24 Hours

SIXTEEN

Karen stood in the kitchen with the cordless phone in her hand, listening to “hold” music that sounded like George Winston on sleeping pills. She was dressed in a navy Liz Claiborne skirt suit with a cream blouse, and her face was made up to cover the bruises she’d sustained during the night. At Hickey’s insistence, she had even curled her hair. She had the feeling he was molding her to fit some ridiculous idea he had of the suburban yuppie wife. But no makeup was going to hide the hunted look in her eyes.

“Still on hold?” Hickey asked. He was sitting at the kitchen table, his sutured leg propped on its tile surface.

“Gray’s getting something from his car.”

Gray Davidson was one of the founding partners of Klein Davidson, an independent brokerage firm that handled most of the money in the wealthy suburbs north of Jackson. Karen and Will went to parties at Davidson’s home two or three times a year.

“You’re not going to listen in?” she asked.

Hickey shook his head. “Just stick to the script.”

“Karen?” said a male voice. “It’s Gray. Sorry you had to wait.”

“That’s all right. I know it’s early. Did you get a call from Will a few minutes ago?”

“Did I ever. Two hundred grand for a sculpture. That’s kind of steep, even for Will.”

“It’s a very important piece. But I should have gone to that convention with him. I’d have kept him at the outlet mall, instead of on his little art hunts.”

When Davidson spoke again, his voice changed subtly. “Do you feel all right with this, Karen?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it seems odd, is all. I don’t like that this guy selling the sculpture is in such a hurry for his money. Will says it’s a competitive bidding situation. A New York art dealer discovered the piece three days ago in a workshop at an estate sale. He doesn’t think Walter Anderson is any great shakes, so he took Will’s bid, but he claims he’s flying back to New York today and he wants cash.”

“That sounds like an art dealer.”

“But why can’t we just wire the money to his account? Why does he want cash?”

“Art dealers are crazy, Gray. They carry sacks of cash all over the place. Didn’t you know that?”

“All I know is that most of them are gay and all of them are crooked. There’s something else. Three weeks ago, Will got nervous about the market. He sold some stock and transferred the money to various banks. He put a hundred and fifty thousand into Magnolia Federal. He could go to any branch in the state and withdraw most of the two hundred thousand he needs. Including Biloxi.”

Karen faltered for a moment, confused. Will hadn’t mentioned anything about this. “Did you tell him that?”

“Yes. He said he put the money into CDs, so there would be penalties for an early cashout. He’s got two hundred thousand liquid here in his tax-free instruments trust account. No penalty for spending that.”

“I’m sure that’s it.”

“I guess so.” Davidson waited for her to say something more. When she didn’t, he said, “I guess I just hate seeing that much money leave my computer in a single morning.”

She forced herself to laugh. “Now, that I believe. I’ll be down to sign for it in half an hour.”

“Look forward to seeing you. You bringing Abby?”

She closed her eyes. Davidson was a world-class schmoozer; he knew the names of every child of every client, and it showed in his company’s annual profits.

“Abby’s with Will’s mother today, in the Delta.”

“I know she loves that. Sorry I’ll miss her. Come on down.”

“Bye.” Karen hung up.

Hickey’s chair creaked as he slid his leg off the table. “What was that part in the middle?”

“What?”

“When you said, ‘What do you mean?’”

“He asked if I was all right with Will spending that much money.”

“But then you said, ‘Did you tell him that?’”

For some reason, Karen didn’t want to mention the money in Magnolia Federal. “He said it was odd, the seller wanting cash.”

“Then you said, ‘I’m sure that’s it.’ What was that?”

When she hesitated, Hickey stepped forward and took hold of her arm. “What was it?”

“He said the guy was probably only going to report half the sale price to the IRS. That’s why he wanted cash.”

Hickey stared coldly at her as he analyzed her explanation. The levity he’d displayed before was gone. She suddenly wished she had Will’s pistol, but Hickey was wearing it in the small of his back.

“Get your purse,” he said.

She took her purse from the counter, then opened the refrigerator.

“You don’t have time for breakfast.”

She took two vials of insulin and some syringes from the top shelf and put them in her purse. “I want this with me in case Abby’s in trouble. You have a problem with that?”

A strange light flickered in Hickey’s eyes. “No problem. I told you nobody was going to die today.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Let’s go. We’ll take the Expedition.”

Karen picked up her keys and led the way through the pantry and laundry room to the garage. Hickey limped after her. His leg was probably burning like fire. She hoped it was infected.

