Sooner Fled

by David L Thornburg

  Lekso’s wife had never joined us for dinner. In fact, I hadn’t even met her. She kept to herself.

  “Of course, dear. Goodnight.” Teodora closed the door behind us. As we stood on the porch in the fading daylight of a hot Oklahoma evening in August, I saw the light go out in Damek’s bedroom.

  Stephanie’s small, two-bedroom house was as far from her grandparent’s home as possible and still be in Oak Valley city limits, which is to say about six blocks. Everything downtown was closed, of course, but most porches were inhabited by iced tea sipping citizens in rockers or porch swings. Many yards had children playing, but not as many as there were at one time, I suspected. The population skewed older, most of the younger generation discovering there were no jobs and little to do. Marty would probably leave as soon after graduation as possible.

  Stephanie did not resist as I took her hand, but she didn’t entwine her fingers with mine.

  “I’m worried about Grandpa,” she said.

  “I know you are, but he’s surrounded by people who love him.” I chuckled. “He certainly has a rich fantasy life.”

  She smiled. “I don’t know what that was all about! It was a new story to me.”

  A block passed in silence. The faint scent of honeysuckle from a nearby garden reached us.

  “Your Grandma Teo thinks I’m husband material.”

  She did not meet my eyes. “If that were the only hurdle, we’d be home free.”

  I stopped walking and turned her to face me. “I know we’ve only known each other for a few months, but I’ve never met anyone like you. We’ve already been through a lot together.”

  “You’re right about one thing. I don’t know you. You kept a secret from me, and I don’t see how I can be a big part of your life. Especially since you have two of them.” She started to walk again.

  I followed her, lowering my voice. “I couldn’t tell you I was in the WPP when I first met you. I only told you about being a police chaplain in Detroit and the drug raid gone south when you insisted. I’m still afraid I may have put you in danger. If anything happened to you…” My voice trailed off. The consequences of being found by Carlos Ponty or what remained of his gang were terrible to contemplate. I'd seen how they treated informants.

  “Besides, you know me in every way that counts,” I said. My big finish. Closing the sale.

  We were at her house. “Do I?”

  The sun was down now, and the gentle south breeze stirred her chestnut brown hair. Her green eyes caught the light of the rising moon. I wanted to gather her in my arms, kiss her, and protect her forever.

  Instead, she presented her cheek, which I dutifully pecked, and she went inside.

  I went back to the parsonage, close to the charred remains of Oak Valley Community Church. The explosion a couple of months ago had been an attempt to cover the tracks of a desperate woman searching for a Civil War treasure, as well as remove the witnesses to the murder she committed. Stephanie had barely escaped with her life.

  Nothing on TV held my interest, nor did any books from the library of the previous pastor. The images and words seemed to bounce off my eyes, leaving no impact. I gave up and went to bed.

  I awoke to a pounding on my bedroom window. I grabbed my cell phone to get the time and saw eight missed calls.

  The pounding continued. “Tony…I mean Peter! Wake up!”

  It was Stephanie. She had changed to khaki shorts and a Blondie tee shirt.

  I opened the window. “What is it?”

  “Grandpa’s dead. Will you go over with me?”

  We got in my KIA Sportage. If the FBI wanted me to be inconspicuous in the land of the pickup truck, it seemed like a strange choice.

  When we pulled up, I was surprised to see the spinning red light of Sheriff Harris’s police car in the driveway. As we got out of the car, we heard the approaching ambulance siren.

  The front door was open, so we went in. Teodora was sitting on the couch, a lace handkerchief catching her sobs.

  “Grandma!” Stephanie said, rushing to hug her. Martinek sat in the recliner that was usually reserved for Damek, his eyes red.

  “Lekso and Sorina are on their way over,” Teodora said.

  Sheriff Harris came out of the back bedroom, a digital camera swinging from a strap around his neck. “Oh, good,” he said, sarcasm dripping from every word. “The preacher is here.”

  It was hard to turn the other cheek. Fortunately, the EMTs entered the house.

