Part 29 (1/2)

”Stay with me, dog.” Bo shook Ray Ray by the shoulders. Then he felt his own shoulders being grabbed, and he was being pulled up off his feet. He turned and saw Deputy Hank Springfield.

”The paramedics are here, Bo. Let them do their job.”

”He's gonna die!” Bo yelled. ”And I've got to know.”

”We have to get him to the hospital.”

Bo turned and saw Ray Ray being placed on a gurney. He stepped between the EMTs and grabbed Ray Ray by the s.h.i.+rt. ”Ray Ray, tell me.”

As the EMTs propelled the stretcher forward, Ray Ray Pickalew reached toward Bo and grabbed his hand, pulling him close with an astounding show of strength. ”Your daddy's . . . hanging . . . was a present,” Ray Ray stuttered.

Bo wrinkled his face in confusion. ”What . . . ?”

Ray Ray spat blood out of his mouth and took in a huge breath. Then, turning Bo's head so that he could look him directly in the eye, Raymond ”Ray Ray” Pickalew spoke his last words. ”A birthday present.”

82.

George Curtis sat alone in the dark den of his home. His right hand and arm were bleeding from where Matilda had bitten and scratched him. He had euthanized the cat fifteen minutes ago, but in one last show of spirit, Matilda had managed to slice flesh before he could inject the needle.

No matter, George thought, chuckling at the idea of poor old Matilda, who'd never shown a bit of spirit in her life, rearing up to fight just before death swept her away.

Ironic, he knew. But irony was one of his favorite things about life.

George lifted the note he'd written just a few minutes before, reading the words carefully and making sure everything was clear. He knew this was the only way, and, truthfully, he was relieved. He could not have what he wanted in this world. Only glimpses and tastes of it, but never . . . all of it.

He had gotten one last taste today, and the thrill of it had already worn off. Just like it always did. He figured his obsession was probably the way a drug addict felt about crack. In fact, he figured the crack addict had it easy compared to his day-in, day-out torture.

George waited until he heard the sirens outside his house, followed by loud footsteps coming up the front walk and the rustling of more movement around the side of the house. When he heard three swift knocks on the door, he grabbed his Remington shotgun, which he'd had propped beside him on the couch, and clicked the safety off.

Then he paused for two seconds to admire the gun, thinking again of the irony of it all. He was holding the same gun used to kill Andy.

As the front and back doors of George Curtis's home on East Jefferson Street were kicked in, George put the barrel of the shotgun in his mouth. Sorry to disappoint you, boys, he thought.

Then he pulled the trigger.

83.

Raymond James Pickalew was p.r.o.nounced dead upon arrival at Hillside Hospital at 5:05 p.m. Tom watched the nurse place the white sheet over Ray Ray's head, thinking how ironic it all was. Ray Ray, who had worn the sheet and hood of the Klan, had revealed the truth behind a four-decade-old murder today. He had figuratively pulled down their sheets and hoods to show everyone the awful, naked truth.

Now, as if to make the circle complete, he was having the sheet pulled back over him.

”G.o.d bless, old friend,” Tom said, touching the dead man's arm.

Tom walked out of the trauma room in a daze and then down the narrow corridor of the emergency room hallway. He took a seat next to Rick, who was gazing forward with a blank look on his face.

”He's gone,” Tom said, his voice low.

Rick gave a quick nod. Then he turned his head to look at Tom. The boy's face was almost ashen. ”My ears,” he began, his voice shaking, ”they're still ringing.”

”That's just temporary,” Tom said. ”It'll go away. Listen . . . why don't you let them check you out here?”

Rick shook his head. ”I'll be fine. I just . . .” He sighed, and Tom saw tears forming in the corners of the boy's eyes. ”I saw the whole thing. Ray Ray . . . saved Bo's life. He stepped right in front of him.”

Tom sighed and put his arm around his partner. ”I know, son.” Tom started to say more but stopped when he saw two uniformed officers burst through the entrance to the ER. Tom rose to his feet when he recognized Officer Springfield. Before Tom could even say h.e.l.lo, Hank was talking, his voice clipped and edgy.

”Is Bo here?”

Tom shook his head. ”No, I-”

”Jazz says that she hasn't seen him since just after the shooting. He walked her and T. J. to his office and then said he was coming over here to check on Ray Ray.”

”He was here for a few minutes but left after the doctor said there was no chance to save Ray Ray.”

”So Ray Ray's . . .”

”Dead,” Tom said. ”p.r.o.nounced five minutes ago.”

Hank rubbed his neck and exhaled. ”Professor, did Bo say where he was going?”

”No. I a.s.sumed back to the office. Deputy, what's-?”

”We found George Curtis dead on his couch ten minutes ago. Self-inflicted gunshot wound. He left a note confessing to Andy's murder.”

”Jesus,” Tom said, feeling his legs begin to wobble again.

”Yeah, I know. It's . . . a mess,” Hank said, looking down at the floor and shaking his head. ”Listen, we haven't been able to locate Larry Tucker yet, and I just want to make sure Bo's in a safe place. JimBone Wheeler has already taken a shot at him, and if Tucker or someone else is involved they might try to finish it.”

Tom took out his cell phone and clicked on Bo's number. Without even ringing, Tom heard Bo's message come across the line: ”You've reached Bocephus Haynes. I'm sorry I missed your call. Please leave your name and number, and I will call you back.” Tom spoke into the speaker. ”Bo, this is Tom. Please call me as soon as you get this message. Thanks, bye.” Tom ended the call and looked at Hank.

”Deputy, I know you've probably already thought of this-” Tom started, but Hank's voice cut him off.

”He's not at the clearing. At least not yet. I checked there myself on the way here. He's driving Jazz's Sequoia, and it isn't parked anywhere along 64 near the dirt road turn-in.”

”OK, I'll keep trying him on his phone,” Tom said, feeling his heart rate quicken. ”How about Wheeler? Is he talking?”

”Nothing so far. He's yet to utter a word.”