The parking lot closest to Jonah’s where Jeffreys was killed had been full when I got there and I had parked in the overflow lot further down, beyond the last restaurant and well past where the Riverwalk stopped. The lot was nothing more than a dirt-and-gravel cleared space that dead-ended in overgrown rhododendrons, live oaks, and yaupon at the river’s edge. Despite the moon, it was even more poorly lit than the front lot, full of deep shadows and menacing shapes. The branches of the unkempt bushes that lined the sides swayed in the light breeze that blew off the river, making the shadows seem alive with unseen, lurking forces.
While I hesitated, the taillights came on from a car near mine. It backed out of its slot and turned my way, nearly blinding me with its high beams. I had to press against the fence to let it pass. Behind me, a man and two laughing, chattering women emerged from the neighboring restaurant and got into a nearby car parked nose out. I breathed a little easier, but they drove away before I’d gotten halfway to my car and I was alone in the deserted lot with dark cars that probably belonged to restaurant workers who would not be coming out for another hour. It was suddenly very quiet, almost as if the rhododendrons were holding their breath. I heard a boat horn out on the river, the swoosh of traffic over the bridge, and from somewhere off to my left a car horn blew and a dog barked. My footsteps crunched against the gravel.
I passed a white car and something in the bushes loomed out at me with a crackling noise. I jumped back and almost lost my balance on the loose gravel. To my chagrin, it was only a dark plastic bag that a stray breeze had filled with air. I gave myself a mental shake for an imagination that seemed to be working overtime, seeing danger where none existed.
All the same, when I felt in my pocket for my keys and touched the button that unlocked my car door, I was comforted by its chirp and the blink of its taillights. Another minute and I would be safely inside with the doors locked.
I rounded the car next to mine and was reaching for the handle when a crouching figure leaped up and grabbed me.
I screamed and my fingers desperately pushed the little buttons on my key. The taillights flashed and the trunk popped up before I finally hit the one that set off the car alarm. The horn split the night air in several rhythmical blasts, then the keys were wrestled from my hand and with a muttered curse my attacker immediately found the right one to stop the horn. All this time my arm was twisted behind me in a grip that threatened to dislocate my shoulder.
Almost before I knew what was happening, I was thrown into the trunk and the lid was slammed down on me. I ducked automatically, but it still gave me a bruising knock on the head. My arm burned with pain from the wrenching and I scraped my bare shoulder on a corner of the small metal toolbox I keep in the trunk, yet once I heard the car engine start and felt the car begin to back up, adrenaline stopped pumping. I quit being afraid and took several long, steadying breaths. Instead of being killed there and then, I was going to be taken to some isolated spot where I could be dealt with more easily.
Cal thought it was fun.
I had broken two fingernails and banged my knee.
As the car finished reversing, but before it was put in forward drive, I yanked the release over the lock. The lid flew up and I rolled to the ground and away from the wheels.
With a squeal of the brakes, the car was immediately thrown back into reverse, but I was well out of the way of those crushing tires.
My assailant jerked open the car door and ran toward me. By then, I had pulled my .38 from the ankle holster I had strapped on before leaving the hotel parking lot, a gun Daddy had given me back when I was in private practice and driving around the state by myself late at night.
Moonlight silvered the barrel as I took aim. “Stop right there or I swear to God I’ll shoot you where you stand.”
A prowl car suddenly drew across the entrance to the parking lot. Flashlights hit Hank Barlow’s face from two directions. One of the lights belonged to the police officer who had been reading her newspaper while she ate a solitary dinner and kept her eye on me. The other belonged to Detective Gary Edwards.
The first question he asked me was, “You okay?”
The second was, “Do you have a license for that thing?” which was exactly what Dwight had asked the first time
Why does a woman with a gun freak men out?
CHAPTER
30
By the time they got around to taking my statement, Hank Barlow had waived his rights to an attorney and made a full confession. It was as if he was glad to be done with all the violence and had a huge need to unburden his soul, holding nothing back. Afterwards, Edwards let me sit in on his interview with a tearful Mel Garrett, who confirmed the events and conjectures I had pieced together.
Much as we would like to be infallible, no judge gets it right every time and the consequences of compassion and of sloppiness are often indistinguishable.
When I sat court for Bernie Rawlings’s brother up in Cedar Gap last fall, I saw a family snapshot of Kenneth Rawlings with his wife and young son. His clerk told me that Mrs. Rawlings and their little boy were killed instantly when they were broadsided by a drunk driver, a driver Ken had sentenced to several days of community service when he appeared in court on his first DWI.
Pete Jeffreys had violated his oath of office in more ways than one, but the thing that got him killed was
