In a Midnight Wood

by Ellen Hart

  “Hey, man,” said Dave, thumbs hooked over his belt. “Why didn’t you answer any of my calls?”

  “You know why.”

  “Look,” he said, his eyes skirting the crowd, “about those blanks. I can explain.”

  “You don’t need to.”

  He moved closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. “But we’re okay, right? You’re going to keep your mouth shut?”

  Matching Dave’s whisper, Kurt said, “If I could figure out a way to burn you and Mickler to the ground and not get caught, I would. Who knows when an idea might occur?”

  Sweat began to appear on Dave’s forehead. “Uh-huh. But—”

  “Shove off.”

  “But—”

  “Get the hell away from me.”

  A while later, Monty arrived with his wife. Kurt turned his back on them and went over to stoke the bonfire. As he stood looking down into the flames, a man in a clerical collar strolled up.

  “Hey, Kurt,” the man said. “Long time no see.”

  The guy was decidedly fat, at least two hundred and fifty, maybe three hundred pounds. His head was shaved, and he sported a beard that surrounded his lower jaws.

  “You don’t recognize me, do you.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t,” said Kurt.

  “Ty Niska? Remember me?”

  Kurt nearly dropped the poker. “Jeez, man. I can’t believe you came.” Ty’s hands were covered in tattoos. “You’re … a minister?”

  “I am. Surprising, huh? You probably figured I’d end up dead or behind bars.”

  “Well—”

  “No judgment. You’d have been right. I was headed in a pretty dark direction after graduation. Got heavily into drugs and ended up spending four years in lockup. As soon as I got out, I reoffended. That time I was in for six. It took a while, but I gradually turned it around, with God’s help.”

  “Really,” said Kurt. “I mean, wow.”

  “How you doing? I heard you married Vicki Nestor, had a kid.”

  “All true,” said Kurt, walking over to get another log. “But I’m divorced now. I’ve taken over running my parents’ meat market.”

  “Cool.”

  They stood next to each other in the light of the bonfire, arms folded, watching as people drifted from group to group.

  “Pretty good turnout,” said Ty.

  “Where are you living now?”

  “Chicago. Listen,” he said, waving at someone across the way, “I heard Sam’s bones were found. What’s going on with that?”

  “Tell me something. How much did you know about Dave and Monty’s plan to get rid of Sam?”

  “They told me it was just a prank. Nobody was supposed to get hurt. I mean, there was no way. I put blanks in those revolvers. When Sam got shot, I took off as fast as I could. Neither Monty or Dave would talk to me about it later except to tell me to keep my mouth shut. Believe me, I stayed as far away from you guys as I could for the rest of my senior year.”

  “I wondered if you were in on it,” said Kurt.

  “No way. I didn’t sign up to be part of a murder, man. That’s what happened, right? Mickler must have fired the kill shot from the woods?”

  Stepping back into the shadows, Kurt briefly explained what he’d learned.

  “Wow, that’s dark,” said Ty. “So what’s happening with the investigation?”

  “Officially, very little. Tamborsky works for the police these days. I don’t know this for sure, but I suspect he’s put a damper on it.”

  “I ran into him up on the patio. He didn’t seem all that friendly. Couldn’t get away from me fast enough.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me.”

  They stood and gazed into the fire for several minutes, neither one speaking.

  “Tell me this,” said Kurt finally. “You’re a minister now. How do you live with all the bad stuff you did?”

  “I guess, in the end, you have to repent. I know—blah, blah, blah. What I mean is, you have to radically change the way you live. And then you ask God for forgiveness.”

  “You think you’ve been forgiven?”

  “I don’t think it, I know it. I mean, if redemption isn’t possible, why go on living?”

  As they continued to talk, Dave and Monty stomped their way through the sand toward them. If the situation weren’t so serious, Kurt would have found it funny.

  “Hey, Ty,” said Monty, sticking out his hand. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “I got a written invitation. Seemed kind of churlish to turn that down.”

  “You’re, like, a minister now?”

