Irrational Numbers

by Robert Spiller

  Missus Trotter, breathing in quick shallow gasps, looked like she might hyperventilate.

  Bonnie did her best to keep her voice steady. “Losing your mind won’t make the car go faster. Try to relax.”

  Wilma shot Bonnie a frown but did as she was told. She leaned back in her seat, shut her eyes, and inhaled through her nose, then exhaled long and deliberately through her mouth. With each increment of respiration, Wilma calmed noticeably.

  A throwback skill from your Haight-Ashbury days, Wilma? Still, Bonnie envied the woman. There were times she certainly could use something to take the edge off. Right now wouldn’t hurt, as they headed for a murderer’s house.

  Before he’d left, Byron hadn’t minced any words as to their staying clear of the place. Deputy Wyatt, left behind with Witherspoon’s body, echoed her boss’s sentiments, even adding the kicker that they would just be in the way and could endanger Gabe by their presence.

  Wilma Trotter had suggested the young deputy blow her advice out her uniformed rear end.

  A considerably calmer Wilma Trotter leaned forward again. “The bastard probably followed me, just like Hickman did today.”

  Bonnie figured as much. From the number of pizza boxes scattered about the bus barn floor, Wilma had been providing the fugitives sustenance for at least a couple of days. She must have learned where Gabe was holed up not long after talking to Bonnie.

  Was that only two days ago? And how the hell did Witherspoon and Gabe get access to the bus barn? Bonnie supposed she could ask Wilma, but the answer seemed inconsequential right at the moment.

  “We had a secret knock,” Wilma said absently.

  A probable scenario played across Bonnie’s synapses. Somehow, Caleb had witnessed the knock and replicated it. A new idea grabbed Bonnie in its jaws.

  “Did you always arrive on your scooter?”

  Wilma gave Bonnie a what’s-this-got-to-do-with-the-price-of-tea-in-China frown. “Yeah?”

  Lloyd turned to Bonnie, the light of understanding in his eyes. “And Caleb Webb was riding on a motorcycle.”

  “Damn, damn, damn.” From the sound of her voice, Wilma understood as well.

  Caleb more than likely arrived on his bike, the same one on which he visited Rattlesnake—it wouldn’t sound exactly like a scooter but close enough. No wonder Witherspoon had opened the bus barn door.

  Bonnie’s attention was jerked back into the present. Not two hundred yards down the narrow dirt road, red and blue flashing lights heralded the Webb ranch.

  “Now what?” Lloyd slowed Alice down to a crawl.

  “Get a little closer.” Bonnie tried to sound decisive, but now that she was here she hadn’t the faintest idea what to do. Hightailing it after Byron had just sounded like a good idea at the time. And she certainly couldn’t have let Wilma—who, no doubt, would have gone regardless—take off alone. No telling what the woman would have done on her little scooter.

  A hedgerow growing along the shoulder shielded Alice from Webb’s house. Lloyd parked the Subaru next to the tallest section, and opened his door.

  Byron’s voice boomed across the landscape. “Nothing good can come out of this, Caleb. Let the boy go?”

  “I’m getting closer.” Wilma was out her door and three steps down the hedge before Bonnie thought of the first of her dozen reasons why that little stroll was a real bad idea.

  Shit, shit, shit. She ran to catch the woman.

  Ten feet this side of Webb’s driveway, the hedge ended. A state police vehicle was parked half on the drive and halfway sticking out into the dirt road. It was only a matter of seconds before some member of some police organization caught sight of Wilma and all hell would break loose.

  At the end of the hedge, Bonnie could see the Webbs’ front porch. Caleb Webb held Gabe by the back of the neck, a long-barreled pistol against his Tabernacle.

  “… don’t think so, deputy.” Caleb smiled as if he didn’t have three guns trained on him. “I let go of this bozo, and I’m hamburger.”

  “Not true, Caleb. We can work something out. Think about your wife, your unborn baby.”

  Webb shook Gabe Trotter like a rag doll. “My wife!” he shouted over his shoulder, evidently speaking to someone in the house. “How’s that old joke go? Take my wife please. That’s the ticket, deputy, take my wife, please.”

  Wilma’s fist came to her mouth. Her boy was in the hands of a certifiable nut job.

