Sunken Graves Alan Lee (reading e books .txt) 📖

his hiding spot in the kitchen and slammed Jennings’ back into the wall, next to the basement doorway. Jennings’ left leg gave out and he scrambled to stay standing.

“Look who it is.” Gibbs breathed hot beer breath into Jennings’ face. “It’s everyone’s least favorite gimp, Daniel Jennings. I had a feeling.”

Jennings’ mind raced, switching gears, searching for a way forward. Playing ignorant would do him no good. Better meet the man head on. His only chance at averting disaster.

“Let me by, Chief. Or I’ll burn down your career.”

The man laughed. “Threatening my career? I don’t give a damn anymore.”

“I know everything. I know—”

“You know shit.”

“I know you’re Peter’s father. And we both know he’s sadistic and insane.”

"Breaking the terms of your bonds, aren’t you? You’re violating the court order being here, you one-legged freak.” Gibbs smacked at Jennings’ jacket, his belt, under his arms, looking for a gun.

He didn’t find one.

“Came without a gun? Not sure if you’re stupid or smart.”

“Chief—”

“I give you credit, boy. You’re tough and stubborn as an oak. Just like the Jennings name. Tell you what, I’m feeling generous. It’s Christmas after all, ain’t that right.”

Jennings detected the lie.

Gibbs said, “We cut a deal. You don’t ruin my son’s Christmas party, I’ll let you go. We’re going out back to talk.”

“I’m not going out back.”

“Like hell, you’re not.”

“I want to use the phone. I’m calling my lawyer.”

“You trying to piss me off? You don’t cooperate, I’ll haul you to jail and throw you in with guys who’ll do me a favor to get out. You follow?”

Jennings feeling desperate. “How deep into this are you, Chief? Do you know what’s in the basement? Do you know about Peter’s kill room?”

“Peter’s what?”

“The hooks and tourniquets?”

A brief check in Gibbs’ anger. “Hooks?”

“Downstairs, Chief. There’s a man hanging dead. Josh Dixon, the lawyer. If you didn’t kill him, your son did.”

“Bull shit.”

“Go look. He’s hanging with a hook in his mouth.”

“That ain’t true.”

“Peter killed someone else today too. Daisy’s—”

“You’re lying.” Gibbs hit him. A big right hand into Jennings ribs. “You’re a lying son of a bitch. That can’t be true.” Another punch, a left into Jennings gut, driving out his air. His stomach was already mutinying and now he dry heaved.

“Hey.” A voice down the hall. “Hey! What’re you doing?” It was the dean’s secretary, Ms. Nancy.

“Police business, ma’am. Pay no attention.”

“No, that’s police brutality.” Ms. Nancy’s eyes were shining with alcohol. “And oh! Mr. Jennings? Let him go, he didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You need to get on back to the party, ma’am.”

The assistant basketball coach said, “What are the police doing here?”

“I’m the police chief and I was looking for this man.” Gibbs pressed a forearm into Jennings’ chest, riveting him to the wall. “He’s under arrest. I’m taking him out back and you keep celebrating. Merry Christmas.”

“Let him go. We all know the charges are fake,” said the woman. She held a flute of champagne in her right hand. With her left she tugged on Gibbs’ sleeve.

“Ma’am, get your hand off me.”

“This is Christmas! We love Daniel! He’s one of us!”

“Yeah, Gibbs.” Jennings coughed. “It’s a party. Let’s get a drink.”

“Quiet, gimp.”

“Don’t call him that. I’ll get you fired, I will.”

Another couple walked in. Mrs. Wagner, the guidance counselor, and her husband, Rick Wagner the defense attorney, looking for the restroom.

“Excuse me.” Rick frowned.

“Go back to the party.”

“What’s happening?” said Rick.

“Everything is fine. We are leaving out the back.”

Mrs. Wagner grabbed her husband’s arm. “That’s Daniel Jennings. They framed him, Rick, the one I told you about. He would never…”

Rick said, “Officer, is this man resisting arrest? Otherwise—”

Gibbs grunted. “Oh for Christ sake.”

“The police officer hit him,” said Ms. Nancy. “Hit him and Daniel was just standing there!”

“Folks! This is police business!” Gibbs was irked his almighty authority had come under scrutiny. The hectic hallway turned into a courtroom of jurors and he’d been found guilty.

“My husband is an attorney! He’s representing Daniel as of this minute.”

“Let him go!”

The basketball coach was holding up his phone. “I’m recording this.”

Jennings called to the crowd, “Has anyone seen Daisy Hathaway? She’s missing.”

“What’d I say?” Gibbs hit him again, knocking his wind out. “You’re under arrest and you stay silent.”

The audience shouted outrage.

Gibbs tugged Jennings toward the rear door. Under his breath, “Come hell or high water, Jennings, you’re staying with me.”

All eyes swiveling toward Hathaway.

She was stunned to discover her unwillingness to call for help. Her fear of humiliation was stronger than her fear of danger. She should be screaming and yet she wasn’t. The dramatic entrance mortified her, and the sea of friendly faces looked more like a grotesque congregation. Their attention was hot, and the music, Drummer Boy, sounded obnoxious and loud.

Already they’d been whispering about her upstairs in Lynch’s house, about her being Lynch’s girlfriend, about her wearing clothes he’d bought, arriving barefoot, and she refused to stumble down the stairs like she’d been drinking. She was sweating, her entire being focused on placing her feet.

She wished Daniel was here.

She reached the bottom and Peter Lynch materialized. A strong hand grabbed her wrist.

Lynch wore dark slacks and a white collared shirt. Tufts of black at the sleeves and neck. She barely reached his collar bone.

“Daisy.”

A hundred eyes still watching, her head twirling. She felt sick.

“Trying to escape?” He said it loud, a joke.

“Not quickly enough.” The people closest to them laughed.

“You’re far too nervous.”

“What am I doing here, Mr. Lynch?” A stupid question, her brain asked it automatically.

He led her away from those prying ears. Toward a clearing in the center of the room. He pulled her and she didn’t fight, not yet. She felt safer in the crowd, could scream if she had to.

“We haven’t spoken in a while.” Now he spoke soft, intimate.

“Not since I fell out of your car.”

“When Craig Lewis shot at me.”

“Yes. Craig, the poor man.”

“What was he doing there, Daisy?”

“He prevented me from being raped,” she heard herself say. The crowd had drawn back, giving them space. Their