“Forgiveness is a duty. Luke 17:4, I believe.”
He smiled. “I never realized you were such a biblical scholar.”
“I have many talents you may not be aware of.”
Catherine Walker had always been an interesting woman. But right now his daughter was the major concern. “One reason I think Ashley stuck with me was because of her own situation. She hadn’t been the best wife to three men either. I think she understood what failure in marriage meant. That duty of forgiveness, as you say.”
He’d often thought both he and his daughter were cursed with an inability to find what their hearts truly desired. Ashley had promised her mother that she’d look after him, Loretta grateful that her daughter would finish what she’d been unwilling to do. The minister who married them long ago had said, “Till death do you part,” yet religious fervor could not compensate for the toll deceit took on the heart. That point of no return when emotions gestated from love to hate, respect to loathing, caring to indifference. His former wife was now bonded to another man and another life. Every week he preached the gospel to his Sunday school class. Too bad he never learned to practice what he preached until it was far too late.
“I want you to know,” he said, “that I don’t think there’s beenanything sexual at all between Brent and Ashley for a long, long time. They’re both better than that. But the feeling between them seems real. And Paula was aware of that situation.”
“I know that.”
He was surprised. “Mind if I ask how?”
“She talked to me once about it. Paula could be quite difficult. That much was clear. She was hard to please, and she never really concerned herself with anyone else’s feelings. It’s amazing she was like that at all. Small-town girl from a down-to-earth family. Her parents were good people.”
“Except they killed themselves.”
Catherine stared beyond the railing. “I often wondered about the pain I saw in Brent’s eyes. He tried hard to conceal it, but I could see it there.”
“Ashley had her share, too. I think she tried to forget with three husbands. Those were mistakes that should have never happened.”
“But she has Lori Anne. What a darling girl. How old is she now?”
“Twelve, and she runs us to death.”
“I bet her granddaddy spoils her?”
“Every chance I get.”
He hesitated, deciding best how to finish what he started. Damn Ashley. This should have been done years ago.
He sucked a deep breath.
“There’s something else.”
10:37A.M.
FRANKBARNARD STARED AT THE LOG CABIN, TWELVE HUNDREDsquare feet under the roof in the woods of west Georgia, the muddy Chattahoochee River in sight.
He knew the history of Priority Number 6. Melvin Bennett bought the property in his forties, made payments until his fifties, then built the cabin in his early sixties. Two weeks after retiring from Southern Republic Pulp and Paper Company, Bennett andhis wife packed a moving van and drove two hundred miles west from Woods County, across Georgia, spending the past two years quietly beside the Chattahoochee within sight of Alabama. He also knew how many and how far away Melvin Bennett’s neighbors lived. He likewise knew the Harris County Sheriff’s Department did not make regular patrols, and the nearest hospital was forty miles away.
He’d arrived last night and, to supplement the file, spent most of the evening doing on-site surveillance. Afterward, back in his motel room, he studied the information in more detail. Relatively healthy, Melvin Bennett was concerned only with a long-standing diabetic condition and a peanut allergy. Though he was insulin-dependent, no major problems presently existed from the disease. As for the allergy, he maintained a running prescription for an epinephrine auto-injector, which he kept nearby in case of emergency. De Florio’s notes in the file suggested a processing consistent with that allergy. But devising a method to accomplish that, while at the same time not raising any suspicion, had taken thought.
He considered himself a consummate professional. Nearly five years he’d worked for De Florio, performing flawlessly. He’d traveled all over the country, twice to Canada and once to Mexico, processing Priorities under the most varied of circumstances. Only a small percentage of Priorities lived in and around Concord. Most moved away at retirement to be closer to family. Some sought the warmth of Florida or the coolness of the mountains. Distance aided processing and allowed for a diversified pattern. Rule expressly provided that people who lived in and around Woods County could be Prioritized only on a staggered basis so as not to attract undue attention.
He was well aware of De Florio’s rise from associate to chief of security. He wanted to one day follow in that path. He certainly didn’t want to end up like Milo Richey. But Richey had screwed up and, in this business, there were no second chances. Especially for an ambitious associate looking to get ahead.
But first things first.
Melvin Bennett’s untimely death.
When he’d entered Bennett’s cabin last night after the elder man went out, he discovered that Bennett’s wife was out of town, her sister’s telephone number tacked to the refrigerator door, a message on the answering machine checking on Bennett ending with love and “I’ll see you Saturday.” Knowing Bennett would be alone for the next two days, he’d finalized the method of processing, then telephoned De Florio and cleared everything, even receiving a compliment on his ingenuity.
Now he was back.
Watching from the thickets that engulfed the cabin as Melvin Bennett bolted out the front door carrying a fishing rod and tackle box.
