Dawn's Light

by Terri Blackstock

  Wheaton and the rest of the guys on the daytime shift insisted that he go home and get some rest while they canvassed the Tharpes’ neighborhood and talked to his coworkers. Maybe there were relatives nearby — parents, cousins, uncles, or aunts. Good friends who might live in other towns.

  “We’ll find them, I promise you,” Wheaton said. “Tharpe is behaving like a guilty man, and these crimes won’t go unpunished.”

  But Mark wasn’t so sure. He sat on his desk, staring into space, trying to think of some way to speed up this process.

  “Mark, I’m ordering you to take off and get some rest.”

  “I can’t.” He felt his emotions coming forth like a tsunami, rolling its deadly waves over his lungs, his heart, his throat. He was losing control, drowning. He rubbed his trembling mouth, closed his eyes.

  Wheaton’s voice softened. “Mark, go to the hospital. Be with your girl. She needs you.”

  His shoulders shook with his failure. “I wanted to take her good news.”

  “You tried. You did more than anybody else did. And it’s not over. We’ll get him.”

  Mark wiped his face and tried to toughen up.

  “Take one of the patrol cars,” Wheaton said, patting his back. “Get somebody to look at your head. While you’re gone, we’ll get a mechanic to replace the distributor cap on the van Tharpe vandalized.”

  Mark drove to the hospital and sat in the parking lot for a moment, trying to pull himself together before he saw Deni. The last thing she should have to do was comfort him.

  He found the surgical ICU waiting room on the third floor. Families clustered in distinct areas all around the place, some of them sleeping, others talking quietly. They all looked like they’d been to the front lines in a war with death.

  Across the room, Logan slept on a blanket on the floor, and Jeff was out cold in one of those plastic recliners. Deni sat next to him — and next to Craig. She was sound asleep, her head resting on Craig’s shoulder. Craig’s head was rolled on top of hers, and he, too, was asleep. Mark’s throat closed up, and he thought of turning and walking away. But the fight in him rose again, and he resolved that he wasn’t letting Deni go, not like this.

  He stooped in front of her, touched her knee. She jumped.

  “Hey,” he whispered.

  “You’re here.” Extracting herself from Craig, she fell into Mark’s arms, and he rose higher on his knees and held her with all his strength. He felt her tears on his neck, breathed in the scent of her hair, basked in the comfort of her embrace.

  “I wanted to come earlier,” he whispered. “But I was out chasing Clay Tharpe.”

  “Is he the one who hurt her?”

  “No doubt in my mind,” he whispered against her hair. He pulled her to her feet. “Let’s go sit somewhere else.”

  She glanced back at Craig. Her movement had awakened him, and Mark saw the challenge in his sleepy eyes. She took Mark’s hand and pulled him to an empty area. “Mark, did you catch this guy Tharpe?”

  He didn’t want to worry her with the details. “Not yet. The department’s still working on it. Tell me about Beth.”

  “She’s still in a coma. She won’t wake up.” She noticed the bloody bruise on his forehead, touched it gently. “What happened to you?”

  He forced a smile. “I’m working on a scar to match the one on the other side, so I’ll look balanced.”

  She didn’t find that funny. “Did somebody hit you?”

  “Yeah, with a two-by-four, but don’t worry about it.”

  Vengeance flashed in her eyes. “Was this the guy who attacked Beth?”

  “Yes, I think it was.”

  Deni’s eyes rounded. “I thought you hadn’t caught him.”

  He sighed. “I had him, but he swung and knocked me off balance, and he got away.” He touched her face, wanting her to understand. “I went after him. I’ve been looking for him for five hours.”

  There it was again, the tsunami, choking him, pulling at the corners of his lips, burning his eyes.

  She pulled him back into her arms and held him, and he let the storm have its way. She didn’t let him go.

  He hated himself for his weakness, and hated even more the fact that Craig had witnessed it. He pulled himself together and wiped his nose on his sleeve. As he pulled out of her arms, his gaze collided with Craig’s.

  Deni seemed to notice. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep on his shoulder,” she whispered against his ear. “He was sitting next to me, and I must have slid over when I fell asleep.”

