by J. M. Hayes
“What?” That didn’t sound reasonable, not under the circumstances.
“Look,” the first Heather said. “I’ve kind of gotten involved in this and I need to explain some things to these officers. Just keep an eye on Galen’s place, okay? Call me if anything happens. We’ll be out there as soon as we can.”
“But…” Heather began, only One wasn’t on the other end of the connection anymore.
Heather Lane let herself feel a little righteous indignation, though she supposed things must be wild and confused in Buffalo Springs if the first part of her sister’s story was accurate. Chucky Williams killing students? God, she wanted to know who had been hurt and what was happening now. But here she was, standing at the end of a tree row almost half a mile north of where her Uncle Mad Dog might have been taken hostage along with someone in a blue uniform. She suddenly wished Chairman Wynn had stuck around with his pistol so they could go over there and bang on the door, free Uncle Mad Dog, and demand some answers…if that was Mad Dog and he was a hostage and if Galen had really been driving that bus last night.
She put the glass back to her eye. The Siegrist farm looked pretty much the way she remembered it. Except—what was that? A man…no, two men were walking up to one of the metal outbuildings. They opened the door and went inside. Uncle Mad Dog wasn’t one of them. Nothing suspicious about that, was there? Though something about it bothered her. Something nagged at a corner of her mind.
Then she realized what it was. One of them, the big one, was wearing a suit. No one in Benteen County wore suits. Oh, maybe for Sunday services or to attend a funeral, but that was all.
What should she do about it? Should she call her sister back? She hardly thought her message would be welcome. Keep watching, One of Two would say, and then hang up on her again.
Well, the adopted Heather wasn’t any more inclined to sit around and wait on events than Englishman’s natural daughter. She tossed her fanny pack over one shoulder, put the monocular to her eye and gave the farm and outbuildings one last careful look. Then she started back to her car.
Heather didn’t know what she planned to do. A drive-by surveillance, at least. Maybe she could see more from up close or another angle. And then, if it seemed like Mad Dog was in need of immediate help she’d…. She’d…. Well, she’d figure that out when it happened.
***
“Look,” the sheriff said. “Right now I don’t care what you do with your trooper. I’ll release him to your custody as long as you get him out of my county.”
He was going to file charges later. Doc and his two volunteers, that was bad. But discharging a shotgun at his daughter—damn right he’d press charges.
“Right now, there’s still a killer on the loose. I’m shorthanded. I need your help to find him.”
Captain Miller looked like he wanted to add some disparaging adjectives to shorthanded. But the captain seemed to think he was getting what he wanted. He thought he’d freed his trooper and been given control of the investigation. “We’ll find your killer, but we need a better description than just a kid with a gun.”
“About five-two,” Heather said.
Was he that tall now, the sheriff wondered? Kids always seemed smaller and younger in his memory than they actually were. Part of getting old, he supposed. He kept his mouth shut and let his daughter continue her description.
“Slight,” she was saying, “but soft. Maybe one-ten, one-twenty at the outside. Medium-brown hair, neatly cut. Blue eyes. He’s wearing blue jeans and a green corduroy shirt, long-sleeved but turned up at the wrists.”
“That’s a hell of a description, Deputy.” Miller was obviously surprised to find competency in the Benteen Sheriff’s office, especially from the sheriff’s daughter. “You’ve seen him today, I assume.”
“Several times. Last time, carrying the gun into the school, I think. He was toting a trombone case. I wondered about that because I thought he played the clarinet.”
“Good job,” Miller said. “You get that, men?” The officers who were still with him nodded their heads. “All right, I want two of you to take cruisers and start prowling the streets near the school. Work your way out. Hell, this town’s not so big you can’t cover all of it in short order. Sheriff, you and your deputy can ride along with them if you want.”
“What about you?” the sheriff asked.
“I’m sending one man with your coroner to document the crime scenes and collect the bodies. I’ll take the rest with me to check out the school and be sure it’s really clear.”
