“Where’s that lead to?” He pointed to the door at the opposite end of the barn.
“The tank room. See where the tubing goes in through the collars on the wall?”
“Anything after that?”
“Storage. We have a machinery shed for our tractors and such, but that’s not connected to the barn. Ethan must be having some problem in the tank room. The pressure valves have been acting up lately. Ethan!”
The tank room door bounced open. Ethan stood framed in the doorway, a big, scared young man with a shotgun pointed straight at Russ.
Russ shoved Mindy into a stall and dove in beside her. “Ethan!” she screamed. The cow sharing the space tried to turn her head around to see what was going on, but her bit chains held her to the feed trough. Mindy jumped up. “Ethan, what are you doing?!?”
Russ yanked her down so hard she hit the floor and lost her breath for a moment. “Shut up, Mindy,” he hissed.
“Get out of here, Mom!”
“Ethan?” Russ said, projecting a calm he didn’t feel into his voice. “Your mother is going to get out of this stall and walk out of the barn. She’ll be alone. Then you and I can talk. Is that okay?”
“I’m not leaving!” Mindy whispered.
“Both of you get out of here!”
“You get out and run to the house and call nine-one-one. Tell them what’s happened. Then keep Wayne and your girl away from here. Let me handle this.”
“You’ll shoot him! You’ll shoot him!”
“What are you doing?” Ethan shouted.
“Mindy, I haven’t fired my gun off the range in over four years, and I don’t intend to start now. Let me talk to the boy.” He raised his voice. “Ethan? Your mom’s coming out of the stall now. Don’t shoot.” He hauled Mindy to the edge of the wooden wall. “Go, goddamnit.”
She stood shakily. “Ethan, please, don’t do this.”
“Get out, Mom. This doesn’t have anything to do with you.” Mindy looked back at Russ.
“Go!” he hissed. “Go, go!” She stumbled back a few steps, moving to the doorway while still facing her son. Russ nodded encouragement. Even when you trust someone, it takes a steel sphincter to turn your back on a loaded weapon pointed at you. When she disappeared into the barnyard, he rested his forehead against the low wooden wall for a few seconds worth of sheer relief.
“Ethan? How about you and me talk now? Okay? Let’s work this out.”
Mindy Stoner was scrambling up her porch steps two at a time when she heard the shot fired.
CHAPTER 13
Mark Durkee had his head in between two half-unscrewed pipes when the phone rang. “Daddy, issa phone,” Madeline said helpfully.
“Yeah, cupcake, Daddy hears it.” He backed out from under the kitchen sink carefully. The phone kept ringing as he wiped off his hands and moved his toolbox out of Maddy’s reach. He hoped it wasn’t Rachel with more car problems. He’d have to leave an hour early if he wanted to fetch her home from work and still make his shift on time.
“Yeah,” he answered. Maddy was trying to pick up some of the washers he had left on the floor. Were those small enough for her to swallow?
“Mark, it’s Harlene. Listen, we’ve got an officer in distress in Cossayaharie and I want you there.”
His first thought was that it must be some sort of prank. Except Harlene sounded dead serious. “What’s going on?” He’d have to get Maddy into her snowsuit. Where could he leave her until Rachel got home?
“The Chief went to Wayne Stoner’s to serve a warrant on his boy, Ethan. Ethan’s holding the chief in the barn with one of their hunting rifles. At least one shot has been fired.”
“Shit! The chief?”
“We don’t know. The state troopers are sending a squad there, and I’ve called Lyle and Ed off patrol, but you’re closest.”
He was. Maybe a ten-minute drive from the Stoner’s farm. He knew from experience that it would take the troopers at least thirty minutes or more to reach Cossayaharie. A man who’d been rifle shot could bleed to death in fifteen minutes. Less.
“Harlene, I’m gonna drop Maddy off with the Slingers, next door. Will you call my wife and let her know? I’ll call you on the situation when I get there.”
“Be careful. You know what Russ would say. Don’t try to be a hero, okay?”
