“When he put in on this bayou, I got a sick feeling, and, yeah, looks like.”
“How?”
“Don’t know.”
“What did Honor say?”
“Said he was after something that Eddie had died protecting.”
“Fuck.”
“My thought exactly.”
After a short pause, Doral had asked quietly, “What are you gonna do?”
“Go after him.”
“I mean about Honor.”
Fred’s sigh had come loudly through the cell connection. “The Bookkeeper didn’t leave me a choice. When I called in that I was going to check out Eddie’s place… Well, you know.”
Yes, Doral knew. The Bookkeeper took no prisoners, and it wouldn’t matter if it was a family friend, or a woman and child. No loose ends. No mercy.
Fred had been torn up about it, but he would do what he had to do, because he knew it was necessary. He was also aware of the severe consequences suffered by anyone who failed to carry out an order.
They’d ended their call with the understanding that he would take care of the problem, so that by the time Doral joined him at the Gillette place, they could report to the sheriff’s office the horrifying double murder of Honor and Emily.
They’d chalk up the homicides to Coburn, who was sure to have left his fingerprints all over Honor’s house. There were muddy, blood-stained clothes left in the bathroom, which would prove to be his. Law enforcement personnel would be galvanized. Fred knew the buzz words to use with the media so they’d take the story and run with it. Soon the whole state would be salivating for a piece of Lee Coburn, only suspect in the warehouse massacre, woman and kid killer.
It had been a good plan, now shot to hell.
Doral spent a critical ten minutes in rage and grief. But, his fit having subsided, he wiped the mucus and tears from his face and forced himself to put personal feelings aside until he could indulge in them properly, and instead to evaluate the present situation. Which sucked. Big-time.
Most troubling was that Fred’s body was the only one in evidence. There was no sign of Honor and Emily, or of their remains, in or near the house. If his brother had dispatched them, he’d hidden their bodies very well.
Or—and it was a really troublesome or—Coburn had popped Fred before he’d had a chance to dispatch Honor and her daughter. If that was the case, where were they now? Hiding until someone came to their rescue? Possibly. But that meant that as soon as he found them, he’d have to kill them, and the thought of that made him queasy.
There was also a third possibility, and it was the worst-case scenario: Coburn and Honor had escaped together.
Doral gnawed on that. It portended all kinds of trouble, but he didn’t know what to do about it. He was a hunter, not a detective, and not a strategist except when it came to stalking. Besides, it wasn’t up to him to determine what the next course of action should be. He’d let The Bookkeeper figure it out.
Like the Godfather in the movie, The Bookkeeper insisted on hearing bad news right away. Doral placed the call and it was answered on the first ring. “Have you found Coburn?”
“Fred’s been killed.”
He waited for a reaction, but didn’t really expect one and didn’t get it. Not even a shocked exclamation, certainly not a murmur of sympathy. The Bookkeeper would be interested only in hearing the facts and hearing them immediately.
As uncomfortable as it was to be the bearer of bad news, Doral described the scene at Honor’s house and passed along everything that Fred had told him before he was shot. “I got one more call from his cell, but as soon as I answered, it was cut off. I don’t know who placed that call, and when I dial his number now, I get nothing. The phone’s missing. I found his police-issued one in the hall. I don’t know what happened to Honor and Emily. There’s no sign of them. Fred’s pistol is also gone. And… and…”
“More bad news? Spit it out, Doral.”
“The house is torn up all to hell. Honor told Fred that Coburn came here looking for something he thought Eddie had squirreled away.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Both were thinking about the grave implications of Coburn’s search through Honor’s house. They certainly couldn’t dismiss it as a bizarre coincidence.
Doral wisely remained quiet and tried to keep his gaze from wandering back to his brother’s corpse. But he couldn’t help himself, and each time he looked at it, he felt a burning rage. Nobody humiliated a Hawkins like that. Coburn would pay and pay dearly.
“Did Coburn find what he was looking for?”