The Bishop's Pawn (Cotton Malone #13)(89)

Forty-eight hours ago.

What seemed like an eternity.





Chapter Fifty-five


I was led back to the construction site in handcuffs, uniformed policemen holding on to each arm. Thank God this was in a time before cell phone cameras or I’d probably have become an instant Internet sensation. dangerous criminal nabbed at magic kingdom. As it was, all I had to endure were the stares and parents huddling their children close. I wondered why I wasn’t being taken away from the park. After all, I’d just shot a man dead.

Juan Lopez Valdez was no more.

Good riddance.

I would not shed a tear over his demise. But it was the first time I’d ever actually killed someone in cold blood, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t affect me. Sure, Oliver and Jansen both died. But those were self-defense, heat of the moment. With Valdez I’d simply pulled the trigger. I’d heard guys in the navy talk about killing. It wasn’t as easy as people thought. It bothered them, too. As it should. Yes, sometimes it had to be done. But that didn’t mean it was ever easy. I would think about what I’d done for many months, never regretting the decision but always mindful of its consequences. Later on I would kill again. More than I’d ever thought possible. It came with the job. And each time I’d reflect on the pros and cons, convincing myself that it had to be done.

We reentered the construction site.

Coleen’s body still lay on the concrete only now covered with a plastic tarp. Her father stood off to the side with an Orange County deputy. Surely they now knew that one of their own had died. To the end she’d been a good cop, doing what cops were trained to do.

Make things happen.

Take charge.

I stood there with my hands cuffed behind my back. The blank sheets of paper I’d used as a decoy were scattered everywhere. The piece of rebar that had bruised my thigh was still there, too. Foster was saying nothing. He just looked dazed, staring down at the ground.

“Valdez is dead,” I said to him.

The older man looked up and nodded.

I wanted him to know that justice had been done. An eye for an eye and all that crap. But Coleen was still gone. I wondered if the sorrow etched deep into his face would ever lessen. It already seemed permanent, the enormity of what had been set in motion thirty-two years ago had come to fruition here, amid the laughter and gaiety of what some called the happiest place on earth.

But only sorrow filled the night air.

Stephanie Nelle appeared with an older man in uniform, a bunch of gold stars on his collar. A pin at his left breast identified him as the Orange County sheriff.

“Uncuff him,” Stephanie said.

The sheriff nodded to one of his deputies and my restraints were freed. She motioned for us to walk off to the far side.

“You okay?” she asked.

I nodded. “How did you find me?”

“It wasn’t hard. Just follow the bodies. The FBI is not happy. The attorney general is not happy. Tell me something that can change all that.”

I actually had a mouthful, but I needed to speak with Foster first.

I walked over to him.

Stephanie came with me. The sheriff stayed with his people.

“Reverend Foster,” she said. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

The older man said nothing.

Deputies scurried about working the crime scene.

“She was a good police officer,” Foster said.

“I’ve explained all that I can to the sheriff,” she said, “and invoked federal jurisdiction. I told him the three of you were working with the Justice Department on a special assignment.”

“I would rather you not say that,” Foster muttered. “I prefer to have nothing to do with the government.”

“Would you rather go to jail?” she asked. “Five people died here tonight.”

He glared at her. “I only care about two of those deaths. My daughter and her husband are gone.”

I heard what he hadn’t said.

That he was to blame.

“What’s all the blank paper scattered around?” she asked.

“A bluff that didn’t work,” I said.

“Do you still have the files?” she asked.

This was the moment. Did I tell her the truth? Yes, I knew enough to set history on its head, but Foster had just suffered a horrific personal loss. Did I compound that by implicating him in the murder of Martin Luther King Jr.? No statute of limitations existed on that crime. He could still be prosecuted and face jail. Between the files and the cassette tape, the proof of his involvement was beyond a reasonable doubt. Ultimately, my career in the intelligence business would show that I had a great ability to hold things close. Secrets became second nature for me. People trusted me. And I never let one of them down. But here, amid the surreal gaiety of the Magic Kingdom and the horror of Coleen and Nate’s death, I was confronted for the first time with that dilemma.

Talk?

Or not?

“Valdez didn’t fall for it,” I said. “I had to hand the files over. One of his men took them away just before he shot Coleen.”

Foster did not react to my lie, but something told me he appreciated the temporary deflection. I wanted the opportunity to talk with him privately before I leveled with Stephanie.

“And the coin?” she asked.