The Devil's Right Hand - J. D. Rhoades [36]
She looked at him soberly. “I never said I didn’t care about you, Keller. Like I said, you’re a good man. You’re kind and strong, and let’s face it,” she gave him that sad smile, “you’re easy on the eyes.” The smile vanished and she looked away. “There’ve been times when I’ve wanted to take you up on your offer. But we both know what it would mean. There’s no way either of us could just casually date.” The smile this time was almost bitter. “We are not casual people. It would be way too easy for me to fall for you, Keller. And I don’t know what being in love with you would do to me. I’m afraid I might end up feeling the same way you do. And that would destroy me, Jack. It would make me the same scared, dependent person I was with … with my husband.”
Keller put his hand on her arm. “I’m not that guy, Angela.”
There were tears in her eyes. “But I’m that woman, Jack. At least I know I can be. I have been. And I’ll spend the rest of my life alone before I’ll be her again.”
He thought about that as she started the car. They didn’t speak for a long time. Finally she said, “I’ll make a few calls. In the morning.”
“Thanks,” he said. She just nodded.
There were two cops, a little guy with a mustache and a big one. Raymond closed his eyes as they entered, but he wasn’t fast enough. “Forget it, Chief,” the big cop said. “We know you’re awake.”
Raymond opened his eyes. “I got nothing to say.”
“You don’t want to find out what happened to your brother?” the big one said. Raymond didn’t answer.
The short cop, the one with the bald head and the moustache, pulled up a chair and sat next to the bed. He took a piece of paper from his file folder and laid it on Raymond’s chest. It was a color photograph of John Lee sprawled against the wall next to the door of the white house. His eyes were wide open in shock. His shirt across his chest was shredded and the flesh beneath looked like chopped meat. Raymond closed his eyes.
“Someone shot your brother with a heavy gauge shotgun,” he heard the big cop say. “We didn’t find a gun on or near him, so we figure he was unarmed. That sound right, Chief?”
“Quit calling me Chief,” Raymond said.
“Stace,” the bald cop said, “Zip it, okay? Go sit down outside or something. You’ve done enough this evening.”
There was a short pause. Even with his eyes closed, Raymond could feel the tension in the room. Finally, he heard a rustling of curtains as the big cop left. He felt something else being laid on his chest. He opened his eyes.
The bald cop had laid another photograph in front of him. This was in black and white. The numbers along the bottom identified it as a police mug shot. The picture showed a man with shoulder-length curly blond hair brushed back from a high forehead. His eyes looked pale in the camera. His square jaw was clenched as if he were gritting his teeth.
“This guy look familiar to you?” the bald cop asked.
“I never seen him before,” Raymond said.
“His name’s Jackson Keller. Works for H & H Bail Bonds out of Wilmington.” The bald cop picked up the picture. “He’s a bounty hunter. We think he was after a guy named DeWayne Puryear. We found DeWayne’s cousin Leonard dead just inside the house.” He stood up. “You get into some kind of argument with him? Maybe you had some sort of personal beef with one of the Puryear boys and Keller got in the way?” Raymond turned his head away from the side of the bed where the cop was sitting. He watched the green lights and numbers flicker on and off on the machines beside the bed.
“Sorry about your father,” the cop said. “Must be tough losing a father and a brother the same week.”
Raymond turned back to look at him. “You don’t care nothin’ about my daddy. Or my brother.”
The cop obviously sensed an opening. He sat back down. Raymond cut him off before he could say anything else. “No one cares. I know damn sure you don’t.” He looked at the ceiling. “I got nothing more to say. Get my doctor.”
The cop didn’t move. “We got two dead in that house, Raymond, and no guns in anyone’s hands but yours. It