by M. K. Coker
Wintersgill’s voice came out in ice shards. “Johnson killed a deputy and plugged another in the spine before they brought him down. His kind should be put down, like any rabid animal.”
His kind? Meaning cops who abused their position to prey on those they were supposed to defend? Or any rapist or killer, period? Marek figured that life in a cage was a far better punishment. Never to see freedom again. But perhaps that was a cruelty worse than death.
“What we’d like to know,” Sommervold went on, “is why your victim had the shirt.”
Karen got up, looking ready to pace, but was constrained by the limits of the speakerphone. “A good question and one we don’t have the answer to. Yet. Though how this old case might relate to what happened to Bunting, long after the fact, I can’t say.”
“For leverage?” Sommervold asked.
Marek had pondered that same angle. Bunting was in desperate straits, about to be evicted. But who would be his target, with Ed Johnson dead? Who would care? “Do you have any information on his family?”
They heard rapid typing. “Yes, there’s a short list. He’s got a stepmother in Boise, Idaho. Father, long dead. And he’s got a much younger half-sister still living. A Mary Johnson, last address listed, Dutch Corners, South Dakota.”
Johnson. Mary. Of Aleford and Dutch Corners. That wasn’t coincidence.
With her gaze locked with Marek’s, Karen said, “Mary Johnson was living at Grove Park the night that Bunting was killed. She’s a big woman. And I’m guessing, despite what she told us, that she confronted Bunting that night in the parking lot. Slapped him and called him a piece of shit.”
“There you go,” Sommervold answered. “Hope it pans out. Even if I’d like to give her a star. Self-defense all the way. By the way, is it true that Alan Digges is up on charges?” The repressed glee was just audible under the studiously neutral tone.
“Not yet. But I have little doubt he will be. Everyone seems delighted.”
“Digges spread his bullshit far and wide in our fair city,” Sommervold confirmed. “I would love to have him in our sweatbox, but I’ll take the win vicariously. Sheriff, thanks for the closed case.”
Never closed for Two Fingers or his mother. Not really.
After the call ended, Walrus gave Karen a hangdog face. “Geez. What a mess. Do you really have to tell Two Fingers? I mean, about him being Ed Johnson’s son? Seems cruel.”
“He already knew he was the product of rape,” Karen pointed out. “It’s for him and his mother to decide whether they want to know anything more, other than that the rapist was found and is dead.”
Walrus hauled himself to his feet as a call came up to report to a fender bender on Bluff Road. “And I’m off. Hopefully, that’ll take me to end of shift.”
As Walrus trundled off, Marek got to his feet. Lions Park wasn’t far. “Walk or ride?”
Understanding immediately, Karen grabbed her radio. “Walk. I need it.”
So they walked in rare silence—on her part—past the small community park and band shell where he’d sung a few times with a school chorus from Valeska, sticking out in the back row like a sore thumb.
As they made the turn down toward the even smaller park run by the Lions Club, he noted fewer cars than had been at Grove Park. He just hoped one in particular wasn’t there. Figured that it was.
Lori Jansen was the first to see them. She froze between flight and fight. When Karen shook her head, Lori turned her back. Pointedly. Beside her, Bobby looked over at them, then at his mother, then slowly turned, as well. Marek didn’t blame him for taking his cue from his mother. That was what kids did, at least up to a certain age, and in this case, it was entirely warranted.
He only hoped that the kid—or, more importantly, his mother—never connected Marek to Nikki, because he had no doubt Bobby was her wizard with computer graphics.
Not-Johnson greeted them, though not warmly. “You going to drive us off before time is out?”
“No, we want to talk to Mary Johnson.” Marek saw Lori’s shoulders relax. Then she tugged her son toward the ball field across the street. He went more than willingly, jumping around her like a pup, saying something that made her give a reluctant laugh and earned him a hair ruffling.
Yes, something about Bobby Jansen made you want to root for him. That his father, like Two Fingers’s, had been a royal shit, made Marek wonder just where the boy got that spark.
Mary Johnson shuffled over from where she’d been sitting in her car and sank down to the picnic table, looking pleased when Not-Johnson joined her. “What now?”