“Yeah.” He hung up. No squad car, no shotgun, no spray, no vest. Shit. He scooped up Maddy, who squealed in delight. “Come on, cupcake. Daddy’s going to work early tonight.”
Old instinct had sent Russ flat into the straw and the cowshit when Ethan’s shotgun went off. A second later, he was back up, crouching against the wall, where he had a chance of keeping the terrified Holstein from crushing him. Throughout the barn, he could hear disturbed lowing and thuds and clanks as the agitated cows tried to flee their stalls.
Ethan couldn’t reach him from that tank room door. The boy would have to shoot directly into the stall, opening himself up to Russ’s fire. So as long as they both stayed put, they were safe. The cow’s white-rimmed eye rolled back and fixed on him. She kicked ineffectually, then tried to rid herself of the intruder by leaning against the wall. Russ rolled into a ball and went underneath her, hitting his head on her udder. She bellowed and stamped, narrowly missing taking the fingers off his left hand. He imagined his obituary in tomorrow’s Post-Star: POLICE CHIEF SLAIN BY COW. He rolled out the other side of her and stood up as far as he could without exposing himself to Ethan’s fire. He hit the cow hard with the flat of his hand, as he’d seen his brother-in-law do when his stock got unruly.
She bellowed again, but it seemed to settle her. “Good girl,” he said, thumping her a few more times for good measure. “Ethan!” He raised his voice to be heard down the dimming length of the barn. “I’m willing to say that gun went off by accident. Right now, you’re facing resisting arrest and threatening a police officer. Don’t make it attempted murder. Put the shotgun down and walk out of the barn with your hands on top of your head.”
“Don’t jerk with me! I know you came here to arrest me for Katie’s murder! I didn’t do it!” Ethan’s voice had the shaky, defiant sound young men get when they’re half-wild with fear and half-drunk on the power of the weapon in their hands. Russ had heard it in jungles and in Third World cities and in squad cars and coming from his own mouth.
“If you say you didn’t do it, Ethan, I’ll believe you. I came here to ask you to take a blood test, to see if Katie’s baby was yours.”
“You lie! Everybody thinks I did it! I didn’t! I could never hurt her! I loved her!”
“Then let’s go to someplace more comfortable than this, and you can clear everything up for me. If you loved Katie, help me find who did kill her.”
“I can’t clear anything up, you asshole! I was drinking alone in my car before I went to Videotek that night. I know I don’t have any damn alibi. Nobody saw me, I got no one who can say I didn’t do it. You don’t give two shits about who really killed her. You just want to arrest someone, and I’m the easy suspect. You think I’m just a punk anyway.”
“I think you’re a guy who’s in trouble and who needs someone to listen to him seriously. Look, Ethan, you know me. I don’t come off like Joe Friday.” Jesus, had this kid ever heard of Joe Friday? “I cut you a break last week, when I knew you’d been drinking. Because I’m not interested in an arrest record. I want to help people keep out of trouble. Let me help you now.”
“You can help me by getting the hell out of here and leaving me alone! I didn’t kill her!”
Russ spread his hands against the cow’s warm flank. Somewhere, there was a magic combination of words that would get the kid to lay down his gun and walk out with no one hurt. All he had to do was find them. “Ethan, I’m not gonna tell you what to do. I am going to give you the facts, so that you can make an informed decision. Fact. You picked up a shotgun and fired on a peace officer. That’s not going to go away. Fact. Right now, there are cops from the town and the sheriff’s depar
tment and the state all converging on your farm. Some of them aren’t gonna be too particular if you leave this barn walking or feet-first. Fact. I will listen to anything you have to say about Katie and the night she died with an open mind, and I will pursue this investigation until I’m satisfied we have the real killer. Fact. You’ve got the power, right here and now, to stop this thing. You can put down your weapon, walk out of here, and make your parents the happiest people alive tonight. Or you can choose to shoot it out with a state SWAT team. What do you think the outcome of that will be?”
The cows lowed. Chains rattled. Somewhere, water dripped from a faucet.
“This is Officer Durkee of the Millers Kill Police,” a voice shouted from outside the barn.
