Driven

by W. G. Griffiths

  “And now?”

  “Now it’s a distraction. Katz can’t keep his mind on the case. Look, if you really want to get into this, I promise you my full attention… later.” She nodded.

  Gavin stopped the car in front of a bluestone path that led to the porch entrance. The path was generously bordered by a billowy procession of colorful annuals that extended up to and surrounded the base of the porch. The sweet fragrance brought high praise from the various bees and butterflies that danced about the flower tops. Gavin and Amy walked up the path, he with a newspaper rolled up in his hand. The porch steps were in far better condition than the ones at the store. They felt solid and appeared to have been recently painted, as did the rest of the porch. An assortment of potted plants hung from the roof beam, all of them well kept and flourishing in the southern exposure. The warm, light breeze wandering up the hill would have gone unnoticed if not for several small wind chimes tinkling pleasantly, two of them over a wicker porch swing. Somehow, even the unmistakable scent of cow manure was not offensive.

  As he walked to the door, Gavin looked longingly at the swing with its tufted pastel cushions. The coffee he had been pumping through his veins was losing its battle to keep his eyes open and the cushions looked very comfortable. In fact, the porch floor looked comfortable.

  He searched for a doorbell, but couldn’t find one. By default, he pinched a polished brass horseshoe doorknocker and gently clacked it three times.

  “What have we got here?”Amy said as a snow-white cat brushed up against her leg, purring. “Where’s Daddy?” she asked the cat as it prowled affectionately around and between her legs, tail held high.

  Gavin tried to peek through a window next to the door, but the white lace curtains made it impossible to see anything. All this dainty femininity. The emphasis in Samantha’s Farm was obviously Samantha. Like the old lady had said, you couldn’t miss it.

  He gave the door three more clacks, then listened hard with his ear close to the door, hoping to hear some movement. Nothing. He backed away from the door with his hands on his hips, turned, and looked out from the porch. The magnetic view and the fact the Reverend was not there was all the excuse he needed to wait in the swing with Amy. But, no. He was certain he would fall asleep and had no wish to awaken to the view of someone’s shotgun pointed at his nose.

  “Nobody’s here,” he said, then pointed to the barn. “Maybe there.”

  The door in the middle of the north side of the barn was wide open. They walked over and stepped inside, looking around. The entrance divided a long center aisle with cows parked in milking stations on either side. Not surprisingly, they also had pink ribbons. “Hello,” Gavin called. Turning left, he saw the back of a man at the far end, busy at work.

  “Excuse me,” Gavin said, walking toward him. The man made no reply. Gavin motioned for Amy to follow him and started down the aisle. The cows were facing away with a single chain to keep them from backing into the aisle. Each chain had a little name plaque dangling from it. Gavin shook his head as he read some of the names. Cutzie… Cinnamon… Cuddles… Fuzzy… Sweetie Pie… They sounded more like names of little pet rabbits than cows. Just behind each cow’s back feet was a gutter drain for their urine and manure to fall into—a scene that hardly went with “Cutzie.”

  “Hello,” Gavin repeated, louder this time. Still the man continued to work under the back of a cow. Gavin and Amy continued until they were but a few feet from him. “Excuse me, sir,” Gavin said.

  “That’s Gregory,” said a raspy, deep voice that could have belonged to James Earl Jones after a swig or two of kerosene. “He can’t hear you.”

  Gavin and Amy turned to see a black man of medium build with a little bit of a paunch, bold white hair, and a white mustache. He appeared in his mid-sixties and wore jeans, work boots, and a white T-shirt.

  “We’re looking for Reverend Buchanan,” Gavin said.

  “Nobody worth being revered around here. Least of all me.” The man held up his hand. “Name’s Buck. How can I help you?”

  The old lady had been right. But why, Gavin wondered, not buying the humility angle just yet. “I’m Detective Pierce. This is my… assistant, Amy Kirsch. We were disconnected on the phone, what was it, two days ago? I don’t know anymore what day it is. I’m sorry, but my list of leads is too short to scratch you off.”

