Black Ransom (28 page)

Ward spoke out the side of his mouth. “Sure. Sure she did. And look at her now, stretched out on the floor.”

In the bedroom Buck and Melinda had listened to the struggle between Ward and Ehron Lee. Then they heard the gunshot. Melinda had cringed at the report and tensed upon hearing Evaline's piercing scream, and her face fell. Buck looked at her but didn't know what to say. Whatever had gone on in the front room did not sound encouraging. Someone had died, and whoever that person was, Buck was certain it was not Ward Crawford.

He didn't want for any of the hostages to be dead, but he desperately hoped that it wasn't Ehron Lee who'd caught the bullet. Although the odds were still stacked against them, with Ehron Lee dead, all bets were off.

Buck could read Melinda's expression. She feared it
had
been her husband who'd been killed. Buck did not want to consider that as the outcome . . . but he had to concede there was a strong likelihood. Two men had been fighting, followed by a gunshot. Some conversation had been heard by both but what was said and by whom could not be discerned by either behind the closed door of the bedroom. The talk had been muffled.

Ward ordered Ehron Lee to remove the gags from Harrison and Watson. Immediately Watson launched into a tirade against his wife's murderer. Ward looked pleased as Watson spit out curses, and swore to somehow get even. The brutal action had triggered a rage of emotion from the man who for many years Ward had perceived as a cruel if dispassionate tormentor.

Judge Harrison just looked numb. He barely acknowledged his daughter as she wrapped her arms around him in a tearful embrace.

Ehron Lee stood with them in the front room, though off to the side, where Ward, standing alone in the kitchen, could keep watch on them all. He wasn't about to lose his advantage a second time.

He spoke to Harrison. “So tell me, Judge, which one of yuh is it gonna be?”

Harrison swallowed past the lump in his throat. “You know the answer.”

Evaline's eyes widened. She turned to Ward and pleaded, “Please, he's my daddy. Please don't kill him.
Please . . .”

Ward's face took on a look of mocking sympathy as his eyes veered toward Ehron Lee.

“Touchin', ain't it, Burrows, the way she cares for her skunk of an old man,” he said. “Too bad she couldn'ta been with us at Rockmound, huh?” Then he looked firmly at the girl and responded to her desperate plea with a slow shake of his head.

“Your
daddy
made his choice, little girl,” Ward said in derision. “Now best you move yourself outta the way lessun you wanta join him in the hereafter.”

But Evaline wouldn't budge. As she knelt before her father, she shielded his body with her own, hugging him as tightly as she could while she sobbed.

Harrison gazed down sorrowfully at the daughter he for so many years had neglected. He wished his hands were free so that he could touch her, take her hand in his—to finally, in some way, express to Evaline the affection she had yearned for. He felt despondent, regretful at never returning the love she had for him. A love she was now demonstrating by offering to give up her own life to protect him.

It was a love he had not earned. Nor a sacrifice that he deserved.

“Y-You do what he says, Evaline,” Harrison urged gently. “Go on.”

Ehron Lee spoke up. “Only a rat would shoot a girl in the back.”

“You keep forgettin'—
amigo
—you ain't got no say in this anymore,” Ward reminded him darkly.

Evaline still wouldn't move. Harrison looked desperate. He had no doubt Ward Crawford was crazed and determined enough to put a bullet in his daughter's back to get at him.

It was then, with a sudden surge of strength driven by adrenaline, that he thrust his body upward to a standing position, pulling the chair with him, thrusting Evaline aside as he did so . . . and he faced Ward defiantly.

“Do it!” Harrison demanded. “Now!”

“Daddy, no!”
Evaline shrieked.

She averted her eyes at the last second for she knew there would be no mercy from the man called Ward. She heard the single shot, then the thud of the body and the crack of the wooden chair as both crashed to the floor.

Then silence, the wall clock ticking . . .

“Snake-bellied sonofabitch,” Watson at last muttered.

Evaline became hysterical. She had a naturally pale complexion but now her coloring was white enough to remind Ehron Lee of his old cell mate Woody Milo. He watched as the girl crawled pathetically on her hands and knees to where her father lay.

“Look at him, Burrows,” Ward said with a perverse delight. “Gotta make yuh feel good, after all these years, finally seein' the man that took away your life lyin' dead.”

