Page 62 of The List
B RENT TOOK HIS TIME LEAVING S TATESBORO. T HE DELUGE STARTED as he reentered Woods County. By the time he reached Eagle Lake it was pouring rain and, from the look of the nasty clouds, an awful lot of moisture was going to find the ground during the next few hours.
He was still wearing the stinking Braves cap and sunglasses found in the Mustang.
He hoped, coupled with the rain, he was adequately disguised from the curious view of any passing motorists, one of whom might work for De Florio.
He’d destroyed his cell phone and left it in a dumpster forty miles behind him.
He snaked around the lake’s east shore, passing the county boat ramp and two of the larger fish camps.
He turned north at the intersection of Thrasher Point Drive and County Road 36, the north shore being the most sparsely populated section of the lake.
The terrain was steep and rocky. Whole quarries had been excavated during the lake’s construction.
Few houses existed. The wood-sided, hip-roofed cottage he sought was nestled away from the road among tall pines, encased in heavy underbrush, nearly invisible.
A pine straw and gravel drive twisted to it, the dingy white Toyota pickup parked in front.
Wet gravel crunched beneath the tires as the Mustang crept to a stop.
Moisture pelted the windshield.
He quickly scampered out and banged on the front door, which Hank opened.
“It’s about time. I was getting worried,” Hank said. “You changed clothes.”
He stepped inside and shook the water off onto the hardwood floor. “The rain slowed me and I tried to eat something. I also got rid of all that stuff.”
“To a safe place, I hope.”
“The safest. Even if we don’t survive, it will.”
“I don’t like that if stuff.”
“Neither do I, Hank, but we have to face reality. These guys are pros. Even if we go to the police right now, there’s no guarantee they won’t still get us. They’ve been killing people a long time, and have gotten pretty damn good at it.”
A long blue vinyl sofa faced the rear wall.
He plopped down onto the soft cushions. Through sliding glass doors, past a wooden deck, was a panoramic view of Eagle Lake, its south shore barely visible, thick woods to the west and east since the house sat in the elbow of a cove.
The rain pounded the lake at a billion entry points.
Lightning flashed in the distance. Thunder clamored overhead.
“Pretty place,” he said, looking around the inside. “What about the owner?”
“On vacation.”
“How’d you get in?”
“I know where he keeps the key.”
Okay. He liked it. “The privacy should give us time to think.”
F RANK B ARNARD WAS WAITING IN HIS MOTEL ROOM LISTENING TO the rain when the call came from De Florio. Immediately after receiving instructions he drove straight to Eagle Lake.
Southern Republic owned a large house perched on the east shore.
It was actually an extension of Hickory Row, maintained and controlled by the same personnel who oversaw all the Row’s operations.
The house and grounds were outfitted especially for fishing, waterskiing, and parties.
Part of the accommodations included a concrete dock that harbored a pair of V-hulled outboards.
His instructions were clear. Take one of the boats and approach as close as possible to the house owned by Leon Peacock.
From a map he’d already learned its location in the elbow of a cove.
But by the time he arrived at the dock rain was falling in sheets, the lake pitching like the agitating cycle of a washing machine.
So he vetoed a water approach and decided to head for the shore about a quarter mile from the target, on the far side of the inlet.
From there, he could safely hike through the woods and observe from across the water, using the trees and underbrush for cover.
The twin engines on the eighteen-footer cranked instantly. Warm rain pounded him and, aided by his speed, pricked his face like needles. He wore camouflage coveralls, a dark-green slicker, a cap, gloves, and boots. By the time he found the inlet and beached the boat every stitch of him was soaked.
The shore was unpopulated, a steep rocky incline littered with wet palmettos, thorny vines, and ankle-deep mud.
He trudged up, breasting the top of a craggy hill and cautiously peering through the trees.
The house sat across on the side of the cove, on an incline, the front invisible.
He assumed Victor Jacks was now nearby too.
Seeking shelter under one of the bushy pines, he dialed Jacks’ number on his cell phone.
“Bluebird?”
“I’m here,” Jacks said.
“Anything?”
“A pickup truck and car were there ten minutes ago.”
“You in position?”
“I am.”
“Stay there.”
He ended the call and replaced the phone in his pocket.
He checked his watch. 4:25 P.M.