She hit the UNLOCK button on her key ring, then the garage door opener on the wall. She had the Expedition cranked and in gear by the time Hickey got into the passenger seat. The pneumatic suspension hummed as it adjusted to their weight, and as soon as the garage door retracted to sufficient height, she started backing up.

“Easy,” Hickey said, laying a hand on her arm. “You’re going to have a wreck before we even hit the interstate.”

As Karen pulled her arm away, Stephanie Morgan’s white Lexus crested the top of the hill and blocked her access to the drive. She hit the brakes with a screech.

“Shit.”

“Who is it?” Hickey was already reaching for the gun.

Karen grabbed his wrist. “It’s Stephanie Morgan, the same woman as yesterday.”

“What does she want now?”

“Something about the flower show, I’m sure. I’ll get rid of her.”

“You do that.” He rolled down his window so that he could hear whatever transpired.

Karen got out and started toward the Lexus. Stephanie was already walking toward her, dressed more like a woman going to a cocktail party than to a weekend of volunteer work.

“I just came from the Coliseum,” she said in a tart voice. “I didn’t call because I knew you’d try to blow me off.”

“What is it, Stephanie?”

“The same as yesterday! Only worse. The cattle show people swore they’d be out by this morning and that the whole place would be cleaned up by noon.”

“And?” Karen looked past her, trying to see if either of her kids were in the car. The Lexus looked empty.

“And some redneck has got a pen of calves sitting in the middle of the Coliseum floor. There’s hay and cow manure all over the place!”

“Calm down, Steph. It can’t be that bad.”

“There’s cow shit all over the floor, Karen. I don’t think that’s going to work wonders for a flower show. You’ve got to come down and light a fire under those people. They just won’t take me seriously.”

Karen found that easy to believe. “I can’t come yet, Stephanie. My cousin’s in the car, and he’s got a plane to catch. I’ll get there as soon as I can. You’ll just have to handle it until then.”

“I can’t handle it. I’m maxed out on Zoloft, and even that’s not doing any good. Oh, and I left out the best part. The moving company we contracted to bring in the exhibit tables double-booked this weekend. We have no tables, Karen. No tables.”

Karen tried to look concerned, but she could hardly believe that yesterday she would have given a damn about exhibit tables, flowers, or even cow shit. She had to get Stephanie Morgan off her property and out of harm’s way.

“Listen to me, Steph. Get on the phone and call the football coach at Jackson Academy. His name’s Jim Rizzi. Tell him you’ve got a summer project for his football team and you’ll pay real money. Tell him to get as many players he can down to the convention center with a couple of pickup trucks. Those high school boys can move those tables in half the time it would take a moving company. Okay?”

Stephanie seemed shocked by the simplicity of this solution. “Karen, that’s fantastic. But I don’t know Rizzi at all. And I’m no good at asking people stuff like that. And what about the cows?”

Karen wanted to scream, Who takes you to the bathroom and wipes your behind for you, Stephanie? But the sound of the Expedition’s door stopped her cold. She turned and saw Hickey walking toward them, a concerned look on his face.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Oh, hello again, Mr. Hickey,” Stephanie said with a Teflon smile. “I’m sorry to hold you up.”

“Call me Joe, please.”

Karen interposed herself between them. “I told her we have to get right to the airport.”

Hickey looked puzzled; then he smiled. “We are late for my flight. They make you check in so early now.”

Stephanie’s eyes went wide. “I’ve got it! I can run you out to the airport. That way Karen can get right over to the Colisseum. Things are absolutely falling apart over there. You wouldn’t believe it.”

“No,” Karen said quickly. “Joe and I still have some talking to do. The estate things. I told you last night. It can’t wait.”

Hickey looked amused by Karen’s fabrication, but Stephanie’s face darkened, and her voice lost its sorority-girl veneer.

“You’re the chairman of this show, Karen. You volunteered for it. That means it’s your job to-to make sure…”

Karen followed her gaze. Stephanie was staring at the right leg of Hickey’s khakis. A bright-red bloodstain ran from above the knee down to his ankle. There was blood on his Top-Siders as well. Some of the stitches must have broken loose.

“What happened to you?” Stephanie asked.

Hickey looked down at his leg.

“Joe hurt himself,” Karen said quickly. “Doing some work for me.”

“That looks serious.”

“It’s not, really,” Karen said.

Hickey was watching Stephanie, his dark eyes glittering. Karen took her by the arm and started walking her back toward the Lexus.

“I’ll get down there as soon as I can, Steph. You go back and slap those people into shape. And call Coach Rizzi about the tables. Okay?”

Stephanie looked back over her shoulder. “Is your cousin all right? He looks…” She slowed down and looked into Karen’s eyes. Something was stirring in her Zoloft-padded brain. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” Karen pushed her toward the car, but she refused to be pushed.

