The Watchman Page 22

  Cody shook his head. “I-I-I’m not sure.”

  “It is through pain and suffering that we grow closer to God. When we trust Him in all things, He can use us for His plan. Because I knew what you and your mom were going through from my own experience, I determined to help you and others like you, so you wouldn’t be hurt anymore. Understand?”

  Cody focused on my face, absorbing what I’d said. After a moment, he nodded.

  When I turned back around in my seat, George’s gaze found mine. He raised his thumb.

  My eyes drooped from pain medication as I slipped the cell phone from my pocket and fumbled with the numbers on the lighted screen.

  George took the phone from my hand. “Give me that before you hurt yourself. I’ll call Rachel.”

  My head rested against the seat of its own volition. “Tell her we’re coming home.”

  When George finished he placed the phone into my jacket pocket. A grin spread across his rugged face. “Boy, Marshall sure rearranged your mug. You won’t have to worry about being a trophy husband any time soon.”

  Despite the pain in my face, I laughed.

  24

  Hebron, Wyoming

  My body found new places to ache on the flight back to Hebron, but a cleared runway smoothed out the bumps when we touched down. Snowplows on overtime.

  I shaded my eyes against mid-afternoon sun that bounced off white banks along the tarmac. Ahead in the hanger’s shadows, a small crowd gathered as we taxied to a stop. Rachel, Bill, Emma, Amos, and Jake stood hunched against the cold, collars pulled close around anxious faces.

  George killed the engine, and a sobbing Rachel jerked the aircraft door open.

  Cody fell into his mother’s arms. “Don’t squeeze so tight, Mom. My chest’s a little sore.”

  Rachel gulped a deep breath. “Sorry. I’m just so...”

  She held him close, her gaze searching his face as though unable to comprehend he was here, alive, and by her side.

  Cody snuggled closer and wrapped his arm around her waist, the haunted, frightened look in his eyes―gone.

  George swallowed, making his Adam’s apple bob. He turned and waved us forward. “Come on into the office. It’s warmer, and Norma has coffee and donuts waiting.”

  Inside, refreshments in hand, the group listened silently as I told our story, my face and limp a testament to how close we came to losing our lives.

  When I finished, Amos slapped my shoulder. “So, Marshall is dead and the thug is in custody.”

  I laughed. “That’s as concise a summary as could possibly be made.”

  An hour later, after I’d retold our adventure from every angle, downed three donuts and two mugs of coffee, they let me go home.

  

  The darkening sky and unlighted windows gave the old condo a forlorn atmosphere. Where was Truman? Had he pulled up stakes and left the dogs alone? Perhaps he left a note.

  I slipped the key into the lock and it clicked open. Warm air greeted me. Perhaps Truman wasn’t too far away since he left the heat on. I tossed my coat on a chair and flipped the light switch.

  Before I reached the kitchen, a soft knock sounded at the front door. I turned and retraced my steps.

  Mabel greeted me with a broad smile. “Hey, stranger. It’s great to have you home. Maybe now Ted will stop moping around. By the way, your friend Truman is at my place. He and Ted are watching a game.”

  She handed me a Styrofoam box. “Leftovers from the restaurant. I figured you wouldn’t want to cook.”

  I lifted the lid. A large charbroiled T-bone and baked potato spoke to my taste buds. “Leftovers, huh?”

  “Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to question your elders?”

  “Thanks, Mabel. You’re a sweetheart. How’s my buddy doing?”

  “Driving me absolutely insane, missing you and the dogs. Truman has helped.” She chuckled. “I hate to tell you this, but you come in a distant third place to the dogs.”

  “The story of my life. Got time for coffee?”

  “Sure. I’m going back to work, but I have a few minutes to spare.”

  We entered the kitchen, and I flipped on the light switch.

  Put on the coffee,” Mabel said. “I’ll get the mugs.”

  I made the brew and retold the story of Cody’s rescue while I ate.

