Low Pressure (47 page)

She arched her back and cried out his name.

At some point during the wee hours, they grew tired enough to spoon. “You never did tell me,” she said drowsily.

“Tell you what?”

“Why you love flying so much. You told me that you fell in love with it the first time Gall took you up. He told me you were enraptured.”

“Gall said that?”

She laughed softly and turned to face him. “I supplied the word, but that’s how he described you.” She placed her arm around his waist and rested her cheek against the fuzziness on his chest. “Describe to me how you felt that day.”

While collecting his thoughts, his fingers sifted through her hair. “For as far back as I could remember, I’d been trying to figure out why my dad didn’t like me and what I could do to win him over. That day, when Gall took me up, it was like . . . like I left all that on the ground.

“During that five-minute flight, it stopped mattering to me whether my dad liked me or not. His indifference couldn’t reach me in the sky. I knew I’d found something more important to my life than he would ever be because I loved it more. I’d found a new home.”

He gave a light laugh. “Of course when we landed, nothing that poetic-sounding came to my adolescent mind. I’ve had years to think about that first flight and how significant it was. Even then, I knew it was life-changing, but, of course, nothing changed immediately.

“We landed, and I went back to that cold house and that unfeeling man. I remained angry and resentful, carried a chip on my shoulder just as I always had. The difference was, I now had something to look forward to. My dad couldn’t lock me out anymore because I’d stopped wanting in.”

He paused as though considering whether or not to continue. “This is going to sound as corny as hell. But”—again, he hesitated—“but during that flight, there was a span of time, maybe forty-five seconds, when the sun shone through a crack in the clouds. And I mean a slit. You know how it sometimes does just before sundown and there are clouds on the horizon?

“Anyway, we were flying at the perfect altitude to be level with it. That beam of sunlight was aimed directly at me. I was staring straight into it and I
owned
it. It was like a sign or something. For a kid who didn’t have a mother, and a dad who looked through him, that was . . . Well, it was a lot.

“And I thought to myself, ‘This is what it’s about. It’s never going to get better than this. This is my life’s perfect moment. If I live to be a hundred years old, I’ll remember this till the day I die.’”

Bellamy didn’t move for the longest time. Eventually Dent mumbled, “Told you it was corny.”

“No, it’s lovely.”

“You ever had a moment like that? Do you understand what I’m talking about?”

She raised her head, and a tear slid over her lower eyelid as she smiled down into his face and said softly, “As of right now, I do.”

They slept for several hours and woke to make love again as they showered together. He was assembling the coffee-maker when she emerged from the bathroom, wearing only the dress shirt he’d discarded the night before, towel-drying her hair.

When he turned and saw her, an odd expression came over his face. “What?” she asked.

He shook his head slightly, then gave her a wolfish grin. “I was just thinking how good it looks on you.”

“Your shirt?”

“Debauchery.”

She blushed to the roots of her hair.

“Damn, that gets to me every time.”

“What?”

“Your blush.”

“I don’t blush.”

“Bet you will.”

“
Will?
”

He sat down in one of the chairs at the table, caught her hand, and pulled her into his lap. It was a while before they got around to having their coffee.

Over steaming cups, she told him what she’d learned about the man they knew as Jerry. Dent muttered a few choice phrases. “Steven’s the one I should have gone after.”

“He retained the man to look out for me. He meant well.”

He looked prepared to comment on that, but chose not to. “What was on Moody’s mind?”

She related their conversation and, when she finished, she said, “Admit it, Dent. You must be a little relieved.”

“To know that you didn’t kill her?” When she solemnly nodded, he said, “I’m relieved for your sake. From a practical standpoint, I never really thought you had.”

“But you had considered the possibility.”

“Let’s just say I hoped that when you regained your memory, it wouldn’t be of you choking Susan. I’m glad you don’t have to be haunted by that.”

“Yes. But if it wasn’t me, and it wasn’t Strickland, then who? Moody claims only to know who didn’t. Not who did. We need to—”

“Go see Haymaker,” he said.

The retired detective looked as elfin as ever. “Sorry about your dad,” he said to Bellamy.

She acknowledged the condolence but didn’t linger on it. “Moody said you’d be expecting us.”

He moved aside and motioned them in. They sat as before, he in the recliner, them competing with the dog for space on the sofa. Haymaker pointed down to the case file lying on the coffee table. “Recognize that?”

She nodded.

“Frankly, I can’t believe Dale is ready to share this.” He held up his hands and gave an elaborate shrug. “But who’s to say how a man’s conscience works?”

“He told me that he left some kind of confession with you.”

The former cop took several folded sheets of paper from the pocket of his shirt and spread them open. “Signed.”

“And thumbprinted,” she said, checking the last sheet, where Moody’s signature was affixed along with the thumbprint.

“So what does he confess to, exactly?” Dent asked.

Haymaker settled more comfortably into his chair. “Ever hear of a Brady cop?”

Bellamy and Dent shook their heads.

“There was a Supreme Court case, midsixties, I think. Stemmed from a murder trial,
Brady versus Maryland
. The court ruled in Brady’s favor. The upshot of it was that police officers and prosecutors had a duty, an obligation, to tell a defendant’s attorney about any exculpatory material or information, even if they think it’s hogwash.

“Even if they’re damn near certain a witness is lying through his teeth on behalf of an offender, they’re still required to share with the other side what they’ve been told. If an investigator discovers something on his own that favors the suspect, he’s still obligated to share it.”

“Which allows for lots of wiggle room,” Dent said.

“And we—meaning cops—wiggle. But those who flat-out lie or deliberately withhold something are cheating the justice system and the law of the land. They’re called Brady cops.”

Bellamy said, “That’s what Moody did?”