“Mark! This is Russ! I’m okay!” Now. Now was the moment to take a chance. He eased his 9mm Glock out of its holster. The click of a round chambering sounded as loud as a gunshot in his ears. Keeping the weapon down by his side, he straightened to his full height, shoulders and head above the cow’s broad back. In the fading twilight, he could see Ethan’s outline at the back of the barn. “Stay where you are, Mark,” he shouted. “I think Ethan’s going to put down his gun and come out.” He ignored the feeling like ants crawling up his neck and through his hair. Ethan could blow his head off before he’d be able to get his piece up past the cow. “Aren’t you, Ethan?”
The boy was a space of stillness in the dark. Hay rustled. A cow kicked against her stall with a loud thump. “Yeah,” Ethan said.
Russ hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until he let it out in a whoosh. “Okay. Put the gun on the floor, then lace your fingers together and put your hands on top of your head. We want to make sure everyone can see you’re unarmed when you leave the barn.”
When Ethan walked past him, hands on head, Russ slipped from the stall and fell in behind him. He holstered his gun, but left it unfastened. Just in case.
Mark Durkee was beside the barn door. He leveled his gun at Ethan. “Ethan Stoner, you’re under arrest,” he said. His glance flickered to Russ. “Chief?”
“I’m fine, Mark. Take Ethan to the car while I go talk to his parents, please.” He let himself through the cattle gate while Mark read the boy his rights. A Millers Kill squad car flashed its red lights at the base of the driveway. Lyle and Ed were getting out. On the porch, Wayne and Mindy stood with their arms wrapped around each other, straining to see the barnyard in the twilight. Far down the road, he could hear another siren approaching. Russ felt flushed and shaky, his legs almost too heavy to carry him down the barn drive and across the dooryard. The bite of the December air, the dazzle of the house lights on the snow, the sound of people’s voices all flooded his senses. It was good to be alive. He forced a smile to his face and began the long, long climb up the porch steps.
Clare smiled when she saw that the driveway to the police station had been thoroughly plowed. She eased her car over the sidewalk and into a parking space. She really was going to need a vehicle that wouldn’t get stuck if someone threw a snowball under its tires. Problem was, the only way she could afford a new car was to sell the old one. The thought of which sent her into a blue funk. This MG was the closest she had ever gotten to flying on the ground. She thought of the dark, mid-sized anonymous American cars so many of her teachers at the seminary had driven. Clergymobiles. “Baby, climb inside my car,” she sang as she strolled up the sidewalk. A municipal employee leaving City Hall next door looked pointedly at her collar and frowned. Probably a Baptist. Clare winked at him before charging up the steps to the police station.
Inside, she shucked off her jacket. “Harlene?” she said, approaching the dispatch room. “Has the chief left yet? I was hoping to—” She shut up when she saw Harlene’s face. “What is it?”
“I really shouldn’t talk to civilians yet,” Harlene said, her crumpled expression at odds with her formal words.
“Harlene, is anyone hurt? Please . . .”
The dispatcher pushed her headset further back over her springy gray curls. “The chief went to bring Ethan Stoner in for his blood test and the boy pulled a shotgun on him.”
The rest of the room faded to a blur, and Harlene’s face came into exquisite focus. Clare could see every mole, every hair, the wrinkles around her lips as she pursed them together, the light on her lashes as she blinked quickly, over and over again.
“What happened?” Clare’s voice was even.
“I don’t know. They’re both in the barn. Mindy Stoner heard a gunshot, but I haven’t had any news since then.”
Clare nodded. She kept nodding as the possibilities flitted through her mind. “Harlene,” she said, “I’d be grateful if you’d let me stay. I’d like to find out if . . . if anything has happened.”
Harlene held her hand out toward an old office chair next to the filing cabinet. “You just sit right down. I’d be glad for the company, to tell the truth.” Clare tossed her coat under the chair and sat. The two women looked at each other.
“Who has—” Clare began.
“Do you—” Harlene said. They smiled weakly at one another. “Go on,” said Harlene.
“Who has been sent out to help? With the situation?”