“Good,” the sheriff said. “My deputy and I, we’ll go check the kid’s home. From what he said, I think he killed his parents before he started in here. He may have gone back home, or I may find something to tell me where he’s headed next.”
“Fine.”
The sheriff could tell Miller was just glad to have him out of the way.
“But stay in touch with me.” Miller gave the sheriff the radio frequency he and his men would be using as two patrol cars peeled out of the lot to begin prowling neighborhoods.
“I’m afraid the last mobile radio we had was destroyed with our black and white in an accident this morning.” The sheriff hated to admit that, but….
“Ah. Yes. That deputy who ran into a school bus,” Miller said.
“We’re down to cell phones. Can we exchange numbers?”
“Sure,” Miller said. “Better than smoke signals.” He gave English his number. None of the other officers were carrying cells. Heather efficiently jotted the number down.
Miller was ignoring them now, giving his men instructions for how they’d go in and what they’d do once they got there.
The sheriff headed for his pickup. Heather followed.
When they got to his Chevy he asked her for Miller’s phone number.
“Sure,” she said, “but I could just program it into both our phones while we’re on the way to the Williams place.”
“You’re not going,” he said.
Her mouth dropped.
“I don’t want you seeing what I expect to find over there.”
“I can take it,” she said.
The sheriff thought that was more bravado than an honest opinion. “And I don’t want you with me if Chucky’s there. I don’t know if anywhere in Buffalo Springs is safe right now. The courthouse is probably as good as it gets. You can walk there in a few minutes. Fill Mrs. Kraus in and help her contact parents. That’s going to be a full-time job for the rest of the afternoon.”
“But Dad….”
He got in the truck and started the engine. “No arguments. I’m not taking you with me.”
He backed out, swung around the wrecked highway patrol car, and pulled onto Main. He looked over his shoulder before he made the turn toward the Williams place. She was still standing in the high school parking lot in the exact spot he’d left her.
***
The former chairman of the Benteen County Board of Supervisors had expected it to be difficult to trail the white Ford Fusion after it left the Siegrist place. It wasn’t. The Ford’s driver didn’t seem to notice he was being tailed, or he didn’t care.
They drove straight south to the blacktop, then followed it east into Buffalo Springs. The Ford led the chairman and his all-too-noticeable Escalade down Main Street, right to the school. It slowed as if it planned to turn in, then sped up and made a hasty right, south, away from the buildings. Wynn followed. He hardly glanced at the school, but he noticed a highway patrol car in the parking lot. Were they putting on some kind of driving clinic for students today? He hadn’t heard about it. And why wasn’t that cruiser parked normally? It looked like it had been in an accident. Then he was around the corner and concentrating on the Ford again, because it seemed to be in more of a hurry now. It turned right at the first opportunity, back into Buffalo Springs. He stayed on its tail, though not so close as to be obvious.
The Ford zigzagged through town. Was it trying to lose him? Another highway patrol car ca
me toward them at one point and the Ford dropped south a couple of blocks before heading west again. Or was the guy avoiding those patrol cars? He certainly hadn’t put any additional distance between himself and the Escalade.
They went north again, then, toward Main, crossed it, and turned west beside Bertha’s Café. That put them next to Veteran’s Memorial Park, and headed toward the courthouse. The Ford slowed. It had to. There was quite a crowd down near the courthouse. Amazing election turnout, he thought. But why was another highway patrol car there? And was that a uniformed trooper standing just inside the front doors?
The Ford turned left by the Church of Christ Risen and stopped next to the building. Wynn kind of pulled onto the edge of the park, for the first time feeling thankful that he hadn’t managed to find the money for the curbs he’d wanted to put there to keep damn fools, such as himself, from driving on the grass.
The Ford’s driver called to the group of men standing near the entry to the church. He must have asked to speak to Pastor Goodfellow, because someone went inside and returned with the man moments later.
