The Violet Crow

by Michael Sheldon

  Randy didn’t like the idea of putting Bruno in harm’s way, but he couldn’t think of an alternative. They needed one person to talk and the other to shoot. The choice of roles was obvious; he just hoped Bruno would be able to keep his nerve. Ten minutes, even five, might make all the difference.

  However, he couldn’t send Bruno marching across the clearing. What if they did have a sniper? Apparently, Bruno was thinking along the same lines. He stammered, “What if she’s … still in the trunk?”

  “Meaning we wouldn’t have to engage the hostiles if we can find Alison and bring her to safety.”

  “Exactly.”

  Randy studied the BMW through his binoculars. “It’s not bouncing up and down like before. But that could mean she’s saving her strength.”

  “Or got bored and fell asleep.”

  The plan was for Randy to drive right up to Jurevicius’ car, wait while Bruno forced open the trunk, and then drive back, ideally, with two healthy passengers. Randy did not like the fact that both of them would be exposed to gunfire from the house for a substantial period of time. However, the house’s windows were all oriented toward the water; if somebody wanted to shoot at them, they’d need to expose themselves, too. And, if Alison wasn’t there, which Randy thought—but did not tell Bruno—was the likely scenario, at least Bruno would be properly positioned to execute Plan B, which was the stalling tactic with Jurevicius.

  In addition to his own police duty pistol and the revolver he’d lent Bruno, Randy had a Remington pump action patrol rifle and a brand-new 870P Max police shotgun. Good weapons, but certainly no match for the firepower the Chief said they’d found on the NGBS commandos. Too bad there was no Kevlar body armor: Gardenfield just wasn’t that kind of town.

  Randy started the Charger as gently as possible. Muscle cars aren’t known for being quiet, but there was a chance the water and wind would cover the sound of their approach. They had to act fast. Randy floored the Charger for the dash across the clearing. He made an oblique approach on the far side of the BMW, then hit the brakes so the Charger went into a controlled skid. It spun around 270 degrees and stopped dead. Randy had his revolver in his left hand, ready to return fire if any came from the house.

  All quiet so far.

  Bruno sprang from the car and attacked the BMW’s trunk with the crowbar. He was having difficulty finding the seam. The bar kept slipping. Randy cursed. “Don’t worry about the paint job,” he hissed at Bruno. “Ram it in there.”

  Using more force, Bruno found an edge and leaned on the pry bar with all his weight. The trunk popped open with a shriek of tearing metal. It was empty. “No sign of blood,” he called, crouching behind the BMW for cover.

  “Good luck, pal,” said Randy, who handed him the shotgun and roared out of the clearing.

  The dust settled and all was strangely silent. Had Jurevicius left already? From this vantage point, Bruno could see that there was a dock, which acted as a front porch for the house. He crawled to the front of the car. A fast-looking boat was moored there. What was Jurevicius up to? It was time to engage.

  “Jurevicius,” he cried. His voice sounded weak and feeble in the vast space of the clearing. He tried again. There was a churning in the pit of his stomach, and his second attempt was more pathetic than the first.

  Bruno looked behind him. Randy was crouching behind the Charger’s fender. When he saw Bruno looking at him, he jumped up and started shaking his fist: “Bash the roof in, break the windshield, shoot the doors off.”

  This is insane, Bruno reflected. He thought of the people Jurevicius had killed and those he might still be harming. Alison was in there; and Bruno’s own life was in danger—whether he acted or not. Randy’s life was on the line too. Now Bruno’s strength came surging back. He liked the heft of the crowbar; he couldn’t wait to use it. He walked to the front end and started smashing things. The headlights, one after another. Then the windshield. “Jurevicius,” he croaked. “Look what I’m doing to your car.” He took the sharpened end of the crowbar and raked it across the hood, producing a horrible metallic screech.