  “Do me a favor,” he said, “next time don’t sit next to him.”

  “I won’t. Please don’t be upset about that.”

  He shook his head. “No, we have plenty of other things to be concerned about.”

  He saw Doug coming into the room, looking exhausted. He smiled when he saw Mark. “Hey, buddy,” he whispered so as not to wake the other families.

  Mark got up and embraced him. Quickly, he told him about his night, and his close call with Tharpe.

  “Valiant try, son,” Doug said. “I appreciate that a lot.”

  “Get some rest, Mark,” Deni said. “Just sit down and close your eyes for a minute. I’ll be right here. We’ll wake you if we hear any news about Beth.”

  Mark looked at Craig, met his cool gaze. No, he wasn’t going to sleep.

  But to appease Deni, he pulled out the footrest on his plastic recliner, and laid his head back.

  SIXTY-FOUR

  MARK HADN’T MEANT TO DOZE OFF. WHEN HE WOKE, he realized that a couple of hours had passed. Deni wasn’t there. Craig still sat in the chair he’d been in when Mark arrived. His clothes were rumpled, but he still looked like the professional he was. Thick stubble darkened his jaw and dark circles underlined his eyes.

  Mark lowered his footrest and pushed his hand through his hair.

  “Didn’t mean to nod off. Where’s Deni?”

  Craig looked like he didn’t want to answer. “She went to relieve her mother for a few minutes, while Kay cleans up.”

  Mark said nothing else. The two of them sat in silence, seats away from each other, waiting. Finally, he saw Doug coming through the door. His eyes were wet. “How is she?” Mark asked.

  “The same.” He motioned back to the door. “Go in and see her if you want. Deni’s in there alone right now.”

  Craig’s mouth fell open. “I thought it was just family.”

  Doug looked down at him, then back up at Mark. “Mark is family.”

  It was all Mark could do not to strut after that. He headed to the ICU, told the nurse whom he was there to see, and she gave him a set of scrubs. He pulled them on, fixed the mask over his mouth and nose, and found some gloves, hoping he wasn’t dragging any germs in with him. When he’d done everything the nurse told him to do, he went into the room she pointed to.

  Deni got up and kissed him. “You’re awake.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Sorry I nodded off.” He walked to the side of the bed, and tears rimmed his eyes as he looked down at his young friend. He’d never seen anyone look this bad before. Her face was swollen, her head shaven and bandaged. He thought of Clay Tharpe with his hands around her throat, smashing her head against a tree trunk. Mark could feel his blood pressure rising. His hands shook as he reached down and stroked Beth’s arm.

  “Talk to her,” Deni said. “Maybe she’ll hear you.”

  He leaned over, putting his face close to Beth’s. His voice wobbled. “Wake up, Sparky,” he said. “A lot of people out here are really worried about you. We need you. Get better. You can’t let this beat you. And just so you know, I’m on the trail of the man who did this to you. He’s never gonna hurt anybody else. We’ll get him. Don’t you worry.”

  Still, there was no response.

  Mark wanted to race out of the building with his sights set on Tharpe like a guided missile, and do to him what he’d done to Beth. “It’s not right,” he said through his teeth.

  Wiping his face, he looked ar
ound the room. “Let’s get her some books and read to her. She must be bored to death, lying there like that. If she’s the least bit aware — ”

  “Do you think she is?”

  “I heard about a guy who was in a coma, and he knew sign language. He communicated with his mom that way.”

  “But I’ve asked her to move a finger if she can hear me, and she doesn’t.”

  “Still. It might stimulate her brain, help her to come to. What books does she like?”

  “She loves the Chronicles of Narnia.”

  “Are they at home? I could go get them.”

  “That would be great,” Deni said.

  He leaned back over the bed. “You hear that, Sparky? We’re gonna filibuster you until you snap out of it.”

  He kissed Deni, then left her there. He ripped off the mask and gloves and took off his scrubs. Dropping them into the laundry bin, he headed out of the ICU, determined to make Tharpe pay for what he’d done.

