Dying Truth Page 15

  Here and there someone remonstrated with one of those angry men and received a blast of vociferous rage. Rows sparked like brush fires. Cade helped Guy to his feet and leaned in close.

  “Get your girl out of here. Right now,” he ordered.

  Guy looked frightened, and it was Sara who seized his hand and hauled him to the periphery of the crowd. Cade turned to Professor Clarke, but he had vanished. A forest of bodies surrounded him, a waving sea of cardboard signs being held aloft like weapons. As he searched for the professor, he caught sight of one group of men he had seen earlier. They had moved closer, crossing the street to stand amongst the locals. It was a tightening noose. They’re containing the crowd, Cade realized, recognizing the riot-control tactic. There’s someone they don’t want getting out when this blows up.

  A flash of pink in his periphery made him whirl. Clarke’s shirt revealed itself in a brief ebbing of the crowd. A path opened to the tall man, who strode purposefully toward a dark sedan that had pulled up outside the police station. Security came out of the car first, wearing earpieces and dark glasses, followed by a woman in heels and a dark green suit with a knee-length skirt. She was slim, with slightly hunched shoulders and immaculately sculpted gray hair. Her face was thin and heavily lined, fixed into a smile. Governor Lindsay.

  22

  Clarke strode confidently toward the governor with his shoulders pinned back. She spotted him and beamed. Then something hit Clarke on the shoulder. The impact was hard enough to half spin him around. He clutched his upper arm, eyes wide as he searched for the source of the attack. The governor’s security had seen the attack. Two men who had been in front of the politician stepped across to bar her path and backed up. They looked in every direction. Another projectile came from the crowd to smash into the passenger door of the sedan. They drew guns. Two men behind the governor took her by the arms and rapidly manhandled her into the car.

  Cade shoved his way through the intervening bodies toward the professor just as another object hit him in the back. Clarke recoiled, then covered his head as yet another projectile passed overhead. The stones came from within the crowd. A sign struck Cade across the back and shoulders, breaking apart in a shower of balsa wood. It was a heavy blow but a flimsy weapon, and Cade barely broke stride.

  He refused to look away from his objective, now realizing the purpose of Dexter’s “contractors”. They were going for Professor Clarke. Someone tried to trip him, and Cade lashed out blindly with an elbow, connecting with something soft. A hand grabbed his arm and tried to pull him back. He twisted free, glimpsing a hard male face as he turned. He jabbed with his right hand, lacking the room to swing. The face fell away into the press, and he continued toward the professor.

  Clarke was on his knees. Blood streamed from a cut on his forehead. Cade fought through a raging sea. Voices flew from all directions, urging violence and shouting obscenities. Bodies became pressed together as Dexter’s plants started a dozen fights. Some reacted and fought back; others huddled together for protection, cowering and bewildered. A man could drown in a crowd like this, get knocked to the ground, and the crowd would swallow you as completely as any sea.

  The side of his face went numb as an unseen fist connected. He reeled, catching himself against a woman behind him. She shoved him off, swearing like a sailor. A kick to the back of the legs almost put him to his knees before he recovered. He knew he wasn’t the target. They had organized this in advance.

  Clarke was lost to sight again. Cade had gotten turned around in the melee. He struck out for where he thought he had seen the fallen man. More projectiles were airborne, like missiles leaving underground silos. Glass broke. A car screeched away on smoking tires. He ducked under a swinging placard, seeing the movement an instant before it would have broken across his head.

  He fought on with elbows and knees until he reached a small space. By now, the crowd was breaking apart. People ran in all directions, breaking around knots of violence. Cade came up against a knee-high stone wall, painted white. It formed a boundary separating the garden from an open paved space in front of the town hall steps. He jumped up, looking around for Professor Clarke, and found him immediately. Clarke cowered on the ground, and three men surrounded him, delivering vicious kicks.

  The Burford police swept into action. A group of officers had surrounded the camera crew, moving them back and pushing the camera down. A heated argument broke out between the cops and the TV crew. Others had moved patrol cars to block the main streets leading away from the town hall. They grabbed at protesters who got free of the riot, and Cade saw several arrests taking place. Burford PD were showing their loyalties.

  But not all. A group of officers had emerged from the station, to be held back by a line of their own brother officers. He saw Nate shouting at a burly man trying to push him back through the door. Mitch ran over, talking into his radio as he went. He began remonstrating with Nate, who pointed toward the violence and shouted. No help came from that direction. The chief had absented himself to be entertained by the Dexters, and when the dust settled, Cade knew they would apportion no blame to him.

  Cade leapt from the wall, reaching the nearest of the men who surrounded the professor. Cade wrenched him back and swung a fist before the man could react. Pain shot through his hand as he connected with a jawbone of concrete, but the man fell face-first to the ground. Cade’s shoulder barged into another, feet scrabbling on concrete for traction and momentum. The man shifted an inch and then turned Cade around and wrapped a powerful arm around his neck, deftly positioning him for a sleeper hold. Cade slammed an elbow back, aiming for the kidneys. The grip loosened, and they both stumbled back. Cade broke free of the grip just as the other two collided with him.