  “You’ve come a long way, Detective. I’m sorry if I seemed rude on the phone. I don’t like being rude.”

  Suddenly, there came a noise from behind them. Gregory had apparently been startled by their presence. Buck smiled calmly and quickly spoke to him in sign language. The man signed back and then went back to his work. Gavin was impressed by Buck’s choice of a second language.

  “Now, Detective,” Buck said, returning his attention to them. “Your persistence is admirable and I’m sure it will lead you to the man you seek, but as I tried to tell you over the phone, I cannot help you find him.”

  “Can you tell us why?” Gavin said, trying to stay calm.

  “Well, for one, I don’t know where he is,” Buck said with a shrug.

  “Are you telling us that you do know who he is?” Gavin said.

  “Detective, I don’t mean to confuse you, but you don’t know what you’re asking me and I can’t explain it.”

  Gavin frowned. “Don’t you at least want to know what we know about him?”

  The ex-preacher paused, as if the question needed careful consideration. He looked at Gavin and then at Amy and then at Gregory, who was silently tending to his simple tasks. “No,” Buck said.

  “Buck,”Amy said sweetly. “We’ve traveled far to find you. Won’t you please at least hear us out?”

  Buck furrowed his bushy white brows and sighed. “You did come a long way. I suppose there’s no harm in listening. God knows I’ve asked the same of a congregation often enough.”

  Amy winked at Gavin’s disbelieving expression. He could have begged and pleaded until the pink-ribboned cows were wearing steak sauce and he wouldn’t have been shown anything but the exit. But a few bats of her emerald greens and her foot had slipped right into the front door. Well, he supposed he couldn’t fault Buck; he’d been there more than a few times himself.

  “Like I started to tell you over the phone,” Gavin said. “We believe we are after the same man who killed your family and we don’t believe any of it is an accident. We’re tracking down leads in connection with the serial killer the media has dubbed the Ghost Driver.” He closely watched Buck’s expression.

  “Forgive me, Detective. I’ve never heard of the Ghost Driver. The only newspaper I read is a local one that keeps me in touch with some of the needs of the valley. I don’t own a TV. I find it distracting. And the only time I turn the radio on is if the Angels are playing the Devil Rays.”

  Gavin looked at him in confusion.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t seem to get away from corny pulpit humor,” Buck said.

  “Oh, yeah. The Angels. I get it,” Gavin said. He didn’t smile. He wanted to ask Buck if anyone around here watched TV or read the papers. The man did live in the sticks a couple of hundred miles from Long Island, but Gavin still found it hard to believe Buck hadn’t heard of Krogan—if not through the media, then at least through local conversation.

  “Does the name Karianne Stordal ring a bell?”

  Buck’s congenial smile evaporated as his eyes froze onto Gavin’s.

  “Was she in an accident?” he asked with a look of concern, his eyes unblinking.

  “Uh, yes,” Gavin said, surprised.

  “Did she survive?”

  “Yes. But what made you think she was in an accident?”

  The preacher-turned-farmer had closed his eyes. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you, Lord.”

  Gavin looked at Amy, who shrugged as they both watched Buck continue to give thanks for the spared life of someone who had been in the assailing car that had killed his family. They waited a long moment until the old man seemed finishe
d.

  “Buck?” Amy said softly.

  “Passenger-side air bag, I presume?” Buck said, without any explanation of his reflexive prayer response to Karianne’s well-being.

  “Exactly. But how—”

  “I’m sorry, Detective. She was in the car that collided with us in Norway, as I’m sure you know. I just assumed something similar,” Buck said, looking in Gregory’s direction.

  “That’s quite an assumption, Buck. I mention her name and you immediately assume she was in a crash? From what we know, the only other crash she’s ever been in was with you.”

  Buck was silent.

  “Buck, please tell us what you know,” Amy said.

  The old man shook his head. “The last time I did that the local media misquoted me, made a mockery of my words, and went behind my back to interview my granddaughter.”