The storm masked the sun and most of the daylight, making it appear much later. He crawled forward on his belly and took up a position among the scratchy brush, a clear view of the house ahead.
Rain hammered down.
He readied the binoculars.
B RENT SAT ON THE COUCH.
The rain fell harder, its soothing monotone relaxing. But his nerves remained frayed and on edge. Hank reclined in one of the chairs.
“How long have you known about Lori Anne?” he asked Hank.
“Several years.”
He appreciated the honesty. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wanted to. But Ashley wouldn’t allow it. Believe me, we had arguments on the point. But I had to respect her wishes. It’s her life. I finally broke down and told your mother.”
“When?”
“Just after you got back.”
He shook his head. “She didn’t say a word. The both of you played that one close.”
“Ashley’s had a tough time, Brent. Her marriages never really had a chance.
She didn’t love any of ’em like she did you.
She was good to ’em. But if the truth be known, all three husbands knew somebody else stood in the way.
You, of course, were barrelin’ down the guilt road.
Telling you about a daughter would have not helped a thing. And you know that.”
“I still have regrets, Hank.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“I did Paula wrong. I never should have married her.”
“That’s all in how you look at it. I’d say Paula didn’t have to force the marriage, knowing you wanted out.”
“She was pregnant.”
“Was she? All we had was her word. For all you know, she could have got that way just after the wedding. Paula had her own agenda that she worked by her own set of rules.”
“I can’t get Paula’s face from that day out of my mind.
Backing out the driveway while I’m telling her I don’t love you, and I don’t know if I ever did .
She cried, Hank. The first time I could ever remember her crying over anything.
I didn’t think stone could cry. But that day it did.
It’s the last image of her alive I have.
The next was when I identified her body. ”
“Take it from a real loser, Brent. You shouldn’t feel guilty.
Me. I ruined a thirty-year marriage cattin’ around.
I have a reason to feel guilty. I asked for what I got.
But there’s not a damn thing I can do about any of it now.
I miss Loretta every day. I hope she’s happy.
But I can’t dwell on mistakes. It’ll kill you eventually.
Nobody can take that kind of pressure. Let it go. ”
“Loretta was a good woman. I never could understand why you did that crap.”
“Me either. For God’s sake don’t make the same mistake I did and do more stupid things.”
He smiled. Hank was trying to do what he could to make him feel better and he appreciated the effort.
“Besides, looks like I’m goin’ to get a new son-in-law.”
“That all depends. We still have a little problem.”
“That’s an understatement.”
He had to say, “You realize the company used you all these years.”
“I do, and the thought makes me sick. I wanted to be the big man. The one everybody looked to when they got in a jam. Go see Hank, he’ll get you out of trouble.
Right. They built a whole town to suit their needs.
You couldn’t have taken a crap here without them knowing how many sheets of toilet paper you used. Concord is a company town gone insane.”
“They made hundreds of millions of dollars from murder. Who said crime doesn’t pay?”
The rain quickened.
Brent stood and walked close to the sliding glass doors.
Even under the battering from the intense summer storm Eagle Lake was beautiful.
He released the lock and slid open the glass panel.
Warm, moist air flooded in and mixed with the air-conditioning, fogging the double-insulated panes.
He gazed beyond the railing down to the shore.
A wooden dock accommodated a small skiff with a tiny outboard, a green canvas stretched over the top. Hank stepped up behind him.
“Your friend fish?” Brent asked, pointing to the boat, similar to the one he used last weekend. It was also similar to the one his father had been murdered in, and not all that far away from here.
“You know your way around this lake, don’t you?” Hank asked. “Damn thing’s been here thirty years and I’ve never set foot in or on it.”
He glanced back over his shoulder and grinned. “I wouldn’t recommend today for your first time.”
F RANK B ARNARD SPIED THE GLASS DOOR SLIDE OPEN. H E AIMED THE binoculars and two faces came into focus.
Clear and undeniable.
He dialed the phone.
“I have them.”
J ON HUNG UP AND TURNED TO L EE AND H UGHES.
“We located them.”
Lee smiled. Hughes looked relieved.
“Kill them,” Lee said. “Quickly. But carefully. With no lingering issues. Like the pro you are.”
Jon glanced at his watch.
4:53 P.M.
Then he stood and left the conference room.
7:57 P.M.
T HE PHONE JARRED B RENT’S NERVES.