  The door to the house flew open, but Bruno didn’t dive for cover. Randy shouted for him to get behind the car. Bruno didn’t hear him. He was focused on Jurevicius. The doctor stepped out of the house. He’d traded his business suit for some sort of waterproof boating outfit, and he was pulling something behind him. “Sorry to keep you waiting, but your friend wasn’t dressed for the occasion.” With that, he jerked a chain he was holding in his left hand. Alison stumbled out behind him, screaming and cursing. Her hands were cuffed behind her back; the chain was attached to a metal dog-training collar that was fastened tightly around her neck. It was the kind of collar designed to control the strongest, most stubborn dogs, using a ring of sharpened metal spikes pointed inward. Alison was squirming and trying to kick Jurevicius, who brought her up with another tug on the collar. She howled with pain. Bruno instinctively started forward but was driven back as the ground in front of him came alive with a hail of bullets.

  “Put your weapon down gently,” Jurevicius hissed, brandishing one of those nasty Russian submachine guns. Bruno had no choice but to comply. Jurevicius forced Alison to her knees, snarling, “Be silent or I’ll blow your brains out.”

  Now he stood behind her, the chain in one hand, the barrel of his weapon within inches of Alison’s temple. He shouted in Randy’s direction, “Put down your gun and come out in the open or I will shoot her.”

  Randy laid down his rifle. He positioned himself half hidden behind the Charger’s front fender, but Jurevicius didn’t seem to care. From his position, Randy could see that Bruno still had the backup revolver shoved into his belt above the small of his back. “Don’t try anything,” Randy prayed inwardly. “Just say something. Talk to him. Distract him.”

  That was exactly what Bruno wanted to do. But he couldn’t think of anything to say. Jurevicius relieved him of the burden. “Put your hands on top of your head where I can see them. Interlace your fingers.” He turned toward Randy. “You do the same.”

  Bruno focused on Alison. He could see her chest heaving. She seemed on the verge of a panic attack. Other than the lacerations on her neck, though, she appeared to be unhurt. “Alison,” he called out. “You’re going to be OK. Others are coming. Just hang in there.”

  Jurevicius tightened his grip. He forced the muzzle of his weapon deep into her rib cage and growled at her to be still.

  “Why is this happening to me?” she sobbed.

  Bruno winced. “Don’t hurt the girl. She has nothing to do with this. Let her go.”

  “You are a fool,” Jurevicius snapped. “She has everything to do with this. Her practical joke will end up depriving me of everything I’ve worked to build for the last 15 years. Now I will have to leave my nice job and my comfortable home, and start over someplace else.”

  “Spare us the self-pity,” Bruno answered with genuine indignation. “You’re the one who’s been running around killing people. Don’t try to say that Alison made you do it.”

  “But in truth, she did,” Jurevicius said. He lifted his weapon away from Alison and pointed it at Bruno. “I don’t need to be lectured by you. And if you don’t put your hands back on top of your head, I will shoot you.”

  Bruno had actually forgotten he was being held at gunpoint. He’d been gesturing with his hands as he spoke. Now he replaced them as Jurevicius directed.

  “That’s better,” said the Frenchman. “Neither you, nor anyone else, understands what happened that night. The girl … it’s no use talking about it. You are in no position to judge. It was nobody’s business, and if she …” he again prodded Alison with the weapon “… had not been trespassing, none of this would have had to happen. She had many warnings, but still she pursued me. Fortunately, you and your friends were too obtuse to understand.”

  Bruno stole a glance at Randy. He had moved to a better position by the car and Jurevicius hadn’t noticed. With his good hand, Randy wa
s signing like a bird’s beak flapping. He wanted Bruno to keep talking.

  “Obtuse? What do you mean, obtuse?”

  “Do I have to explain everything?” Jurevicius’ expression betrayed a mixture of anger and amusement. “She moved the body to the meeting house hoping to direct your attention to Dr. Fischer who, she assumed, was responsible for everything at NGBS. Fortunately the police didn’t get it, but it was too close for comfort, especially when you started spouting off in the paper about the Quaker connection. We killed the boy to keep you focused on the school and the meeting house, rather than on us. I was rather hoping you’d arrest Master Quentin, but you disappointed me.”

  “No one in their right mind would suspect Master Quentin. He’s a pacifist,” Bruno objected.