  After I finished the steak, Mabel left for work, and I went upstairs. My eyelids were weights, but I needed a shower before settling into a warm bed. In the bedroom, I kicked off my shoes in the dark and stumbled toward the bathroom. A flash of color in my peripheral vision made me turn.

  A big man in a plaid shirt and red hat sat on my bed, a gun pointed at my gut.

  The hit man who’d dumped Truman in the blizzard.

  He attached a silencer to the revolver and tightened it down. “You’re a hard man to catch up with.”

  “I didn’t know you were looking or I would’ve left my itinerary.”

  He chuckled but his eyes weren’t laughing. “Smart guy. I like taking down smart guys.”

  “You here while my friend Mabel was downstairs?” Visions of this jerk hurting Mabel made my legs weak.

  “Yeah. I figured she wouldn’t stay long. Didn’t want a massacre. Creates too much media attention. I’ll leave behind a few narcotics. So it looks like a drug deal gone bad. Beside, London only contracted one hit.”

  “You should probably know your boss is dead. If you haven’t been paid, you may have a problem collecting.”

  “I make it a policy to get the money up front.”

  “You could just keep the cash and go on your way. I won’t tell.”

  “Can’t do that. I have a reputation to uphold. I always get my man―or woman, as the case may be.”

  Wrong. I had not lived through the trials of the past twenty-four hours just to be killed in my own bedroom.

  “Your work ethic is commendable. Your mother would be proud.”

  He stood and hitched up his baggy trousers with one hand. “Let’s get this over with. I’ve wasted too much time on you already, and as they say, time is money.”

  I waited to see if he had any more clichés. Apparently not.

  A deep growl I recognized sounded outside my bedroom window. Attila, the satanic mutt next door.

  The gunman’s gaze shifted to the window for a microsecond. When he looked back, I wasn’t there. At least, he couldn’t see me. His mouth fell open, but he didn’t shoot, giving me enough time to get out of firing range. Early on, I discovered the force field wasn’t bulletproof.

  “Adams? Where...?”

  “Lose something?” I touched his shoulder and jumped back.

  His arms flailed in the air, and he spun in circles, his gaze frantically searching the room.

  “Oscar, don’t worry about Adams. He’s not important.”

  “W-who are you?”

  “The Angel of Death and you have a lot of accounting to do.” I had his attention.

  He pulled a handkerchief from his hip pocket and mopped his brow. “H-How do you know...?”

  “I know all about you, Oscar. Your name, how many people you’ve killed, when and where the bodies are buried. I know about the hit on the judge in Phoenix, the state senator’s wife in Nashville. I know them all, Oscar.”

  “N-Now what?”

  “I’m going to give you a break you never gave your victims. Pick up the phone and call the Hebron Police Department. Ask for Detective Amos Horne. Give him your confession. Tell him everything. I’ll wait until you finish.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Then it ends here and now. You meet your Maker. There are things worse than death. Dying would be the easy part. You ready for that?”

  “They’ll give me the needle. What did you do with Adams?”

  “Don’t worry about Adams. I’ll take care of him. He won’t know a thing. This is just between you and me. Do it now, Oscar. If you don’t, there won’t be a second chance to make things right. Your call.” Confe
ssing to the police wouldn’t make things right with God, but it was a chance for redemption.

  Oscar hesitated, hands quivering. “I-I-I- can’t.”

  “Do it, Oscar.”

  He licked his lips and then reached for the phone.

  When he’d finished, I emerged from the bathroom with my Glock in my hand.

  ”Where’d you come from?” Oscar shook his head. “Never mind.”

  I handcuffed Oscar to the stairs and we waited for Hebron’s finest to arrive.

  The hit man looked at me. “You believe in this life-ever-after stuff?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “You know what happened upstairs?”

  I shook my head. “We were talking, next thing I knew I was in the bathroom. What did happen? What made you call the police?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  Ten minutes later, Amos knocked on the front door, a couple of police officers in tow. Cops led the subdued hit man away, still shaking his head.

