Knife Edge (A Dead Cold Mystery Book 27) by Blake Banner (most inspirational books of all time .TXT) 📗

The door opened behind him and a woman stepped out. Her dress was a nondescript gray blue, as was her hair and her complexion, and her general aura. The one thing that was remarkable and memorable about her was the double-barreled shotgun she had open over her arm. She didn’t hand it to her husband. She just stood staring at us, while he looked quietly back at her.

“Give me the gun, honey.”

She glanced at him briefly, then looked back at Dehan. “No.”

“Give me the gun.”

“No, Hank, I wanna hear what they have to say.”

“They ain’t got nothin’ t’say, goddamn it! They’re just tryin’ to persuade us to hand over Maggie.” He looked at me with murder in his eyes. “Well that ain’t never gonna happen.”

I shook my head. “You don’t have to hand her over. You just need to listen to what we are telling you, and then give my card to Margaret. She can call me and talk to me whenever she likes. All I want is to hear her story.” I held up both hands. “I am going to reach for my wallet and pull out a card. Don’t shoot me.”

They watched me pull out my wallet and extract a card from it. I walked the short distance between us and handed the card to Mrs. Wagner. “Please, ask her to call us.”

She didn’t say anything, but her eyes were eloquent. I gave Hank a brief look and his eyes were eloquent too, though they said something different. I turned and walked back toward Dehan and the Jaguar. On the way I caught Dehan’s eyes and I saw her eyebrows rise and she jutted her jaw back toward the ranch house. Then I heard a voice.

“Detective Stone. Please, wait.”

I turned. Margaret Wagner was in the doorway. She held a revolver in her hand, hanging loose by her side. Her father was glaring at her.

“Get back inside, girl! Are you out of your mind?”

“No, Dad. I’m not going to hide.” To me she said, “What is the law, Detective Stone? If Mom and Dad are prosecuted for aiding and abetting a fugitive…”

I didn’t answer straight away. I sighed, feeling suddenly weary, sick of this case.

“That’s not what should be worrying you, Dr. Wagner. The DA is not keen to prosecute cases that will be unpopular, or a waste of public money. Loyal fathers who protect their daughters from unfair prosecutions are not the flavor of the month. Nor are DAs who prosecute legitimate self-defense cases. But yes, if you refuse to come with us, and your parents persist in refusing to give us access to you, we will need to call in backup from the Pierre PD. And then there will probably have to be a prosecution.”

Hank Wagner roared. “Don’t listen to him! This is your home! These bastards will not take my daughter!”

“I don’t want to take your daughter, Mr. Wagner. I just want to talk to her!”

Margaret Wagner placed her hand on her father’s shoulder.

“Dad, it’s OK. I am not going to drag you into this affair. I’ve caused enough trouble as it is. It’s time to face the music and come clean.”

She handed her mother the revolver she held in her hand and crossed the dirt to where Dehan and I were standing. She held out her wrists to me.

I shook my head. “Do you plan to shoot or strangle either of us on the way to the motel?”

Her eyebrows drew together. “No…”

“Then we don’t need to cuff you. All we want is to talk to you, Dr. Wagner.”

She dropped her hands to her side. “Oh,” she said simply, and sighed. “Let’s go then.”

Nineteen

We had bought coffee at the gas station and now we sat in our motel room, with the window open to the cold sunlight, and the distant, vague sounds of voices, dogs, birds and tractors. Dehan sat on the bed, Margaret Wagner sat in a sage green, vinyl armchair by the window, and I sat on a straight-back hard chair in front of the TV. Dehan was the first to speak.

“What happened in White Plains, Dr. Wagner?”

She took a moment, gazing out of the window, then met Dehan’s eye and said, “To be honest, I am not exactly sure.” She took a very deep breath and let it out as a heavy sigh. “This is not easy to explain. It goes back a long way.”

I said, “So start at the beginning. We’re not going anywhere.”

“It all started when Brad had this brilliant idea of adopting some kid he’d read about in the paper.”

“Leroy Brown.”

“Lee, his aunt insisted his name was Lee. Anyhow, Brad is a real dreamer and an idealist. He can also be a very selfish bastard. When he had this idea, he didn’t stop to think how it was going to affect his kids or his wife or his family as a whole. It was his latest fancy and we all had to go along with it. I told him, right from the start, this is going to be a disaster and you are going to be picking up the pieces for the rest of your life. He wouldn’t listen, and back then Emma did whatever Brad said. He was a bully, too.”

Dehan asked, “So Emma was OK with the adoption?”

“She said she was, but the truth is the only person who had any real enthusiasm for it was Brad, because the ones who were going to have to deal with it day to day were his wife and his kids.”

“What about you?”

She sighed again. “Yeah, what about me?” She made a helpless gesture. “We had a complicated relationship. I was in love with Brad. I have always been in love with Brad. Emma and I got on well, there was never any real jealousy, but we were both in love with Brad and somehow that formed a bond between us. In the end we became a kind of family, but I was always on the