Still Life With Crows

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Still Life With Crows Page 6

by Douglas Preston


  Pendergast bent to examine another cluster of crystals. There was a curious incident at Maisies Diner last evening. The sheriff arrested a girl named Corrie Swanson.

  Oh, yes. Shes a troublemaker from way back. Her father ran off, and the mother is the cocktail waitress at the Candlepin Castle. She leaned forward and spoke in a whisper. I think she drinks. And . . . seesmen.

  Ah! said Pendergast.

  Winifred was encouraged. Yes. They say Corrie takes drugs. Shell leave Medicine Creek, like so many others, and good riddance. Thats how it is nowadays, Mr. Pendergast: they grow up and leave, never to come back. Though there are some I could name that stick around whoought to leave. That Brushy Jim, for instance.

  The FBI agent seemed to be intently examining a dripstone mound. It was nice to see someone so interested. The sheriff seemed to be rather enthusiastic in making Miss Swansons arrest.

  I shouldnt wonder. And yet that sheriffs a bully. Thats what I think. And Ill say it to anyone. Just about the only person hes nice to is Tad Franklin, his deputy. She stopped, wondering if she had gone too far, but Mr. Pendergast was looking at her now, nodding sympathetically.

  And that son of his is also a bully. He thinks having a sheriff for a father gives him the right to do whatever he pleases. Terrorizes the high school, I hear.

  I see. And this Brushy Jim you mentioned?

  Winifred shook her head. The most disreputable fellow you ever saw. She clucked disapprovingly. Lives in a junkyard out on the Deeper Road. Claims to be descended from the lone survivor of the Medicine Creek Massacre. He was in Vietnam, you know, and it did something to the man. Turned his brain. You just wont see a lower specimen of humanity, Mr. Pendergast. Uses the Lords name in vain. Drinks. Never sets foot in church.

  I saw a large banner being erected on the front lawn of the church last evening.

  Thats for the fellow from Kansas State.

  Pendergast looked at her. Im sorry?

  He wants to plant a new cornfield here. Some kind of experiment. Theyve narrowed it down to two towns, us and Deeper. The decisions to be announced next Monday. The man from Kansas States due to arrive today and the town is laying out the red carpet for him. Not that everybodys happy about it, of course.

  And why is that?

  Something about the corn they want to test. Its been fiddled with somehow. I dont really understand it, to tell you the truth.

  Well, well, Pendergast said, and then held out his hand. But here I am, interrupting the tour with questions.

  Winifred remembered the thread. She bustled forward happily, leading Pendergast to the edge of a wide, dark hole from which even cooler air was rising. And here is the Bottomless Pit. When Grandfather first arrived, he tossed a stone down andhe did not hear it land. She paused dramatically.

  How did he know the heifer was down there? Pendergast asked.

  She was thrown into a sudden panic. Once again, nobody had asked the question before.

  Why, I dont know, she said.

  Pendergast smiled, waved his hand. Do continue.

  They passed on to the Infinity Pool, where Winifred was disappointed that he did not make a wishthe collecting of tossed coins had once been a profitable sideline. From the Pool, the walkway looped back to the Krystal Kathedral where they had begun. She finished her lecture, shook Pendergasts hand, and was surprised but pleased to find herself generously tipped. Then, slowly, she led the way back up the wooden stairs to the surface world. At the top, the heat struck her like a hammer. She paused again.

  As I mentioned, all tour members are allowed a ten percent discount from the gift shop on the day of their tour. She hustled back into the shop and was not disappointed when Pendergast followed.

  I should like to see the needlepoint, he said.

  Of course. She directed him to the display case, where he spent a great deal of time poring over the work before choosing a beautiful cross-stitched pillowcase. Winifred was especially pleased because it was one she had done herself.

  My dear Great-Aunt Cornelia will adore this, Pendergast said as he paid for the pillowcase. Shes an invalid, you see, and can only take pleasure in small things.

  Winifred smiled as she gift-wrapped the parcel. It was so nice having a gentleman like Mr. Pendergast around. And how thoughtful to think of his elderly relation. Winifred was sure Pendergasts great-aunt would love the pillowcase.