  SIXTY-FIVE

  BY THE TIME MARK RETURNED TO THE SHERIFF’S DEPARTMENT, Wheaton and the dayshift deputies had finished questioning Tharpe’s neighbors and coworkers.

  Wheaton had listed all of their leads on a big dry-erase board in the back room. “We found out that both of his parents are dead,” Wheaton said as he sat on the table opposite the board. “But it turns out that his wife has parents who live up in Huntsville. And the neighbors said she’s been real homesick for them since the Pulses began. They haven’t seen her baby yet.”

  Mark’s brows came together as he studied the board. “Any other relatives?”

  “The neighbors didn’t know of any, so I guess there aren’t any important ones. I think Huntsville’s our strongest lead.”

  “Did the guys at work have anything to offer?”

  “Oh, yeah. They were so ticked about him stealing the car that they were ready to spill their guts. Couple of them said that a few months ago he’d put in for a transfer to one of the Huntsville plants. Ned Emory confirmed that, but he didn’t agree to the transfer.”

  Mark took in the other notes on the board. Under “Huntsville In-Laws,” Wheaton had written, “Infidelity.” Mark pointed to it. “What’s this about?”

  Wheaton crossed his arms. “One of his coworkers told me that Mr. Tharpe wasn’t always faithful to his wife. He has a weakness for pretty women. And he has a gambling addiction. The same guy was Tharpe’s gambling buddy. Said that before the Pulses Tharpe lost their life savings. He kept it from his wife.”

  How could that fit into the murder and assault? Was the robbery of Blake Tomlin to make up for the lost money? Maybe that was his motive. “Can we go to Huntsville and bring him back?”

  “Brad Caldwell gave us a green light for the arrest after he heard about Tharpe assaulting you. The prosecutor wants the guy locked up as much as we do.”

  “Did anybody have the address of the parents in Huntsville?”

  “Yep,” Wheaton said. “Turns out their next-door neighbor had it from a couple of years ago when they’d gone home for a week. Left the phone number and address in case of emergency.”

  “What are we waiting for?” Mark asked. “Let’s go to Huntsville.”

  SIXTY-SIX

  THE OLD VAN WAS IN SERIOUS NEED OF A FRONT-END ALIGNMENT, and whenever they increased their speed over fifty miles an hour, the steering wheel shook and shimmied. It was a gas guzzler and got about ten miles to a gallon, less if they were in town. But they had brought along another tank of gas that they hoped would get them there and back without having to stop and search for another source.

  It took them two and a half hours to get to Huntsville — much too long as far as Mark was concerned — but Wheaton didn’t appreciate backseat driving. Billy London rode shotgun, constantly fidgeting and glancing at the speedometer. The horses and wagons and bicycle trailers on the highway continually got in their way.

  After what seemed an eternity, they got to the Huntsville exit. Pulling off into the parking lot of a closed convenience store, they tried to figure out where they were. After a few minutes, they had the place mapped out and were on their way to Clay Tharpe’s in-laws.

  They drove to the neighborhood, aware that once they turned onto the street their engine would alert every resident there.

  Wheaton decided to park on the next block over. “He’s not gonna come without a fight, so let’s move quietly and cover the doors and windows before we let them know we’re here. Once we’ve apprehended him, we can go back for the van.”

  They locked the van, then took off on foot to the next street over. Drawing their weapons, they fanned out around the house. While Sheriff Wheaton and London went to the door, Mark covered the back, watching the windows and doors, expecting Tharpe to make a quick exit. He heard the pounding on the door, heard Sheriff Wheaton calling out “Po-lice!”

  Suddenly the back door flew open, and Tharpe lunged out.

  “Hold it right there!”

  Tharpe froze.

  “Hands behind your head!”

  Tharpe did as he was told, but his eyes shifted from side to side, looking for escape. “I want my lawyer!” he shouted. “I’ll have you arrested for stalking. First, my house, now this!”

  Keeping the barrel of his Glock aimed between Tharpe’s eyes, Mark moved closer. “On the ground!”

  Tharpe knelt, hands still behind his head. “Look, I know you’re chapped about the two-by-four, but you scared me. It was self-defense.”

