by Lyn Cote
"I'm sorry to report her dad was able to post bail. Walachek walked late this afternoon," Rodd added. "It was his first offense. The DA couldn't persuade the judge that Walachek was dangerous. I couldn't believe it when the judge let him out. Why would he set a man free who had the night before pointed a gun at the local principal?"
Burke steamed over this again. Walachek should have been locked up for a few days at least. The man's uncontrolled temper would still be high. Would he play it cool or stir up more trouble? Burke thought more trouble was the likely answer.
Wendy and her grandfather exchanged glances. "That judge and Ms. Turner's father have been feuding a long time," Wendy said. "Turner knows how to make enemies."
Harlan shook his head sadly at Wendy's comment and said, "Just because Turner has money doesn't mean he's had no problems."
"I'm just telling the truth, Grandpa." Wendy turned back to her skillet.
"You didn't know Mr. Turner's father. Old Turner was a hard man. He demanded too much from his son. That can turn a man sour and ugly."
Wendy turned and kissed her grandfather's cheek."You're too sweet sometimes."
Harlan patted her cheek; then she went back to her cooking.
Burke grimly recalled Carrie's bleeding face and that moment when he drove up and found Walachek pointing a rifle at Keely Turner. The judge obviously hadn't given his decision much thought. Why did a grudge against Keely Turner's father mean a dangerous man should be free to do more harm?
"Rodd," Harlan said, "how's the Weaver baby's investigation going?"
Wendy frowned. "Grandpa, Penny keeps reminding everyone not to call Rachel that. She's only their foster child. Until Rodd finds the parents, they can't adopt her."
"I'm starting to wonder—" Rodd leaned against the kitchen counter—"if I'll ever find out who that little one belongs to."
Burke heard the frustration in his old friend's tone. Rodd had told him the story. Early this year in January, Rodd had rescued a baby girl from a car just before it had exploded. A male and female in the front seat had died in the explosion, and their bodies had been burned too badly for easy identification. A local couple, Bruce and Penny Weaver, who were the pastor and his wife at the Steadfast Community Church, had taken the baby in as a foster child.
"Well—" Rodd drew in a long breath—"the car had been stolen in Milwaukee. So that seemed to be a dead end. Then I started trying to match dental records of my two victims to any missing persons from the Milwaukee area. No luck."
"Nothing came through the fire?" Burke probed, curious. "Not even the man's billfold?"
"No, that puzzled me too. Often a man's billfold will come through a fire—the way a man sits on his billfold, the seat back will protect it. But the most peculiar thing is that neither of them had any identification on them."
"That is odd." Burke frowned. "No one around the county reported expecting friends or family to visit that didn't show up?"
Rodd shook his head.
Burke loved this kind of back and forth. He and Rodd had had these brainstorming sessions before—trying to think of every possible angle—spurring each other on to solve a crime. This had been one of the main reasons when Rodd had asked B to become one of his deputies, Burke had left Milwaukee. He and Rodd just clicked. They'd worked on so many cases as a team. "Could the two of them have been mugged, had their IDs lifted in the Milwaukee area or somewhere south?"
"That's a possibility."
"Anything else?"
Rodd shook his head again. "No fingerprints from the bodies because of the fire. A stolen vehicle. No matches yet for the teeth. This case is like walking in quicksand—no bottom."
Burke had no further leads to offer. Nicky popped back into his mind. Where was the kid and what was he up to?So far Burke's attempts to reconnect with his nephew matched Rodd's description of the case. Getting close to Nicky was like walking in quicksand with no bottom....
7:56 p.m.
Keely frowned, where were those figures she needed for this form? She glanced toward the outer office where her secretary kept all the school data in bound folders. If only Freda could learn how to set up databases on the computer faster.
She sighed and rose. In the other room, she snagged a step stool and dragged it to the corner. Of course, the folder she needed had to be on the top shelf, right? She mounted the step stool....
8:00 p.m.
"It's done!" Wendy announced, carrying the skillet over to the table.
"Hmm. Hmm. That does look good!" Harlan rubbed his gnarled hands together. "Looks like marriage has improved your cooking."