  Ten

  Corrie Swanson sat on the little folding bunk in the lone holding cell of the Medicine Creek jail, staring at the graffiti that covered the peeling walls. There was quite a lot of it, and despite the variety of inks and handwritings, it was remarkably consistent in subject matter. She could hear the television set blaring in the sheriffs office up front. It was one of those sick soap operas for housewives with empty lives, complete with quavering organ music and hysterical female sobbing. And she could hear the sheriff moving noisily around the office in his clown shoes, restlessly, like a ferret in a cage, rustling paper and making phone calls. How could such a short man have such big feet? And smoking, toothe place stank. Four more hours and her mom would be sober enough to come down and get her. So here she was, being taught a lessonher mothers wordslistening to the comings and goings of the worlds most ratlike human being. Some lesson. Well, it wasnt any worse than sitting at home, listening to her mothers nagging or drunken snoring. And the folding bunk was at least as comfortable as the broken-down mattress in her own bedroom.

  She heard a door slam in the outer office, footsteps, muffled greetings. Corrie recognized one of the voices. It was Brad Hazen, the sheriffs son and her classmate, with his jock friends. They said something about going into the back to check out the TV.

  Quickly, she lay down on the bunk and turned her face to the wall.

  She heard them moving around the inner office. One of them started changing the television channels, finger held to the button as it clicked through one raspy channel after another: game shows, soaps, cartoons, all divided by loud blasts of white noise.

  Search unsuccessful, the shuffling of footsteps and grunted comments began again. Corrie heard them pass the open doorway to the back room, where her cell was located. There was a sudden pause and then Brad spoke in a low undertone. Hey guys, check out whos here. Well, well, well.

  She heard them shuffling through the doorway, snickering and whispering. There were at least two of them, maybe three. No doubt Chad was one of them, and probably Biff, too. Brad, Chad, and Biff. The fucking Hardy Boys.

  Someone made a low farting sound with his lips. There was suppressed laughter.

  Whats that smell? It was Brad again. Somebody step in it?

  More low laughter. Whatd you do this time?

  Corrie spoke without turning around. Your Deputy Dawg John Q. Ratface left his car running, keys in the ignition, windows down, for half an hour in front of the Wagon Wheel while he refueled on eclairs. How could I resist?

  My what?

  Your Ripleys Believe It or Not amazing chain-smoking eclair-to-shit converting dad.

  What the hell are you talking about? The voice was rising.

  Yourfather, dork.

  Muffled laughter from his two friends.

  What a twat, Brad said. At least Ivegot a father. Which is more than I can say for you. And you dont exactly have much of a mother, either. He cackled and someoneChad, probablymade another disgusting sound with his mouth.

  The town slut. She was in this cell just last month, wasnt she, on a drunk and disorderly. Like mother, like daughter. Guess the apple never falls far from the tree. Or in your case, the shit never falls far from the asshole.

  There was another burst of smothered laughter. Corrie lay still, facing the wall.

  Brad resumed his whisper. Hey, did you read the paper today? Says the murderer might be local. Maybe a devil worshiper. You fit the bill, with that fucked-up purple hair and black eye makeup. Is that what you do at night? Go out and do mumbo-jumbo?

  Thats right, Brad, said Corrie, still not turnin
g around. At the dark of each moon, I bathe in the blood of a newborn lamb and recite the Curse of the Nine Gates, and then I summon Lucifer to wither your dick. If you have one.

  This brought forth another muffled snicker from Brads friends, but Brad didnt join in.

  Bitch,Brad muttered. He advanced a step and lowered his voice still further. Look at you. You think youre so cool, all dressed in black. Well, yourenot cool. Youre a loser. And Ill bet for once youre not lying. Ill bet youdo go out at night for a little animal killing. Or better yet, animal fucking. He gave a low chuckle. Because noman would ever want to screw you, you freak.

  If I see anymen around here Ill let you know, Corrie replied.

  She heard the door into the back room open and a sudden silence fell. The sheriff spoke, his voice low, calm, and full of menace.

  Brad? Just what do you think youre doing?

  Oh, hi, Dad. We were just talking to Corrie here, thats all.

  Is that so?