But Ehron Lee felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. No satisfaction, no sense of justice. With all that had happened in just these several minutes, the hatred that had corroded his body and soul for so many years ceased to exist. Yet neither could he truthfully say he felt compassion for the girl crying as she cradled her dead father's head. By witnessing these two senseless acts of violence, by his being instrumental in their happening . . . Ehron Lee had become little more than the shell of a human being.

Ward, however, was near giddy over his accomplishment. “Yeah, look at him now. Buzzard meat. How many lives did his decisions wipe away? And all it took was a single bullet to end his.”

* * *

In the next room, the second gunshot prompted Buck to impulsively start to tug hard and repeatedly on the handcuffs that locked his wrist to the bedpost. It was a futile gesture and Buck knew his attempt at breaking loose was in vain, but he was both humiliated and frustrated in his helplessness and had to do something. He looked desperately at Melinda.

“I'd risk losin' my hand if'n it would get me free,” he said.

It was heroic talk but Melinda knew his words weren't mere bravado. She noticed how his efforts had been so determined that his wrist had begun to bleed against the hard metal.

“That ain't gonna do any good,” she scolded him, grabbing his forearm and attempting to brace his struggle. “You're just hurting yourself.”

Buck ceased his effort and a flicker of embarrassment crossed his face, as if a man of his position should not surrender to such a frantic display of desperation. Melinda sympathized with his situation. She so understood that, in her own anxiety, had she the proper tool at her disposal, she believed she would have willingly cut off his hand to free him.

“I—I just can't sit here while people out there are bein' shot,” Buck said through clenched teeth.

“There ain't nothin' you can do,” Melinda said, forcing herself to speak reasonably.

She was right, of course, but her words provided Buck with scant consolation. He was a government-appointed lawman, and as each shot rang out, he felt he was failing in his duty.

Buck looked at Melinda remorsefully.

“Your son's already lost a father,” he said. “Now because of me . . .” He couldn't finish.

Melinda understood. She lowered her eyes and took Buck's free hand in hers, massaging his wrist affectionately.

“I made the choice to come,” she said softly. “Whatever happens . . . don't be blamin' yourself.”

Buck managed an awkward smile. “Wish I could accept it that easy.”

Melinda looked steadily at the marshal before she drew in and let loose a breath.

“Before he became what he is now, Ehron Lee was the best man I ever knew,” she said. “But he changed and he ain't that man no more. Leastwise I suspect he ain't, not from what I seen of him. But you been a good, a decent man from the first time I met yuh, Buck Leighton. You meant good for us all 'round.”

Buck appreciated Melinda saying those words. She spoke with sincerity though it did little to lessen the guilt he felt. He still believed that he had somehow acted carelessly, and that it was through negligence on his part that he had brought them both to this critical moment.

Buck sighed. “When that door opens, you might as well know that whoever's there won't be takin' no chance to release me.”

Melinda didn't say anything. She realized that what he was saying was likely true.

“The killin's started and they won't be lettin' no lawman go,” Buck concluded.

Melinda summoned her optimism and spoke with a forced confidence. “'Less it's Ehron Lee, and I can tell him . . . 'bout our son.”

Buck hesitated. Telling white lines framed his lips, and he responded with a short nod. He could not bring himself to tell Melinda, though by now she probably understood, that with each passing moment their hope of surviving this ordeal was fading.

There followed an ominous quiet, and they both waited apprehensively.

* * *

“The stink that coyote wore when alive ain't gonna improve now that he's dead,” Ward said as he coldly observed the body of the murdered judge. “Get that carcass outta here 'fore it starts a-molderin' and really smells up the place,” he snarled at Ehron Lee, emphasizing his command with his revolver.

The young girl, Evaline, was tightly embracing her father's corpse, oblivious to Ward's cruel words. The eyelids were partly open, but though her fingertips gently touched them, she couldn't quite bring herself to shut her father's eyes, for that gesture meant forever and she was in denial of finality.

Ehron Lee kept his expression emotionless as he stepped over to Evaline and, at first, tried to gently urge the girl away from the body. She resisted, and in frustration, Ehron Lee finally took her with both hands by the shoulders and lifted her aside. She cried, screamed, and struggled, and even attempted to scramble back over once she was pulled free, but Ehron Lee met her with a threatening glare and she froze in position, recognizing the killer instinct reflected in his eyes. She timidly started to back away.

