Mercy Street

by Mariah Stewart

  “She wasn’t by herself. She and one of her friends—her oldest friend who is her most loyal drinking buddy, by the way—had a girls’ night last night after the AA meeting.”

  “Was that a good idea? With your mom going into rehab in a few days?”

  “Gail went to AA with her. She and my mom apparently spent most of the night talking things out. Upshot is that Gail’s thinking now might be a good time for her to stop drinking, too.”

  “Wow. That would be great for both of them.”

  “Yeah, it would. We’ll see if either or both of them make it. I hope they do. Might be easier for them if they have each other to do things with—things besides meet at the corner bar. On the other hand, it might be more difficult in the long run. If one of them leaves rehab before completing the program, or later falls off the wagon, it could hurt the other’s chances of succeeding. But at least they’re both making an effort right now. We’ll see what happens.”

  “Well, I appreciate you staying here with me.”

  “I couldn’t very well leave you alone.”

  “You could have. I slept like the dead.” She made a face. “Poor choice of words.”

  She took a sip of coffee before asking, “Charlie, what happened to my clothes?”

  “Joe sent someone over to pick them up last night. I put them in a bag and handed them over. You were out cold, so I didn’t bother to wake you.”

  “They wanted my clothes for evidence?”

  He nodded.

  “Thanks.” She took another sip. “I want to fill you in on my conversation with Linda Bauer.”

  When she finished, she added, “Before I came downstairs, I called Father Burch. He’s going to track down Misty’s schedule, and they’ll be keeping an eye on her. And he’s having the school on a very quiet lockdown.”

  “Why doesn’t he just tell Misty what’s going on and lock her in the office for the day? What the hell is a ‘quiet’ lockdown?”

  “He doesn’t want to scare her, so he’s not going to isolate her. And quiet lockdown, according to Father Burch, means that all the doors except the front door will be locked, and he’ll be hanging around the front for the day.”

  “Oh, right. A man in a white collar and a black suit should have no trouble turning back a gun-toting psychopath. Good idea.” Charlie frowned. “Then again, maybe he’ll be able to stop her dead with one of those big crosses.”

  “Very funny. Let’s just hope that we’re wrong about Regina using Misty to get to Courtney. Maybe we’re giving her too much credit. Maybe she isn’t as smart as we think she is.”

  “I think she’s smarter.”

  Mallory turned on the power to her DVD player. “This is it. If the answer is here, we have to find it now. Today. We’re out of time, Charlie.”

  “Are you sure you feel up to this?”

  “I really don’t have a choice.”

  Charlie took a seat on the sofa opposite the television screen. There’d been no reason to reply. She was right and he knew it. They were down to the wire. They could not take the chance that Regina Girard—or anyone else—was looking for the two teenagers.

  Mallory sat next to Charlie and pushed START on the remote. Blue sky filled the screen as the title—Hidden Paths to Freedom: A Film by Ryan Corcoran—appeared.

  “He starts this so well, don’t you think?” Mallory pointed to the TV. “His film teacher was justifiably proud. Watch the screen off to the right; see that small dot against the sky?”

  “I’m watching. I hadn’t noticed that before.”

  They both leaned forward as the dot grew larger and took the shape of a hawk that rode a shaft of air ever higher.

  “He captures that feeling of freedom, you see? Now watch as the camera comes back down to earth. Watch that grove of trees there, the ones next to that barn.”

  Shadows shifted and moved along the tree line toward the barn.

  They watched three figures emerge from amid the trees and slip along the side of the barn, where a door opened and closed so quickly they’d have missed it if it hadn’t swallowed up the three moving shapes.

  “And just that quickly, three more runaway slaves moved closer to safety. Closer to freedom,” Charlie said quietly.

  The camera closed in on the barn, then swept the farm quickly.

  “Does that place look familiar to you?” she asked.

  “It’s hard to tell, he panned the landscape so fast. I reran this section several times already this morning, but I don’t know. Maybe in slow motion.”

  “We can come back to that. Keep watching. There are about eight different places on this film. Did you recognize any of them?”

  “Maybe. I’m not sure. I might know a few of them.”

  They watched mostly in silence, with only an occasional comment from Charlie. Finally, when they’d come to the end, he said, “There are images from that first farm in several other places throughout the film, though it’s not really apparent if you don’t know the place. The tractor in the wheat field, the well with the red scarves tied to the crosspiece, and the second-floor hayloft in that last frame. I’m almost positive it’s the old Mansfield place out near Druid’s Hill. There are three or four other places there that I recognized as well.”

  “Is that old church—the one with the boarded-up windows—is that the one out on Malvern Road?”

  “I think so, yes.”

  “Let’s put them all in order of closest to farthest, and we’ll start checking them out.” Mallory rose and grabbed her bag. “I’ll even let you drive.”

  “Not so fast.” He grabbed her arm. “We need to call Joe and let him know what’s going on.”

  “I’ll do that from the car. Come on.”

  “And I’m not so sure we shouldn’t call for backup,” he said thoughtfully.

