Red faced, Stanley yelled, “Get your fucking hand off me, you fuck!”
Sten kept his rock-like grip on Stanley’s arm, half-dragging him along the trail until they’d reached Izzy and Gene. Then Sten released Izzy’s husband, but not until after he’d given the pharmacist a shove that almost sent him tumbling to the ground.
Izzy rushed forward and caught Stanley before he fell.
“Give it back!” Stanley shouted as he struggled to get around her and charge at Sten. “Give it back, asshole!”
Izzy got both hands on her husband’s chest. Gene stepped up and grabbed one of Stanley’s arms. Denny had come to stand near them, his face pulled into a curious frown. Bob Talbert was hurrying up the trail, drawn by the noise.
“Give it back!” Stanley shouted, spittle flying from his lips.
“Stanley!” she shouted back. “Stop it! That’s enough!”
Her husband let out a hiccupping cough, which evolved into a rattling breath. “He stole it from me.” He was pointing at Sten. “Make him give it back.”
She kept a restraining hand on Stanley’s chest and turned to face Sten. “What’s he talking about?”
Sten reached under his jacket and removed a gun from his waistband, a nickel-plated .38 Smith & Wesson with sandalwood grips.
“He was carrying this,” Sten said, lifting the revolver. “I noticed the bulge in his jacket pocket.”
Izzy stared at the gun, not sure if she should believe what she was seeing. But there was no denying it.
Turning back to her husband, she said, “You took one of my guns?”
Stanley glared at Sten, then shifted his attention to her. “After what happened, do you think I’d set foot in these woods unarmed?”
“We have kids out here,” she said, stunned at his lack of forethought. “What if you had mistaken one for an animal and opened fire?”
Stanley’s mouth twisted, his face turning scarlet. “I know the difference between a bear and a person. I’m not an idiot.”
Izzy gaped at him. He’d been a hunter for years, knew damn well how many people were killed in shooting accidents.
Before she could tell him exactly that, Katie Bethel called out her name.
“Chief Morris! Over here! I think I found something.”
The girl stood near the tree where Natalie’s blood had been found.
“We’ll deal with this later,” Izzy told Stanley and Sten.
Sten placed the gun in his pocket. “You’ll get this back, Dr. Morris. After the search is finished.”
Stanley looked like he was going to protest again. He opened his mouth.
Before he could speak, Izzy said, “You heard him. After the search.”
Fury smoldered in her husband’s eyes. She’d essentially pulled rank on him, and he hated it. She tensed, ready for another verbal assault. But then, with a final, resentful glare, Stanley shut his mouth. Rubbing absently at his chest, he mumbled, “Sure. Whatever.”
Izzy let out a sigh, and Gene let go of his friend’s arm. Stanley pushed past them and started walking toward Katie Bethel. Izzy hurried after him, followed by the others.
“Whatever it is,” Izzy called out, “don’t touch it.”
Katie nodded, pointing to something on the ground. Izzy crouched down. There, nestled among the leaves and twigs, was a piece of dark plastic a little larger than the tip of her thumb. Roughly triangular, it looked thicker at the base, and there were corrugated marks like crosshatches along the wider bottom. Izzy could see swirls of light brown within the black plastic; it looked like creamer being stirred into coffee.
“Bob, get some pictures of this,” Izzy said to Sgt. Talbert, her heart racing.
Bob Talbert set down an orange evidence marker and then snapped several photos from various angles. After he was finished, Izzy donned a pair of latex gloves and picked up the piece of plastic.
She asked, “Anyone have an idea what this is?”
“That’s a plectrum, Chief Morris. A guitar pick.”
Izzy turned. Bart Owens standing behind her, his brown face devoid of emotion.
“And I’m afraid it’s one of mine,” he finished.
* * *
“Can you explain this, Mr. Owens?” Izzy asked, holding up the pick in her gloved hand. She was careful to keep her roiling emotions from spilling into her voice.
Owens shook his head. “I don’t know how it got here.”
“Where do you usually keep them?”
He reached into his pocket, pulled out one identical to the one in her hand. “I have more sitting on the amp back at the Lula.”
