L is for Lawless (Kinsey Millhone 12)

"Daddy, help me. You have to help."

"I am. I'm buying your life, and it don't come cheap. My deal is with him, so butt out of this."

Laura's face took on a stony cast and she stared down at the ground, her jaw set. Gilbert seemed to enjoy the fact that she'd been rebuffed. He moved as if to touch her, but she batted his hand away. Gilbert smiled to himself and sent a wink in my direction. I didn't trust any of them, and it was making my stomach hurt.

I looked on while Ray laid out the game plan, filling Gilbert in on the calls we'd made and the reasoning behind them. I noticed he'd left out a few pertinent facts, like the name of the cemetery and the name on the monument. "We haven't found the money yet, but we're getting close. You expect to benefit, you might as well pitch in here and help," Ray said, his eyes dead with loathing. A chilly smile passed between them, full of promises. I looked from one to the other, hoping fervently I wouldn't be around if the two of them ever got into a pissing contest.

Ray said, "I assume you got the keys with you."

Gilbert pulled them from his pocket, displayed them briefly, hooked together on a ring, and then tucked them away again.

Without another word, Ray began to gather up some of the equipment he'd assembled: the rope, the two shovels, the bolt cutters. "Everybody grab something and let's go," he said. "We can stick all this stuff in the trunk."

Gilbert picked up the hand drill, taking his time about it so it wouldn't look like he was obeying orders. "One more thing. I want the old lady with us."

"I'm not going anywhere with you, bub," Helen snapped. She sat down in her chair and leaned stubbornly on her bat.

Ray paused. "What's she got to do with it?"

"We leave anyone behind, how do I know they aren't dialing the old 911?" Gilbert said to Ray, ignoring the old woman.

Ray said, "Come on. She wouldn't do that."

"Oh, yes I would," she said promptly.

Gilbert stared at Ray. "You see that? Old woman's crazy as a bed bug. She goes, too, or it's all off."

"What are you talking about? That's bullshit. You gonna forfeit the dough?"

Gilbert smiled, still gripping Laura's neck. He gave her head a shake. "I don't have to forfeit anything. You're the one going to lose."

Ray closed his eyes and then opened them. "Jesus. Get your coat, Ma. You're coming with us. I'm sorry to have to do this."

Helen's gaze moved vaguely from Gilbert to Ray. "It's all right, son. I'll go if you insist."

Since Gilbert didn't trust any of us, we took one car. Gilbert, Helen, and Laura sat together in the backseat, the old woman holding hands with her granddaughter. Helen still had her bat, which Gilbert took note of. Sensing his gaze, Helen shook the bat in his direction. "I'm not done with you, mama," Gilbert murmured.

Ray drove while I navigated from the front seat, tracing the route on the open map. He headed east on Portland Avenue, cutting back onto Market Street and from there under the bridge and up onto 71 heading north. The day was breezy, faintly warmer than it had been. The sky was a wide expanse of robin's egg blue, clouding up along the horizon. I was hoping Ray would violate some minor traffic law and get us stopped by the highway patrol, but he kept the speedometer exactly at the limit, giving hand signals I hadn't seen anyone use for years.

About a mile beyond the Watterson Expressway, he moved onto the Gene Snyder Freeway and took the first off-ramp. We exited onto 22, which we followed for some distance. The route we took was probably once a little-used dirt road, many miles out in the country. I pictured merchants and farmers in a countywide radius, traveling hours by wagon to reach the wooded area where their dead would be laid to rest. The Twelve Fountains Memorial Park was located several miles across the line into Oldham County, surrounded by limestone walls, occupying land that had once been part of a five-hundred-acre tract of woods and tangled undergrowth. Over the years, the hilly countryside had been tamed and manicured.

At the entrance, iron gates stood open, flanked by fieldstone gateposts that must have been fifteen feet tall. The road split left and right, circling an arrangement of three large stone fountains, shooting staggered columns and sprays of water into the icy November air. A discreet sign directed us to the right, where a small stone building was tucked against a backdrop of cypress and weeping willows. Ray pulled onto the gravel parking pad. I could see the woman in the office peering out at us.

Gilbert took Helen into the office with him. Laura's face was still so visibly bruised as to generate attention he didn't want. His own face was still peppered with tiny cuts, but nobody'd have the nerve to ask what happened.