  “Did you hear me, Seneca? I’m coming for you, babe. First, I’m going to take care of business here, then it’s your turn, bitch. I’ll finish what I started.”

  The curtain behind the front window stirred. From her vantage point by the hedge, Bonnie couldn’t see within the house. She assumed it was Seneca moving the curtain, but whomever it was stood far enough back to remain hidden.

  Didn’t this place have a back door? Why wasn’t Seneca making tracks?

  “Don’t do this, Caleb,” Seneca’s disembodied voice shouted from inside the house. “Please, no more killing.”

  “Shut up!” Caleb screamed. He threw Gabe to the porch floor and swung the barrel of his pistol toward the window.

  Like thunder, both of the state patrol officers fired their weapons. Again and again, Caleb Webb absorbed the shots, jerking like he was being subjected to repeated electric shocks. Stubbornly, he held on to his pistol, even managing to fire into the ceiling of the porch.

  Horrified, Bonnie found herself unable to look away.

  Finally, still holding the gun, Caleb sank to his knees, then fell face-first onto the porch. Two state patrol officers advanced in tandem. While one kept his service revolver trained on Caleb, the other removed the pistol from the young man’s still fingers.

  Wilma Trotter sprinted to her son, who had scurried out of the way of the shooting. Beyond the end of the porch, the two of them held tightly to one another.

  Byron Hickman caught sight of Bonnie, shook his head, and frowned. He returned his attention to the bloody scene. “In the house,” he screamed out of the bullhorn, “please stay where you are. We will come and lead you out.”

  Whoever was inside either didn’t hear or was in no mood to obey orders. The front door to the little house opened. Like a wraith, Seneca Webb appeared in the shadowed doorway. She wavered on shaky legs, clinging to the frame. A trooper moved to assist her, and she slapped his hand away.

  At first, Bonnie thought the shadows were playing tricks. Even though the girl emerged from the doorway, the entire left side of her face was still dark. Then Bonnie’s breath caught in her chest. What she had assumed had been shadow was blood. It stained not only the girl’s long blond hair but the right side of her face and the shoulder of her blouse. Seneca took one more faltering step and collapsed into the arms of the trooper.

  Bonnie was moving before she realized her brain had given the command. She gave a cursory glance at Caleb. A part of her knew the young man had to be dead, but that part was submerged in her anxiety for Seneca. The damaged girl seemed so small in the arms of the trooper.

  He gave Bonnie a surprised glance, then seemed to reconcile himself to her presence. “There’s a large gash in the crown of her head. No telling how much blood she’s lost.”

  Byron Hickman appeared at Bonnie’s elbow. “I’ve called for the East Plains’ ambulance. In the meantime, bring her in the house.”

  The other trooper looked up from his ministrations with Caleb. He shook his head.

  Byron exhaled as if this final death had stolen the last fragment of his soul. “Fair enough. We’re going to need to move your cruiser before the ambulance gets here.”

  He turned a hard stare on Gabe. “I want you in the house. You come, too, Missus Trotter. The two of you have some explaining to do. Mister Whittaker, would you stay outside and help Officer Haley?”

  Bonnie didn’t wait for an invitation. She followed the big trooper, who had scooped up Seneca. “Set her down here.” Bonnie pointed to a large throw rug in the center of the kitchen. She gathered
up a pair of hand towels from a hook next to the sink and knelt by the unconscious girl.

  Bonnie peered up at the trooper. “Unless you have an objection, I do have first aid certification.”

  The big man didn’t challenge her.

  The wound was a jagged slice atop a nasty bump. Caleb had obviously clocked Seneca with something heavy that had an edge or at least a corner. Bonnie folded one of the towels and pressed it onto the bump. She handed the other to the trooper. “Could you wet this with cold water? And then bring me a pillow and a blanket.”

  Bonnie was worried that Seneca, who was lying so still, might be going into shock. Or worse, the injury had done brain damage. Was she, even now, in the initial stages of a coma?

  Settle down, Pinkwater. Just do what you can. Stop the bleeding. Keep her warm and comfortable. The ambulance will be here any minute.

  The trooper handed off the wet towel and left the room.