“You don’t look fine. In fact, you look like hell.”

“Thanks a lot.”

Stephanie looked over Karen’s shoulder. Whatever she saw convinced her that something was very wrong. She took hold of Karen’s wrist and, in an almost comic reversal of their previous motion, began pulling her toward the Lexus.

“Keep walking,” she whispered. “When I start the car, jump in the backseat.”

“I can’t. Get your butt out of here, Steph. Now.”

Karen risked a glance back at Hickey. His pant leg was completely soaked with blood now, and his right hand was behind his back. She turned back to Stephanie and said in a bright voice: “I’ll see you in a few hours, okay?”

Stephanie’s brow was knotted in puzzlement. Why didn’t she just go? Was she trying to work out if Hickey was Karen’s lover after all? Whatever was occupying her brain cells, self-preservation finally overrode it. Karen actually saw Stephanie write her off. She whirled and yanked open the door of the Lexus, all pretense of normalcy gone.

Hickey shot her through the window. A crimson flower bloomed on her upper chest, and her mouth formed an almost comical “O.” Karen screamed and leaped forward, but not in time to catch Stephanie as she slid down the rear door of the car, leaving a bright trail of arterial blood on the white paint. Her eyes were closed, and blood pulsed steadily from a hole in her sternum. Karen felt her brain clicking into crisis mode, all the skills she’d learned as a nurse infusing her mind and hands. But even before she could check Stephanie’s airway, Hickey’s rough hands jerked her to her feet.

“Get your ass in the truck!”

“You shot her,” Karen said, still not quite believing it.

Hickey aimed the. 38 down at Stephanie’s head. “If you don’t get into that Expedition, I’ll shoot her again.”

His enraged eyes left no doubt that he would put a bullet in Stephanie Morgan’s brain. Karen backed toward the Expedition, Hickey following with the gun.

“You said nobody was going to die!”

“She called that play. She should’ve handled those damn cows herself.”

“She has two kids!

“You’d better start thinking about your kid, Mom.”

Karen’s mouth went dry. Abby’s death had suddenly become real in a way that juvenile diabetes had not prepared her for. She climbed up into the driver ’s seat and sat there, trying to hold herself together. Will often joked that she could remain calm in the middle of an earthquake, but Hickey was proving him wrong. Her quest for some source of strength brought an image of her father to her mind. He had fought in Korea, then in Vietnam during the early years. God, how she wished he was here. He would know how to deal with a bum like Hickey. Hickey wouldn’t know what hit him. But her father was gone, taken by cancer five years ago-

“Take hold of the gear shift and pull it over to D,” Hickey said, as though talking to a child.

“You lied to me,” Karen said. “Everything you’ve told me was a lie. You’ve been planning to kill us all along. You’re going to get your money and kill us.”

“Listen to me. Because your stupid gene is really showing through. Remember Costa Rica? By tomorrow night, I’ll be sipping umbrella drinks in paradise. I’m not worried about who saw me shoot some air-head in a Lexus. What I am worried about is getting my money. And that’s what you need to focus on. Are we on the same page?”

Karen took a deep breath, then reached down and punched 911 on the Expedition’s cell phone.

Hickey jammed the gun into her ribs, driving the breath from her lungs. “Your friend is dead. So hang up and start driving. Or the only mother Abby will ever know is the twenty-two-year-old Will marries after you’re dead.”

The 911 line rang once before Karen pressed END. She hated herself for being a coward, but she could not die here. Not in this truck, over an acquaintance who was almost certainly dead already. She had a child to raise. Nothing else mattered. She and Abby had to get through the day alive.

She put the Expedition into gear, backed onto the lawn, and drove around the Lexus and the body of Stephanie Morgan.

When the phone rang in the suite at the Beau Rivage, Will pounced on it. Now that he’d given Ferris the go-ahead to call the FBI, he wanted to hear the man report that a fleet of helicopters was combing the forest around Hazlehurst, flying at treetop level over every road and path, not a dog or a cow moving unseen. He jerked up the receiver, aware that his sleep-deprived brain was slowly but surely slipping off its tracks.

“Will Jennings.”

“What are you doing answering the phone?” Hickey asked. “You expecting a call?”

“No,” he stammered. “I’m just ready to move. Ready to get your money and get Abby back.”

“That’s good, Doc. Because it’s time to leave for the bank.”

“I’m ready.”

“You sound sleepy. Cheryl’s got some pep pills if you need them. I don’t want you messing up because you can’t think straight.”