  Mark pulled his handcuffs off his belt and got behind Tharpe. He pressed the barrel of his pistol against Tharpe’s head and snapped a cuff onto one wrist. Before he could get the second one on, Tharpe swung around suddenly and grabbed the gun.

  Rage shot through Mark’s head, pounding in his temples, as he struggled to overpower him. Tharpe’s grip around Mark’s wrist was strong — the same grip that had almost killed Beth. Mark threw the weight of his body into loosening Tharpe’s grip. Inches from his was the face Beth had seen before she fell unconscious.

  Vengeance exploded in Mark’s brain, and he slammed his head into Tharpe’s face. Pain blasted through his busted forehead, but he felt Tharpe’s nose crunch. The killer let the gun go and brought his hands to his face. Mark knocked him to the ground and wrestled the other cuff on. Tharpe screamed like a little girl.

  His wife came out wailing, her shocked parents behind her. “He didn’t do anything! Please — ”

  Mark jerked the man to his feet as Wheaton and London came around the house.

  “Let him go!” Analee cried. “We’ve got a baby! He’ll pay the money back.”

  Mark was breathless as he recited Tharpe’s Miranda rights. When he finished, he said through his teeth, “You’re under arrest for the attempted murder of Beth Branning, assault of a police officer, evading arrest, and grand theft auto, just for starters.” Mark wanted to add that he was charged with the murder of Blake Tomlin and some other unnamed person that Beth mentioned in her note, but they didn’t have the bodies yet. Brad had sent instructions to haul him in on the other charges first.

  “I was just trying to save my family,” Clay said. “I stole the car but I was going to bring it back. I wasn’t going to keep it. I didn’t attempt to murder anybody. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

  “There’s a little girl dying in the hospital.”

  Clay spat at him. Mark grabbed his face in his hands. “I’d kill you with my bare hands,” he said through his teeth, “but instead I’ll find the bodies of the two men she saw you murder and let the state do it for me.”

  “You’re not going to find anything!”

  “Watch me,” Mark said. “We found you, didn’t we?”

  London got the van, and Mark took pleasure in throwing Tharpe in, then climbing in next to him to make sure he didn’t go anywhere. His wife insisted on coming with them. She said tearful good-byes to her worried parents, then bringing the sleeping baby, she got into the van.

  Wheaton turned around and pointed at h
er. “You can ride as far as we can get without you saying a word.”

  Analee just swallowed. “I have the right to free speech. I’m still an American, you know. I think you should know that my husband is innocent. He couldn’t kill anyone!”

  Wheaton almost came over the seat. “What did I tell you?”

  “Okay,” she said. “Not another word.”

  They were all silent as they drove back to Crockett. It wasn’t until they arrived that Mark unclenched his fists. Relief shot through him as he got Tharpe behind bars and slammed the door. Then he stormed back to the front. “Sheriff, we have to search his house and yard. There are two bodies we haven’t found yet.”

  “We don’t even know that for sure,” Wheaton said.

  “Beth had no reason to lie about it, and she wrote it in that note. He moved the bodies somewhere. I say we start with his yard, since it isn’t that far from the Cracker Barrel. His yard is fenced in. He could have buried them without being seen.”

  He’d forgotten that Analee was sitting across the room. She got up and shoved her chin into the air. “I welcome you to search my yard,” she said. “There’s no one buried there. My husband is not a killer.”

  “Fine, then we don’t need a warrant. Let’s go,” he said to the sheriff.

  Wheaton tagged several of the men. “Come on, we’ve got work to do.”

  SIXTY-SEVEN

  THE THARPES’ BACKYARD WAS PLOWED AND FILLED WITH a vegetable garden — which surprised Mark, since the front yard wasn’t plowed. Rows of cabbage, carrots, and radishes filled the yard in healthy soil. The garden had been well-tended, so it was difficult to tell where graves might have been dug. But Mark walked along the rows, looking for plants that might be freshly planted, or dirt that had recently been turned.

  Analee chattered nonstop. “My husband is a fantastic father and a great husband. He would never hurt a fly.”

  Mark stooped and checked one of the younger plants.