Stone Rain

by Linwood Barclay

  “Fuck, Leo, would you relax? I’ve worked out a deal with the ladies here. You stay here with—which one are you?”

  “Ludmilla,” said Ludmilla.

  “You stay here with Ludmilla.”

  “I could stay,” Gavrilla said. “Why don’t you go back to the restaurant?” she said to her sister.

  “I already said I would stay,” Ludmilla said. “Didn’t I, Mom?”

  Mrs. Gorkin wasn’t going to tolerate this for a minute. “Gavrilla, you come with me. Ludmilla, you stay, make sure this man stay till this man here comes back with the money. Here.” She handed Ludmilla her gun.

  “Hey,” said Leo. “What’s she need a gun for?”

  “To shoot you,” Gary said offhandedly. “If you try to leave before I get back with the money.”

  “Oh,” said Leo.

  Ludmilla took the gun and ran the barrel down the side of Leo’s arm. “Don’t worry, honey. It just keeps everyone honest.”

  “I guess,” Leo said. “Why do I have to keep the kid?”

  Katie had gone over to our couch, sat down. She looked ahead vacantly. I wondered whether she was in some sort of shock.

  “Look at her,” Merker said. “How much trouble can she be?”

  “Well, okay. How long you going to be?”

  “I don’t know. That depends on shithead here,” he said, pointing at me. “You gotta get us into that jail to see what’s-her-face. You know her as Trixie, right?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “So start setting it up.”

  “How on earth am I supposed to do that?”

  Merker shrugged. “Maybe you should figure something out. If you can’t, we can always have some fun with the kid.”

  I swallowed. “Let me think,” I said. Trixie had mentioned the name of her lawyer when she’d been arrested at the Bennet farmhouse. I closed my eyes, tried to think of it. It had something to do with a dog. Something dogs do. Not bite, not sniff, not—

  Wag. Wagland. Niles Wagland.

  “I have an idea,” I said. “I can call her lawyer. Maybe he can get me in. Let me go check on the computer, I can probably find an office number online—” I stopped myself. “No.”

  “What?” asked Merker. “What do you mean, no?”

  I tilted my head toward Mrs. Gorkin. “She kind of disabled my computer.”

  “What the fuck did you do that for?” Merker asked her.

  Mrs. Gorkin, untroubled by Merker’s attacks, shrugged. “Computer was bad.”

  “I can check the phone book,” I said. Merker followed me into the kitchen, where I pulled a thick Yellow Pages out of a cupboard below the phone. I thumbed through the pages until I found dozens of pages for law offices.

  “Hurry up,” said Merker.

  “Just give me a second,” I said. Not taking my eyes off the pages, I asked him, “What about Katie’s folks? The Bennets? Do they know you have her? They must be worried sick about her. You should at least call them. Let me call them. Let me tell them that she’s okay.”

  When Merker said nothing, I looked at him. He grinned. “Be kind of hard to reach them now,” he said.

  A chill ran through me. “What are you saying?” I asked quietly.

  “I’m just saying, they ain’t taking calls anymore.”

  “They’re dead? Are you saying they’re dead?”

  Merker’s grin disappeared and he leaned in to me, putting his mouth close to my ear. “The kid’ll be joining them, and you too, if you don’t find this fucking lawyer and get in to see her.”

  I turned my eyes back to the phone book, and found my hand shaking as I turned the pages. I needed to pull myself together. I was unable to focus. I blinked a couple of times, gave my head a shake.

  I could find no listing for Niles Wagland.

  “I’m going to have to call information for Oakwood,” I said. “Her lawyer may be out there. It only makes sense she’d pick one in her own town.”

  “Just don’t do anything funny,” he said.

  I picked up the phone, dialed, got a number for a Wagland law office in Oakwood. Once I had the number, I punched it in, and a woman answered on the fourth ring.

  “I need to speak to Mr. Wagland,” I said.

  “I’m sorry, but Mr. Wagland is in a meeting. Who’s calling?”

  “My name is Zack Walker. I’m a friend of Trixie Snelling. Make that Miranda Chicoine.”