  Amy looked at Gavin, as if to acknowledge she had missed something in her research. “We’re not the media, Buck.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I know nothing that would help you get who you’re looking for.”

  “Why don’t you let us be the judge of that?” Gavin said quickly, his natural intensity difficult to mask.

  “Did you know Karianne was going to be in another… accident, Buck?” Amy said gently.

  “I hoped not. I’m glad she owned a car with modern safety devices.”

  “Who said it was her car?” Gavin said.

  “I just assumed.”

  “I understand,” Amy said quickly, before Gavin could say anything. Her look told him to lighten up.

  “How bad were the others hurt?” Buck said with concern.

  “Who said there were any others?” Gavin said.

  “There’re always others,” Buck said. His eyes briefly lost focus and Gavin was suddenly unsure if this was a conversation Buck was having with him or with himself.

  “This Ghost Driver,” Buck said. “How long have you been chasing him, Detective?”

  “Personally, about a month. Though the calendar seems to be a bit blurry right now.”

  “And how many other suspicious accidents have there been in that time?” Buck asked, now curious.

  “It’s starting to get hard to count. Firsthand, I know of four— and one outright murder with an arrow—but I’ve heard of others,” Gavin said, wondering who was questioning whom. “What else do you want to know?”

  Buck closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. “Once you start there’s no place to stop,” he said softly.

  On paper, interviews always look so logical, so simple. Painless. See Reverend Buchanan and get information. If he resists, press on until resistance breaks down. Use whatever tool works. Real life wasn’t so simple. Buck leaned on a post looking like a man who had just been dropped into a room where every exit read “Do Not Enter.”

  “Please,” Amy said. “We need your help.”

  “You want me to tell you Norway’s problem is now New York’s problem?” Buck said.

  “If it’s true, that’s exactly what we want,” Gavin said. “And anything else you could tell us.”

  Buck paused for a long moment before answering. “I’m sorry, Detective. I can’t do this. The information I have is not information you can use. Believe me when I tell you what I know can only get you hurt.”

  “Bull!” Gavin snapped. The lack of sleep had worn his patience and tact clean away. The man before him was a witness and he was ready to dig through granite with a toothpick if need be.

  “Easy,” Amy said.

  “Detective, you don’t know what you’re asking of me. I have to think of my granddaughter first.”

  “Your granddaughter? What does she have to do with anything?” Gavin asked. “If she’s in danger, we can protect her a lot better than you can, hiding up here.”

  Buck closed his eyes and shook his head. “Not you or your whole department can protect her from him.”

  “Why?” Gavin demanded. Again, maybe the fatigue was responsible, but he felt tears waiting to spill and knew he was losing it. He wasn’t familiar with the interrogation procedures of the Norwegian police department, but he knew for sure that if Krogan had killed a cop’s family member, Buck wouldn’t have gotten out of there alive without telling what he knew.

  “Look Rev— Mr.— Buck. I’m not just some cop investigating a murder. This psycho scum killed my grandfather, my friend, and a reporter that was working with me to hunt him down. He also killed Amy’s brother-in-law and put her twin sister in the hospital, where she’s been in a coma for the last couple of weeks. And thanks to him, my partner’s in the hospital, too. Not to mention the dozens of others that just happened to get in his way in the wrong place at the wrong time. I don’t know what you think you can’t tell us, but if it can give us even the slightest edge, I want it, and I want it now.”

  He took a deep, shaky breath and felt Amy’s hand slip into his and squeeze.

  Buck’s poker face seemed to soften as he stared at them. “You won’t believe me,” he said.

  “Try me,” Gavin said. “After what I’ve seen and heard in the last twenty-four hours, I can believe anything.”

  Buck looked down at the ground and spoke softly. “Don’t you think I would tell you if I thought it would do any good?”

  Gavin shrugged. “Can it do any harm? He doesn’t know we’re here. Nobody does. We left spontaneously after spending all night interrogating Karianne.”

  Buck quickly looked up. “Did you mention my name to her? Where I was? That I’m still alive?”

  Gavin and Amy looked at each other.

