The Devil's Right Hand - J. D. Rhoades [67]
“Do that,” he said, in a voice that said he knew she wouldn’t. “One last thing, kiddo. You got drunk yet?”
“Umm...”
“Don’t answer. Just listen. It’s okay if you have. Once. Maybe twice. Have a few for Eddie. But then stop. Don’t crawl into the bottle. I seen too many cops do that and never make it back out.”
“That’s sort of what Jack--that’s what a friend of mine said.”
“That’s a good friend, then,” her father said. He paused. “I love you, Marie.”
It was hard to breathe past the lump in her throat. “I love you too, Dad.” They said their goodbyes and hung up.
Marie looked at the flashing light on the message machine. She thought about her father’s words. Was Stacy working IAD? She decided not to take the chance. She decided to get out of the house. Suddenly, she knew where she wanted to go.
When Keller walked into the office, he could hear Angela’s voice from the back room. “Wait a minute,” she was saying, “that may be him now.” She appeared at the door with a portable phone in her hand. She looked drawn and haggard, as if she hadn’t slept. She held the phone out to him. “It’s Scott McCaskill,” she said.
He walked over and took the phone. “Hello?”
“Where’ve you been, son?” there was an edge of tension underlying the joviality in McCaskill’s voice. “There’s a lot of people who’d like to have a talk with you.”
“I’m sure,” Keller said. “I had some personal business to take care of.”
“The police have upped the stakes, Jack,” McCaskill said. “They don’t just want you for questioning now. There’s a warrant out for you. Murder Two on John Lee Oxendine.”
Keller’s hand tightened on the receiver. “That’s bullshit.”
“I know, son, but it’s bullshit we’re going to have to deal with. They matched the blood on your clothes with blood from the scene. You’re known to carry a shotgun, and that’s what killed Oxendine.”
“It was self defense.”
“I know that. But no one found a gun anywhere near Oxendine’s body. And there were no witnesses.”
Keller remembered the touch of a gun barrel on the back of his neck, remembered a softly accented voice. “There was a Latino guy there. He took the gun.”
“The Phantom Latino theory may convince a jury, especially if I sell it right. But right now, I don’t think the cops want to hear it. No one else knows anything about this guy.”
“What about the brother? Raymond Oxendine?”
There was a brief silence. “Raymond Oxendine and an accomplice shot their way out of Fayetteville General last night,” McCaskill said finally. “They killed a cop.” His voice became brisk and businesslike. “I need to arrange for you to come in to the station for booking,” he said. “It’ll look better than if they pick you up.”
“When?”
“Now would be good.”
“Bail?”
McCaskill paused. “I can’t promise it, Jack. Not for this. And you’re already bonded out on another charge.”
“Not now, then,” Keller said. “I have some things I need to do first.”
“What have you got to do that’s more important than this?”
“It’s personal. Give me till noon tomorrow.”
McCaskill sounded exasperated. “Jack, they won’t hold off that long.”
“Noon tomorrow. And I give myself up to Barnes. Not Stacy.”
“You’re not in a real good position to be negotiating, son. If you could give me some reason why you can’t come in today, I might be able to hold them off, but...”
“Tell them I have a doctor’s appointment.” Keller hung up. He looked over at Angela. She was sitting behind the desk. She shook her head wearily. “You’re making a big mistake.”
“Probably.” They looked at each other in silence for a few moments. Then she said softly, “When I called, earlier. You were with a woman. I heard her voice.”
“Yeah,” he said.
“Do you love her, Jack?”
He wanted to turn away and stare out the window, but he forced himself to look into her eyes. “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe. I think I could.”
She was the one who looked away. Her eyes closed for a moment and she took a deep breath. “That’s good,” she said finally.
He walked over and stood beside her. He put his hand on her shoulder. “What’s this about?” he said. “I thought you said...”
She