“I’m not going to mess up. But I need to talk to my daughter, Joe. I’m not going to the bank until I do.”

“Is that right? Huh. Maybe you should talk to your wife a minute. We just had a little social call at your house.”

Sweat beaded on Will’s forehead. “Karen?”

“I’m here,” she said.

“Are you all right?”

“Will, he just shot Stephanie Morgan.”

Will blinked, certain that he’d misheard. “Did you say-”

“You heard her right,” Hickey cut in. “She’s busy driving now. But if I hear any more bullshit about what you will and won’t do, the Lexus queen won’t be the only one who dies this morning. You follow?”

“Yes.”

“Now, what about this helicopter?”

Acid flooded Will’s stomach. “Helicopter?”

“You been talking to the FBI?”

Harley Ferris couldn’t possibly have gotten an FBI helicopter into the air and over Hazlehurst so quickly. It had to be coincidence. “Joe, I’m doing exactly what you tell me. Nothing else.”

“Let me talk to Cheryl.”

Cheryl was sitting on the sofa with her purse at her feet. She had gone downstairs to Impulse, a clothing store in the casino lobby that operated twenty-four hours a day, and bought a white lycra sheath to replace the torn cocktail dress. She took the phone from Will and began her litany of one-word replies.

“Yeah…No…Right…No, he’s cool…We’ll be there. No problem.” She handed the phone back to Will. “It’s showtime.”

“Thank you, Cheryl.” He hung up the phone. “I owe you more than I can ever repay.”

She stood and slung her purse over her shoulder. “You just remember you said that.”

The Klein Davidson Building was an elegant stone edifice in the affluent business section of north Jackson. It looked more like a town house than an office, but Karen knew its interior thrummed with computers churning out market quotes from around the world. There were four satellite dishes mounted on the flat roof in back, but Gray Davidson had hired an architect to construct a mansard roof to conceal them. Karen pulled the Expedition into the parking lot and parked two spaces over from Davidson’s Mercedes 560.

“You only want to be thinking about one thing in there,” Hickey said. “Your kid.”

As Karen reached for the door handle, an older woman parked beside them, got out, gave her a little wave, and walked into the office.

“Gray’s receptionist,” she said.

“Go on,” Hickey told her, uncovering the gun in his lap.

“I’m not taking one step until you let me call nine-one-one and report a woman shot at my address.”

Hickey held the gun against her ribs again.

“If you shoot me, you won’t get your money. All I’m asking is a chance to try to save a woman’s life. It won’t cost you anything.”

“She’s dead,” Hickey insisted. “I shot her in the pump.”

“You don’t know she’s dead. She has two small children, and I can’t live with myself if I don’t do all I can to help her.”

“You won’t be able to live with yourself if you kill your own kid, I’ll tell you that. And that’s what you’re doing if you don’t go wire that money.”

She turned to him, unable to remain silent. “You hate Will for supposedly killing your mother, but you just shot someone else’s mother. You orphaned two children. Can you explain that to me?”

Hickey expelled air from his cheeks in exasperation. “You’re going to pay for this later.”

She closed her eyes and leaned back against the headrest. She expected to feel the gun barrel pressed to her temple, but instead she heard four beeps, one ring, and a click.

“Nine-one-one, emergency,” said a female dispatcher.

Hickey said, “A woman was just shot in the chest at number one hundred, Crooked Mile Road. She’s dying.”

Karen looked over at him, amazed.

“One hundred, Crooked Mile Road,” said the dispatcher. “Are you at that address, sir? I’m not getting a location readout.”

“I’m on a cell phone. The woman is lying in the driveway.” Hickey looked at Karen as though asking if he’d done enough.

“Sir, I’m showing that we already received a call for this emergency.”

Hickey’s jaw clenched. “When was that?”

“About two minutes ago.”

“Who called it in?”

“I don’t have that information, sir. But we’ve already dispatched an ambulance to-”

Hickey hit END. “I think your husband has made a very big mistake. First we get a helicopter over the cabin. Now somebody’s at your house reporting a shooting.”

“You were outside when you shot her. A neighbor could have heard and run over.”

“Your neighbors aren’t that close.” Hickey rubbed the dark stubble on his chin. “Get your ass in there and move the money. And remember. .. one mistake will put you in a mourning dress that you’ll never really take off.”

Karen got out and walked toward the entrance, his last sentence hanging over her thoughts like a pall.

The Biloxi branch of the Magnolia Federal Bank was a two-story brick building of unprepossessing architecture. There were few cars in the parking lot, but drive-through business was brisk as Will pulled his rented Tempo into the lot and parked.

“What now?”