Goodfellow and the guy in the Ford seemed upset about something. Goodfellow waved his arms about as if he were delivering one of his you’re-all-doomed-to-eternity-in-hell sermons. Wynn couldn’t hear them. Not over the babble of several conversations and the usual gusts of wind searching for leaves to usher through town.
Wynn did notice that two men had followed Goodfellow out of the church, though. One was Lieutenant Greer, Englishman’s opponent in the race for sheriff. The guy with him was a friend of Greer’s, but not a local man. New-something, Wynn thought. Neuhauser, that was it. Neuhauser was keeping an eye on the reverend and the fellow in the Ford. Greer was keeping an eye on everything. Wynn ducked down to avoid being noticed by the would-be sheriff. When he raised up to look again, the Ford and Goodfellow were moving. The Ford pulled into a parking place and the driver got out and joined the reverend. The two of them, still arguing, went into the church.
But it was Greer and Neuhauser who caught Wynn’s attention. Greer had grabbed Neuhauser by the arm and was pointing back down the street to where several cars always parked around Bertha’s Café. The Williams kid was getting in one of them. It looked a lot like Mrs. Kraus’ car, but Chucky Williams wouldn’t do that. An old farmer was standing alongside, saying something to Chucky, who nodded and seemed to thank him. And then Chucky settled the rifle he was carrying onto the seat beside him, started the car, and headed south toward Main.
Greer grabbed for his belt and then threw his arms open, as if surprised to discover he didn’t have a gun strapped there. Neuhauser didn’t have one either, though why they should need guns was beyond the ex-chairman, even if he was carrying one himself.
Greer was going to be a real pain in the ass if he got elected, and it seemed likely that would happen. The evangelicals had hit town well organized and well funded, as the former chairman knew personally from the results of his recall election. But he didn’t care about Greer and Neuhauser. He cared about that Ford. He kind of snuggled down in his seat and prepared to wait for the driver to resurface.
Greer and Neuhauser came running his way. Wynn snuggled even lower. But they didn’t notice him. They were focused on the car parked just a few feet away from his Escalade. It was a black Chevy SS. Neuhauser fumbled with his keys and threw open the trunk. The two men rummaged through the contents and came out with a series of weapons of the sort you’d expect to see them grab out of a Hummer in downtown Baghdad. They made selections, including ammunition, slammed the trunk and jumped in the car. A couple of citizens had to move fast to get out of their way as they tore out of the parking lot and headed south.
This was definitely not business as usual for the Benteen County seat. Wynn continued to watch the Ford, but he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.
Now, who should he call, Englishman? Or one of the Englishdaughters?
***
Mrs. Kraus gazed longingly at the top drawer of her desk, the one where she kept her gun. She so wanted to draw the weapon and order everybody out of the sheriff’s office. There was quite a crowd. Parents, mostly, who’d just begun learning there’d been a shooter loose at the school. They’d come to the courthouse to look for their kids and get information. Those who hadn’t found their children yet were getting pretty upset. Several of them had commandeered the phones in the sheriff’s office. At least she didn’t have to answer calls anymore. Both lines were in the hands of citizens so determined that only her Glock might have discouraged them.
She was trying to maintain some sense of order in the office, but no one was paying her much attention, not since the highway patrol arrived and took charge. The troopers had pestered her, too, at first, wanting a fellow officer released. She didn’t know a thing about that, but she’d shown them where the jail was. Now, the state’s boys were surrounded by parents and taking the majority of their complaints. That was also a relief.
She was trying to keep an eye on the voting. She’d been doing that ever since the effort to stuff the ballot box this morning. She’d rounded up a couple of extra folks from each party to monitor voting here. And she’d passed the word so both parties could get more people out to keep an eye on other precincts throughout the county. But the elections officials had prevented her from seizing the ballot boxes and sticking them back in the jail. They would examine the contents and the voter count later, they promised her, with a special eye toward ballots that matched the fake ones Hailey had discovered.
