Among the Wicked: A Kate Burkholder Novel (31 page)

“
What?
” he says crossly. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Eli Schrock, Jonas Smucker, and Jacob Yoder are smuggling people through Canada into the U.S.”

“
Human smuggling
? For God’s sake, how do you know that? When did this come about?”

“Just now. I have a witness.”

The woman is standing a few feet away, her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. I lower my voice. “She identified Suggs. There are people being held here, locked in rooms. Get someone out here now.”

“All right. I’m on it. You’re at Schrock’s place?”

“An old barn a mile north of the house. Hurry.”

He curses exorbitantly. “Where’s Suggs?”

“I don’t know. But he knows I’m here.”

“I’ll get him on the horn. Stay away from him until we get this straightened out.”

I start to respond but he hangs up.

Dropping my phone in my pocket, I look around for some way to secure the door. “Do you have any nails? Tools? Something we can use to jam the door?”

She rushes to the table beside her bed and comes back with a small package of half-inch brads, offers it to me.

“Too small.” I cross to the bed. It’s a full size. Heavy, but not so much that we can’t shove it against the door. It won’t keep anyone out, but it’ll slow them down.

“Help me move it,” I say to the woman.

We’re sliding the bed across the floor when a woman’s scream rends the air.

We stop and look at each other. “Who is that?” I ask.

“They brought her yesterday. The plain girl. They always … you know. The new ones.”

I go to the door, press my ear against it, listen. No sound of anyone approaching. No voices. I crack open the door and peer out. The stairwell is empty. I hear voices downstairs. Male laughter. The unknown female crying.

I turn my attention to the woman. “He’s assaulting her?”

She nods. “They won’t hurt her. She’s money to them.”

Another scream sounds. A hysterical outpouring of outrage, a visceral sound of pain. Her cries are met with ridicule.

It would be foolhardy for me to intervene. I’m outnumbered three to one—four to one if I include Suggs in the equation. I don’t know if the men are armed. I have no idea where Suggs is or how long it will be before real backup arrives. All of that said, there’s no way in hell I can do nothing while a vicious crime takes place scant feet away.

I turn to Alina. “I want you to drag the bed over here and shove it against the door. Do you understand?”

She looks alarmed. “You can’t go down there. They’ll—”

“No, they won’t.” I step onto the landing, then look back at the woman. “Don’t let anyone in. The good police are on the way.”

*   *   *

Lifting my skirt, I unholster the .22 and start down the stairs. I wish for my .38. Not only does it have six shots, as opposed to five, it’s got a lot more stopping power.

At the base of the stairs, I peer around the corner into the main area. The barn door stands open, undisturbed. No movement. The same as I left it. I can hear the woman wailing over the blare of the music. One of the men is taunting her. I know better than to let that get inside my head or let my emotions get involved. But I know what that kind of violence does to a person, and I make an effort to dial it back.

I step into the hall and go right. Straight ahead, the door is still ajar. Pressing my back to the wall, I edge toward it, ducking at each window I pass in case someone’s locked inside and they start making noise. I reach the door. Using my fingers, I push it open a few inches and look inside.

Straight ahead I see a folding table. Playing cards, a bag of chips, and several beer bottles sit on top. A flat-screen TV is mounted on the wall to my right. A pornographic movie plays on the screen in vivid color. Music blares from a sleek sound system stacked on a shelf unit. A newish sofa, end table, and lamp. Clothes strewn on the floor. There are no weapons in sight.

I look left. I see a man on a bed. His back is bare, his lower half covered by a blanket. I can only see the side of his face. Black hair. Scruffy beard. The woman lies motionless beneath him. Bloodied lip. Misery on her face.

A door near the bed swings open. I slink back, but not before I see Jacob Yoder emerge from what looks like a bathroom. No need for me to be worried he’ll see me; his attention is riveted on the man and woman in the bed. He’s wearing trousers, unfastened and unzipped. No shirt. Wiry arms. Skinny white chest. His face is flushed.