  “If you’d like to leave your number, I’m sure he’ll get back to you when—”

  My voice went up a notch. “This is very important. I must speak to Mr. Wagland right now.”

  “I’m sure it is, Mr. Walker, but I’m sure you can understand—”

  “No! Right now, you have to understand that I must speak to Mr. Wagland immediately. This is a life-or-death matter concerning his client Ms. Chicoine.”

  “I see.” She paused. “Just a moment please.”

  I was put on hold. “That was good,” said Merker, who’d been holding his head close enough to the receiver to listen. “You were very good.” I did not acknowledge the compliment.

  A click. Then a voice. “Niles Wagland.”

  “Mr. Wagland, this is Zack Walker.”

  “Yes, Mr. Walker. I’m in the middle of a meeting here, but my secretary indicated your call was very urgent.”

  “I need to see Trixie. Miranda.”

  “Ms. Chicoine is in custody, Mr. Walker. I would have thought that you’d know that. My understanding, from speaking with her, is that you were present when she was arrested. She’s already indicated to me that if anyone asks, you were trying to persuade her to turn herself in, so I don’t think you have any cause for concern.”

  “That’s not what I’m calling about. I need to see her. I don’t even know which facility she’s being held in. But I need to get in and speak with her.”

  “What about?”

  “It’s very important, to her.”

  “I’m her attorney, Mr. Walker. Anything that concerns Ms. Chicoine you can discuss with me.”

  Merker shook his head.

  “I’d like to, Mr. Wagland, but I have something I must tell Ms. Chicoine, in person. If she decides to share that information with you, I guess that would be up to her.”

  “This is highly irregular. And I can’t just pick up the phone and arrange for you to visit someone in a correctional facility.”

  “I figured that a call from you to the facility might carry more weight than one from me. Mr. Wagland, I wish I could be more specific, but if you can’t get me in to see Trixie—Miranda—then something very, very awful might happen.”

  Wagland was quiet a moment. “What sort of thing?”

  “I can’t say.” I paused. “So Miranda has spoken to you of me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Has she said anything to indicate that I’m less than trustworthy? That I’d have anything but her best interests at heart?”

  “No.”

  “You have to trust me on this.”

  “Give me your number. I’ll see what I can do and will call you back.”

  “Thank you.” I gave him the number and hung up.

  As I turned to face Merker he grabbed the front of my shirt and shoved me up against the wall. He had his face in mine, and I could see a small booger half hanging out of one nostril. “You were supposed to get in and see her.”

  “Jesus,” I said, trying to back away with no place to go. “He said he’s going to see what he can do and call back. Weren’t you listening? You think I can get in to see her just like that?”

  “Fuck,” Merker said, turning away. “How long before he calls?”

  “I don’t know. We’ll just have to sit tight and see.”

  Mrs. Gorkin appeared at the kitchen door. “What is happening?”

  Merker said, “We’re waiting for a call back.”

  In the living room, I could hear Ludmilla and Leo chatting like old friends. “What kind of food do you like?” she asked.

  “I li
ke everything,” Leo said.

  “I am a good cook.”

  “Yeah, of crap,” said Gavrilla. Mrs. Gorkin went back to the living room and yelled at her girls to shut up.

  “So let’s say I get in,” I said to Merker. “What do you want me to do?”

  “You ask her where the money is. You tell her we got her kid. She doesn’t tell, we kill the kid. Do you need me to write it down?”

  “No,” I said. “What if there is no money? What if whatever you say she took from you is all gone? What then?”

  Merker considered that. “Then we got a problem.” He wandered over to the fridge, where a few family snapshots were held on with magnets. There was one there of me, in a tux, with Sarah, decked out in a black gown, taken at a newspaper awards dinner a few months ago. Neither of us had been up for anything, but a reporting team Sarah had overseen had been nominated for an investigative series on city hall contract rigging. Merker studied it.

  “Who’s the broad?” he asked.

  “My wife,” I said.

  “Nice rack,” he said. I didn’t feel like acknowledging that, either.

  I decided to change the subject. “What led you to me?”