  She laughed. “Backup from who? There’s no one on the Conroy police force I’d trust with my back, except for you. I think my chances for survival are better with Regina Girard than with any of my former fellows on the force.”

  Charlie looked unconvinced.

  “Besides,” she continued, “Joe isn’t likely to take anyone off the sniper case to follow us around the countryside on little more than a feeling that maybe the kids are hiding in one of these places. If he thinks we need backup, he’ll say so.”

  It was a tough point to argue.

  She was right about Joe not taking anyone off the sniper case, but not for the reason she assumed. When she called his office, she was told by a very excited Marlene that the chief was in city hall getting ready for a press conference.

  “Haven’t you heard?” Marlene said excitedly. “They caught the sniper this morning!”

  “No, I hadn’t heard. That’s wonderful. I’m sure the chief is relieved.”

  “Oh, he’s beside himself,” Marlene went on. “It’s a shame they couldn’t have brought him in alive, but I doubt anyone’s going to be mourning this guy. He’s kept this city tied up like a pretzel for the last few weeks, scared the bejesus out of everyone, not to mention those folks he shot at.”

  “Who was it?”

  “Some homeless guy.”

  “I’m glad that’s over with. I know it was a nightmare for everyone down there. I’ll try to get in touch with the chief myself, but just in case he’s not answering his cell, please let him know it’s important that we talk today. Tell him that Detective Wanamaker and I are checking out a few locations. He’ll know what it’s about.”

  “Will do.” Marlene lowered her voice. “Mallory, are you all right? The chief told me what happened yesterday. Shame that girl had to get shot like that, and you being right there in the middle of it. And you not even being on duty anymore.”

  “I’m okay, thanks for asking.”

  “I was worried about you, Mal. You know that despite—”

  “I do know, Marlene. And I appreciate it.”

  “I have another call coming in, honey. I’ll let the chief know you called.”

&nb
sp; “Thanks. Oh, and Marlene…who brought down the sniper?”

  Marlene’s voice dropped even lower.

  “That’s the crazy part, if you ask me. It was your old partner, Cal Whitman. Brought him down with one shot to the head.”

  Mallory was quiet for a very long moment after closing the phone.

  “What?” Charlie asked.

  She told him the news.

  “So what’s your problem with that?”

  “Cal Whitman barely qualifies on the range every year.”

  “Maybe he got lucky.”

  “He’d have to have gotten real lucky.” She rolled down the window, and the light scent of wild roses wafted in. She leaned on the armrest and thought about Cal Whitman, and wondered if it was bitterness on her part that made her so skeptical. Maybe it had been a lucky shot.

  And what did it matter, really, if the threat to the city was over and justice had been served?

  It didn’t matter, she told herself. The important thing was that the sniper was off the streets and was no longer terrorizing Conroy.

  Still, if she’d had to make a list of the cops least likely to bag the sniper, Whitman’s name would have been at the very top.

  “I think we can eliminate the Townsends’ farm,” Charlie was saying as he drove farther into the countryside.

  “Why?”

  “Because people are living there, see?” He slowed the car and pulled to the side of the road. “There are several cars in the drive, and you can see the fields are being worked. I think it would be damned hard to be hiding out in a place like that. If you want to stop, I don’t have a problem with it, but I think it’s probably a waste of time.”

  “I agree. We can always stop back there if we turn up empty at all the others. What’s the next closest?”

  “Let me see the list.”

  She handed it to him, and he studied it for a minute.

  “The Sumner place is about sixteen, seventeen miles from here.” He gave back the list and started driving. “It’s out near Boone. Do you know that area?”

  “I don’t.”

  “I only remember it because we used to play against the high school out there in football.”

  “That’s one advantage of having grown up in the area. You know how to find places and things.”

  “If that doesn’t work out, we’ll move on to Lisfield and that barn Ryan spent so much time photographing. From there, I guess we’ll try the Hoffmans’ farm—that place was abandoned when I was a kid. I can’t imagine it’s been vacant all these years.”

  “Well, they say the housing market’s tough.”

  He smiled. “This is the place on the film that had all the little outbuildings.”

  “All good places to hide, if you’re hiding out,” she noted, “though all those farms seemed to have a lot of little outbuildings.”

  She rested her head back against the seat. “Where would you go, if you were hiding?”

  “Me? I’d probably go to a city. The bigger the crowd, the easier it is to disappear into it. How about you? Where would you go?”

  “I’d hide in plain sight.”

  “That pretty much eliminates just about every place on our list,” he reminded her. “They’re all pretty much out of the way.”

  A mile later, he made a right turn onto a dirt-and-gravel road. Mallory sat up, taking in the scenery. There was dense hedgerow on both sides of the road.

  “This would be a good place to hide,” she said, and realized she was thinking out loud. “Who the hell would think to come looking for you here?”

  “We did.”

  There was a lane off to the left, and Charlie followed it all the way through woods to a clearing where a dilapidated farmhouse stood. As in the film, the paint was worn off the clapboard and the chimney tilted at an odd angle.

  “Doesn’t look too safe, does it?” she noted.

  “To Ryan and Courtney, just about anyplace probably looked safer than Conroy.”

  “Good point.”