"It comes frozen in a bag, Grandpa," Wendy admitted.
The phone rang.
Burke looked at it, hoping it wasn't dispatch with a new emergency, and hoping that the emergency wouldn't be Nick wrecking Harlan's pickup.
Rodd groaned and walked to the phone. "Durand here."
The three of them waited at the table, watching Rodd's expression.
He hung up. "I'm sorry, Wendy. I've got to go to Lafollette."
"What's the problem, son?" Harlan asked.
"Dispatch got a call. Someone in LaFollette reported shooting at the high school."
Burke was on his feet. It couldn't be Nick, could it?
Chapter Three
8:22 p.m.
Taking separate vehicles, Burke and Rodd came speeding into LaFollette—using their sirens and lights all the way. Burke had only heard about the school vandalism case one day ago. Had some kid already progressed from digging holes in the football field to shooting near the school? Or was this more than one kid?
An unpleasant thought intruded. Last weekend he'd spent an afternoon of target practice with Nicky. Was Nicky's twenty-two rifle home in Harlan's gun case or in the back of the pickup?
Burke exhaled. Imagining the worst never helped. And the 911 call to dispatch had been sketchy. The caller hadn't known if the school had been empty when the windows had been shot at. Rodd had called for the ambulance to meet them just in case. And what about Keely Turner?
Burke told himself that she'd be safely home by this time of night. But he knew he'd feel better when he saw for himself that the school had been unoccupied.
He and Rodd parked near the school entrance and jumped out of their vehicles. Scanning the scene, Burke saw that several large windows had been shattered. Broken glass littered the grass and bushes near the building. A small crowd already milled around the school doors. Little town, big city—crime attracted crowds.
Burke hung back and let Rodd approach the crowd. "I'm Sheriff Durand. Is there anyone inside the school?"
"I think the principal might be," a woman wearing a bright red blouse and shorts volunteered. "I saw her walking by with a sack from the cafe. She works late lots of nights."
"Her car's parked in back," a man offered.
At this, Burke moved to the door and tried the handle to the school entrance. "It's locked. Who would have a key?"
The same woman spoke up, "I called the police; then I called the school maintenance man."
A clattering pickup truck turned the corner on two wheels and zoomed into the parking lot. Brakes squealed, and a middle-aged man in khaki work clothes got out and hustled toward the group. "I've got the keys."
Rodd ordered, "Everyone stay out here. Deputy Sloan and I will go in and see if Ms. Turner's in the building—"
"I better come with you," the maintenance man interjected. "She usually locks the door to the outer office, too, when she's in here alone at night."
Rodd waved him inside. As they jogged to the principal's office, the sheriff used his cell phone to summon more deputies. Rodd and Burke exchanged looks. They both understood they now needed crowd control. They must examine the scene without interference. If they could identify the culprit, that might nip this vandalism right now before anyone got more than a sprained ankle. They reached the office door. A bank of windows showed them an empty office.
When Burke didn't see Kee
ly, his anxiety grew . As soon as the man unlocked the door, Burke pushed inside. "Ms. Turner!" he called. "It's Sheriff Durand and Deputy Sloan! Ms. Turner?"
A moan answered him.
Burke darted behind the counter. Keely lay crumpled, facedown on the floor beside a step stool. His adrenaline surged at the sight. "She's down!"
Dropping to one knee, he checked her carotid pulse. Had she gotten hit by bullet? "She has a pulse." He bent his face down to feel her breath against his cheek. "She's breathing."Then he gently rolled her head into view "One small cut over her right eye." Relief rushed through him.
In spite of his concern, Burke continued the routine he knew so well. He ran his hands over Keely's form, looking for, feeling for, more blood or evidence of injury.
Someone had fired at the school, probably not meaning to injure anyone. But bullets could ricochet and travel farther than people expected. He found no sign of any other injury, and the tension inside him eased. She hadn't been seriously injured.
However the ugly gash marred the pale skin of her forehead, lending her a vulnerability that tugged at his sympathy."She must have fallen and bumped her head. "Ms. Turner, can you hear me?"
