless. Blood dripped from her nose to the floor.

Deputies rushed forward and cuffed her as she lay on the ground.

Marion stood on trembling knees, but she stood. She took pride in that. She also took pride in the fact that she’d saved herself in spite of everything.

The prisoner gazed up at Marion in open appraisal. “Not bad, muffin. I didn’t expect that out of you.”

“Get her to lockup,” Keller growled.

The deputies hustled the prisoner away.

Keller surveyed Marion. “Are you all right?” he asked.

Marion nodded. “I think so.” Her stomach churned.

“That was a nice move. Slick.” New appreciation showed in Keller’s hard eyes.

“I took a class in jujitsu while I was in college.”

“Jujitsu? I think they’re teaching that stuff to the federal agents.”

Marion couldn’t help talking. She couldn’t keep quiet, but she didn’t want to talk about what nearly happened. Any topic was better. “Bruce Lee’s role on The Green Hornet got everybody interested in self-defense. I took it to fulfill a phys ed requirement. It was interesting. I was good at it.”

“You were good at it today,” Keller said.

Marion looked at the sheriff. “Would you have shot her?”

The big man hesitated for just a moment. “Yes, ma’am. I’ve never had a prisoner escape. I wasn’t about to start this morning.”

“And if you’d missed?”

Keller smiled and shook his head. “I don’t miss. Truth to tell, Counselor, you just saved her life. Might have been easier all the way around if you’d have let me shoot her.”

Marion couldn’t believe Keller was so casually discussing taking the life of another person. “Killing her isn’t an answer.”

Surprise pulled at Keller’s features. “What do you think you’re going to be doing when you put that woman on trial, Counselor?”

In the bathroom, Marion pulled a paper towel from the dispenser and patted her face dry. She looked at her reflection in the mirror.

The nausea, thankfully, had subsided. She hadn’t thrown up even though she’d felt she would have once she’d reached the privacy of the bathroom.

You’re okay, she reminded herself. Everything’s going to be all right.

But Keller’s words haunted Marion. She knew she wasn’t going to be directly responsible for the woman’s death. Her actions, the physical evidence at the scene and the testimony of the witness were going to do that.

She was just going to try the case.

Not try it, she amended. Hopefully you’ll get to be part of it. She opened her blouse front and looked at the bruising across her neck and collarbone. After this, Turnbull had better let me on as co-counsel.

She placed her purse on the sink and took out her emergency makeup. Her hands grew steadier as she fixed the damage done by the struggle. While her hands and eyes worked automatically, her mind concentrated on her questions.

When she got out of the bathroom, a deputy directed Marion to Keller. She found the big man standing at the observation window looking into one of the interview rooms.

The female prisoner sat at the small rectangular table inside the featureless room. Her hands were cuffed behind her back and manacles secured her ankles. Cotton balls filled her nostrils.

Keller looked up as Marion entered the room. “How do you take your coffee, Counselor?”

The question took Marion aback. Then she noted the percolator on a small hot plate on the table in the corner. The aroma of the coffee made her hungry.

“It’s fresh perked,” Keller said. “But that’s about the only thing it has going for it. I’d advise disguising the taste a little.”

“Cream. Two sugars.” Marion felt odd watching Keller get her a cup of coffee. “I can get that.”

“I know you can.” Keller poured coffee into a ceramic cup, then poured in cream and dropped in two sugar cubes. He looked around and finally found a saucer to serve it on.

Marion took the coffee gingerly. She’d hoped her hands would be steady, but they weren’t. They shook and the cup and saucer clattered just a little.

“That was pretty scary back there.” Keller didn’t look at Marion when he spoke. His attention was riveted on the woman.

“Yes.” Marion sipped the coffee. It was still so hot she barely tasted it.

“I talked to Whitten before she went to the hospital.”

“How is she?”

Keller nodded. “She’s gonna be fine. Whitten’s one of the toughest women I’ve ever met.”

“What about the other jailer?”

A frown tightened Keller’s face. “Ambulance guys said she probably had a concussion. Maybe a cracked skull and a dislocated jaw. They also said she was lucky she wasn’t dead.”

Marion remembered how smoothly the woman had moved during the fight. “If she’d wanted anyone dead, she would have done it.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

There was no maybe to it. Marion knew she was right. “She chose not to kill them.”