  “Back there,” Harris said, cocking his thumb toward the back bedroom. “No hurry.”

  The old lady was tough. She barely sniffled as the gurney with the covered body of her husband was wheeled though the house and out the door. She stood, hobbled to the porch, and watched as the ambulance pulled away, no lights or siren this time.

  “They’re taking him to the hospital in Muskogee,” Harris said.

  “Come on, Grandma, we’ll give you a ride.” Stephanie looked at me, and I nodded. “You want to come with us, Marty?”

  “Actually,” the sheriff said, “the boy is coming down to my office to answer some questions.”

  “Why?” asked Stephanie.

  “Your grandfather’s nose was broken. It’s an injury we see when people are suffocated with a pillow.” He grabbed Marty’s arm and stood him up. I noticed the handcuffs for the first time.

  I followed them out to the cruiser. Harris opened a back door and slid Marty inside.

  I said, “Sheriff, surely you don’t think he had anything to do with this.”

  He turned and faced me, his eyes red flashes of anger. “Look, Reverend, what I think is that this was a quiet, law abiding community until you got here. Since then, three people were murdered over some rare books, a New York mobster loan shark slashed you and your pretty little girlfriend, then she and her father almost die when your own church is blown up. Now some old guy you had supper with is dead, probably murdered. You must be the worst kind of luck. Why don’t you just go back where you came from?”

  I couldn’t think of anything to say. I wished it were that easy.

  I looked at Martinek, forlorn and surly. “I’ll come help you after I take care of your grandmother and Stephanie. Don’t answer any questions without a lawyer.”

  Harris snorted as he got into the driver’s seat and fired up the engine. Unlike the ambulance, there were lights and a siren as he roared away.

  We went to the hospital, because that’s what you do. There was no suspense in the outcome for Papa Damek, just bad coffee, uncomfortable seats, and awkward silences. I had done my share of notifications with the Detroit PD, both as an officer then as chaplain, but this was rough. Stephanie’s heart was breaking, and Teodora was barely holding it together.

  Dr. Singh, a young woman with her black hair pulled back in a severe ponytail, came into the waiting room after we had been there an hour. “I’m sorry, but we pronounced Mr. Blazek dead upon his arrival. Is there a funeral home the hospital can contact for you?”

  “Can I see him?” Teo asked.

  “Again, I’m sorry, but his body has been taken to the medical examiner’s office.”

  “An autopsy?” I asked. “Weren't you able to determine a cause of death?”

  Dr. Singh shifted from foot to foot, as if she would rather be anywhere but answering that question. To her credit, she put on her big girl smock and said, “The cause of death was asphyxiation, but there is evidence that it may not have been a natural event. We’ll know more after the autopsy. There is nothing else you can do here, so please go home and get some rest.”

  Instead of leaving, we all sat down again.

  “Do you really think Marty could have done this?” Stephanie asked.

  “No,” Teo said. “He’s a good boy. A little glum and depressed, but a good boy.”

  The outside doors slid open, and Lekso entered with a woman that must have been his wife.

  “That’s Aunt Sorina,” Stephanie confirmed.

  Sorina stood apart a
s Lekso apologized for being late. The standard stuff followed: he got there as soon as he could, are you alright, and what happened?

  He was followed soon after by William Martin.

  “Daddy!” Stephanie said, running to embrace him. He had never been fond of me, even before he was almost blown up with his daughter in my church basement. He was happier recently writing the paper describing the lost Confederate treasure of Honey Springs. Quite a coup for a history professor at a community college in Muskogee, Oklahoma.

  He held Steph with one arm and shook my hand with the other. “Peter,” he said, by way of greeting. Was it my imagination or was he physically putting himself between Stephanie and I?

  He went through the same script as Lekso. When there was a pause, I suggested we get Teodora home. As everyone gathered their things, I saw Sorina touch William’s arm. They drifted away from the others. Sorina whispered urgently, and William nodded his head, then shook it. He spoke and shrugged his shoulders. Sorina looked furtively at the group and met my gaze briefly before she dropped her eyes. Finished, they joined the rest of us, and we left the hospital.