Cheryl shifted in the seat beside him and began tapping her fingers on the dash. She had popped two amphetamines before they left the hotel, and she was wired. Will had swallowed one, fearing that exhaustion might prevent him from making the right move if an opportunity to save Abby presented itself.

“Now we wait,” Cheryl replied. “Joey will call after the money’s on its way.”

Will took her cell phone from her lap and dialed Harley Ferris’s number.

“Ferris,” said a clipped voice.

“It’s Will. Anything?”

“The FBI already had a chopper in the air when I called them. It’s been over the woods at Hazlehurst for a while now, but the foliage is so thick, they’re probably missing buildings down there, much less a pickup truck.”

“What about the phone trace?”

“We’re almost there, Will. We just had a quick call to the subject’s number. Our crew is working its way down an overgrown logging road right now.”

“What will they do if they find the truck?”

“There’s an FBI SWAT team en route from Jackson. The SAC there says they can seal off the cabin without the subject’s knowledge.”

A chill of foreboding went through Will. “They’re not going to try an assault?”

“I think they’re going to play it safe,” Ferris replied. “But my guess is that with your little girl’s life on the line, if they get a clean shot at the guy holding her, they’ll take it.”

“Sweet Jesus.”

“They’re pros, Will. Just like you. They know their jobs.”

“I’ve got to clear this line.” Will couldn’t bring himself to hang up. “Harley… for God’s sake, tell them to be careful.”

“Have faith, brother.”

He hung up. Have faith? It took a supreme effort simply to sit in the parking lot while Abby’s future unfolded a hundred and forty miles to the north. But he had to play the hand Hickey had dealt him. Hickey had to believe until the last second that his plan was ticking along like a Swiss watch.

“What happened?” Cheryl asked. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he lied. “Nothing at all.”

Sending the wire was just like everything Karen had ever done at Klein Davidson: a matter of paperwork, signing on various lines while Gray Davidson led her through the pages and made chitchat about kids and schools. With men, he probably talked kids and sports. Or women. Karen didn’t know and didn’t care. She was functioning on autopilot, tormented by images of Stephanie Morgan’s chest blossoming red. The only thing that really registered was the receptionist handing her a receipt and saying, “The money’s on its way.”

“That’s it? That’s all we have to do?”

Gray Davidson patted her on the shoulder. “Scary how fast you can spend two hundred grand, isn’t it?”

He was wearing his trademark double-breasted English suit with a spread collar shirt and rugby tie. Five years older than Karen, Davidson hailed from Hot Coffee, Mississippi, but his pretensions rivaled those of the most dedicated Anglophiles on the eastern seaboard. Some clients made fun of his eccentricities, but nobody joked about his market acumen.

“Very scary,” Karen replied, wondering if Will was already in the bank in Biloxi, waiting to collect what she’d sent. “I now own a two-hundred-thousand-dollar chunk of wood.”

“You look like you’re going to faint,” Davidson said with genuine concern. “Why don’t you come into my office and sit down?”

“No. I’ve got to run.”

“May I get you some coffee?”

“No, thanks, Gray. Really.”

“Green tea? Espresso?”

Somehow Karen conjured a smile, a feat of magic under the circumstances. “It’s just a summer cold. I’ll be fine.”

The broker didn’t look convinced. She touched his arm above the elbow and squeezed with an intimate pressure. “I’m fine, Gray. Thanks for worrying.”

Davidson’s critical faculties melted. Men were so easy to manipulate. She gave the receptionist a wave and hurried toward the door.

“Go straight home and get some rest,” Davidson called after her.

She held up a hand in acknowledgment but did not turn, and she barely slowed when she went through the varnished rosewood door and down the steps to the parking lot.

The parking lot of the Magnolia Federal Bank in Biloxi was filling up fast. People were cashing pay-checks, hitting the ATM machines, and carrying in payroll bags. Will could see why Hickey had picked this branch. Cheryl sat beside him in tense silence, waiting for Hickey’s go-ahead call. The temperature was rising fast in the parked car, so Will started the engine and switched on the air conditioner.

When the cell phone rang, he snatched it up, but Cheryl put her hand on his wrist and took the phone from his hand.

“It’s me,” she said. “Right…Okay.” She hit END and looked at Will. “The money’s here. He said you should go in and get it.”

Will shut off the engine and looked at the double-glass doors of the bank. “Give me the phone.”

“Why?”

“I’m taking it in with me.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“I didn’t say that. I just said I’m taking the phone.”

Cheryl snapped her head away from him, but she did not resist when he took the phone from her hand. He slipped it into his pocket along with the Tempo’s keys, then got out and started walking toward the bank.