  Right.

  Dont bullshit me. I know exactly what you were doing.

  There was a tense silence.

  You harass a prisoner of mine again and Ill book you and lock you up myself. You hear me?

  Yes, Dad.

  Now get the hell out, you and your friends. Youre late for scrimmage.

  There was the sound of guilty shuffling as Brad and his friends left the cellblock. You all right, Swanson? the sheriff asked gruffly.

  Corrie ignored the question. Soon the door closed and she lay there, alone once again, listening to the sounds of the television and the voices in the outer office. She tried to keep her breathing normal, tried to forget what Brad had said. One more year and she was out of this loser town, this butt-crack capital of Kansas. One more year. Then it was goodbye, Medicine Shit Creek. It occurred to her, for the millionth time, that if she hadnt blown it in tenth grade shed already be out of here. And now she had done it to herself again. Well, no use thinking about that.

  The door to the outer office tinkled again. Someone new had come in. A conversation began in the outer office. Was it Tad, the deputy? Or her mother, sober for once? But nothe new arrival, whoever it was, spoke so softly that Corrie couldnt tell if it was a man or a woman. The sheriffs voice, on the other hand, took on a hard edge, but Corrie couldnt make out the words over the blaring of the television set.

  Eventually, she heard footsteps enter the back room.

  Swanson?

  It was the sheriff. She heard him draw heavily on his cigarette and smelled the fresh smoke. There was a rattle of keys, a click as her cell was unlocked. The rusty iron door creaked as it opened.

  Youre out of here.

  She didnt move. Hazens voice sounded particularly thick. Something had made him mad.

  Someone just made your bail.

  Still she didnt move. And the other voice spoke. It was low and soft, with an unfamiliar accent.

  Miss Swanson? You are free to leave.

  Who are you? she asked without turning around. Did Mom send you?

  No. I am Special Agent Pendergast of the FBI.

  God. It was that creepy-looking man in the undertakers getup shed seen walking around town.

  I dont need your help, she said.

  His voice still heavy with annoyance, Hazen said to Pendergast, Maybe you shouldve saved your money and stayed out of local law enforcement business.

  But Corrie had grown curious despite herself. After a moment, she asked, Whats the catch?

  Well speak about it outside, said Pendergast.

  So thereis a catch. I can just imagine what it is, you pervert.

  Sheriff Hazen issued a burst of laughter that degenerated into a smokers hack. Pendergast, whatd I tell you?

  Corrie remained curled on the folding bed. She wondered why this Pendergast was offering to bail her out. It was clear that Hazen didnt particularly like Pendergast. She remembered a phrase: the enemy of your enemy is your friend. She sat up and looked around. There he was, the undertaker, arms folded, looking at her pensively. The little bulldog Hazen stood next to him, arms squared, scalp glistening under the thinning crew cut, razor rash on his face.

  So I can just get up and walk out of here? she asked.

  If thats what you want, Pendergast replied.

  She got up, brushed past the FBI agent, past the sheriff, and headed toward the door.

  Dont forget your car keys, called Hazen.

  She paused in the door, turned, held out her hand. The sheriff was standing there, dangling them in his hand. He made no move to give them to her. She took a step forward and snatched them.

  Your cars out back in the lot, he said. You can settle up the seventy-five-dollar towing fee later.

  Corrie opened the door and went outside. After the air-conditioned jail, it felt like walking into hot soup. Blinking against the glare, she made her way around the corner and down the alley to the little parking lot behind the sheriffs office. There was her Gremlin, and there, leaning against it, was the pervert in the black suit. As she approached, he stepped forward and opened the door for her. She got in without a word and slammed the door behind her. Slipping the key into the ignition, she cranked the engine, and after turning over a few times it coughed into life, laying down a huge cloud of oily smoke. The man in black stepped away. She waited a moment, then leaned out the window.

  Thanks, she said grudgingly.

  It was my pleasure.

  She pressed the accelerator and the car stalled.Shit.

  She restarted it, revved a few times. More smoke poured out. The FBI man was still there. What the hell did he want? She had to admit, he didnt really look like a pervert. Curiosity finally got the better of her and she leaned out the window once again.