  Bonnie cleaned the blood from around the laceration, then reapplied pressure. From the next room, she heard the voice of Byron Hickman.

  “You need to know, young man, that unconscious girl in there more than likely saved your hide.”

  “I know. Her husband would have killed me. I get it.”

  Bad time to cop an attitude, Gabe.

  Byron cleared his throat. “I’m glad to see we have an understanding. Now you’re going to tell me everything that happened last Saturday on Squirrel Creek Road. Begin with when you and your friends ran into Leo Quinn.”

  Seneca stirred beneath Bonnie’s hand. Bonnie looked down to see the young girl’s eyelids fluttering. A moan escaped her lips.

  You hang in there, sweetie. You didn’t survive this nightmare to give up now.

  In the next room, Gabe related how he, Spoon, and Furby had come upon Quinn walking along Squirrel Creek carrying a gas can.

  “Hold on,” Byron said, “did you take the gas can with you when you left?”

  “No. It was still there when we took off.”

  Bonnie was so engrossed in her dual tasks of tending to Seneca and eavesdropping on the interrogation she didn’t see the trooper return until he was right up on her. She gave a yelp.

  The trooper allowed a hint of smile to appear on his chiseled face before he extinguished it. “Sorry, ma’am, didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Bonnie snatched a blanket from his hand. “I’m fine.” The voices in the next room had quit and Bonnie was certain that Byron, Wilma, and Gabe were staring at her. She felt heat creep up into her face.

  Stop being such a baby, Pinkwater. This isn’t about you. She situated the blanket over the girl. “I’m going to lift her head. Put the pillow under.”

  The big man did as he was told.

  The front door opened and Lloyd appeared. The sound of a distant siren crept into the room. “The trooper wanted you to know the ambulance will be here in about two minutes. He’s going to send them for Seneca first.” Lloyd gave Bonnie a half smile and disappeared back outside.

  “How’s she doing, Missus P?” Byron asked.

  “I don’t know. She’s awful pale, and her skin feels clammy. I just wish that ambulance would hurry.” Bonnie’s hands were shaking.

  “Take some deep breaths,” Wilma Trotter offered.

  The advice brought a smile to Bonnie’s face. Touché, Wilma. After a few repetitions, she did indeed feel calmer.

  “Finish your story, Mister Trotter,” Byron said.

  Gabe told how Leo had refused Spoon’s help and how Spoon got insulted. Then they ran down Leo, stripped him, and bound him to the barbed-wire fence. “We just wanted to have a little fun with him.”

  Bonnie desperately needed to throw something at the hapless idiot. What kind of person finds someone walking along a road and leaves them naked tied to barbed wire?

  “I believe you, Gabe,” Byron said. “So, did Witherspoon shoot Leo?”

  Bonnie held her breath. She knew darn well that Byron didn’t believe the idiot trio killed Leo. So what was he playing at?

  “No way!” Gabe shouted. “None of us killed Quinn. You got to believe me.”

  “Do I?” Byron’s voice carried just the right mixture of sympathy and incredulity. “Here’s what I do believe. You admit you were out on Squirrel Creek Road. You accosted Leo Quinn. You tied him naked to a fence. And that’s where we found his lifeless body seven hours later. Have I left anything out?”

  “You tricked my boy, deputy,” Wilma Trotter said. “He’s answered all your questions, and now you’re going to use his honest story against him.”

  Bonnie didn’t think that was Byron’s intention. First of all, he never read Gabe his Miranda rights. Second, she was certain they’d find that the gun they’d pulled from Caleb’s dead fingers was the gun that killed not only Witherspoon, but Leo and Furby as well. Byron knew all this as well as she did. He was just frightening the boy to glean every scrap of information.

  An idea lit up her psyche like a Roman candle. “Who folded the clothes?” she shouted over her shoulder.

  “What?” Gabe sounded as though this question coming out of left field—or at least the kitchen—might send him spinning out of orbit.

  “Leo Quinn’s clothes.” Byron picked up the inquiry. “Are you the one who folded them?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. No one folded his clothes.”

  “But you see, that’s where you’re wrong. Someone did fold Leo’s clothes and stuffed his socks into his shoes. Made a neat little pile of it. So I’m going to repeat Missus Pinkwater’s question. Who folded Leo Quinn’s clothes?”