“The same way she chose to kill Marker?” Keller looked at Marion. “Don’t go getting soft on her, Counselor. Whatever else that woman is, she’s a cold-blooded killer.”

On the other side of the one-way glass, the woman sat unmoving. Blood dripped down her face to the jumpsuit. Except for the steady drip of blood, she might have been carved of stone.

“Did Whitten tell you about the fight?” Marion asked.

Keller nodded. “Said she used some kind of karate or something.”

“It wasn’t jujitsu.” Marion sipped her coffee and found it a little cooler. “But it was something organized. Something dangerous.”

“Something like Bruce Lee in The Green Hornet?” Keller smiled mirthlessly.

“Yes. Where would she get specialized training like that?”

“Who said she was trained?”

“Do you think she wasn’t?”

Keller’s eyes narrowed as he regarded the woman. “Oh, I think she was trained. I’ve been contemplating the possibility that the Russians trained her.”

The Russians? Then Marion grasped the meaning behind the suggestion. “You think she’s a spy?”

“The kind of training that woman has? The cold-blooded way she killed Marker?” Keller nodded. “I bet when we figure out who she really is, we’ll find out she’s a Communist spy.”

Although the newspapers and television media kept the threat of a nuclear war in the public eye, Marion didn’t buy into the thinking as much as many others did. She chose to believe the Cold War would defuse itself before international annihilation manifested.

“You think she killed Marker as part of her assignment?” she asked

“Don’t know yet. But I know she intended to leave a message for somebody.”

“Why?”

Keller slipped two fingers into his shirt pocket and took out a thin rectangle covered in clear plastic wrap. “Because she left this at the murder scene.” He held the object out. “Careful when you handle it.”

The evidence was a playing card. Specifically, it was the Queen of Hearts. Dark smudges of fingerprint powder marred the card’s surface and gave the queen a dirty face.

“These are her fingerprints?” Marion asked.

“And Marker’s.”

“That doesn’t mean that she brought the card to the murder scene. Since Marker’s prints are on it, he could have just as easily brought the card.”

“So while she’s pointing a gun at him, with her foot in the middle of his chest, he asks her to take a look at a playing card? Or let’s say Marker did that. Why would she take the card while she’s holding a gun on him?”

Marion handed the card back. “I don’t know.”

Keller tucked the card back into this shirt pocket and buttoned the flap. “I think she used the card because it meant something to Marker. It was something he’d recognize. Since they’ve got a history—”

“You can’t prove that.”

“You don’t just break into a stranger’s motel room, put your foot on his chest and shoot his face off,” Keller said gruffly.

Marion winced.

Keller sighed. “Sorry about that. Sometimes I’m a little too plainspoken.”

“That’s all right.”

“But the fact of the matter, Counselor, is that those two people— Marker and that woman—knew each other before they came here. We’ve just got to figure out how.”

“What do we do now?”

“We talk to her,” Keller said. “See if she’s ready to tell us why she killed Marker.”

Looking at the woman, Marion sincerely doubted that was going to happen.

Someone knocked at the open door. A deputy leaned into the room. “Sheriff Keller? There’s a man in the lobby who says he’s that woman’s attorney. He’s demanding to see her.”

That surprised Marion. She looked at Keller. “Has she called anyone?”

Keller shook his head. “Did the attorney give you a name?”

“Yes, sir. Even gave me a card.” The deputy entered the room and handed it over.

Keller took the card. Marion looked over his shoulder.

Adam D. Gracelyn

Attorney-At-Law

A mild expletive escaped Keller’s lips. He looked at the deputy and nodded. “Bring Gracelyn to me.”

Marion knew the name. The Gracelyns were part of the old money families in Phoenix. She’d never met any of them, but she’d read about them in the Phoenix Sun society pages. There had been something about Adam Gracelyn passing the bar exam a few years ago.

The deputy left.

“This isn’t good,” Keller said quietly.

“Why?”

“Adam Gracelyn’s a real firebrand when you get him riled. With all his daddy’s money, you’d think he’d just settle down to a nice long stay as one of daddy’s corporate lawyers. Instead he signed on with the public defender’s office. He specializes in representing minorities and the disenfranchised. He’s going to be trouble.”