Izzy paused. Too many people had access to the picks. Finding one out here wasn’t enough to arrest the man, let alone bring him in for questioning. But he was now her prime suspect.
“Do you know anything about what happened up here? Do you know where my daughter is?”
“I’m sorry,” Owens replied, and she heard the first hint of emotion in his voice. It sounded like regret. “I don’t.”
Everyone was quiet for a moment. Then Stanley pushed past her to stand in front of Owens.
“Goddamnit, where is she?” he rasped. “Where’s Natalie?”
Owens took a half-step back. “I’m telling you, I had nothing to do with this. I’m just here to he—”
“That’s not what I hear,” Stanley said matter-of-factly.
Izzy threw her husband a puzzled glance. Then Gene caught her eye and nodded at something behind her. She turned. Not two feet away, Denny Cain was devouring the exchange between Stanley and Owens with an expression of black hunger on his face. Worse yet, when he caught her staring, he looked away—a sure sign he felt guilty about something.
He and Stanley were friends. Had Denny said something to her husband?
More shouting drew her focus back to the conflict. Stepping up to stand beside Stanley, she said in a low voice, “Please, let me handle this.”
Stanley’s bloodshot gaze lit on her. “And do what? Read him his rights? ‘You have the right to keep your mouth shut’? ‘You have the right to take our daughter and hide behind a lawyer’? I swear, you’re useless.”
Izzy stiffened. “Don’t do this. Not here.”
He would not be deterred. “What comes first with you? Mother, wife, or cop?”
Stanley bared his teeth in a grin so uncharacteristically fierce that Izzy wondered where her husband had gone. This wasn’t the man she’d married or the one who had taught Natalie to ride a bike and drive a car. Nor was this the man who had attended every Fourth-of-July town picnic wearing the same flip-flops with white socks and those ridiculous red-white-and-blue framed sunglasses, laughing and cheering as he helped run the kids holiday baseball game. And this certainly wasn’t the man who had at one time quietly discounted the cost of medications for the town’s poor and uninsured, absorbing the difference from his profits. No, that Stanley was gone and maybe had been for some time. But this Stanley…well, he looked crazed. Crazed and broken.
“I’m supposed step aside and let you do your job?” Stanley shook his head. “No, not this time. You may be Police Chief first, but I know what it means to be a father.” He pointed a finger at Owens. “He took Natalie, Iz. He took our baby!”
Denny Cain stepped out from the crowd gathered around them. He thrust his chin at Owens. “Look under his eye. See that teardrop thing? That’s one of them prison tattoos. This guy’s an ex-con.” He jabbed a finger into Stanley’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t surprise me if he knows where your kid is—or did her in himself.”
There was a flurry of activity, all at one time. Gene turned and grabbed a fistful of Denny’s jacket, while Sten snatched his arm. As both men began dragging the protesting Denny Cain back from the crowd, Stanley threw an arm up and crashed violently into Izzy, knocking her to the ground. Then he launched himself at Owens. Bob Talbert, apparently surprised by the pharmacist’s transformation, hesitated only a moment before starting after his boss’s husband.
The res
t of the search party took a startled step back.
Stanley threw a wild, roundhouse swing at Owens’ head. The other man easily ducked beneath the blow, straightened, and lifted his hands, putting them defensively in front of him. He’d clearly been in a fight or two.
Snarling, Stanley tried a quick left, but Owens bobbed his head back, and Stanley’s jab hit nothing but air. Stanley followed with another right, this one coming in high over his shoulder. Owens shifted to his right, and Stanley’s fist passed harmlessly through the space where the other man had just been standing.
Stunned by her husband’s attack, Izzy scrambled up from the ground. A dozen or so yards away, Denny shouted insults at Owens until Sten clamped his other hand over the man’s mouth.
Stanley, his eyes shining with rage, drew his right fist back—and Bob Talbert grabbed his arm.
“That’s enough, Dr. Morris,” Sgt. Talbert said. “It’s over.”
Without hesitating, Stanley snapped his left fist up like a piston, slamming it hard into Talbert’s jaw. The cop grunted as blood spilled down his chin. He released Stanley, his hands coming up to his face.