  Merker said, “I listen to the news. They had the story about Trixie getting caught up in Kelton, they mentioned your name, that you worked for the paper, that you tried to talk her into turning herself in, and I figured you’d be a good guy to talk to.” He paused and studied my face. “We’ve met before, haven’t we?”

  “Only briefly,” I said. “I was there when you were trying to get the cops to buy your supply of stun guns.”

  “Fuck, yeah. That really pissed me off, you know? That was you, right, who did the story for the paper? That fucked up everything. Once that ran, the deal went queer. People start asking questions, cops start taking heat about buying my merchandise.”

  “Because it’s hot,” I said.

  Merker grinned at me. “Where you hear that?”

  “One of your old friends back in Canborough. Michael Cherry. That was his guess.”

  “Fucking Mikey. You were talking to him?”

  “Yeah. I talked to a lot of people, trying to track down Trixie.”

  “What’d Mikey tell you?”

  “About what?”

  “About me.”

  “You ran the Kickstart. Some bad things went down. You lost some people, got out of town.”

  “He tell you about that?”

  “A little.”

  “He tell you who did it? Who killed my boys?”

  “No. He doesn’t know. I think he thinks it might have been you. That you cut a deal with the other gang in town, they paid you off, you wasted your own guys.”

  “He thinks that?”

  “It’s a theory.”

  “It’s pretty fucking wrong,” Merker said. “It was that bitch, that friend of yours, did it.”

  I said nothing.

  “You don’t even look surprised,” he said. “She tell you? She tell you what she did?”

  “She told me what you did. That you killed the father of her child, that the bunch of you raped her.”

  Merker shrugged. “She was a stripper.”

  “I thought she did your books for you.”

  “Okay, she used to be a stripper, but what’s your point? She’s just a bit sensitive, you know? I’d a been a lot smarter, let her keep stripping, instead of looking after the money. Talk about getting fucked in the ass over that one. She robbed me blind.”

  The phone rang. I grabbed it before the first ring had finished. “Hello?”

  “It’s Wagland. It’s set up. Eleven o’clock.”

  “Where?”

  “Clayton Correctional Facility.”

  “That’s an all-women’s prison, right? North Oakwood?”

  “Yes,” Wagland said. “Mr. Walker, I had to pull in a couple of favors there to set this up, and that wasn’t easy, when I don’t have the foggiest notion why you have to see her.”

  “I know. I appreciate that. You’re doing the right thing.”

  “I better be, Mr. Walker. For your sake, I better be.” He hung up.

  “Perfect,” said Merker. “We better saddle up, pardner.”

  Mrs. Gorkin returned to the kitchen, followed by Leo and Ludmilla, who was dragging Katie by the arm. “Well?” she said.

  “It’s set up,” Merker said. “Walker and I are going to pay a visit to the bitch who owes me. We find out where the cash is, we get it, we come back, I give you your share, we’re done.”

  “And then you give him”—she pointed at me—“to us.”

  “Yeah. And I get Leo back.”

  Ludmilla, still holding the gun in one hand, squeezed Leo’s arm. “I might decide to keep him.”

  Leo chuckled, and then his eyes landed on the fridge. “You got anything to eat here?” he asked of no one in particular.

  He opened the door, leaned down, examining each rack. “Fuck, there’s nothing in here to eat. Haven’t you got—hang on, what’s this?”

  He brought out a white Styrofoam container. Written on top, in black marker, were the words “EAT THIS AND DIE—PAUL.”

  Leo flipped open the lid, saw the old burger and fries, and smiled ear to ear. “Fuck you, Paul,” he said. “You’ll have to find some other leftovers. This is mine. Where’s your microwave?”

  35

  I TOLD MERKER I needed a moment with Katie before we left.

  She’d moved from the couch and was standing at the living room window, peering through a gap in the curtains, as though waiting for someone who’d never arrive. I knelt down beside her, but it was like I wasn’t there.

  “Katie,” I said. “Katie, look at me. I need to know that you’re listening to me.” She turned her head slightly. “I know things may look bad right now, but I’m going to see if I can make things okay. Maybe not as okay as they were before, but better than they are now.”

