Tempting the Devil Read online

  She was sorry when they reached her car. She unlocked it, and he held the door open for her. “I would like to call you sometime,” he said.

  It was so old-fashioned. Everything about him was polite and correct. Yet oddly comforting right now.

  “I would like that,” she said.

  She hated being so awkward in getting into the car with the brace, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  “Good night,” he said and closed the door.

  She started the car and drove off. In the rearview mirror she saw him standing there. Then she directed all her attention to the road ahead.

  Robin arrived at the school nearly an hour early. She cursed her compulsion never to be late, but despite her assurance to Sandy she hadn’t been exactly sure where it was.

  She understood immediately why Sandy had selected the school as a meeting place. The beginning of the school year was still a month away, and the parking lot was empty. The weathered brick building had no ball fields to attract kids, and it was surrounded on one side by trees and on the other by a fenced and locked playground.

  She drove around to the back and parked near some trees for shade. Then she left the car and studied the old building. It served the east side of the county, an area still rural in nature, where small farms were just beginning to be squeezed by new subdivisions spreading out from Atlanta.

  There was something lonely about the empty old building. For a moment she thought she heard the spirits of generations of children who’d passed through its doors. She wondered when it was built, and how much longer it would last.

  Or perhaps the loneliness reflected her own mood, even the small but growing seed of uneasiness she felt. She trusted Sandy but probably she should have told someone where she was going. The police officers might well have known their own killer or killers, and this spot was as isolated at the moment as the clearing in the woods.

  She shivered. She no longer felt that safe in a county she had considered quaint, especially as far as many of the establishment went. The laid-back sheriff, the “good ole boy” commission chairman, the wily and lecherous justice of the peace could all have marched off the pages of a southern novel.

  But now she was seeing something not nearly as benign as she had thought. She thought about calling Wade at the paper and telling him about the meeting with Sandy, but it might well come to nothing. Still, she should have told someone. She stared at her purse with the cell phone in it. Then turned her eyes away. Wade might well order her to leave.

  Then she dismissed the discomfort as pure nonsense. Sandy was completely safe. It would still be daylight at seven. There was no reason to get spooked. Sandy’s reticence was due to his job, and she would make it clear that a source was sacred. She would die before betraying one.

  Or hoped she would.

  She touched the small recorder in her pocket. She used it for all interviews since her fingers often didn’t move as quickly as words. It was her protection against any charge that she misquoted someone. She usually threw the tapes out or reused them.

  She looked at her watch. Forty minutes left.

  If he came.

  He hadn’t wanted to meet her. He’d wanted to get rid of her. Yet she couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that he had something inside he wanted to say.

  She thought back over the day. It hadn’t been that productive. She’d basically rewritten yesterday’s story, staring with a lead saying the investigation was intensifying but that local officials were saying little. Neither the sheriff nor the police chief had been available today, and the only real news had been the funeral plans.

  They were scheduled for tomorrow. Two of the murdered officers attended the same church and a joint funeral was planned. The third officer’s funeral would be later in the day.

  She’d talked to the pastors of both churches, learning even more about the two men with families and about the officer who had recently married. He and his new wife had had counseling sessions at the church before their wedding, according to the pastor. The bride was a longtime resident of the county, and he had relocated and changed jobs so she could remain close to her family.

  An irony that ripped into her heart. She couldn’t even imagine the guilt the woman might feel.

  Another look at her watch. Fifteen minutes.

  Would he come?

  Then she saw an older-model sedan entering the lot. Sandy usually drove a red pickup. For a moment, she felt a sudden chill although the temperature hovered in the midnineties. She switched on her miniature recorder in her pocket and went to the driver’s side of her car.

  She saw Sandy step out of the car and went over to him. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked years older than his thirty-some years.

  “Thanks for coming,” she said.

  “I just came to tell you not to contact me again,” he said. “I could lose my job if anyone thinks I’m talking to you.”

  “You’re not,” she said. “You haven’t told me anything.”

  “Just being seen with you …”

  She waited for him to finish the sentence. When he didn’t after several seconds, she tried to prompt him.

  “I’m just asking about background. Stuff I could get from anyone.”

  “Then try ‘anyone’,” he said shortly. “Not me.”

  “Surely—”

  “Look,” he said, “you don’t know what’s involved here.”

  “No,” she said, exasperated. “You won’t tell me.”

  He was silent.

  “You said before, or intimated, that a ‘nosy’ reporter could be in danger. It sounded as if you might have an idea who may have been involved.”

  “Anyone who kills three cops is dangerous.”

  “But wouldn’t they be long gone by now? Unless someone is protecting them?”

  His mouth tightened, and he wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  She tried a different tack. “Tell me more about the sheriff’s department. Judge Godwin said it’s a closed shop. What did he mean?”

  “That crazy old coot.” Sandy’s voice was harsh. “You can’t pay any attention to what he says.”