  Amos took a seat at the bar in the kitchen. I filled a mug of coffee and shoved it to him. He took a sip and looked over the cup’s rim. “That guy’s on the ten most wanted list. How’d you get him to confess?”

  “It was his idea. Guilty conscience I suppose.”

  Amos shrugged. “He kept mumbling something about the angel of death.”

  

  Hebron, Wyoming

  Next day, I drove to Lincoln Armstrong’s place to hand in my final report. He received the summary and read it slowly. “I don’t know how to thank you, Noah.”

  Although it lacked the details of her death, my précis told him where to find his wife’s body. In an ironic twist, Ben Marshall buried Abigail at the cabin where I ran into Truman.

  During the struggles with Marshall the day he died, my touch revealed he ran into Abigail at the country club the night he received the Hebron Civic Man-of-the-Year award. Fearing she would expose his new identity, he arranged a meeting four days later and killed her.

  Armstrong read slowly, and then peered silently into the fire, his long sought goal accomplished. His name was now cleared, all doubts erased. The location of Abby’s body was in the report, her murderer found, and now Ben Marshall faced the ultimate Judge. Armstrong could bring her home. Burial would be the final closure that allowed him to grieve and go on with his life. A right denied him for too long.

  25

  Hebron, Wyoming

  A few weeks later, Armstrong invited me to the funeral service. “I’ve moved Joey’s body from California. I’m burying him beside Abigail. She would have wanted that.”

  George and I had picked up Goldie Marks in Salt Lake in his new plane. She hobbled down the steps to the tarmac and onto George’s plane. In Hebron, we drove in silence to the Armstrong estate.

  The double ceremony was simple and touching, with only six people in attendance: Armstrong, Goldie, Pastor Bob Miller, Amos, George, and me. Armstrong kept his promise. The burial place he selected lay by the lake she loved, with a marble headstone beside the redwood bench.

  We stood braced against a chilled breeze as two caskets sat on elevator straps over the empty graves. Pastor Miller ended with a simple line from the Beatitudes, “Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.”

  Tears rolled down Armstrong’s face as the bodies lowered. The grave marker listed Abigail and Joey’s names, date of birth, and death. The simple inscription read, “Mother and Son, Peace at Last.”

  Our small band returned to Armstrong’s home for the wake. Underneath the sadness of the occasion lay a feeling of satisfaction—our quest complete.

  It occurred to me as I watched Armstrong and Goldie interact that something might develop there. That would be a good thing. They were two lonely people who needed someone to fill their lives.

  Before I left, Armstrong pulled me into the library. “I told you I didn’t know how to thank you. Maybe this will help.”

  He handed me an envelope. It contained my final check from the Armstrong Empire—including a hefty bonus, followed by the offer of a permanent job.

  “I’d like to offer you a job in my new security firm. It will offer protection to dignitaries going into danger zones like Afghanistan and Iraq.” He nodded. “I want to hire only the best of the best. Ex-SEALS, Green Berets, Rangers, etcetera. I would like you to head up the division for me. Recruit the best, run the show. I could make it worth your while. I’m calling it Armstrong.”

  I chuckled. “I bet you had to give that a lot of thought. Your offer is very flattering and sincerely appreciated. But I can’t accept, Lincoln. I’m doing the work I love—and I have a wonderful Boss.”

  He wagged his head slowly from side to side and smiled. “A man who can’t be bought. I like that. I’m sorry to hear it, but I do understand.”

  “You wouldn’t have an opening in your new division for a Vietnam War hero, would you?”

  He hesitated. “You have someone in mind?”

  “Yeah, a guy who could use a job, right now. His name is Truman Merchant. Probably not the man to head up your division but perhaps you could find something that fits his particular skills.”

  Armstrong reached to shake my hand. “Send him to see me. I’ll give him an interview. It’s the least I can do for a hero.”

  26

  The London home, Hebron, Wyoming

  The next day I returned to Cedar Hills Drive.