  Katie sniffed.

  “I promise you I’ll do the best I can,” I said.

  Katie sniffed again, and she opened her mouth. “Are you going to get me my other mommy?” she asked.

  “I’m supposed to be going to see her now,” I said. “I hope I can get in to see her.”

  “Can you tell her something?” Katie asked.

  “What’s that, sweetheart?”

  “Tell her my other mommy can’t be my mommy anymore, so I need her to be my mommy all the time instead of just once in a while.”

  I nodded. “I’ll tell her that,” I said. I reached my hand tentatively toward her, not sure whether she’d pull away. She did not, and I pulled her head toward me and kissed her forehead. “For sure, I’ll tell her. I’m sure she’ll be very worried about you and will do everything she can.”

  “Also,” Katie said, “I need a daddy. I didn’t have an extra one of those.”

  Was she simply in shock? Was she traumatized? Or was she the bravest little five-year-old I’d ever encountered? Or was it a bit of both?

  “I’ll tell her,” I said.

  “Let’s hit the road,” Merker said behind me. I touched Katie softly on the head, looked one last time into her sad eyes, and turned to face him. He had a real gun in his hand this time, not the one he’d used to stun me. Fifty thousand volts were bad, but they were preferable to one real bullet.

  He led me out to his blue pickup, a rust-eaten twenty-year-old Ford that sat up high on oversized tires. Four-wheel drive, by the look of it. I hauled myself up into the passenger side as Merker settled in behind the wheel. He slid the keys into the ignition, turned it, and I wondered if I’d misread the nameplate on the side, and that we’d actually climbed aboard a John Deere. He tapped the accelerator a couple of times and the engine roared like an oversized tractor. He put the column shift into reverse, but held his foot on the brake and gave me a look.

  “Let’s just be clear,” he said. “You try anything stupid, you try to run, you try to get the cops, I call Leo, and that kid dies. Do you understand?”<
br />
  “Yes,” I said.

  “We’re going to do this thing, we’re going to find out where my money is, and when I get it, stop by a playground, let the girl go.”

  “But not me. You hand me over to Mrs. Gorkin and the Westinghouse twins.”

  Merker shrugged. “I made a deal with her. What can I say?”

  “You’re going to give her twenty-five thousand? Like you said?”

  Merker’s cheek poked out as he moved his tongue around, maybe trying to keep himself from grinning. “Sure.” He wiggled his nose some more. “That one, Luddite or whatever her name was, seemed to take a fancy to Leo. He’s never been that great in the ladies department. This’ll be a nice treat for him.”

  He let his foot off the brake, backed the truck onto the street, leaving Trixie’s car in the driveway. “So where are we going?”

  I gave him directions to the highway that would take us west out of the city. Once we took the Oakwood exit, I’d be able to get us to the Clayton Correctional Facility. I’d never been in it, but had driven by it enough times when we lived out that way to know where it was.

  Once we were on the highway, and I didn’t have to navigate for Merker, I was quiet. I glanced over occasionally, but Merker was usually preoccupied with wiggling his nose or conducting digital explorations of it. He almost never had both hands on the wheel. I could see, sticking out of his front jeans pocket, what looked like the handle of a knife. A switchblade, most likely.

  I was surprised when, after ten minutes or so, he actually spoke. “You ain’t got much to say,” he said.

  “Just thinking,” I said.

  “Oh. About what?”

  “I guess I’m wondering what kind of person would kill a little girl’s parents.”

  “They weren’t her parents,” Merker corrected me. “That was her aunt and her aunt’s husband.” So there.

  “But they were raising Katie like she was their own child.”

  “Yeah, well, that wasn’t my decision, now was it,” Merker said. “That was your friend Trixie’s decision.” He shook his head derisively. “She has an awful lot to answer for, you know.”

  He looked up the highway. “Fuck.” Traffic was bunching up. Brake lights were flashing on ahead of us. “What time is it?”

  I glanced at my watch. “It’s only ten thirty-five. We have lots of time.”