  They got out of the car and began to look around. Charlie tested the steps leading up to the front of the house and found them soft, as were the deck boards on the porch. The front door pushed open with a good shove, and they stepped inside.

  “If they’re staying here, they haven’t been in the front of the house.” Charlie pointed to the floor. “There’s an inch of dust, and it hasn’t been disturbed.”

  “Maybe around the back.”

  “We’ll walk around and look, but I doubt it. I can’t imagine being in a place like this for three or more weeks and not going through the entire house at least once.”

  “Let’s check the back, then.”

  They walked around to the rear of the house and found the back door open. There was evidence that some small animals—raccoons, most likely, or squirrels—had made themselves at home, but no sign of recent human habitation.

  “We’ll take a look in the barn, but I don’t think this is the place,” Charlie told her.

  One look inside proved he was most likely right. The roof had fallen in a long time ago.

  “I don’t remember seeing that in the film,” Mallory remarked as they walked back to the car.

  Charlie turned and stared at the barn.

  “Because it wasn’t this farm,” he said. “The barn in the film definitely had a roof. This isn’t the place.”

  “Charlie, do you think we’re just spinning our wheels?”

  “Probably. If you have any better ideas, I’m all ears.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Well, then, doing something is better than nothing. Just my opinion, of course.”

  When they were back on the road, Mallory asked, “How can people leave places like that to just rot? Especially places that could have some historical significance.”

  “Maybe that was one of the reasons behind Ryan making the film he made. Maybe he was trying to bring these places to light, make sure they got some attention so that they could be preserved.”

  “If they weren’t well known, where did he get his information? How did he even know about these old farms?”

  “Good question.”

  “Charlie, did you notice, in his credits, Ryan thanked someone for the stories,” she said. “Corina something.”

  “Corina Rayburn?”

  “That sounds right.”

  “He thanked Corina Rayburn?”

  “You know her?”

  “Sort of. She’s Conroy’s unofficial historian. Every town has one. You know, one person who knows everyone who ever lived in every house, going back a couple of hundred years. In Miz Rayburn’s case, she probably did know everyone personally. She must be about nine hundred years old by now.” He stopped at a stop sign, then made a right turn onto the paved road that eventually would take them back to the four-lane they’d driven in on. “She used to come to the schools each year and talk to the kids at assembly, tell them about the people who settled the town. She said she was the great-granddaughter of runaway slaves, that’s how she knew so much about the subject, I guess.”

  Charlie paused, then turned to meet Mallory’s eyes. They stared at each other thoughtfully for a long moment before he turned back to the road.

  “Where does she live?” Mallory asked.

  “She used to live on the farm she grew up on. The farm her father bought. The one where supposedly her great-grandparents hid out right before the end of the Civil War.” He made a U-turn and headed back toward Conroy. “It’s outside the city on Rayburn Road. She’s preserved the farm, opens it several days a week as a sort of living history project.”

  “And she’s how old?”

  “Actually, my best guess, she’d be in her mideighties now. Last I heard, she had volunteers—including a few of her grandkids—working the farm.”

  “You think she’d hide Courtney and Ryan?”

  “Who better to understand that sometimes, in order to stay alive, you have to stay out of sight?”

  They had j
ust pulled into the drive on Rayburn Road when Mallory’s phone rang.

  “Mallory, Kevin Burch here.”

  “Hi, Father. What’s—”

  He cut her off without apology. “Misty Bauer never showed up here at school this morning.”

  “What? Her mother said she left the house early, that she got a ride—”

  “She never got here.” The priest was obviously rattled.

  “Did you call the police?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does her mother know?”

  “I just called her. I’m on my way over to her workplace right now.”

  “Maybe Misty decided to skip school today, maybe she and a friend—”

  “I’ve spoken with all her friends. I thought the same thing at first. They’re all here. She’s the only one missing.”

  “The friend whose mother drove them in this morning…”

  “She said Misty got up to the front door and said there was something she needed to do, that she’d be right in.”

  “Thanks for the heads-up, Father. Let me know if she turns up.”

  Mallory turned to Charlie with worried eyes.

  “Misty’s not at school,” she told him.

  “I figured that. So the question is, where is she?”

  “My guess is that she’s either looking for Courtney or she’s hiding from Regina or…”

  “Or Regina has her and they’re looking for Courtney together.”

  “Shit.” Mallory slapped the dashboard with an open palm.

  There were two vehicles parked in the yard between the neatly kept old farmhouse and the barn. Charlie pulled up next to a beat-up red pickup and cut the engine.

  “Miz Rayburn used to have this set up just the way it would have been in the mid–eighteen hundreds,” Charlie told Mallory. “Farm animals—cows, sheep, pigs, goats, chickens, that sort of thing—that kids could come and see close up. For a lot of city kids, that was as close as they’d ever get, you know? The local schools would come here for class trips. Maybe they still do. Miz Rayburn would give a talk about farm life and about slavery, and she’d explain the Underground Railroad and how many runaways passed through this area. I remember her telling us how proud we could be that people right here around Conroy were brave enough to take a stand and risk their lives so that other people could live free.”