“With Jim Postlewhite. Moody questioned him early on, as he did all the men at the barbecue.” Leaning forward, Haymaker reached into the file and removed the sheet of paper bearing Postlewhite’s name underlined in red.

He slipped on a pair of reading glasses. “Mr. Postlewhite told Moody where he was and what he was doing immediately before and after the tornado tore through the park. He described it in some detail. He told Moody about pushing some kids into a culvert before taking cover himself.

“If you can read Moody’s chicken scratching, it’s all written down here.” He removed his glasses and looked at them. “Postlewhite’s story eliminated Allen Strickland as a suspect.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because Allen had helped him shepherd those kids into the culvert.”

“Where was this culvert?” Bellamy asked.

“A long way from where your sister’s body was found. And Postlewhite said that Allen came running over to him and the kids from the parking lot, where he’d been looking for his brother.”

Dent said, “He couldn’t have been two places at once.”

Haymaker nodded. “You had an alibi Dale and Rupe couldn’t shake, so Rupe said they’d nail Allen Strickland instead. But Dale reminded Rupe that Postlewhite could testify that Strickland was somewhere else while the murder was taking place. Rupe told Dale to do whatever was necessary to get Postlewhite to forget that.”

“Oh no,” Bellamy said mournfully.

Haymaker patted the air. “He didn’t have to do anything. Postlewhite had died of a heart attack three days after the tornado.”

“Lucky for them,” Dent said drolly.

“Rupe certainly thought so. Dale knew that the boy had at least a chance of beating that rap.”

“But he never disclosed what Postlewhite had told him.”

Haymaker paused and scratched his cheek thoughtfully. “Dale had been a good cop. Hard, maybe,” he said, glancing at Dent. “But withholding exculpatory facts was stepping way over the line. There was also the so-called accident that prevented Strickland’s brother from testifying. But by then, Dale was in so deep with Rupe he didn’t see a way out.”

“What happens to Brady cops when they’re found out?” Bellamy asked.

“They’re disgraced, exposed as liars. They’re usually terminated. Some are put on a Brady list, which is basically a blacklist shared with other law enforcement agencies.”

“Moody won’t lose sleep over those consequences,” Dent said.

“You’re right,” Haymaker said. “Poor ol’ Dale hasn’t got much to lose. But if it comes out that Rupe violated due process while serving as a state prosecutor, and knowingly sent an innocent man to prison, he might face charges. Especially since Strickland died there. At the very least, his reputation will be shot to hell. He won’t be able to sell a secondhand tricycle.”

Bellamy said, “Does Moody expect us to blow the whistle?”

Haymaker refolded the signed confession and handed it to her. “I made myself a copy, but I would never use it against my friend. Dale left it up to you what you do with the original. Turn it over to the Austin PD. To the DA’s office. Attorney general. To the media.”

“Why didn’t he give it to me yesterday?”

Without compunction, Haymaker said, “He needed time to get himself out of Dodge. He won’t be going back to where he was before, either. We’ve seen the last of him we’re ever gonna see.”

“He’s a damn coward,” Dent said.

“He told me you’d called him that to his face. He also said you weren’t far off the mark.”

Bellamy frowned thoughtfully. “Even if I do share this with the authorities, Rupe will claim it’s all lies.”

“No doubt. Dale’s word against his. But Dale’s notes in the file back up the part about Postlewhite. Every cop knows how important one’s notes can turn out to be. And if that case file wasn’t dangerous to someone, why’d it mysteriously go missing from the PD? Everything added together, it looks bad for Rupe. The King of Cars will be dethroned.”

Then he leaned toward her and, speaking earnestly, said, “One last thing. Dale wanted me to emphasize to you that neither he, nor anyone, ever turned up a shred of evidence that implicated you.”

“He told me that. He also knew that Allen Strickland hadn’t killed Susan. Which leaves us still not knowing who did.”

From deep inside Bellamy’s shoulder bag, her cell phone dinged. She fished it out. “I’ve got a text.” When she accessed it, she murmured, “It’s a photo.” She touched the arrow on her screen and then covered her mouth in horror when the enlarged picture appeared.

It was of Dale Moody. His throat had been sliced open from ear to ear.

R
ay smiled with satisfaction when he thought of Bellamy receiving that text message. Her number had been stored in Gall’s cell phone, which Ray had found in the pocket of his overalls. How lucky was it that he’d taken the “dummy” with him when he ran from the hangar?

See? There was a reason why things happened the way they did. Allen had always said so. He should’ve listened better and believed.

Bellamy and Dent would see that picture of Moody and understand what was in store for them. Thinking how scared they must be made him chuckle. He just had to figure out how to close in on them. Rupe would help. He was good at planning.

Ray’s first problem, however, was to dispose of the body and clean up the mess. He hadn’t known a body could hold that much blood. Dale Moody had bled like a stuck hog, making one hell of a mess in Ray’s duplex.

The last thing he’d expected was to find the detective lying in wait for him when he returned home around dawn. Ray had been trying to hunt down the son of a bitch all night, when Moody had been here all along, waiting to jump him when he came through the front door.

As planned, Rupe had called Ray from the reception following the funeral. Ray had wanted to go, but Rupe had said he would stand out in the ritzy crowd, and that that would be a disaster. Rupe had also suspected that Moody might show up at some point during the observances for Lyston, and he’d been right. Rupe was smart like that.

He’d spotted Moody skulking around the country club. “He had a brief chat with Bellamy. Your enemies are as thick as thieves with each other, Ray.”

Rupe had given Ray a description of Moody’s car and the license number, and had instructed him to be parked within sight of the country club gate, so that when Moody left, Ray could follow. He’d pulled out behind Moody in the car Rupe had loaned him from the glass company where he worked.