“Don't take him too far, Burrows,” Ward said cautiously. “Just dump him out back. And get back in here quick.”

With Ward's gun trained on him and the doubtless knowledge that another pull on the trigger meant nothing to the man, Ehron Lee proceeded to do as instructed, though he obeyed with neither a word nor a gesture of acknowledgment.

“Oh, and Burrows,” Ward said, casting a squinting eye toward George Watson, then shifting his spiteful gaze to the body of the superintendent's wife. “When you come back, get rid of this, too.” He spoke specifically to Watson. “The buzzards can have 'em both. We'll be long gone by then.”

“I'll live to see you burn in hell, Crawford,” Watson said irately, his voice tremulous with hate, no longer concealing his rage.

“Ain't expectin' nothin' less,” Ward returned in an unruffled tone. “Only 'fore that time comes, Superintendent, it'll be
you
what's waitin' for me.”

Desperately, Watson turned his focus and vented his fury on Ehron Lee.

“What are you doin' with this madman, Burrows?” he demanded. “You're not of his kind.”

Ehron Lee halted. He twisted his head and looked at Watson contemplatively before his expression darkened, his head pumped full of blood. The reminder of why all this had to happen consumed him like the blaze of a fire reignited.

“No . . . I wasn't,” he said, issuing his words with a series of heaving breaths. “Not until you . . . you and the judge here made me this way. And for however long you got left to live, you remember that. Carry it with you to your grave.”

Ward looked pleased, if still somewhat uncertain, at his partner's apparent return to form. The man of prison-bred fury he had known and watched fester in his own private hell behind the walls of Rockmound.

“We followed rules, Burrows,” Watson said, his voice reasonable, adopting his professional tone. “Rules set by law.”

Ehron Lee's eyes widened and were glazed with contempt.

“Set by law!” he challenged. “You treated us like vermin, you sonofabitch. Beat us, starved us, worked us worse than dogs. Then yuh took away our privileges. Rules? Them was rules set by you. Your
own
law,
Superintendent
Watson.”

“That's the talk, Burrows,” Ward said with a vigorous nod of his head.

Ehron Lee's mounting rage was mirrored by the restlessness of his physical action. He appeared so overwhelmed by the heated words he spewed that, as if propelled by a force outside himself, he edged away from the door, near which he had dragged the judge's body, and inched closer toward Ward, who was observing and admiring his partner's vindictive tirade.

Ehron Lee spun around toward Ward.

“Gimme the gun, Ward,” he implored. “After what that scum did to me, this one's mine. Gimme the gun!”

Ward eyed Ehron Lee uncertainly. He liked what he was witnessing, but his instincts were still in doubt as to Ehron Lee's sincerity. Then, at that moment—in that quick second when Ward was debating his trust in his partner—Ehron Lee made his own decision.

Positioned close to Ward, he seized his opportunity, taking advantage of Ward's weakening defenses. Ehron Lee swung around, drew back his fist, and delivered a swift, hard punch to Ward's jaw. Ward's legs buckled and he dropped to the floor, on his knees with his head bowed, dazed and semiconscious, and Ehron Lee swooped down and quickly grabbed the gun from the loosened fingers. Then he glanced up at the dumbstruck George Watson.

He spoke a stony reminder. “Don't think I didn't mean any of what I said.”

Watson was stunned by Ehron Lee's sudden, decisive move and could not respond beyond offering a vacuous nod.

Ehron Lee knelt down and reached into Ward's pocket, searching for the keys to unlock the handcuffs confining Buck Leighton. Ward was moaning, still groggy and helpless. Ehron Lee took the keys and stepped quickly to the bedroom, where his wife and the marshal were held. He found himself pausing for a moment before he twisted the latch and pushed open the door. Once he did and was standing in the threshold, he allowed himself his first thorough look at Melinda, then he gazed into her startled, fearful, yet somewhat expectant eyes. The look they exchanged lasted only seconds and the connection was empty, seeming to forever solidify the separation that had come between them. Neither spoke; Ehron Lee just tossed the keys at her before he turned and walked back into the front room.