Karen swung herself onto the picnic bench. Marek followed, less athletically, making sure he cleared his size-ginormous Blunnies first.
Going for the jugular, Karen laid out the punch line first. “You never told us that your brother Ed was a rapist and a killer. Or Bunting’s stepfather.”
“You didn’t ask,” Mary replied simply. “Rapist, I knew. Killer? News to me. But it don’t surprise me none. Is he in prison? Please God, tell me he is.”
Marek didn’t hear any sisterly love there. Nor did Karen, apparently. “He’s dead.”
Mary closed her eyes, nodded, and let out a huge breath.
Not-Johnson put a hand on her shoulder. “Mary? You okay?”
Her eyes popped open, and her smile could have lit countries with its wattage. “Good. Wonderful. I can stop worrying that someday he’ll show up on my doorstep.”
“You didn’t know?” Marek asked. “It’s been years since he died.”
“Haven’t heard head nor tail of him since he skedaddled... what? Twenty years ago or more? I can’t keep track anymore. It all blurs. But that’s good news.”
Marek had never been a big brother, but he thought of Kaylee and Kyle. “You had no feelings for him, then?”
“Sure. Lots of ’em. All were bad. I hated him, Detective. The church says forgive. Maybe come eternity, I can, but I’ll never forget. He was bad, through and through, and he took it out on whoever came to hand, myself included.”
Marek wasn’t sure where to take the interview, since it didn’t appear that they had a family feud thing going on with Mary and Ed on one side and Bunting on the other. “Did Bunting know you, when you saw him that night?”
“You trying to pin murder on Mary?” Not-Johnson’s easy features turned sharp, and for the first time, Marek saw a resemblance to Michelle Bayton. “She was in her tent the whole time.”
But Mary patted his hand. “It’s all right, Al. If I were gonna kill Bunting, I’d sic Daisy on him. Look, I tried to stay out of the whole thing. I didn’t want no trouble. But I was up in the parking lot, coming off a sub job at the gas station in Fink.”
That, at least, could be confirmed. “What was going on at the parking lot when you got there?”
“Just Bunting being Bunting. Throwing his weight around. Told everyone he’d won the election, told us to get out—or pay him the fine. But I’d heard on YRUN driving home that he lost the recount. He got pretty hot, saying I was a liar. So I slapped him, told him he’d always been a piece of shit. Then I hightailed it down the trail as fast as I could. He was still up there in the parking lot, alone by then. The rest, they didn’t want to tangle with him, so they just left to park down the road. But I lied... about being woke up. But not any of the rest. I was scared to death that I’d finally managed to turn Bunting into a killer—and not just of myself but all of us.”
Karen looked at Not-Johnson. “And you? Mr. Bayton?”
The wannabe Moses, leading his people out of the wilderness, looked pained. “I was right where I said. Asleep in my plywood home. As for why I hid my name? Precisely because of what I see on your faces. A Bayton. Homeless. I got tired of the double takes.”
“You’re the best of ’em,” Mary said stoutly. “As for Bunting, he had a mean streak, no doubt about that. But really? Bob Bunting was a sad sack. A wannabe without the killer instinct. Ed? He was the real deal. Evil. Truly evil. Him and that Rach
el Dutton were a pair. Yes, before you ask, Ed raped me, when I got old enough to make it worth his while. Only once. But you don’t forget.” Her chin wobbled, and Not-Johnson took her hand and gripped it hard. “You want to know why Ed left the highway patrol, the state, all of a sudden? Why despite everything, I’d never have laid a hand on Bunting other than that slap? You go ask Alice Dutton.”
Marek looked at Karen, who said, “Guess we’re going to need the ride after all.”
But were they being taken for a ride? And if so, by whom?
CHAPTER 38
When the door to the plain little ranch home opened, Karen was almost engulfed.
“Oh, Sheriff! I am so happy! Guess what?” Kaylee Early didn’t wait for the answer. “I’m gonna have a baby.” She squealed and clapped her hands together. “A real baby. Not a play one. I have lots of dolls. I hope it’s a girl. Girls like dolls.”