  “I’m the assistant pastor at the Church of Christ’s Kingdom in the Washington Park section of Chicago. I also work for an outreach program that helps guys adjust back into the community after they leave prison.”

  “Good man,” said Monty. “You really landed on your feet.”

  So far Dave had remained silent, mostly looking over his shoulder, giving the impression of a guy who wanted to be anywhere but where he was.

  “You heard about Sam’s remains being found?” asked Monty.

  Ty nodded, folding his hands in front of him.

  “We’re still in agreement on how to handle it, right?”

  “You mean am I here to talk to the police, tell them what I know?”

  “You always did get right to the point.”

  “No, Monty. That’s not my intention.”

  “Excellent.” All through this friendly interrogation, Monty kept smiling. In the flickering light of the bonfire, Kurt thought he looked like a ghoul.

  “Nice to see you again, Niska,” said Dave, breaking awkwardly into the conversation, “but, you know, I gotta bounce. I’m on duty.”

  “Where are you staying?” asked Monty, gripping Dave’s arm and preventing him from leaving.

  “At the Crown Motel.”

  “Good, good. Well, we’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  “Hope so,” said Ty.

  After Monty and Dave escaped, Kurt whispered, “Watch your back.”

  “Yeah, I picked up on that. I might sleep in my car tonight.”

  They spoke for a few more minutes, and then, as Ty faded back into the crowd, Kurt made his way up the lawn toward the patio. He was halfway there when he heard shouting.

  “Get your hands off me,” came Emma’s voice.

  Kurt took off running, finding her behind a fir tree, where Scott Romilly was trying to wrestle her to the ground. Grabbing him around the waist, Kurt yanked him off and then swung at him, connecting a right to the side of his face.

  Scott howled, staggering back.

  “He’s crazy,” said Emma, backing up. “And he’s drunk.”

  “Oh lordy,” said Scott, touching his face and grinning. “If it isn’t Miss Emma’s boy toy.” He leaned over and snatched a pint of booze off the grass. “Mr. Stud Muffin to the rescue.”

  “Shove off,” said Kurt, “before I beat the living crap out of you.”

  “My, my. A threat from the town butcher. I’m terrified.” Weaving his way once more toward Emma, he stumbled and fell. “Oops,” he said, trying but failing to right himself. “Seem to have misplaced the ground.”

  “He can’t drive in that condition,” said Emma.

  “What are we supposed to do with him?” asked Kurt.

  “I have no idea. Maybe we could lock him in a closet until he sobers up.”

  “Hey folks, not nice to talk about a man like he’s not there.”

  “Why can’t you leave me alone?” demanded Emma.

  “Because I adore you with all my freakin’ heart. Okay, so you’ve been cheating on me all summer with all manner of scumbags—exhibit one is standing right next to you—but I forgive you because that’s the kind of guy I am.”

  “Scott, listen to me,” said Emma. “I think I should call your dad. He can come pick you up.”

  “No way,” he said, scrambling to his feet. “I’m not a child. The old man always thinks he’s gotta c
lean up after me, but I can clean up after myself.” He stopped, held up a finger. “Wait, that didn’t come out right.”

  Emma took out her phone.

  “No you don’t,” said Scott, lunging for it.

  “Get the hell away from her,” said Kurt, shoving him back.

  Emma spoke into her phone. “Mr. Romilly? This is Emma Granholm.”

  “Nope, not happening,” said Scott, turning and rushing off into the darkness.

  Good riddance, thought Kurt.

  Emma spoke for another minute or so and then hung up. “He’s coming.”

  “Should I go after him?” asked Kurt.

  “I suppose. Maybe you could sit on him until his father gets here.”

  Kurt had some trouble locating Scott. By the time he found him, he was in his car, skidding his way toward Ewing Road. “Hey, man, stop,” Kurt called, standing in the middle of the private drive. Taking out his own cell, he called 911. “Ah, hi. There’s a guy who’s just left a party at Ice Lake. The Granholm house. He’s drunk and heading for town via Ewing Road. I’m afraid he’s an accident waiting to happen.” The operator assured him that a squad car was in the area and that they’d check up on him.

