“Yep.”
As he walked off, I thought about how long an hour could be. I was still holding one of the chairs, so I unfolded it and sat down.
There was some shuffling inside, and then the prisoner whispered, “You still there?”
I didn’t answer.
“I know you’re there ’cause I can hear you breathing.” He shuffled closer, and I could tell he was right on the other side of the door. “I know he told you not to talk to me, but just listen, okay?”
I waited.
“Would you open that slat so that I can see your face?”
I still said nothing.
“I know he told you to not open it, but I can’t stand talking to someone and not knowing what they look like.” After a few seconds, his voice sounded against the metal door again. “I got too much imagination, that’s the problem, see?”
Involuntarily, I grunted.
He laughed. “I need you to look at me just to make sure I’m still here. . . . Just slide that slat aside, would you?”
“They told me not to.”
“Hey, hey . . . I’ve got only so much time, but you need to listen to me, because if you don’t, more people are going to get killed.”
“What do you mean?”
“Open the slat.”
“No.”
There was a pause. “My brother. Hey, hey . . . look, I know I’m crazy, but I’m not the only one.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You gotta listen to me. . . . Please open the slat; I need someone to see me so that I know I’m still here.”
I found myself leaning forward and slowly sliding the larger grate to the side where I could see the haunted eyes, one larger than the other.
“I wasn’t the one that killed those girls.”
I sat there silently, thinking about what the man had just said.
“Did you hear me? I didn’t kill a one of those girls.”
There was some yelling and noise coming from the tunnel outside the cage that connected the two halls, and I stood, looking into the darkness.
“I’m tellin’ ya, mister, my brother arrested me, but I’m not the killer. I was on a date with that girl the night she was killed, but so was John.”
There was more noise, so I began walking when I noticed that the cage door was hanging open. Leaning to one side, I could see the tunnel but not as far as the first lightbulb. Taking a few steps, I eased past the doors against the far wall as somebody threw himself against it. I pushed the cage gate the rest of the way open and stepped through, peering down the tunnel where I could see that the lightbulbs were on until about halfway and after that, there was nothing but darkness.
I stood there for a moment and then thought that I could see something moving in the shadows. “Schafer?”
Whatever it was that was moving, it stopped.
I glanced back toward criminal row, but nothing had changed there. I took another step toward the tunnel and listened, feeling a stillness in my hands and a coolness coming over my face the way it always did.
Something moved in the hallway again and a lightbulb exploded, leaving only two between the darkness and me.
I slowly zipped up the front of my jacket, figuring a layer of horsehide would be a wise precaution, and then slipped on my gloves, pulling them tight across my knuckles.
It was strange that Schafer and Bernard would both leave me here, but I figured whoever it was that was knocking out the lights was up to no good.
I stepped into the middle of the opening, stood up straight to a full six and a half feet, and spread my arms out a little to make an even larger impression. “Whoever you are, maybe you better step into the light so that I can see you.”
Someone whimpered.
“I don’t want to hurt you, but I don’t intend to be hurt myself.”
Someone edged into the light just a bit, and I could make out a figure in a long light-colored smock or dress, with some kind of tiny pattern in the fabric, a curled-up crippled hand twisting and untwisting the cotton up near the shoulder.
I raised a hand. “Stop right there.”
Whoever it was ceased moving; whoever it was, they were tall and incredibly thin.
“Are you one of the patients here?”
Nothing.
“Can I help you?”
More nothing.
I took a step farther into the tunnel. “Look, I don’t work here, so I’m not sure who you are or what you need. I’m just trying to be helpful until the regular staff arrives.”
I could see in the half shadows that behind the hair the patient was female.
“Miss?”
She studied me. Her eyes were dark, the pupils dense with hardly any reflection in them, and her lip sagged a little on one side. She began keening like a dog, but higher pitched, like a siren. Her chest swelled and her breath gave out, but she sucked in savagely and started again, almost pitch perfect to where she had left off.
“Miss?”
She took a step forward, and I could see her face plainly now. There were dark circles under her eyes and a pointed chin that was thrust out at me as she continued to emit a sound that wavered between a scream and an aria.
I took another step closer. “Miss?”
She jerked back and looked straight at me, the dark eyes focused as she spoke in a high voice. “I didn’t mean to do it.”
It was about then that I saw the knife.
12
“Press conference—this afternoon at four thirty.”
“Late for a Friday.” The Bear nodded, looking down at the alley like a peregrine falcon and then leaning on the railing. “Just enough time to make the announcement and answer a few questions.”
Vic joined him. “But not too many.”
“And then run out the door.” He shook his head. “Flight being the better part of valor in politics.”
Sitting in the rocking chair, which I had positioned in a pool of sunshine, I leaned back and rocked a bit, Lola sleeping soundly on my chest. “Why do you suppose they don’t want me there?”
“Because you might be right.” He turned and looked at me. “In my limited experience with politicians, I have learned that you do not have to be right all the time, but that it is absolutely essential to never appear wrong.”