  After I dropped Teodora and Stephanie off at Steph’s house, I drove past the Sheriff’s office. It was in a storefront along the main street since it was only a one-man operation. It was about 4:00 A. M., but the lights were on.

  Sheriff Harris was leaned back in his chair, his cowboy boots on his desk, but he didn’t look comfortable. I doubted someone of his bulk was ever very comfortable.

  He sat up. “You’ll be happy to know our perp took your advice. He’s tighter-lipped than an old maid getting her first kiss. The soonest a public defender can get here is tomorrow morning, late. Until then, here I am babysitting.”

  It was clear he blamed me. “Can I talk to him, if he’s awake?”

  “Help yourself. In fact, I’m going to run to the house and get a fresh shirt and a sandwich. I’d be pleased if you didn’t let the prisoner escape.”

  Just to be sure, he took the key ring from his desk and put it in his pocket.

  I went to the back room, which contained a cell straight out of Mayberry. I had visited here before. The church’s handyman had a predilection for overindulging in adult beverages, and if he got into his battered pickup when the He’s Not Here Saloon closed, Harris escorted him here for overnight accommodations.

  Our handyman was usually happy to see me, giddy in fact, which was more than I could say for Martinek. His eyes raised from the floor, he said, “Oh, it’s you,” and his eyes fell again.

  “The sheriff is gone for a while. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

  “I wasn’t even in the house. After Dad and I got Grandpa into bed, we went home. We argued all the way.”

  “Over what?”

  “About college, mostly. It’s in his plan for my life, but not really in mine. Anyway, when he went to get ready for bed, I took the car keys and left.”

  “To go where?”

  “Sometimes I go to Steph’s when I need to cool off, but I thought you might be there.”

  “Just so you know, not much chance of that.”

  He squinted. “Too bad. She’s into you, don’t know why. I went to Grandma’s, but all the lights were off. I sat in the car in the driveway and fell asleep. I didn’t wake up until I heard Grandma scream and all the lights came on. I ran in, but Grandpa was already dead. I could tell. And there was a pillow on his face. I thought Grandma was gonna lose it. I’m even the one who called 911. Then that hick cop arrests me.”

  “If you didn’t do it, who did? Teodora doesn’t seem strong enough.”

  His voice grew quiet. “Are you sure Barney Fife is gone?”

  “It’s just us.”

  “You heard what Grandpa said earlier. About being sent. What do you think that meant?”

  “I think it meant he was a confused old man. What else could it be?”

  “There’s some kind of secret in my family. I don’t know what it is, but I know my mom won’t even be around Grandma and Grandpa, if she can help it. Somebody wanted him dead.” He laid down on the cot.

  That’s the moment Sheriff Harris chose to return. “OK, Preacher, the professionals are back. Time to stop harassing the prisoner and go home.”

  I looked back at Marty. I could tell he was done talking.

  I knew it was no use trying to sleep, so I drove over to the Blazek’s house. Since Grandma Teo was at Stephanie’s, the house was dark. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I got out of the car and climbed the stairs to the porch, the flashlight from my glove compartment in my hand.

  The door was locked, which was unusual. In Detroit, people barricaded themselves in, but in Oak Valley, locked houses or cars were rare. I tried the back door. Also locked. I took a crack at the windows, and found one ajar. Papa Damek’s bedroom.

  I looked around the neighborhood. I didn’t want to get caught head in, butt out of the window. No need to give Sheriff Harris any undue pleasure arresting me for B and E.

  But no one was watching, so I slithered through the window. Standing upright, the room didn’t look like it held any secrets. In fact, it smelled like old man. I turned the flashlight on.

  I had been in the kitchen, dining room, and living room earlier so I knew I wouldn’t find anything new there. I went into the second bedroom, which was an office. There was a roll-top desk, open, that was piled high with bills, bank statements, and advertising flyers. In the corner was a computer desk with a laptop on it. The screen was up, but dark. I hit the enter button, and four views of the yard surrounding the house appeared. A video security system.