  “Obtuse.” Jurevicius shrugged. “Just like I said. Your imagination is limited—unlike your young friend here.” He tightened his grip on Alison’s chain. “She is persistent, rather than intelligent, but she uses her imagination. I’ll give her credit for that. If she had only heeded our warnings and stayed away from our meeting today, this might not have been necessary …”

  Bruno struggled to think of a reply. “So this is about revenge?”

  Jurevicius wound the chain one more turn around his fist. “No, you fool. This is about hostages.”

  Just then a shot rang out. Bruno heard Randy falling heavily and a loud “Damn.” Instinctively, Bruno moved in that direction, but a burst of live ammo kept him glued to the spot. A commando rushed to Jurevicius’ side and whispered urgently. The doctor nodded and sent the man away.

  “I’ve just been told that your friends are on their way.” His manner was so nonchalant, he could have been simply confirming that he wanted an egg salad sandwich and a pickle, no chips, for lunch. “As a result, you now have a man down.” “Just a flesh wound,” Jurevicius mocked. “Nothing serious, but it focused your attention. I have no doubt my boat can outrun even the Coast Guard. Yes, I know they too are coming. But it would be simpler not to have to worry about them. So I want your friend to radio his superiors. Tell them that we overpowered you and escaped by car. Tell them we’re headed for New York.”

  “Why should we do that?” Bruno asked. It was an inane thing to say—and he knew it.

  Poor Alison paid the price. Jurevicius gave the chain a vicious yank. It practically choked her, in addition to the painful injuries inflicted by the spikes. She fell forward at his feet, gagging and writhing in agony.

  “You are my hostages,” Jurevicius explained. “If you want to live, you will do as I tell you.”

  “I’ll do it,” shouted Randy. He struggled to his feet. He was clutching his left forearm with his right hand, trying to staunch the bleeding. Somehow he managed to pick up his radio, and Bruno heard him make the call. By now the adrenaline was wearing off. Jurevicius was torturing Alison to death before his eyes. Randy his trusty sidekick was injured. And worst of all, he could no longer count on backup arriving in time, if at all. There was no point in stalling anymore. He had to do something, right away. But what? How about a Golem? If ever he needed a supernatural helper, now was the time. He could have laughed at the absurdity of it. How could anything as horrible as this actually be happening? He felt a wave of cold passing through his body from head to toe, as his last hopes died away.

  The commando reappeared and urged Jurevicius to hurry. The Frenchman seemed to be mulling over some decision.

  “You have nothing to gain by killing us,” Bruno pleaded. “We did what you asked us. Now let us go.”

  Jurevicius frowned. He didn’t reply.

  A bad sign. Bruno shut his eyes and let the words come without thinking about what he was saying. “Be a mensch for once—a human being. That woman in the hospital bed. The one you think about all the time. She must love you very much. What will she say when you tell her about all the people you’ve been killing?”

  Jurevicius glared at Bruno. “What do you know about that? You’re just guessing …”

  Bruno could tell he’d hit a nerve and tried to press his advantage. “I observed you many times, but you didn’t know it. She is always in your thoughts.” He described the hospital room in detail and watched closely as astonishment registered on the Frenchman’s face.

  “She’s your wife, isn’t she, Serge? You had an accident and though she survived, you still feel like you’ve lost everything. This whole thing is about her, isn’t it? But why? Why’d you kill the girl? I still don’t get it …”

  A picture was forming before Bruno’s eyes, but he couldn’t bring it into focus. The more he struggled to catch hold of it, the slipperier it became. Finally, he blurted out. “Ginnie Doe must have been your daughter. You killed your own daughter!”

  Jurevicius roared with anguish. “No! Not my daughter, you babbling idiot, she was my wife!”

  Jurevicius forgot he was holding a gun. He wanted to destroy Bruno with his bare hands. He lunged forward, forgetting about Alison as well. The chain brought him up short. It tripped him and sent him sprawling onto the sand. Alison began shrieking woefully. Bruno rushed to her side. Her neck was bruised and bleeding. He fumbled with the collar, trying to remove it so he could treat the wounds.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw three commandos rush out of the building. They picked up Jurevicius, who was struggling to free himself from the chain. He pulled a gun from his waistband. Bruno did the same.

  Then something unexpected happened. The commandos pinned Jurevicius’ arms behind him and took his gun away.