  “Is it?” she persisted. She hadn’t really thought it was important before. Why wouldn’t a local sheriff hire people he knew and trusted? She’d basically wanted a little color, a paragraph, but something about his reaction alerted her instincts.

  “Is it what?”

  “A closed shop? Didn’t you tell me your father worked for the sheriff’s office?”

  He stared at her for a long moment. “I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

  “I’m interested in the differences between the sheriff’s office and the police department.”

  “Why?”

  At least she had him talking.

  “It just seems strange to have two agencies covering the same area and responsible for the same duties.”

  “We do a heap more than the police. We serve warrants, control the jail, and take care of the courts.”

  “But you also have joint authority over crimes. What happens if you both turn up at the same burglary?”

  “Whoever gets there first takes the case.”

  “And patrolling the county. Do you duplicate that as well?”

  “We pretty much divide the county.”

  “Who patrols the area where the officers died?”

  “We do.”

  “Then why were the county police there?”

  “Probably so none of their own friends would see them drinking,” he said.

  “Drinking?”

  “There was a container of ’shine at the crime scene.” The moment he said the words, his lips clamped together.

  “’Shine?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Moonshine?” she persisted. “Illegal whiskey?”

  “Damn it, Robin. I didn’t say that. Swear you won’t say anything. They don’t deserve a cloud over their name.”

  She hesitated. He hadn’t asked that anyth
ing be off the record. Then she nodded. “Unless it comes from someone else.”

  He owed her now. She wasn’t above using it later.

  “Does your department patrol that particular road on a regular basis?”

  He was silent for a moment too long, then said, “Why should they? It doesn’t go anywhere. It’s private property.”

  “Kids, maybe. Drinking. Making out.”

  “I don’t think so. There’s only one way out. If anyone came …”

  “Wouldn’t that be true then for something illegal?”

  He stared at her in dismay.

  “Unless,” she continued without a pause, “they knew somehow that no one would patrol that night.”

  His fists knotted. “Damn it, Robin, that’s crazy.”

  “Is it?” she said.

  She hadn’t planned these questions but one had just led to another. It didn’t make sense that the three officers would be found so readily on a road that everyone said was rarely used. Unless there was some kind of electronic way to keep track of the squad cars. She doubted that. Neither department seemed that advanced in its equipment.

  “How were they found if no one went there?” She already knew the official version. She wondered if his would match.

  “Because they didn’t check in,” he said. “The police put out an alert. Our department received it. Everyone was looking for them.”

  “But why look specifically in the woods?”

  “Someone noticed the chain that usually blocks that road was down. They checked it.”

  “Who are the deputies who patrol this area?”

  A muscle worked in his throat. “You’ll have to check with the sheriff.”

  Suddenly she realized she should have checked the ownership of the property. No one had mentioned ownership, not any of the media. Not any of the law enforcement agencies.

  “Who owns the property?”

  He shrugged.

  “I can find out from tax records.”

  He didn’t reply.

  “There weren’t any signs posted,” she persisted.

  He still didn’t answer.

  “Sandy,” she said with irritation, “surely you all know who owns the property.”

  “I told you, I can’t tell you anything about the investigation.”

  She studied him. His tanned face had paled slightly.

  “What are you really afraid of?” she asked suddenly.

  “I’m not afraid of anything,” he protested too strongly. “I need my job. My family has always worked for the sheriff’s office. My cousin works for the department. Both me and my wife have family all over the county. I need this job, and if anyone thinks I might be talking to the press without the sheriff’s okay …”

  His voice trailed off. She was losing him. She took a wild stab, hoping it would cause some reaction. “Some people say the officers must have known whoever killed them. Others say it must have been committed by professionals. Do you think it could be a member or members of either department?”

  Something flickered in his eyes before he uttered an oath. “Hell, no,” he said.

  “Then …”

  “Doesn’t have to be cops,” he said. “There’s gangs around here,” he said, his eyes not quite meeting hers. “You don’t want to rile them.”

  She was just about to ask who the gangs were when he turned almost violently and went to his car. He turned toward her again. “Do me a favor. Do yourself a favor. Just go with the press conferences. Don’t poke your nose around, and I haven’t talked to you. Not about anything.”

  Then he was in the car and tires squealed as he tore out of the parking lot.

  She leaned against the car and took a deep breath. He’d obviously said much more than he’d meant to say, or wanted to say, and she was sure he wouldn’t talk to her again.

  She took the recorder from her pocket and balanced it in her hand for a moment, then kept it there as she opened the car door. She was more convinced than ever that he knew more about the murders than he was saying. And he didn’t like what he knew.

  She started the car. It was a long drive home, and she would listen to the conversation on the way.

  Was there anything really there?

  Or was it just the way he looked, moved, spoke? The way his eyes couldn’t quite meet hers, the paleness of his face, the palpable fear as he spoke of his family? She couldn’t get over the feeling that he knew something that frightened him.