  I eased up to the intercom phone and lifted the receiver. Moments later the gates slid open. From the outside, the house looked much the same, except for the landscaping. Snow had melted and new plants showed signs of spring, a time of new beginnings.

  In the circular drive, I stopped at the front entrance and gave the horn a short blast. The neighbors would love that.

  Squinting at the morning brightness, Rachel stood in the entryway. Her smile outshone the sun. “I’m so glad you came.” She reached and gave me a lingering hug.

  “I wouldn’t have missed it.” I maneuvered past her into the foyer.

  The interior, at least what I could see, rooted me in my tracks. It popped with color, entirely redecorated—earlier drab walls replaced with candy-apple red and matching tints in throw pillows and painting. “Wow!”

  She waved her arms wide. “Do you like it?”

  “What’s not to like? It looks amazing.”

  A loud squeal echoed from the upstairs landing and a bolt of energy shot down the flight of stairs and leaped from the bottom step into my arms.

  I caught Cody and swung him to the floor. “Hey, kid, you have to give me a warning before you do that. I’m an old man.”

  Cody scoffed. “You’re not old.”

  “Being around you makes me feel ancient.”

  He bounded out the door and yelled over his shoulder. “Come see my tree house! OK?”

  I waved. “Sure thing. Be out in a minute.”

  Rachel stepped close and touched my arm. “Before the others arrive, I want to say something. I can never—“

  I held up my hand. “No need to say anything. You may have noticed it wasn’t a one-man show. I only did what anyone would have, and I had lots of help from my friends.”

  She placed her fingertips to my lips. “Just let me say this, Noah Adams. You not only rescued Cody and me from Harry’s...I mean Marshall’s abuse, you risked your life to save my son. I can never repay that. Not ever”

  My face grew warm. “You could start by getting me a cup of coffee.”

  She released me and led the way into the kitchen. “You’re hopeless. Totally hopeless. I’m having a party for the over-the-hill-gang responsible for my liberation, Jake, Amos, George and Norma. Bill and Emma are already here. Jake made all the phone calls.”

  “Over the hill? I beg your pardon.”

  She laughed. “If the shoe fits—“

  I took a stool at the island. “I expect something better from you than clichés. Where’s Bill?”

  Rachel pointed to the backya
rd and chuckled. “I put him in charge of the steaks. He says he’s a master chef on the grill.”

  “How’re things going with you and Cody?”

  She drew vegetables from the refrigerator and pulled out a cutting board. “We’re good. Cody’s back in his old school, and I’ve decided to enroll in law school for the fall.”

  I raised an eyebrow and whistled. “Law school? That’s a big decision.”

  “And one I didn’t make lightly. Financially, I’m good for a long time, but I can’t sit around and do nothing. I want to help women in my situation, to repay the blessings I’ve received. I got the idea from Jake. After the home security tapes appeared in the D.A.’s office, the authorities dropped the jailbreak charges. Watching Jake inspired me. He’s quite a man, your Mr. Stein.”

  “One in a million.”

  Rachel glanced around the room. “There were a lot of bad memories here, but we’re past that now. Redecorating helped erase all presence of Harry London, and I took a baseball bat to the security cameras. If we decide to sell this place in the future—perhaps find a ranch somewhere—we can do that. Cody loved ranch life. But for now, I think we need time to heal before we make a permanent move.” She laid the knife on the cutting board. “What happened to the real Harold London? Do you know?”

  I took a sip of coffee. I couldn’t tell her my touch of Marshall during the episode at the cabin revealed the whole story. So I improvised. “I’ve pieced together most of it. When Ben escaped, he headed north and came to London’s lake cabin, the place where Marshall took Cody. He killed London and buried his body on the grounds.

  “Apparently while at the lodge, Marshall discovered the similarities in their age and background. He simply took London’s identity. The real London was partner in a law firm in New England and had no family. Since Marshall practiced law in San Francisco, he had no trouble taking the Wyoming Bar exam under London’s name. He simply became Harold London.”