“My fucking tongue!” Only it came out my fuhin on!
Stanley slid his hand down to Talbert’s belt, found his gun, and yanked it free of the holster. He stepped back, brought the big Glock up until it pointed at Owens. Shaking, he gripped the pistol with both hands.
Izzy shouted, “Stanley, no!”
“He killed Natalie.” Stanley racked the slide, chambering a round. “He has to pay.”
Bob Talbert, his lower face coated with blood, took an angry step toward Stanley.
“No,” Izzy told her officer. “Let me handle this.”
Glaring at Stanley, Talbert backed off.
Speaking calmly, Izzy said, “Put the gun down, Stanley.”
“I won’t let him get away with this!” Tears were running down his cheeks.
Owens, his hands still held protectively in front of him, said, “You don’t want to shoot me, Dr. Morris. Or you would have already pulled that trigger.”
“Shut up!” screamed Stanley.
Izzy said, “Mr. Owens—”
Owens shook his head. “I’m the one with the gun aimed at my head, so I suppose that gives me the right to speak.” His attention shifted to Stanley. “I’ll make you a deal, Dr. Morris. You put the gun down, and I’ll willingly go down to the police station. Your wife can question me all she likes.” He took a deep breath, then lowered his hands. “I have nothing to hide. I didn’t take or hurt your daughter. For all anyone knows, she might still be alive.”
Stanley slowly lowered the pistol. Izzy thought Owens had gotten to him, but what he said next puzzled her.
“Heavy,” he panted, his face coated with sweat. “Why’s it so heavy?” He jerked his arms up, but the weapon only moved fractionally.
Izzy took another small step near her husband. “Let me take him in,” she said. “See if he knows anything.”
“No no no,” Stanley cried, sounding like a little boy whose favorite toy had been taken from him, broken, and then returned. “I can’t let him live, not after what he did!”
With an effort that made his arms shake, Stanley wrenched the gun up and fired. The crack of the gunshot shattered the chill air, echoing loudly across Black Pine Lake. Mud flew up from the ground inches away from Owens’ feet. One of the girls in the crowd screamed.
Bob Talbert shot forward and made a grab for the gun, but Stanley twisted, heaved the Glock around until it was pointed at the officer. Talbert’s eyes grew wide, and he threw his body to the side. Another shot. Behind Talbert, the trunk of a gnarled oak exploded, sending pieces of wood hurtling through the air. There were more screams, and people scattered.
When Stanley started to turn back toward Owens, Izzy placed herself between the two men. She saw Sten let go of Denny, reach for his gun, and start running toward them.
“Stanley!” she yelled, her ears ringing from the gunfire. Her own gun was in the paddle holster at her waist. She left it there. She refused to draw down on her husband. “Stanley, look at me!”
He turned until he faced her. The barrel of the Glock was leveled at her chest, but Stanley seemed to be having a hard time holding the gun up. He was panting, his arms trembling. Again, his hands started to drift down.
“Get out of the way, Iz,” he said evenly.
“I’m not going to let you do this,” she said. Sten was now a few feet away, his pistol aimed at Stanley. And behind her, she could almost feel Owens’ tense presence. “Not to that man, not to yourself, not to us.”
“Don’t make me shoot you.”
“Drop the gun,” she said.
“He killed Natalie!”
“Drop the gun.”
“He needs to pay for what he did!”
“He will, but not this way.”
“Move, damn it!”
“No,” she replied, swallowing hard. “I won’t. I guess you’ll have to shoot me”
Stanley’s eyes flared with rage. His lips peeled back into a terrifying grimace. With a scream, he tried to jerk the gun up, but his hands wouldn’t move.
Izzy felt hands grab her from behind and throw her aside. She hit the ground hard, rolled onto her back. Owens sprang forward. He grabbed Stanley by the wrists and wrenched his arms upward. They wrestled for several seconds, the gun pointed at the sky. Another shot split the air. Then Stanley threw his head back and shuddered. Owens yanked the gun free and tossed it to Sten, who easily caught it.