  Something that haunted him.

  Or was it her imagination?

  As she steered the car onto a main highway, she looked around. Perhaps some of Sandy’s caution was infecting her as well. There was a steady stream of cars but none that looked as if they had any purpose other than getting to where they were going.

  In minutes, she was on the interstate. She switched the recorder on and heard the conversation again. Nothing could be interpreted as definite. Just vague comments that could be construed in different ways.

  She thought about sharing it with her editor, but he would want to know the source, and that wouldn’t be fair to Sandy. He had been speaking to her as a friend, not a news source.

  But she would find the owner of the property tomorrow, right after the funeral.

  And perhaps tomorrow she could get another source to discuss the possibility of some kind of gang, or an internal connection. Two sources—even protected, anonymous ones—would allow her to explore possibilities in print.

  She pressed her foot down on the gas pedal. A disgruntled Daisy would be waiting in front of the fridge. She would hear about her tardiness tonight. She smiled at the thought. Daisy made the cottage home.

  And tonight, she had a story to write in her mind. One that, if she could confirm her suspicions, would put her back in the big time of journalism. No more endless city hall meetings of a rural town. No one then would think her bad leg an impediment.

  Her mind wandered briefly to the intense man she’d seen at the press conference the day earlier, even as she wondered why. Reporter? Sightseer? Good guy? Bad guy? The very intensity that radiated from him had alerted her. So had the way he’d swept her with his eyes, as if he was searching the crowd whereas she’d merely been glancing around in frustration at the repeated questions.

  It was said that sometimes criminals attended such events, that they took pleasure in the fact that they’d stymied authorities. Had the killer been present yesterday?

  She arrived at the cottage and went inside. Daisy was, as she thought, standing in front of the fridge, the best background to appear neglected and abused.

  As Robin started to open a can of tuna to the accompaniment of some rather pitiable meows, the phone rang. She quickly shoveled the contents into a dish and ran for the phone.

  “Sis,” her sister said, “I need your help. “Cal is suing for custody of the kids. I need you to testify for me. Next week.”

  “I can’t believe he would do that.”

  “Well, he has.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “That I’m careless.”

  “You’ve never been careless with them.”

  A silence, then, “Hunter disappeared last week when I was shopping. I turned around and he was gone. He apparently saw a puppy when we went into the grocery store. When I turned around, he’d gone back to the parking lot to find the dog. He went several blocks looking for it, before the police found him. They called Cal when I reported him missing.”

  “That could happen to—”

  “He doesn’t want to pay the child support,” she said. “He never paid any attention to them when he was home, but now he’s found a woman who has some money and wants to be a stay-at-home wife.”

  Robin was stunned. She’d never particularly liked Lark’s husband. He was too good looking and knew it. He could never keep a job. He always felt that he was superior to any boss he had and eventually showed it. But she never thought he would try to take full custody of little Hunter and Kim.

 
“I’ll do whatever you need,” she said.

  “There will be depositions. You will have to come up here to do it.”

  “When?”

  “Next Tuesday.”

  That was seven days away. Robin hated to leave the story, to give it to someone for even a day or two, but her niece and nephew were more important. She knew how much Lark adored them.

  “I’ll be there. What about Star?”

  “She’ll be there, too, if the baby doesn’t come before then.”

  “We’ll have a mini-reunion.”

  “I wish it was under other circumstances. We haven’t been together since Mom died.”

  “No one will take the kids away,” Robin said. “I feel like calling Cal right now and—”

  “It won’t do any good. He’s convinced he’s right. It might dilute whatever you have to say at the hearing.”

  “Whatever you want. Are they with you now?”

  “Yes. They’re in bed now. The house is so quiet. I wish you were here now.”

  “Me, too. I’m pretty sure I won’t have a problem getting the time off.”

  “Call me when you get a flight. I’ll pick you up.”

  Her sister hung up.

  Depressed, Robin turned on the television. It was about thirty minutes before the newscast. She would go from one to another to see which reporters were covering the story, and what they had. She prayed it wouldn’t be what she did not have, or she would hear about it in the morning.

  They didn’t. The news was mostly about the funerals on the following day. She didn’t see the man who had so intrigued her, but then she hadn’t really expected it.

  Daisy hopped up on the chair next to her and kneaded her claws into Robin’s slacks, meowing softly in a demand for attention.

  Robin scratched behind her ears, wishing with all her heart she could solve Lark’s problem as easily as she could placate Daisy, who now purred contentedly.

  And discover why it was that Sandy seemed so spooked by something.

  Once again, his strange behavior haunted her thoughts, as did his vague warnings. A sudden prickling ran down her spine as the faces of the slain officers flashed on the screen.

  It still seemed such an unfathomable crime.

  She tried to brush the disquiet away. Tomorrow would be a long day, and her sister’s voice worried her. She’d never heard that frantic note before.