  All right, Mr. Special Agent. Whats the catch?

  Ill tell you while you give me a lift back to Winifred Krauss place. Thats where Im staying.

  Corrie Swanson hesitated, then opened the door. Get in. She swept a heap of McDonalds trash off the passenger seat onto the floor. I hope youre not going to do something stupid.

  The FBI agent smiled and slid in beside her as smoothly as a cat. You can trust me, Miss Swanson. Can I trust you?

  She looked at him. No.

  She popped the clutch and peeled out of the parking lot, leaving behind a pall of oilsmoke and a nice ten-inch pair of tire marks on the sheriffs asphalt. As she careened out of the alley and slewed onto the street, she was gratified to see the stumpy little sheriff tumble angrily out the door and start to shout something just as her black contrail obliterated him from view.

  Eleven

  The commercial district of Medicine Creek, Kansas, consisted of three dun-colored blocks of brick and wooden shopfronts. It took Corrie three, perhaps four heartbeats to reach its edge. As she jammed on the accelerator, the rusted frame of the Gremlin began to shake. There was a pile of some three dozen tapes littering the space between the front seats: her favorite death metal, dark ambient, industrial, and grindcore music. She riffled through them with one hand, passing over Discharge, Shinjuku Thief, and Fleshcrawl before finally selecting Lustmord. The dislocated, eldritch sounds of Heresy, Part I began to fill the small car. Her mother refused to let her play her music out loud in the house, so shed retrofitted a tape player to the old Gremlin.

  Speaking of her dear, nurturing parent, it was going to be a bitch going home. By now, her mother would be half drunk, half hungoverthe worst combination. She decided shed drop this Pendergast guy off at the old Kraus place, then go park under the powerlines and kill a few hours with a book.

  She glanced over at the FBI man. So, whats with the black suit? Somebody die?

  Like you, Im rather partial to the color.

  She snorted. Whats this catch you were talking about?

  I need a car and driver.

  Corrie had to laugh. What, me and my stretch AMC Gremlin?

  I came by bus and Im finding it rather inconvenient to be on foot.

  Youve got to be kidding. The muffler is shot
, the thing goes through a quart of oil a week, theres no AC, and the interior is so full of fumes Ive got to keep the windows open, even in winter.

  I propose compensation of a hundred dollars a day for the car and driver, plus a standard rate of thirty-one cents per mile for fuel and depreciation.

  A hundred bucks was more money than Corrie had ever seen at one time. This couldnt be happening, it had to be some kind of bullshit. If youre a hotshot FBI special agent, wheres your own car and driver?

  Since Im technically on vacation, I havent been issued a car.

  Yeah, but why me?

  Quite simple. I need someone who knows Medicine Creek, who has a car, and has nothing better to do. You fit the bill. Youre no longer a minor, correct?

  Just turned eighteen. But Ive got another year of high school. And then Im out of this Kansas shithole.

  I hope to have concluded my work here long before school begins next month. The important thing is, youdo know Medicine Creekdont you?

  She laughed. If hating is knowing. Have you thought about what the sheriffs going to think about this arrangement?

  I expect hell be glad you found gainful employment.

  Corrie shook her head. You dont know much, do you?

  That lack of knowledge is what I hope to rectify. Leave me to deal with the sheriff. Now, do we have a deal, Miss Swanson?

  A hundred bucks a day? Of course we have a deal. And please, do I look like a Miss Swanson to you? Call me Corrie.

  I shall call you Miss Swanson and you shall call me Special Agent Pendergast.

  She rolled her eyes and swept purple hair out of her face. Okay,Special Agent Pendergast.

  Thank you, Miss Swanson.

  The man slid a wallet out of his suit coat and removed five hundred-dollar bills. She could hardly take her eyes off the money as he casually unwired her broken glove compartment, placed the bills inside, and wired it back up. Keep a written record of your mileage. Any overtime beyond eight hours daily will be paid at twenty dollars an hour. The five hundred dollars is your first weeks pay in advance.

  He pulled something else out of his suit coat. And here is your cell phone. Keep it turned on at all times, even when charging at night. Do not make or receive personal calls.

 

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