  Knowing it was the best he could do to save the guy from himself, Kurt turned away and returned to the party.

  39

  The text came in just as Dave pulled up to the curb outside his dad’s house. It was from Monty:

  u left before i could talk to u. everything

  is handled. After tonight, all will be good.

  Monty to the rescue. Fist pump!!!!

  What the hell did that mean? Some new horror, no doubt. Going in the front door, Dave found the TV on but the couch empty. “Pop?” he called. “You here?”

  His father stuck his head out of the kitchen. “I’m making some microwave popcorn. You want some?”

  “Nah, I’m good.” Dave sat down on the recliner by the front window. On the table next to him was a yellow flyer. He’d seen them in town and knew what they were. He was surprised to find one in his father’s house. When his dad returned to the room with the popcorn still in the bag, Dave held it up. “What’s this?”

  “Nothing.”

  “The Klan, Pop? Get rid of it. You don’t believe that crap.”

  “No.”

  “I’ll throw it away for you.”

  “Just put it back on the table where you found it.”

  “Seriously?” Reluctantly, Dave did what he was told. “Look, can you turn the TV off?”

  “Why? It’s almost time for Hannity.”

  “Just for a minute? I need to talk to you.”

  “If it’s about that doctor’s appointment—”

  “It’s not.” His sister had called to tell him it would be a few more days before the test results would be back. The doctor agreed that their dad’s short-term memory was impaired, but beyond that, he wouldn’t comment. Dave was glad his sister had taken the lead on this, as she always did. At least when Dave went to prison, his father would still have her in his life to care for him.

  Once the TV was off and his dad was munching on the popcorn, Dave looked down at his hands and said, “Honestly, Pop, I don’t know where to begin.”

  “Begin what?”

  “I … I did something really bad. It was back in high school. And then, to cover it up, I did something even worse.”

  Shifting in his seat, his father said, “I don’t want to hear it.”

  “What? But I need to tell you.”

  “Nope. Whatever it is, if it’s forgiveness you’re after, you got it. I’m not perfect, either, you know.”

  “I know, but—”

  “I’d hate to be judged by the worst thing I ever did.”

  That stopped Dave. The comment made sense. He felt as if his dad had thrown him a life raft.

  “I was in ’Nam, son. You don’t think I did stuff I regret? Things I’m ashamed to even think about? A man lives with what he’s done, he doesn’t whine about it. He doesn’t cry or second-guess himself, he just gets on with it. Whatever you did, David, be a man. You hear me?”

  “Yeah,” said Dave.

  “Good, now can I listen to my program?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Remember: Always be a man. Admit your guilt, but move on.” He turned the sound back up.

  Is that it, thought Dave? He wanted so much more from this difficult revelation—a real conversation, something deep and meaningful. A father-son moment. What he got were a few tossed off words of wisdom, and then Hannity shouting in his ear.

  * * *

  Grady Larson’s house was on Pine Avenue, about half a mile west of the police station. Dave knocked on the front door just after eleven. Grady’s wife, Alice, answered it, a bunch of curlers in her hair covered by a scarf.

  “Evening,” said Dave, removing his hat and holding it in both hands. “I know this is kind of late, but I need to talk to the chief.”

  She looked behind her.

  “Who is it?” came Grady’s snarl.

  “Dave Tamborsky,” he called.

  “What the hell do you want?” He was in his bathrobe and slippers, a pipe clenched between his teeth.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but this is important.”

  Grady seemed annoyed, but allowed Dave to come in. They settled in the study, Dave in an old wingback chair, Grady behind his desk. “Make it quick.”

  “Okay. Well, so … I’m here to … to—” He could feel sweat trickling down his back. This was it. The end of the line. His father had told him to be a man, and that’s what he was hoping to be. He removed the Beretta from his belt and set it on the desk. Next he took off his badge and placed it next to the pistol. “I’ve come to tell you that I conspired to murder Sam Romilly. I did it to cover up a rape I’d committed.”