Her eyes fluttered open. She looked at him, then frowned. "Deputy?"
Thankful that she'd regained consciousness without medical aid, he asked the necessary question, "Do you remember hearing anything?"
"Yes." She started to rise. "Shots. Someone shot ...the windows." She groaned and put a hand to her head.
"Take it easy," he cautioned, taking hold of her slender shoulders. How could he have prevented something like this? Knowing impossible thoughts like this only clouded his judgment, he concentrated on Ms. Turner. "Can you feel your arms and legs?"
"Of course I can," she said in a grumpy tone.
He grinned. Her spirit hadn't been quenched—good.
"Then let me help you up." He assisted her to a sitting position on the aged avocado carpet. He could hear Rodd questioning the maintenance man in the background.
"Who was ...shooting?" she asked.
Her expression, clouded, uncertain, kept him close. Violence took a toll on a person. Burke sat on his heels at her side.
Appearing beside Burke, Rodd replied, "We don't know yet, Ms. Turner. But we'll find out and fast. Can you tell us what happened?"
"I came out to find some data ...and climbed on the step stool," she replied slowly as though thinking hurt her."I heard ...shots. I remember falling...." Her words trailed off.
Her paleness worried Burke. He wanted to help her to a lounge, somewhere she could lie down. Instead, he kept his hands clasped in front of him. She should be moved as little as possible till the EMTs checked her over. "You must have hit your head as you fell."
She nodded, pressing a hand to her temple where the blood oozed.
"Hey!" a gruff voice from outside the broken window hailed them. "Is Ms. Turner all right? Did she get shot?"
Rising, Burke glanced out and saw the crowd had moved to outside the window. "Don't pick up or disturb anything. You could destroy evidence. Back up," Burke ordered.
Rodd stepped to the window. "Which of you saw something or someone at the time of the shooting?"
A few people raised their hands.
"You saw the shooting?" Rodd pressed them. "You didn't just hear the shooting?"
A few hands went down.
"Okay," Rodd said, "I'm coming out to take your statements. Please step away from the window." He glanced over his shoulder. "Burke, after Ms. Turner receives medical attention, you take care of examining the crime scene. I'll do the questioning—"
The insistent wail of the arriving ambulance cut off the exchange. The sound sent cool relief through Burke. Now the lady would be checked out and made more comfortable. He touched her shoulder. "Stay—"
"Ms. Turner," the maintenance man interrupted, "can I go ahead and call the glass company to board up these windows? Before we know it, moths will be all over everything, making a real mess."
Keely looked to Burke.
"Go ahead. Call them." Burke motioned to the EMTs entering with a stretcher. "Here she is." He glanced down."I'll be right back. I have to get the camera from my Jeep. When I've taken pictures of everything inside and out and collected physical evidence, the windows can be boarded up from outside." She still appeared white and shaken. He touched her shoulder again, reluctant to leave her even for a few minutes. "I'll be right back."
She nodded.
Her forlorn expression reminded him of the shock he'd felt the first time a suspect had started shooting around him. He squeezed her shoulder. "Hang in there," he murmured.
Burke hustled outside into the warm August evening. He pushed his way through the growing crowd to his Jeep. Two more deputies had arrived. One stood by the school door to keep non-witnesses out, and the other stood in front of the broken window area to keep people from tampering with the crime scene perimeter. Wanting to get back to Keely and the scene fast, Burke dug into the glove compartment and pulled out the compact digital camera case.
Just as he reached back to close his car door, his radio crackled and spat out, "Sloan, disturbance at the LF Cafe. Code three."
Burke unhooked the receiver. "I copy that. On my way."He shouted the information to the nearest deputy and took off in his Jeep.
Only blocks away, he pulled up in front of the cafe and looked inside the large front window. Walachek was there, shouting at a woman standing by the cash register. Why am I not surprised it's him?
"Walachek!" Burke roared.
The big man, obviously very drunk but unarmed, swung around. "You!" He charged Burke.