  Bruno stared in astonishment. Why are they protecting us?

  Then he heard it. Over his right shoulder came the unmistakable sound of chopper blades slicing the air. He stole a glance over his shoulder. They were approaching rapidly. It looked like they were going to arrive just in time.

  A shot rang out. He felt Alison’s body shake with violent spasms in his arms. One of the commandos had raised his weapon and, rather casually, shot her in the thigh. The wound was spurting blood. Bruno dropped the revolver and pulled off his jacket. He shouted to Randy, “Make sure the helicopter lands here! She needs help!” Then he forgot everything except the need to stop the flow of blood.

  A roar coming from the water forced his attention back to Jurevicius. The commandos had retreated to the boat, dragging Jurevicius with them. Suddenly, they cut back on the throttle. Bruno saw Jurevicius staring at him. The Frenchman reached into his pocket.

  Bruno reacted instinctively. He pulled himself on top of Alison’s prone figure and braced himself for a final round of gunfire. Instead, he saw Jurevicius pull out a small blue package. Apparently, there was only one Gauloises left. Jurevicius lit it and tossed the empty package contemptuously in Bruno’s direction. The boat throttled up with a roar that carried Jurevicius and his men at top speed into the open water.

  Chapter 67

  Two days later, Chief Black and Bruno met to make the rounds at Berry Hill Hospital.

  At Bruno’s insistence, they visited Alison first. As a result of their shared ordeal, a bond of friendship had grown between the student and the psychic; Bruno wanted to be at her side, providing what comfort he could.

  The bullet had missed the femoral artery, sparing Alison’s life. However, it had done significant damage to other blood vessels, muscles, and nerves, so the wound was serious and painful. In addition, she had ugly puncture wounds and deep bruises on her neck and throat, which made it difficult to speak. Her voice was hoarse and breathy, and she tired easily. Nevertheless, Chief Black insisted on hearing the story in her own words.

  Alison kept it short and sweet: “I got Icky to drive with me out to NewGarden that night. We were just going to break some greenhouse windows and leave it at that. But the security was tougher than we expected. We had to lay low and figure out how their inspection rounds worked. While we were waiting, we smoked some hash and fooled around a bit to stay warm …”

  Bruno bridled at the reference but didn’t say anything.

  Alison squ
eezed his hand and continued. “Then something happened. We heard doors slamming. A group of men marched a girl into the parking lot. It was Ginnie Doe. They made her stand in the middle of a blue tarp, which they had spread out on the ground. She seemed oblivious, not scared or anything. I think she was drugged. Someone stepped up behind her and wrung her neck with his bare hands.”

  Alison voice started to fail. She asked for water.

  “Could you see who did it?” asked the Chief. Bruno had never seen him look this intense.

  Alison shook her head. She said it was one of the security people; they were all dressed the same; she didn’t get a clear look at anyone’s face.

  For a long while, she and Icky were too petrified to do anything. They watched as the men wrapped the body in the tarp and drove it down to a grove of trees on a far corner of the property. Alison and Icky waited for the men to disperse. Then they escaped.

  Over the next day or two, she had time to think it over. Icky was trying to say they’d imagined the whole thing: they were on drugs, after all. Alison insisted it was real. The incident had clearly been planned and executed by men who were following orders. The fact that it happened at NewGarden suggested the leaders of the company were responsible.

  “I told Icky he was being ridiculous: You don’t hallucinate from a little bit of hash. And I felt sorry for the girl, being buried that way. That was when it occurred to me that I had been given the opportunity to transform this tragedy into something useful. I could make it into a political act, like we’d been talking about in Doggin’ ’n’ Dissin’, and other classes too. Instead of just smashing a few windows, what if I could get the CEO of this awful company? Bring him down. Lock him up. Treat him the way he deserves.”

  Alison remembered hearing her parents talk about Emmanuel Fischer and how he was causing trouble at Friends Meeting. They’d never accused him of anything like murder, but she’d seen it happen with her own eyes. She and Icky had stumbled upon the underground tunnel just about a month earlier. All of the pieces were in place. She felt like a perfect plan had been presented to her on a silver platter.