  He fought to keep his balance, moving back with them, before planting his feet as their momentum overtook his. He beat down onto the back of their heads and their necks as they bulldozed him. Then the guy who had tried to put a choke hold on him grabbed his arm, twisting it back. Blows hammered into his stomach and to the side of his head. His feet slid across the paving stones. A spur of pain ignited in his right thigh, and his knee gave out. They slammed Cade to the ground hard enough that black spots bloomed in front of his eyes. A thick hand clamped around his throat, squeezing. It lifted his head to meet a raised fist, and a gunshot rang out.

  Cade’s attacker froze, looking around for the source of the shot. Cade hit him in the mouth and then rolled free of his grip, staggering to his feet. Clarke fell up the town hall steps. Four cops walked toward the remnants of the crowd, Nate being one of them. He held his gun above his head and fired a second shot into the air. Another officer held a bullhorn to his mouth.

  “This is the police. The permit for this gathering has been revoked by order of the Burford Police Department. You are ordered to disperse immediately or face arrest. Anyone who does not disperse will be arrested.”

  In an instant, Cade’s attacker melted away. He propped himself on his elbows. The man jogged away in the opposite direction to the cops. So did the others. Soon, the small square in front of the town hall was empty except for locals taking cover behind anything they could find and a few bewildered protesters. Cade groaned as he got to his feet. He felt like he had been run over by the entire crowd. He hoped that at least one of the goons he had tangled with was feeling as bad.

  Ignoring the cops, he walked toward the town hall steps where Clarke sat, his elbows resting on his knees, face buried in his hands. Someone had come out of the building with a first aid kit, and the professor held a white pad over the cut on his head. Blood stained his shirt. Cade took a seat next to him. Clarke squinted at him from beneath a surgical dressing and a headache.

  “You okay?”

  “Terrific. Next fucking stupid question.”

  Cade shrugged. The town hall square had drained of people. Nate joined them on the steps.

  “I thought you were getting out of here, Cade?” Nate holstered his sidearm with some force.


  “I got held up.”

  “Enough with the smart mouth. You arrive in town and we’ve got assaults and now a fucking riot. Wanna tell me this wasn’t anything to do with you?”

  “Not me. Someone who has Burford police in his pocket.”

  Nate half reached for Cade. He stopped himself, running a hand over his head, and laughed. “You know who that old lady was? That was the governor. She got attacked by these… hippies.”

  “This had nothing to do with us,” Clarke interrupted sharply. He tried to stand and sat back down with a white face and eyes narrowed in pain.

  “I heard what they were chanting.”

  “Governor Lindsay is a friend of mine and a committed environmentalist.”

  “Right, now the governor is going to be screaming for someone’s head. And the chief wants arrests.”

  “Why do you think the chief wanted you to keep back? Who else could have ordered that? I saw them trying to keep you out of things, Nate. The chief was ordered to let those guys go for Professor Clarke and to alienate the governor.”

  “Professor Clarke, you’re going to need to come with me.”

  “No way, Nate,” Cade told him, standing between the young cop and the seated professor.

  “Stand aside, Cade.” Nate stood a step below Cade, but he stared up with the expectation of being obeyed.

  “I should let a journalist friend of mine know what just went down here. And how the police let it happen.”

  “His people caused this. He’s responsible.”

  “I was getting beaten to a pulp by those animals.” Clarke protested.

  “There’s no evidence that Professor Clarke instigated this, and I’m an eyewitness. They targeted him. If you arrest him, I’ll have his lawyers spring him in about five minutes. Is it even worth your while?”

  Cade met Nate’s eyes and held them. His stare was level and implacable. Nate’s anger broke against the unyielding face.

  “Chief will get a warrant, and the boys will all give statements that they saw the Professor inciting violence. You won’t have long.”

  “Don’ need it,” Cade said.

  Nate turned away, throwing up his hands. The camera crew accosted him as they buzzed excitedly around the square shooting footage of police wrestling with protesters.

  It looked like a scene from the sixties. A man on the ground, being cuffed. A woman with a crew cut berating the cops. Her hair was as red as her face. Occasional words reached Cade that he would have thought twice about using in public. Other cops hauled members of the protest away toward the station, tossing placards aside.

  “You know what this was about?” Cade asked Clarke.

  “Discredit us,” came the terse reply behind him.

  “I happen to know that a local gangster has been recruitin’ heavies. I think this was why.”

  “They were in amongst us, weren’t they?”

  “Yep. So the cops can give a statement saying it was the protesters tearin’ up the place.”

  Clarke hung his head, swearing under his breath.

  “They were targetin’ you, though.”

  “How flattering. Just who the hell are you, anyway?”

  “Right now, I’m the only person in this town who doesn’t think you’re some kind of anarchist. I know that NorEl was in trouble after Whitesands, and they’ve been using that local gangster I mentioned to acquire the land they need here. I reckon they’re lookin’ to avoid a repeat by silencing the opposition. What do you think?”

  “I think I wish I’d never seen this shit-hole of a town,” Clarke spat.