Near the door, Burke body checked Walachek, then dodged him. He turned back and landed a hard punch to Walachek's jaw. The man went down. Burke leaped out of the way, preventing Walachek from taking him down too. Bending, he handcuffed the breathless man on the floor, then hauled him up and out to the Jeep. He pushed him into the backseat and slammed the door after him.
The woman from the cafe ran outside. "Thank you! Thank you!" Her voice shook. "That man belongs behind bars!"
Burke nodded, reaching for his cell phone. "What was Walachek doing here? Do you know him?"
"I'm the sister of his late wife. I've got his daughter—"
That explained everything. " Burke glared at Walachek. "Was he threatening you about taking Carrie?"
"Yes."
Burke burned with aggravation. That injudicious judge would be faced with Walachek a second time in two days. Burke hoped he'd have enough sense to keep Walachek locked up this time. "Someone will be back to take down your statement. I've got to get back to the high school."
"What happened at school?" the woman asked. "I heard the sirens."
He gave her the bare facts and then drove off. He'd hand Walachek over to another deputy at the school, who could run the jerk to the county jail. Burke had more important work to do, the physical investigation.
And though he would examine the crime scene thoroughly, now it didn't take a genius to guess who was responsible for shooting out the windows of Ms. Turner's office. Walachek had a rifle but where was it?
The sound of the crickets and cicadas surged in Keely's ears. Half-asleep on the screened-in back porch of the Family Closet, she opened her eyes. She had the feeling someone was watching her.
"Ms. Turner? It's Deputy Sloan."
The deputy. She jerked up in the Adirondack chair, and all that happened hours before came flooding back. She pressed a hand to her forehead, where the swollen bruise reminded her of her fall. She felt a little sick, dizzy. Then she glanced through the moonlit shadows beyond the screen door.
Here he was—just the man she'd been thinking of before she drifted into semi consciousness. Burke Sloan stood on the steps, moonlight glinting off the brass buttons and badges on his uniform. Awareness trickled through her, a tide awakening her senses. The cool breeze brushed overhear skin, and moth wings whispered around the screens.
&nbs
p; "Sorry to disturb you, ma'am."
Her heart beat double time—from surprise? Or from knowing the identity of the man who'd surprised her awake? Hoping this didn't show, she hastily lowered her bare feet from the matching foot stool and with her toes began searching for her sandals. For some reason, having bare feet made her feel extra vulnerable. And I feel fragile enough already. Then a nasty thought startled her and she demanded, "Did something more happen at the school?"
"No, ma'am. But we got a call that someone was lurking around the Family Closet."
"Don't call me ma'am please. It makes me feel old. And I can see now we might as well get on a first name basis, Burke." Rising, she unlatched the screen door, letting herself groan softly with irritation. "Let me guess. It was Veda McCracken." Veda had to know it was me out here. I come here often enough, day and night. She just wanted to embarrass me if she could. "The McCracken woman lives within binocular distance and watches this place like a hawk." Hoping to make trouble for us. The old snoop.
"I don't know who called it in." He mounted the steps and came in, shutting the door behind him quickly, keeping the mosquitoes out. "I just finished up the crime scene at your office and got the call from dispatch. I said I'd check it out on my way home."
"Sorry if I sounded grumpy." Her dry mouth tasted like a used dishrag, and she wanted to stall him, find out what he'd discovered at the crime scene—which after all, was her office. Also she didn't want to be alone right now. She'd come to this familiar place for comfort and had fallen asleep. Being startled awake had put her on edge again. She took a deep breath. "Are you thirsty, Burke?"
He looked at her. "Sure. Water would be good ...Keely."
His relaxed stance made her feel more scattered than she already did. "Have a seat." She motioned toward the matching Adirondack chair next to hers and entered the kitchen at the back of the store.
Returning with two glasses of ice water, she handed him one. He nodded his thanks and eased against the slanted chair back. She sat down, very aware of his large form just inches from her. Her pulse betrayed his effect on her. She closed her eyes, shutting out his disturbing presence, focusing on the night. Its sounds had died down again, now just the lulling song of crickets. Too soon, the cooler evenings would still the nocturnal chorus.