She wished Englishman would check in, though there weren’t any lines open. He’d probably call if she had a cell phone, but she refused to carry one of the fool things. She was sick of running into people who said hello while she was shopping in the Dillon’s. She would respond and get a dirty look, as often as not, since they were talking to someone on their cell phones instead of her.
It was too bad that the department had stopped using their old walkie-talkies. Of course they hadn’t reached halfway across the county, but today they would have given her another means of accessing the sheriff.
According to the troopers, the shooter was thought to have left the school. The kids and their teachers were here, or still coming. She would be just as glad to let those boys in their spiffy uniforms deal with that mess—hundreds of students and their hysterical parents reuniting at the courthouse.
It troubled her, though, to think that one of Benteen County’s teens had gone on a shooting spree. A wounded boy had been taken over to the clinic, she’d heard, along with Lieutenant Greer, who’d been injured in a heroic assault on the high school. She was surprised and pleased that Greer and Englishman had set aside their differences on a day like this, cooperating for the good of the community. It made her feel warm inside.
She checked again, found both phones still in use, and wandered across the foyer to look out the front door and watch more folks from the school come flooding across the park. A sunburned old farmer who’d been sweet on her for years came up the stairs about the same time. “Howdy,” he said, giving her a big smile.
“Howdy, yourself.” She never gave him any encouragement because he had bad teeth and a potbelly of awesome proportions.
“That was nice of you,” he said.
She had turned to go check on the phones again and his comment caught her by surprise. “What was nice?” That she’d turned her back on him? Was he being sarcastic, or had she just misunderstood?
“Loaning your car to that boy.”
“I didn’t loan my car to anybody.” She elbowed past him so she could point it out, still parked over across from Bertha’s Café, where she’d started her day with a wholesome breakfast of bacon, sausage, eggs, hash browns, and a short stack of pancakes. “See,” she pointed, “it’s right where I left it.”
Only it wasn’t.
“Lord!” she howled, hoping to get one of the troopers’ attention. “Somebody stole my car.”
The troopers ignored her. In fact, hard
ly anybody but the old farmer even glanced her way.
“Stole it? You sure you didn’t just forget? He said he had your permission. And he’s such a nice kid.”
Mrs. Kraus got right in his face. “I am as sure as the day is long. I did not loan out my car.”
“Oh dear,” he said. “I don’t suppose I should have told him you keep your spare keys in the glove box, then, should I?”
It was probably a good thing her Glock was back in the office. As it was, the look she gave him may have shortened his life expectancy by several years. “You damn fool,” she said, “who’d you help steal my car?”
“What with all his family’s problems, I figured if he needed to borrow your car it would be all right.”
“Who?”
“Why, Chucky Williams.”
Mrs. Kraus’ jaw fell. “Chucky Williams. Don’t you know that boy’s been shooting up the school this morning?”
“You’re joshing me,” the old man said. “Things like that don’t happen here.” He smiled at her but she didn’t smile back. “Though I did wonder,” he admitted, “why he was carrying that AK-47.”
***
Watching her dad drive off and leave her like that hurt. Deputy Heather thought she’d done a good job, getting word to the gym full of potential victims just in the nick of time and in spite of that rogue trooper. Not just good—kick ass. She deserved better than to be dumped in the parking lot with instructions to hike back to the courthouse and help with busy work.
She couldn’t really blame Englishman for wanting to spare her what he was likely to find at the Williams place, though, or even for wanting to keep her away from the action where she was safe. After all, she’d come home today and gotten involved in all this because she’d been trying to keep him away from danger. She still wanted to do that, but a deputy on foot couldn’t stay ahead of a sheriff in his truck.
After Englishman turned the corner and disappeared, she just stood there, staring mindlessly across the parking lot full of cars. Then it occurred to her that she was staring at one car in particular. It was an old gray Ford, a Taurus, slightly battered. There was something familiar about it. She’d noticed it earlier because…. Because that was the car Chucky had taken the trombone case out of as she drove away from the campus this morning.