Gasping for breath, Stanley went rigid. His complexion paled, his skin taking on the color of congealed bacon fat. His knees buckled. Owens eased him to the ground.
Izzy scrambled over to her husband.
“Iz,” he whispered. His eyes closed. “Hurts…oh, God.”
“Bob,” Izzy called out. “Get an ambulance up here!”
Stanley’s eyes fluttered open. His mouth opened. In a breathy voice, he said, “Pain…worse than before.”
“Don’t talk,” Izzy said, tears running down her cheeks. “Save your strength.”
“I…I’m….” His eyes opened wide. “Oh my—” Then he shuddered. His head slumped to one side.
“Stanley!” Izzy shouted and shook him. When he didn’t respond, she checked for a pulse. “No!”
She saw a flash of movement. Someone dropped to the ground across from her. Dark hands, one atop the other, fingers locked together, found a spot on her husband’s chest, just above the base of his sternum. Izzy looked up. Owens’ blue eyes met hers.
“Breathe for him,” he said.
Izzy stared numbly at the man, then she shifted to Stanley’s head and opened his airway. As she bent down to blow life back into her husband’s lungs, Owens began the chest compressions.
It seemed like ages before she heard the wailing siren of the approaching ambulance.
Chapter 8
Sounds floated in the air like big red balloons, bouncing off one another in lazy collisions that sent shimmering sparks raining down around Kevin Sallinen. He giggled, the echo of his own laughter making him happy. He felt the same way when his dad gave him chocolate milk with his Pop-Tart.
“Smart tart milk fart,” Kevin said, breaking out into gales of laughter. He fell onto his back and bumped his head on the thick carpet of his bedroom floor.
Flipping onto his stomach, he sprawled out, his laughter draining out of him in little sighs and hiccups. With his left cheek resting against the carpet, he flicked his finger at the thick fibers. Each scrape of his nail sent little plumes of dust billowing up like clouds rising into the sky. He blinked slowly as a tiny mote traveled across the long divide of his reach, sailing on crystal blue currents of air, to dance before him.
“Who who who, Lindy Sue?”
Kevin pursed his lips and carefully blew a ribbon of air at his little Whoville, sending the small world flying off to other adventures.
Drawing his legs under his body, he pushed up into a kneeling
position. From this height, he could see the stuffed animals lying on his bed—Sponge Bob, a furry sheepdog, a white monkey with long arms and one gray foot—as well as his desk cluttered with piles of drawing paper and several boxes of crayons. A folding chair sat in front of the desk.
Kevin’s narrow face lit with excitement. He knee-walked over to his desk, his tongue poking out of his mouth as he tried to keep his feet from touching the ground, his skinny arms flapping to help keep his balance.
When one toe touched the carpet, he jerked both feet up hard. His heels dug into his butt. His tummy bowed out, and his head had little choice but to follow. With his hands still busy trying to keep the balance he’d already lost, his upper body slid forward and his forehead smacked hard into the edge of his desk. Pain shot over the top and around the sides of his head.
“Ayiee ahh!” Kevin cried as his hands finally grabbed the desk. With his eyes watering, he pulled himself up and sat on the chair. He stared at his reflection in the mirror that hung on the wall opposite him. There was a red mark on his forehead. He rubbed it with one hand, then brought up the other and jammed his thumbs in his ears. Wiggled his fingers. Stuck out his tongue. A giggle escaped from his lips. He blew air into his cheeks and crossed his eyes. Laughter overtook the giggles. He laughed so hard that his face turned red.
While Kevin gasped to regain his breath, a clearness spread inside him. It was as if someone had opened a dirty window and let the outside world stream in.
The outside world, and more.
Thoughts that were normally blocked or shunted off to meaningless areas of his brain found their correct paths. Connections, that since his birth had been so misaligned, nudged a little closer to true. He looked at the boy in the mirror, the one with rosy cheeks and tousled hair, the one who kept him company in his room.
“That’s me,” said Kevin.
He quickly snatched a sheet of paper and spilled a box of crayons. The clearness wouldn’t last long. Kevin closed his eyes.
Forever Man Page 7