There’s no sign of Smucker. I take a step back, trying to figure out how best to handle this when I hear a minute sound behind me. I spin to see Smucker coming down the aisle. His eyes meet mine and go wide. His mouth opens. For an instant, time stands still.

His gaze flicks to the pistol at my side. “What the fuck?”

I bring up the .22, aim center mass. “I’m a cop,” I hiss. “Get your fucking hands up. Face the wall. Now.” I say all of it quietly enough so the other two men can’t hear.

I don’t see a weapon, but that doesn’t mean he’s not armed. It sure as hell doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous. I don’t like the close quarters of the hall. I’m ever aware that two more men are scant feet away on the other side of the door.

“Cop?” But he raises his hands. “Shit. Okay. Whatever you say.”

“Put your hands against the wall. Your face, too. Do it now.”

Watching me, moving slowly, he obeys. “What the hell is this?”

“Shut up.” Keeping as much distance between us as possible, the .22 trained on his back, I sidle past him.

I walk backward toward the open area. Smucker watches me, his cheek pressed against the wall. I wonder if Betancourt got to Suggs, if the state police are en route. I sense movement behind me. I swing around, catch a glimpse of Suggs an instant before his fist slams into my face. Pain explodes in my nose. The force of the blow buckles my knees, sends me reeling backward. As I go down, I see intent in his eyes. The blue steel of a revolver in his hand and I think:
You fucked up, Burkholder
.

An instant before I hit the floor, something slams into my head from behind. Stars fly in my peripheral vision. I look up, see Smucker bending toward me, teeth clenched, arms reaching. I bring up the .22 and fire blind.

Smucker screams and staggers backward. Red blooms on his coat sleeve. He looks down at the tear, goose down sticking out, blood soaked. He grasps his arm with is uninjured hand. “You shot me, you bitch!”

“Get that fucking gun!” Suggs kicks my wrist, but I don’t drop the .22.

The door bangs against the wall. I glance up to see Yoder rush out, a rifle in his hands. Eyes locked on me. Mouth twisted into a snarl. “What’s going on?” he shouts.

I shift the pistol, fire at him. My shot goes wide, takes a chunk of wood out of the door. Suggs comes down on top of me like a truckload of bricks. The crushing force of his weight smacks the breath from my lungs. Grasping my wrist, he slams my hand against the floor. Pain zings up my arm. I lose my grip on the .22. It skitters across the floor and strikes the wall.

I’m thrashing, trying to wriggle out from beneath Suggs when Smucker draws back and drives a steel-toed boot into my ribs. White-hot pain streaks across my rib cage and lights up my spine. An undignified sound rips from my throat. I throw a single ineffective punch. A second kick lands in my temple. My head is knocked violently sideways. Stars scatter and my vision dims. For several seconds, I lay there, dazed and gasping. I’m aware of Suggs rising. The men speaking words my brain can’t quite process.

I see Jacob Yoder looking down at me, his eyes alight with satisfaction, and then the world fades to black.

CHAPTER 23

I open my eyes to bright light. I’m lying on my back. The kiss of snowflakes against my face. I’m aware of snow beneath me. Cold all around. My head pounding with every rapid-fire beat of my heart. Knife-sharp pain on the left side of my rib cage.

I shift slightly, moaning as another layer of pain wraps around my chest. A quick physical inventory tells me I have broken ribs. My hands are bound in front of me. I roll onto my side and glance down to see they tied me using my scarf. The memory of how I arrived at this unfortunate situation floods my brain following quickly by the realization that I’m in serious trouble.

Raising my head, I look around. I’m on the ground outside the barn’s sliding door. Light rains down from a spotlight mounted above the door. I’ve no idea how I got here or how long I was unconscious. Dan Suggs stands over me in his khaki pants and sheriff’s department parka, looking out over the woods, a flask in his hand.

“What the hell are you doing?” I ask, my voice thick and rough.

He looks down at me. “I’m sorry it came to this, Chief. I like you. I really do. You’re a good cop. Too goddamn good, probably.”