  “For the last time, we didn’t kill Leo, and we didn’t fold any clothes. When we left him he was alive.”

  CHAPTER 22

  As THE AMBULANCE CARRYING SENECA AND CALEB Webb sped off, Byron Hickman wheeled on Bonnie. “Missus P, was I unclear when I told you to not show up here today?”

  Damn, another few seconds, and I’d have made a clean break. She, Gabe, Wilma, and Lloyd were gathered by Alice, The-Little-Subaru-That-Could. “I wouldn’t beat myself up over it, youngster. You did your best.”

  The muscles in Byron’s jaw tightened. “Let me rephrase. I specifically told you not to be here, and you recklessly endangered the lives of your friends.”

  “It’s my fault, deputy,” Wilma Trotter offered. “I was bound and determined to chase down my boy. Missus Pinkwater was just trying to keep me out of trouble.”

  Byron wearily shook his head. “Well, she didn’t succeed. If I didn’t have ten million things on my plate right now, I’d arrest you and your son.”

  Wilma drew herself up, and Bonnie was afraid the woman intended to give Byron a New Age ration of grief. To Bonnie’s relief, Gabe laid a hand on his mother’s arm, and she deflated.

  “I’ve got no time for any of this nonsense.” Byron checked his watch. “I need to follow that ambulance to the hospital.” He turned to Bonnie. “I don’t suppose Seneca came to long enough to tell you what Caleb did with Rattlesnake.”

  “She never regained consciousness.” Not for the first time, Bonnie wondered just how much Seneca knew of Caleb’s murderous activities. Hot on the heels of that thought came the realization that if Seneca died, and Rattlesnake was stashed somewhere, maybe tied up, they might not find him before he died of thirst or exposure.

  The larger of the two state troopers strode around the hedgerow. “No sign of anyone else in the residence or that Mister Quinn has ever been held there.”

  Byron nodded gravely. “I didn’t think that little house would tell us anything. Maybe the crime scene people will find something.” He smiled ruefully. “Although I’m sure they’re going to have my liver for breakfast for having so many people traipsing around the place.”

  The trooper shrugged noncommittally. “If you don’t need anything more, Alvin and I are going to head back and make our report.”

  “No, we’re good here. Thanks for everything, Teddy.”

  With a wave, the state trooper made
for his cruiser and his waiting partner.

  Once the trooper had ensconced himself in his vehicle, Bonnie said, “Alvin and Theodore?” She made no attempt to keep a goofy smile from her face.

  At first, Byron’s features seemed at war between a frown and a reciprocal grin. After a long moment, the smile won. “Believe it or not, their supervisor’s name is Simon.”

  He threw up his hands. “You’re something, Missus P, you know that? I can’t believe I’m making chipmunk jokes with you. Get out of here, the lot of you.” He turned on his heel and walked back into the Webb compound.

  “You heard the man.” Bonnie climbed into Alice’s passenger seat.

  They were less than a mile from the Webbs when Lloyd spoke. “I’m not going to ask you how you got into the bus barn, young man, but you be in my office in the morning. I think a little work around the school will compensate for breaking and entering.”

  When Gabe sputtered like he meant to be difficult, Wilma said, “He’ll be there, bright and early.”

  Bonnie turned in her seat so she could see both Wilma and Gabe. She was surprised how little the young goofus had changed since graduation. Most students, because of work, family responsibility, or even the experience of college, alter drastically in three years. Often when they returned, sometimes in the company of a toddler, she didn’t recognize them. Besides the fact that he still seemed physically the same—long, curly brown hair; baby fat; and a bad complexion—he also carried himself with the same sullen immaturity he sported during the days of his high school captivity. Not a glowing recommendation for staying at home with momma and spending your time playing video games.

  “So Gabe, did Caleb say anything to you on the way?” Bonnie asked.

  The young man eyed her suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

  Wilma slapped her son in the back of the head. “Boy, you are getting on my last nerve. Stop acting like you’ve got a rectal-cranial inversion. Two of your friends are dead. You could have easily joined them today. Now, answer Missus Pinkwater’s question.”