  Grady bit down hard on the stem of his pipe. “Dave, I’m not sure what’s going on—”

  “Please,” he said. “I have to turn myself in. I’m guilty.”

  “Maybe you are, son,” said Grady, measuring his words. “But take my advice: You need to find yourself a good lawyer. After you’ve done that, if you still want to come talk to me—”

  “You’re not listening,” said Dave, his voice breaking. “I don’t want a lawyer. I’m afraid that if I don’t do this now, I’ll lose my nerve.”

  Grady puffed on his pipe. “You’re sure about this? If I arrest you, you can’t take it back.”

  Dave thought of Monty, of what he’d think when he heard Dave had talked. But this had to stop. He had to end it before Monty escalated things even more. Dave had seen the gleam in Monty’s eye when they were talking to Ty Niska. If Monty perceived Niska as a threat, Ty might never leave Castle Lake alive. The cover-up was turning out to be far worse than the original crime. “I’m sure,” said Dave.

  “All right,” said Grady, removing the pipe from his teeth.

  “You need to cuff me.”

  “I think we can dispense with that.”

  “No,” said Dave, feeling something break inside him. “Do it. But please, you have to understand—I never wanted any of this to happen. I’ve tried to be a good cop, serve my community. I hoped that would be enough. But it’s not. I can’t keep this a secret anymore. It was either come here tonight and turn myself in or blow my brains out. As it turns out, I’m too much of a coward for that.” He broke down, pressing hand over his mouth as he choked on his sobs. His tears humiliated him. He tried to get a handle on himself, on his emotions, but it was as if the protective wall he’d built inside his brain had cracked in two, allowing all the sludge and slime he’d kept behind it for so long to come pouring out.

  When he was finally able to look up, all he could see were Grady’s monumentally sad eyes staring back at him.

  40

  “You’re sure you want to do this?” asked Cordelia, unwrapping a third lump of bubble gum.

  With her hands draped over the truck’s steering wheel, Jane gazed across the
highway to the motel. The assistant manager had closed and locked the office door shortly after ten. Ever since, all appeared quiet. “You were the one who thought it was such a fabulous idea,” said Jane.

  “You shouldn’t listen to me when I’m wearing my boonie hat and duck waders.”

  “I’ll try to remember that.”

  For two days, Jane had been working through roadblock after roadblock to make sure her plan had a chance of success. The problem was, she’d been so focused on making it work that she hadn’t given much thought to her part in it. She was used to accepting certain risks, but this did seem a tad foolhardy, even for her.

  “What about Saltus?” asked Cordelia.

  “He’s out there somewhere. When he sees me go in, he’ll join me.”

  “What if Mickler shows up with a gun?”

  “Saltus didn’t think that was very likely, and I agreed. Too many people around to hear the shot. If I’m right, and he does try to get at Becca, Saltus thought he’d use a knife.”

  “Lovely. Nothing dangerous about a knife.”

  Jane didn’t respond.

  “You trust that guy?” asked Cordelia.

  “Saltus? He was my last hope, so I don’t have much choice. I did talk to him at length this afternoon. He’s kind of dopey and socially clueless, but he seems to understand the basics of police procedure. It was clear to me that he loathes Dave Tamborsky, feels that he’s in competition with him. That’s probably why he’s on board.”

  “You explained to him that you’d met with the police chief?”

  “I did.”

  After Lowry had found Dave’s varsity jacket covered in dried blood, Jane thought she had the leverage she’d been looking for. Grady Larson was Emma’s uncle. Emma had called him asking for a personal favor: that he agree to meet with Jane that day. Jane had arrived at the police station at the appointed time and spent a good hour going over the information she’d unearthed. Larson had listened quietly but impatiently, and even before she was done, cut her off, saying he needed her to turn over all the information she’d collected. He allowed that she’d made some progress, but said she didn’t have enough hard, provable evidence to back up her theory. On that basis, he said the police would keep working the case—without her help, thank you very much.