Some girls did. Karen hadn’t. She’d used the few she’d gotten as target practice for the slingshot she’d made from scratch. But for Kaylee’s sake, and the baby’s future as Bunting’s child, she hoped Kaylee was right. “That’s wonderful. Where is your brother?”
“Kyle? He went to Sioux Falls. To work. He got a job with Jim.”
“At a gym, dear.” Alice came into view, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She looked a little tired, a little exasperated, but mostly... a lot happy. And much younger. “Now, why don’t you go take a lie-down.”
“Oh, I’m not tired. I could do jumping jacks all day long.” Kaylee proceeded to do just that and finished it off with a cartwheel, narrowly missed a side table, and ended her routine with her hands flung up high, cheerleader style.
Alice shook her head at Kaylee. “Five minutes ago, you were throwing up. Now look at you. You know it’s better for the baby to get some rest. The books say so. Go take a nap.”
“Oh. Okay.” Kaylee put her hand on her as-yet-slim waist. “Better for baby.” She disappeared down the hallway into one of the two bedrooms.
Alice shook out her dish towel and began folding it. “She’s an absolute joy, when she’s not driving me crazy. I believe I have you to thank for her sudden appearance in my life. A second chance at a family.” Alice gave Karen and Marek, a hovering presence, a searching look. “What’s happened? Do you know who killed Robert? Is that why you’re here?” Her face set as she put the dish towel on the stove handle. “Just tell me straight.”
“Why don’t we sit down,” Karen suggested. When Alice balked, she said, “We don’t know the identity of his killer yet, Ms.... Miss Dutton.”
As guarded as Kaylee never would be, Alice took a seat at the kitchen table covered with baby books and paraphernalia. “Very well. What do you want to know? I wasn’t there that night.”
No, Alice hadn’t been. Her call to him had been from her landline. Karen doubted Alice owned a cell phone at all, though that might change, with Kaylee in the mix. Karen picked her words with care. “We have some questions for you, not about your nephew, but his stepfather. Ed Johnson.”
Alice looked all her age now. “Why bring him up, after all this time?” Then she lifted a hand. “Sorry, that was... cowardly... of me.” Her guarded gaze went to Marek, who quietly got up and left.
“Your detective is a good man. But... I can’t talk about it, with him present.” Alice clasped her hands together in her lap. “Nor do I want to go into the details. I know Ed is dead. I know how he died. I was glad.”
Just as Zoe had been when she’d found Bunting dead. He was the boogeyman of her childhood. Or one of them. But Ed Johnson had been much, much worse. “He raped you.”
“Yes. After he won the custody suit. And he made Robert watch. Poor Robert. He tried to help me, jumped on Ed’s back, but he got knocked out, backhanded into the wall, and I didn’t move after that. Just let him... finish his business.”
Karen had been expecting the first, not the second. Poor Baby Bunting.
“Ed said no one would believe me, no more than a judge had believed me fit to be Robert’s guardian. When I came in to work the next day, with my eye battered, without taking the time to dress right, Mr. Logan, my boss, he knew. He wanted me to press charges. I think, truly, he would have killed Ed if he’d gotten his hands on him. But Ed left Eda County that day, took a job elsewhere. And I didn’t see Robert for a very long time.”
“When he came back to live with you, to work for my father.”
“And then he moved to the highway patrol. Where he discovered, to his horror, that one of his new colleagues was Ed Johnson.” Alice sniffed. “But he got his comeuppance. Robert found some kind of evidence against Ed, and he told Ed that if he ever, ever touched another woman against her will, he’d make sure that it went to the authorities, and he’d be done. I wish Robert had just done that, not holding it back. I presume you’re here to tell me that you found that evidence?”
“We did. Ed’s duty shirt. He raped several women while in the patrol, including a Native American woman, which made it an FBI matter.”
“I’m so sorry.” Alice began stacking the books into a neat pile. “Perhaps if I’d been stronger... done what Mr. Logan wanted.”
“You were the victim, Miss Dutton. Coming forward, at that time, with that judge? They’d have spun it as a revenge ploy, paying Ed back for preventing you from taking Robert.”