  It wasn’t new. I recognized it from my cop days years ago. Since it wasn’t even password protected, I could manipulate the feeds. The first camera was trained on the front yard, the other three on the remaining sides.

  I started with the front yard camera angle. I hit “control R” which gave me a menu of how far back I wanted the replay to start. Stephanie and I had left around 9:00, six hours before, so I clicked on the timeline and drug it back. There was Steph and I stepping off the porch and exiting out of frame. I set the playback at 6X, which gave all the movement a jerky silent movie feel.

  At 9:30, Lekso and Martinek got in their car and left. About 10:40, the car pulled back into the driveway and sat there. No one got out. 11:00. 11:30. At 11:54, the bedroom light then the living room light came on, like the yellow eyes of an awakening monster. Marty got out of the car and ran into the house.

  I switched to the side view where I had found the open window, and played from 9:30 to 11:54. No matter how I enlarged or adjusted the direction, I could not get a clear line of sight on the window. But, I didn’t see signs of any intruders.

  Same with the other two feeds.

  I saved the playback to the laptop’s hard drive. Its desktop was free of all but the factory installed icons. The Blazeks weren’t using it for anything but a security system. Typical for an elderly couple.

  I slid the beam of the flashlight across the wall and stopped on a four-drawer file cabinet. As I opened the top drawer, I caught the smell of smoke and the crackle of flames. I saw the figure dressed in black standing behind the file cabinet too late to react.

  The figure shoved the file cabinet toward me, and I fell backwards. The drawers disgorged decades of yellowing paper on me. The figure ran past me, kicking my flashlight into the living room, leaving me plunged into darkness. As I extricated myself I heard the back door open and slam shut. I stood and turned on the room light.

  I ran to the back door, but was too late to see anyone. I didn’t hear a car, though, so they must have left on foot.

  I went into the living room, where I saw fire flickering behind the closed grate of the wood-burning stove. Being August, it hadn’t been used for several months, so smoke was pouring from it. I knelt on the brick platform where it rested and used a small area rug to open the hot iron handle. Inside was what remained of a leather-bound ledger. I grabbed the poker from besid
e the stove and tried to leverage it out of the fire, but it disintegrated.

  I closed the grate to contain the fire, which was already ebbing.

  Stepping over the file cabinet, I went back to the security computer and watched the feed on the back yard. I saw the figure, dressed in black jeans and black hoodie, exit and run off, but there was no way to identify them.

  I was trying to decide what to do next when the adrenaline rush left me. After being so long without sleep, I felt exhausted. I should go home and rest. I felt sure Sheriff Harris would not be interested in hearing from me again so soon. I closed the laptop, unplugged it, and carried it to my car.

  I pulled into my garage, left the keys in the car, and staggered into my house before the garage door completely closed. I numbly made it most of the way through the kitchen before it registered the living room lamp was on.

  In my favorite reading chair was Dion Wilder, looking more immaculate in his dark slacks, tailored white shirt, and muted plaid tie than anyone had a right to look at 5:30 in the morning.

  “Agent Wilder.” I dropped wearily onto the couch.

  “Reverend Andrews,” he said, laying the book he was reading onto the end table beside him. The Fires of Summer by K. C. Waters. “You have been the most visible witness I have ever had the pleasure of protecting in the WPP. I find myself wondering if I didn’t make the rules clear.”

  I started to protest, then gave up.

  “The idea is to lay low, and not draw attention to yourself,” he continued.

  “You guys are the ones who put me in this community, and this church. I can’t turn my back on them if they’re in trouble.”

  “Helping is one thing, putting yourself and others in danger is something else. It’s crossing the line. For example, what were you doing tonight? After you dropped your girlfriend and her grandmother off at her place, I mean.”

  “You know about that?”

  “I know everything. That’s how I protect you. But you have to do your part.”