“I think I’ll do what they want and skip it. My being there will just throw more kerosene on the fire.”
Vic pushed off the railing, stuck a hand on her hip, and studied me. “Do you mind if I ask how the hell this change of mind happened?”
I stared at the redwood planks on the deck where Dog lay snoozing. “I think I’m letting my pride get in the way of doing my job.” I glanced up, cupping a hand on Lola’s back as I repositioned myself. “This is not within the strict purview of my job description.”
She shook her head. “And your purview is?”
“Law enforcement on a county level. Heck, I’m not even in my county.”
She glanced at Henry in disbelief and then back at me. “You were asked to be here and testify in a parole hearing for an inmate who isn’t able to travel and, as it turns out, isn’t capable of even participating in the hearing.”
“So why don’t I just go home?”
“Um, because you’ve been trying to keep him locked up for decades?”
Alexia called out to us from the kitchen window. “Sheriff, would you, Miss Vic, and Mr. Bear like some iced tea?”
It was tempting, but I was getting antsy. “No, thanks, Alexia. I think we’re going to go out for lunch.” I stood and moved toward the door with Dog following. “Do you want to put Lola in her crib?”
She appeared in the doorway, pushed open the screen, and took her from me. “Would you like me to wake Mr. Lucian?”
“No, this is hi
s midmorning nap, not to be confused with his early afternoon nap, or his late afternoon nap.” She nodded and disappeared with Dog following, and I turned to the dynamic duo. “And then there were three.”
The Bear started down the steps as Vic and I followed. “He seems to be sleeping a lot lately.”
My undersheriff shrugged. “Well, he’s like a thousand years old.”
We turned the corner and continued our descent. “Have you heard anything from the home office?”
“I spoke with Saizarbitoria, and he says nobody’s set fire to the county, if that’s what you mean.”
I half smiled as we crossed the alley and approached my truck from the rear. “Maybe we’ll all just head north tomorrow and try not to make this into something about me.”
Vic looked past me. “What the fuck?”
Henry followed her gaze to my windshield, which looked as though someone had fired a mortar through it.
I unlocked the door, pulled it open, and watched as a cascade of tiny safety-glass chips fell out onto the ground. I glanced around, looking to see what might’ve fallen through the windshield. The culprit was nestled on the floorboard next to the transfer case shifter. Reaching in, I grabbed the thing and held it up as the Cheyenne Nation opened the passenger side and Vic crowded my shoulder, both of them looking at the item in my hand.
Vic summed it up. “It’s a rock.”
“Yep, it is.” About the size of a softball, it was in fact a river rock, marbled in complexion with an explosion of glass dust stuck on one side where it had gone through my windshield. Ignoring the safety hazard, I wiped it off with my glove. Someone had left me a message in heavy, black Magic Marker:
BACK OFF!!!!
I held it out for Henry to read.
“Evidently they thought that smashing the windshield was not exclamation enough.”
—
Her shoulders had swayed just a bit as if that arm was disconnected from her body, and that’s probably why I noticed the knife at all. There were people talking, their voices echoing off the stone walls, but they sounded far away, unlike her voice, which resonated in my head.
I slowly stepped to the middle of the hallway, giving myself room to move if I needed to. “Ma’am.”
“I didn’t mean to do it.”
“Is your name Annie?” She didn’t say anything but lowered her head a bit so that she was looking at me through the tangle of hair. “They said your name is Annie.”
I thought I could hear more noises behind her, closer this time. She turned her head a bit but never took her eyes off me. I figured the best thing was to keep the conversation going, even if it was a little one-sided. “Have you seen Bernard or Sheriff Schafer? They were here a few minutes ago and said they would be right back.”
“I didn’t mean to do it.”
“I know, Annie—they told me.” I raised my hands just to show her I didn’t mean any harm. “Sometimes we do things that we feel sorry about afterward. I’ve done things I wish I hadn’t done, honest.”
Her eyes unfocused as she looked up at the last remaining lightbulb, and I thought that I might be getting through to her. It was in that instant that she moved, rattlesnake fast, and swung the knife straight for the bulb; I jumped back as it shattered, leaving us there in the dark.
I heard a noise again and I was sure she was closer, but with the limited light behind me I could only guess where. It was probably slipping on the damp, smooth concrete floor that saved me.
She thrust the butcher knife past my abdomen as I fell against the far wall and scrambled backward as she advanced, swinging it at me again.
I could hear the sound of the blade as it sliced the air. Retreating to the cage door, I stumbled through and reached for the gate, but she was too fast and slashed at the chain link, the sparks flying off as I yanked my hand away.
I stumbled for the next gate and had just closed my hands on it when I felt something catch and rip down my back, but I ignored it and swung the gate shut. The lock cylinder was turned so that it was open, and I didn’t have a key, but lodged my boot against the bottom as she threw herself against it with a scream that sounded like a hyena.