Alice laid her hand on the top of a book, one with a smiling baby. “Ed never cared about Robert. He took him, he took me, because he could. And that was that. Don’t let people tell you, Sheriff Mehaffey, that the old days were better. They weren’t. A lot of things were swept under the rug. Terrible things. You work for a lawyer, you hear some awful stories, and for most victims, Mr. Logan had to tell them that, in court, they wouldn’t stand a chance.”
From the bedroom, Karen could hear the tinkling sound of a lullaby from a mobile, and Kaylee’s soft, guileless voice singing, off tune.
“Thank you for letting us know. None of this goes in a report if you don’t want it to.”
“Sweeping it under a rug? No, Sheriff. You write your report. Putting it in black and white, even if Ed is long dead, makes a mark that won’t ever go away. I want it there.”
Karen nodded and rose to her feet. She turned, then turned back. “Miss Dutton?”
Wearily, Alice looked up, as if the conversation had taken all she had to give. “Yes?”
“You might take that picture out of the drawer. Of you and Robert. He was, shall we say, not always a good man. He learned the lesson of leverage, not love, because of who raised him. But... he was also a hero. That’s what you, and Kaylee, and her child, should remember.”
And so would Karen.
CHAPTER 39
Back in the office, Karen flopped into her seat and ditched the remains of her share of a Mex-Mix takeout into the trash. Marek did the same. Both of them were off their feed. Forcing people to recall terrible things from their past did that. Though they’d closed an FBI case, they weren’t any closer to closing their own.
As Walrus had just arrived back from his fender bender, he looked down at the trash with horror. “Couldn’t you have offered that to a starving man?” When they both looked at him, he sighed. “Geez. Can’t you take a joke? You know, laughter is good for the soul? And for your information, I haven’t eaten since lunch. I’m like a hobbit. I’m used to elevenses and two-ishes and whatever the heck else.”
Though she knew very well that Walrus was too heavy by any chart she’d ever consulted, he’d also passed his last physical with flying colors—which went to show that the universe wasn’t fair. Her own numbers weren’t as good.
The doors to the office swung open, and Two Fingers walked in. She’d texted him to say that she knew who the rapist was and, if he wanted to know more, she could tell him in person. Right now, he was about as readable as the petroglyphs of the Ancient Puebloans she’d had occasion to see... only last week?
“Ah... I should go.” Walrus—who’d been eyeing the trash as if trying
to decide if the twenty-second rule applied or was even greater, say a minute, since the food was still in its packaging—got to his feet.
“Stay,” Two Fingers said without inflection.
Walrus plopped back down and looked as serious as he ever did. “I’m here for you. Always. Just let me know what I can do.”
A kick up at one side of the mouth was all the response he got. Two Fingers waited.
Karen got to her feet. “Well, Deputy? Do you want to know the identity of the rapist? Or do you want to say it’s done?”
“It’s done. Long ago. I’m the result. But I want him found, I want him locked up, and I want my mother not to have to ever look over her shoulder again.”
“I can grant that last wish,” she told him.
Something undefinable, something that might have been hope, died. “Bunting.”
“No, not Bunting. His stepfather. Ed Johnson.”
With the brisk tones she’d been resorting to during pretty much the entire investigation, Karen told him the whole story while Walrus fidgeted in distress. He might occasionally be clueless, but Walter Russell was a man who would take the shirt off his back—or the duty shirt off the evidence table—to keep from causing hurt to a friend. She knew that Taylor Peterson had a new home, courtesy of Walrus, and his debts were covered by the ministerial fund, so he could keep his truck—and his livelihood. Not to mention his life.
Marek cleared his throat. “I don’t know if you’re interested, but Ed Johnson does have a younger half-sister you might want to meet, also a victim of his...”
“No. Sorry. No.”
“Maybe she’s got Indian blood,” Walrus put in. “You never know.”
Two Fingers raised his brows. “You want me to move back to the Rez?”
Walrus shook his head like a beached... walrus. “You’re one of us. But... do you want to?”
Two Fingers tipped his head back, as if to allow some thought, some revelation, to trickle down. “Maybe.” When he tilted it down, he saw their faces. “Someday. But while I’m welcome to work there, I’ll never be a part of the tribe, and that’s... hard.” He smiled, a slash of white. “Here, I get to arrest white boys. More fun.”