“Three of our own officers. The sheriff’s department is sending a car or two, and the state troopers are mustering their SWAT team.” She worried at the inside of her cheek. “And an ambulance.”
“Oh. Of course.” Clare looked at her hands. “What was it you were going to say?”
Harlene looked embarrassed. “I was going to ask if you believe praying can really help at a time like this.”
Clare folded her hands together and pressed them to her lips. She paused. “I believe that prayer focuses our human thoughts and energies, sends them to the people we’re praying for. I believe that helps, in ways we can’t yet understand.” Harlene looked surprised. She had probably expected a quick yes. Followed by an exhortation to the Almighty to keep everyone safe. “I believe that God hears our prayers, and cherishes them. I believe He answers by sending us His spirit, giving us strength, and peace, and insight. I don’t think He responds by turning away bullets and curing cancer. Though sometimes that does happen.”
Harlene frowned. “In other words, sometimes, the answer is no?”
“No. Sometimes the answer is ‘This is life, in all its variety. Make your way through it with grace, and never forget that I love you.’ ”
Harlene creaked back in her wheeled dispatcher’s chair. “You’re not one of those strict fundamentalist preachers, are you?”
Clare laughed. The phone rang. Harlene had it off the hook before the sound died away. “Millers Kill Police,” she said. There was a pause. Her face crinkled up into a huge smile. “Oh, it’s good to hear your voice, too.”
“Is it him?” Clare whispered. “Is he okay? Is the boy all right?”
Harlene nodded. “No, no, he’s absolutely right. You let them handle the arrest and the initial report. You go home!” Another pause. “Then go to your mother’s house. I don’t care. If you show up here, I’ll chase you off myself.” She laughed, then listened for awhile. “Are you really okay? You sound kinda funny.” Harlene glanced over at Clare again. “Hold on, there’s somebody who’s been waiting here to find out how you are. Do you feel like speaking to Reverend Fergusson?” She nodded to the phone and held it out to Clare.
“Hello,” she said, feeling unaccountably shy.
“Hi,” Russ said.
“Remember when you warned me Millers Kill wasn’t a sleepy little town? I believe you now.”
He laughed. “Good.”
“So, it sounds like you’re under strict orders not to come into the office.”
He sighed. “I guess I should go home. Linda’s out of town. And my mother . . . she doesn’t need to hear about this just yet. I’m still . . .” he drifted off.
“I know.”
“You know?” He sounded surprised.
“I know that you’re still . . .” She let her voice
trail off, echoing his. “Meet me for a drink somewhere. We can talk.”
“Oh, God. I don’t think I can handle going out in public right now. Besides, I smell like cowshit and the scared-cold sweats.”
“Then tell me where you’ll be, and I’ll come to you.”
“Do you think . . . would my place be okay? I could shower and change, rustle up some burgers or something. Would that be, um, unpriestly or anything?”
She laughed softly. “I think what would be unpriestly would be to let a friend sit at home all alone with no one to talk to. Give me directions and tell me when to be there. Preferably after you no longer smell like cowshit, et cetera.”
He laughed. After she had his address, she handed the phone back to Harlene, who said into it, “You gonna confess your sins to Reverend Fergusson? Make sure she has a few hours.” She listened, snorted at something he said. “Okay. Yes, I will. Yes, I promise. Don’t you trust me? Wait, don’t answer that.” Harlene laughed. “Good. I hope you feel good about this, Chief. You just captured Katie’s killer.” There was a pause. Her smile faded. “Well . . .’Bye then. See you tomorrow.” She hung up.
“What did he say?” Clare asked.
“Said he didn’t know about that. He didn’t know what he had just done.”
CHAPTER 14
When Russ opened the door to her knock, he looked . . . different. It was . . . it was . . . the jeans and a sweater. “You’re in civvies!” she said. “I was beginning to think of you like the sheriff of Mayberry, you know, always dressed in brown poly.”
He laughed. “You obviously didn’t watch enough. He had a plaid shirt and jeans he wore fishing.” He looked over her shoulder. “Where’s your car?”