  “I don’t think so,” Amy said with a confused frown.

  “Are you sure we’re talking about the same person, Buck?” Gavin said, wondering how in the world anyone could be afraid of Karianne.

  “It’s not her I’m concerned with.”

  Gavin closed his eyes. It was the lack of sleep, he decided. It had to be that. He seemed to be missing something.

  “Detective, if I tell you what I know, you will at some point want me to get involved. You’ll want me to come with you.”

  “That’s crazy,” Gavin said. “All we want from you is facts, not physical help.”

  “It’s not the physical help I mind,” Buck said.

  “I promise you that you will have nothing to worry about.”

  “You promise what you can’t.”

  “Hi, Grandpa!” said a cheery voice from behind Buck.

  Buck turned and opened his arms. “Hello, Precious,” he said lovingly as a young girl skipped energetically to his embrace. The strands of hay weaved into her thick, pony-tailed brown hair, the smudges of dirt on her white T-shirt and cut-off jeans, along with the dried clay on the knees of her skinny legs were all glaring evidence she had just been out in the field somewhere, probably playing with her cows and chickens. This place was an eleven-year-old girl’s dream come true. Gavin was suddenly saddened by the thought of shattered dreams and priceless memories whispered into the ears of her oversized pets.

  “Samantha, this is Mr. Pierce and… Miss Kirsch, is it?”

  “Yes,” Amy said, giving the little girl a big smile.

  “This is my granddaughter, Samantha,” Buck continued. “She’s the boss here, aren’t ya, honey?”

  “Yup,” she said with pretty, saucer-shaped eyes and a wide grin that showed off perfect white teeth.

  Gavin was amazed at how Buck’s demeanor changed upon seeing his granddaughter. All the concern that had a moment ago carved his face was now replaced with bright eyes and dimples.

  “It sounds like the cows agree,” Amy said, commenting on the stir the little girl produced when the cows heard her young voice.

  “Yessirree! What she says, goes,” Buck said. “Sammy, why don’t you check on Gregory—make sure he’s doing a good job. I’m going to show our guests up to the house for a drink of iced tea.”

  34

  Gavin didn’t know he liked the rustic, farmhouse look until he sat down in Buck’s kitche
n. The wide-planked pine floors, the butcher’s block counters, the black-iron stove, and the age-darkened hemlock walls brought to mind thoughts of things like fresh apple pie and homemade vanilla ice cream. Not that Gavin had ever had homemade ice cream. He found himself suddenly craving it, wondering what it would taste like. He shook his head. He really needed a nap.

  “I’d do anything for her,” Buck was saying, placing a large pitcher of iced tea on the kitchen table. The tea was amber in color, with lemons floating in it. “After the crash, I was the only one left to look after her. She liked animals, so we moved to a farm.”

  “Lots of people like animals, Buck. Why not stay in New Jersey, get a cat?” Gavin said.

  Buck gazed into the distorted reflections of the ice-tea pitcher. “To be honest, the crash and all the attention it drew caused me to reevaluate my situation. I… we lost so much. I needed to get away for a while. Maybe longer than a while.”

  “It must have been very hard for you,” Amy said warmly.

  Buck nodded, then broke his gaze and retrieved three glasses. “I’ve heard it said death is natural; it’s part of life. I tend to think not. God didn’t create us to die. He created us to live. Dealing well with death wasn’t included in the equipment God originally created us with…” He realized he was rambling. “I’m sorry, I guess I could have just said yes. I’ve a habit of giving long answers to short questions.”

  “Well, how about a long answer to this?” Gavin unrolled the newspaper with Krogan’s name and face on the cover and held it before Buck. “You said you’d never heard of the Ghost Driver. Do you recognize this man?” he asked.

  Buck stared for what seemed like a full minute without taking his eyes off the page or saying a word. Then, finally, he looked up and said, “I’m very acquainted with the name, but I’ve never seen that face before.”

  Gavin frowned. “Are you sure? Your accident was five years ago and this is only an artist’s rendering. You might have to use your imagination a bit.”