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Chapter Twenty-Five
With the excitement of the FBI swarming over the county, it was easy to forget that four people were dead—six if you counted Julie Lawrence and Ronnie Campbell—maybe more we didn’t know about. But Greg Vance—not William—was behind bars, which had been a surprise to all of us after the warrant had gone through and we’d gotten a copy of the membership roster of the Aryan Nation. Gregory Vance Sr. joined his son in a cell for conspiracy to murder.
Jack had been right. It had all come down to the money.
Greg Vance had been taking over the reins of the Aryan Nation for the past several years—about the same time the FBI started their file on the Blood Brothers. The crazy thing about people like Greg Vance is they never think they’ll get caught. They’re always smarter or above the law.
His car dealerships had been the perfect cover for drug running. He’d enveloped George’s garage and six others all over the state into his rotation. The drugs would go into the cars at the auto shop at his Richmond dealership, and then the reformed Booth Wilkins would drive the car out to a remote location with the drugs. Someone would trade out the drugs for a fat wad of money, and then George would tow the car and the money back to the shop. The FBI and DEA were both having a field day with Greg Vance.
Reverend Oglesby’s death hadn’t been a result of his sexual orientation as they’d wanted us to believe. Daniel had simply seen something he shouldn’t have. And they’d muddied the waters with his death by having Lorna let it slip that he was gay.
Julie Lawrence had died because Ronnie Campbell had decided to make a plea deal and had told Julie everything he knew about the operation. Greg Vance had eyes and ears everywhere, in a lot of powerful places, so he knew as soon as Ronnie opened his mouth to spill his guts. Julie and Ronnie had been casualties of war.
Doc Randall’s death had been to clean up loose ends. Just like George’s death. They’d both fulfilled their usefulness. Greg Vance still hadn’t cracked under the pressure of interrogation, but all his cohorts were throwing him under the bus, trying to save themselves. Except for Lorna.
Lorna had been easily seduced by Greg. A small-town mouse of a woman, whose repressed sexuality made her hunger and hate at the same time. Her grandfather had filled her head with lies and self-loathing, and he’d made sure she knew she was always to stand for the organization if they needed her. He’d made it clear her only usefulness in life was to serve for the higher calling of the Aryan Nation.
Greg had told her everything she’d needed to hear, sweetening the pot with the affection she’d been denied as a child, so in the end she’d have doneanythingfor him. He’d told her the “cleansing” the organization did was what God and the church wanted. She’d believed him. The DA is going to push for diminished capacity and a lighter sentence because of her upbringing, but she still won’t see the light of day for a while.
Greg wasn’t talking. Not yet, anyway. But like Jack said, the money didn’t lie. The Aryan Nation had accounts worldwide, and the FBI had found the withdrawals used to lure Doc Randall, under a false account using Jesse Fife’s name. The FBI was rounding up dozens of people involved in the mess, but Jack had gotten what he’d been after. George, Doc Randall and Daniel Oglesby had been ours. And we took care of our own.
Kenny Laubach and Booth Wilkins had easily rolled over on Greg Vance and a few others as participating in Oglesby’s murder. But Kenny had also given up Lorna. She’d been the one to give Oglesby the drug. Her prints matched the ones we’d found at the scene, and she’d been the one who’d pulled the trigger on Doc Randall. We’d been right. She’d panicked after she’d shot him. He’d been her first.
Carver was sure the DNA from the cigarettes we’d found at the crime scene would belong to Greg. He hadn’t quit smoking soon enough. Kenny had fessed up to owning the bandana and setting the barn on fire while we’d been trapped inside. One of Jack’s officers had shot Kenny in the leg while he tried to escape back to his car, and it had been difficult for Kenny to plead innocence with the matches and lighter fluid he’d had in his hands as the bullet took him down.
As far as how I was dealing with the upheaval—I was taking it a day at a time. I’d buried Mrs. Perry, George, and Reverend Oglesby. The Virginia State Medical Examiner had allowed me to assist with Doc Randall’s charred remains, and I’d had a moment of pride when he’d told me I did good work. It was really all I needed. No one else’s opinions mattered. Except Jack’s.
Also, I’d somehow gotten engaged. Life or death situations made for crazy decision-making. But I wasn’t nearly as panicked about it as I should have been. We loved each other. It had just taken us a long time to get to that place, and now it was as if nothing had ever been any different. We’d just been waiting for the right time.
So two weeks later, when the initial frenzy died down and life was slowly getting back to normal, I came out of the funeral home to find Jack waiting for me in the driveway. I couldn’t help but smile when I saw him. I felt happier than I ever had. More at peace with myself and the decisions I’d made in my life. I still had my parents’ crimes to deal with and things to discover there, but I knew it would all be okay as long as Jack was beside me.
I got in the cruiser and fastened my seatbelt, cracking my knuckles in nervousness. “I think it’s time.”
“Now’s not good for me,” he said, putting the car in reverse and backing out. “This car technically belongs to the county, and it’s against the law to engage in sexual acts in a car provided by the taxpayers. I’d have to arrest myself.”
“Good grief. Don’t you ever think about anything else?”
He was quiet for a minute and then said, “Nah, not really. All I can think about is getting you back on my desk. That moment pretty much defined my life.”
“Which, speaking of,” I said. “Also the taxpayers’ money.”
“Hmm.” He drove down Queen Mary and stopped at the crossroads, his blinker flashing to turn right towards the house where we’d spend the rest of our lives. But I put my hand on his wrist and he let the car idle there for a minute.
“I’m ready to go back to the house,” I said softly. “There are things I want to pack up and bring with me so I can start my life with you. I’ve come to realize that there are a few memories from there that aren’t so bad. Those are the ones I want to bring to you. Thank you for loving me. I’ve never been given a greater gift than that.”
I leaned in and our mouths touched. His thumb brushed across my cheek and wiped away a tear.
“I’ll go with you,” he said.
“No,” I told him. “I can do it. I’m strong enough to face it now. And it’s something I need to do on my own. Can you understand?”
“Yeah,” he sighed. “Stubborn brat. But I don’t have to like it. I’ll drop you off, and then I’ll bring the truck back once you’re ready to start hauling things out.”
I squeezed his hand in thanks and he turned the car left, heading down the rutted lane to the home I’d grown up in. The realtor was going to get a For Sale sign in the yard by the weekend, and then I’d be free.
Jack came to a stop, and I dug in my bag for my keys.
“I’ll be back in an hour,” he said. “And then you’re going to give me something sinfully erotic.” His voice dropped to a husky whisper and I felt myself giving in one last time to the temptation of his lips. He kissed me once. “Something outrageously decadent.” He kissed me again. “It should probably involve chocolate syrup.”