At maybe a hundred pounds, she bounced off the thing a few times, and then screamed again. She stood there on the other side, breathing hard and looking at me.
“Annie, you need to stop this.”
She lunged at the gate again, this time noticing that it bowed out in the middle, then lowered her head to look at my boot, just on the other side.
“Oh, hell.”
I yanked my foot away as she dropped to the ground and jammed the knife through the chain link, barely missing my toes. Grabbing the top of the gate, I held it shut with one hand as she stood and pushed the knife through the middle, missing the front of my jacket by inches.
I thought I’d hit on a method of holding her at bay when she feinted to the bottom and then swung at my fingers at the top again. The knife scraped across my knuckles, and I was forced to yank my hand away just as she threw herself into the partially open gate.
I unzipped my horsehide jacket and slipped it off, draping it from my left hand. I backed away as she approached again. “Annie, I don’t want to hurt you, but I will.”
Swinging the jacket, I wrapped it around my arm and got ready to make a move on a woman less than half my size. I figured if I got my wrapped arm between us, I’d just use all the training I’d had at USC against those thousand-pound blocking sleds.
It might kill her, but I didn’t figure I had any choice.
“Annie?”
We both heard the voice behind me, but I didn’t dare turn.
“Annie, you need to not hurt him.” She stood still. “You don’t want to hurt anybody, Annie. I know that—you didn’t mean to do it before, right?”
She turned. “I . . .”
“Did you?”
Her head shifted like the carriage on a typewriter, stuttering, starting, and then still.
He continued talking, his voice muffled from behind the heavy door. “You need to stop attacking this man.”
Her eyes came back to me before looking down at the knife, which she regarded as if she’d never seen it before. She dropped it and then looked up as it rattled onto the floor. “I didn’t mean to do it.”
She leaned against the wall and then slowly slid down to the floor, her hands in front of her in a supplicating position overtop of her folded legs, almost as if a valve had opened and the air had left her.
Taking a step forward, I toed the blade, spun the handle around, and picked it up. She stared at the floor and ignored me as I stood and backed away, stuffing the knife in my belt and looking at the still open trap in the heavy door where I saw a battered, scabbed pair of hands clutched together in a prayer.
—
“It’s a rock.”
“As the head of the Wyoming Department of Criminal Investigation’s lab, is that your expert opinion?”
“Pretty much.” T. J. Sherwin held exhibit A out to me. “It’s a river rock, if that helps—from, say, a river. I can call up the state geologist and get a second opinion, but I think he’s going to agree with me that it’s a rock.”
I turned and looked at Henry and then at Vic, who was covering her face to keep from laughing. “You know, that’s the problem with modern law enforcement, rampant smart-ass-ism.” I turned back to look at T.J., still holding the clue. “What can you tell me about the writing?”
She studied it. “It’s English, and I think a black marker was used.”
“Not permanent?”
Unable to hold back, Vic joined in. “What is these days?”
T.J. shrugged, her head dropping to one side in disbelief. “What do you want from me, Walt? Rocks don’t make for good fingerprinting, and even if we got a marginal print, it’s going to be a needle in a ha
ystack.” She looked at the softball-size stone again. “You want a handwriting analysis on two words in block print?”
“I don’t suppose you’ve seen anything like this before?”
She snapped a finger and pointed it at me. “Oh yeah, now that you mention it, there’s a serial windshield smasher that’s been running around the state doing just this type of dastardly deed.” She gestured with the sample. “And this, this right here is the one piece of evidence that we needed to put together a lineup. We were thinking of calling in Duane ‘The Rock’ Johnson, or maybe Kid Rock? How about Chris Rock or Rock Hudson?”
“He’s dead.”
“See? We’re narrowing the field already.”
Vic grunted. “Rocky Marciano, Rocky Colavito, Rocky Bleier . . .”
I dismissed her with a glance. “You’re not helping.”
T.J. handed the rock back to me. “No, there have been no other cases such as this—it’s groundbreaking, actually.”
“Not funny.”
She shrugged again and walked us down the hallway toward the front offices and the main entrance of the converted supermarket that served as DCI headquarters. “You’re under a lot of pressure lately.”
“A little.”
“I read the article in today’s paper.” She suddenly smiled. “Did you really threaten to kick Mike Barr’s ass?”
“Not in so many words.” I glanced at the Bear, who had headed for the parking lot and was now leaning on the Bullet’s grille guard, his face turned toward the sun like an Aztec’s. “I think I actually threatened him with the Cheyenne Nation.”
She glanced around as we crossed the reception area to the door. She opened it and looked out at the gorgeous day. “I’m sorry, Walt. Realistically, there just isn’t anything I can do.”
I clutched my rock and gave the head of Wyoming’s DCI a one-armed hug just to show there were no hard feelings. “I’ll see you around.”
She pointed at the evidence. “If I hear anything, I’ll let you know.” She smiled. “I’ll call Vic’s cell phone.”
The Western Star Page 17