  He kicked the railing petulantly. “What’s it to you, anyway?”

  “I can’t prove anything right now. I’ve got enough to make those gangsters back off for a time. But nothing that a DA would indict on. I was sorta hoping you had something we could use.”

  “All I’ve got is a sore head…”

  Cade grabbed him by the front of his pink shirt, hauling him to his feet and shoving him up the steps backward. Clarke yelled but moved, fighting to keep his balance.

  “Listen, you whining son of a bitch. My family are being terrorized by the same people who just tried to bury you. I don’t give a fuck about you except for what y’know. But you better be damn sure that once I’m gone, there isn’t anyone who can protect you. And they will try again.”

  “Professor Clarke, WEKW-TV. Care to comment on what we’ve seen here today?”

  Cade looked over his shoulder. The camera crew came up the steps behind him. The camera swung from the professor to him. A woman with a head of hairsprayed hair and aggressive makeup pushed a mike at him. She wore a smart pantsuit with a blazer that proclaimed the network on its lapels.

  Clarke slid free from Cade’s grasp to stand fully in front of the camera. He seemed to inflate in the spotlight, chin lifting in unison with his chest.

  “I deplore the violence we have seen here today. We came here to meet with Governor Lindsay to discuss fracking…”

  “But, Professor. It was your people who carried out the attacks. We saw them. What do you have to say to that?”

  “This was a peaceful demonstration, as all of our demonstrations have been. Everyone connected with Americans Against Fracking is committed to achieving our goals through peaceful means. As you can see, I was also a victim of this outrage.”

  “Professor, I heard the slogans being chanted before the violence erupted here. I heard death threats against NorEl personnel.”

  Clarke held up a hand. “Please, miss. There are innocent people being arrested. More have been injured and terrorized. And all because they wanted to stand up against a faceless corporation wishing to dispossess them of their homes and reduce the quality of life for those who remain. All in the pursuit of profit.”

  Clarke’s voice was mellifluous and hypnotic. Cade could see that he would have been a persuasive public speaker. An idea formed.

  23

  Cade saw a battered Ford snake its way down Donnelly Street toward the town hall. It bumped over discarded signs, shattering the flimsy wood. It was a couple of mismatched shades of green, with black duct tape holding on one mirror. As it neared, Cade saw Charlie Biggs at the wheel. He was leaning forward, consternation written across his face.

  Cade stepped closer to Clarke and caught his arm. Cut off in mid sentence, Clarke tried to shake himself free.

  “Excuse me. I’m giving an interview,” he told Cade testily.

  “Sir, you’re in our shot. Would you mind stepping to the side, please?” the reporter asked with paper-thin civility.

  Cade turned his back to the crew and dropped his voice to a whisper.

  “Whatever you say—these people are going to report what they saw. And you don’t come out of that story well. I have a contact in the press, and she has a lot of background info on NorEl and the people they’re working with here in Burford. The two of you could blow this whole thing sky-high. Bigger than Whitesands.”

  Clarke’s eyes darted from the offer of media attention to the actual attention he was getting. He licked his lips.

  “Who does he work for?” he whispered. “One moment, please.” He smiled at the crew and took Cade’s arm, walking with him up the steps a little way.

  “She’s a freelancer. She’s written for the Washington Post and the New York Times.” Cade lied.

  “And what has she got?”

  “A lot of circumstantial evidence. You want to be part of our story? You want to stop Janger in his tracks?”

  Clarke nodded fervently.

  “Get outta town. There’s a Motel 8 on Flint Road, west of Burford. I got some stuff to take care of. I can talk to you there.”

  Clarke stepped away from Cade. “Are you kidding me? You want me isolated on some back road after telling me Janger is trying to have me killed? What kind of idiot do you take me for? I’m staying right here.”

  Cade opened his mouth, but Clarke plowed on.

  “If you’re for real, call me.” He
produced a business card from a pocket. It was creased and his finger left a smear of blood on it. Cade took it, wanting to throw it away and punch the guy. “Now, I intend to get my side of the story out there.”

  Charlie had spotted Cade. He pulled up and got out of the car, waiting.

  “Might want to get your people out of jail, too,” Cade told Clarke.

  “What? Oh, yes. Of course.” He smoothed his shirt and ran a straightening hand through his hair. He smiled gravely for the camera. “If your reporter friend wants to know what I know, get her to call me. Then I’ll decide if I want to share information.”

  He glanced at Cade out of the corner of his eye and didn’t break his smile once. Then he stepped back into the orbit of the news crew, an expression of intense concentration on his face. Cade stalked away from the man. He ached all over. One side of his face felt like a mass of bruises, and his right leg stiffened more by the second. His right arm protested with a dull ache every time he lifted it, and his knuckles throbbed. Blood had dried on his jaw and chin where his teeth had cut his lip. He licked his fingers and scrubbed them over the area to get rid of the worst.

  “What in the hell happened here?” Charlie demanded when within earshot. “Jesus, you look like shit.”

  “Hell’s right, Charlie,” Cade replied wearily. “As in broke loose. The Dexters.”