“Dan, come on. What are you
doing
? You’re a cop, for God’s sake. You don’t have to take this any further.”

“Already gone too far.” He looks away and for a moment I think he’s going to actually cry. “Jesus Christ, I’m in deep.”

“It’s not too late to stop this. I’ll help you. Betancourt will, too.”

“You know what the kicker is, Chief?” His laugh is a terrible sound, like the tearing of flesh. “It wasn’t even about the money.”

“Then what?”

“Oldest reason in the book. Any time I wanted it. Day or night. All I had to do was come here and climb on. It was like a drug and I was a junkie. Pathetic, huh?”

“Why did you let things go so far?” I ask. “I mean with the investigation? You knew how it would end.”

“That fucking Betancourt called me at the last minute, after Walker had his heart attack. You were here in a matter of days.” His laugh is an ugly, coarse sound. “If I’d gone to Schrock, he would have killed you. That would have been a clusterfuck.” He lifts a meaty shoulder, lets it drop. “I never thought you’d get this far. Figured I could control you. Keep a tight rein.” He frowns at me. “But you were like a dog with a bone. The harder I pushed to get you out of here, the harder you pushed back to stay.

“Hell, I knew it would end one day. Always figured if things blew up, I could put all of it on Schrock. Or put a bullet in him. I got a lot of shit on him.” He swigs from the flask. “You beat me.”

Lifting my head, I look around. Beyond the aura of light, it’s still dark. The three snowmobiles are parked in the same spot, twenty feet away. I look around for my cell, but it’s nowhere in sight. No sign of the .22. Where the hell are the state police Betancourt promised to send?

“Look, Kate, I’m fucking sorry, but this isn’t going to end well for you.” He sighs. “I don’t think it’s going to end well for either of us.”

I work the fabric at my wrists, but it’s wrapped tightly around both wrists, run between them, and knotted. “What are you going to do?”

“The boys are going to take you across the border to a lake, cut a hole in the ice, and…” He shakes his head and lifts the flask. “I’m sorry.”

He kneels, grunting as if it’s painful. Setting his hand against the back of my head, he helps me to a sitting position and brings the flask to my lips. “Here you go.”

I sip, buying time. The taste of the whiskey makes me shudder.

His eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot. His nose is running, snot shiny on his upper lip. He doesn’t seem to notice. “It’ll make all this a little easier for you.”

“I appreciate that.”

My voice is calm, but fear is a beast rampaging inside me, pacing and clawing and tearing me up from the inside out. Where are the state police? Why aren’t they here yet? Did Betancourt realize the situation was urgent?

“Frank Betancourt knows,” I say after a moment. “About you.”

He looks down at me, studying me intently. “You’re lying.”

“He knows you’re part of it. I told him. Dan, it’s over. Give it up while you still can.”

Smucker and Yoder emerge from the barn. There’s blood on Smucker’s coat where I shot him. I look at it, meet his gaze, and force a smile. He starts toward me, cursing, but Suggs stops him. “Go get the other woman. Tie her up. Bring her down.”

“Alina?” Yoder casts him a mutinous look.

“She ran her mouth to a cop, idiot.” Suggs gestures at me. “She saw this one’s face. You gotta get rid of her, too.”

Neither man looks happy about it, but they go back inside.

Suggs sighs and looks down at me. He offers the flask, but I shake my head. He takes another long pull.

“Tell me one thing,” I say.

“Guess I owe you that much.”

“What happened to Rachel Esh?” I ask.

He looks away, wipes his mouth with his hand. “Damn stupid kid. She knew too much. Tried to run.”

“She didn’t die out in the snowstorm all by herself, did she?”

“No, she didn’t.”

“Who?”

His eyes fill with tears. Plucking off a glove, he rubs them hard with his fingers. “Goddamn this is a mess.”

“What happened to her?”

Sniffing a runny nose, he turns his head and spits in the snow. “Let’s go inside.” He takes my arm and hauls me to my feet. “Come on. Up and at ’em.”

For an instant my head spins, but I shake it off. Something heavy in my coat pocket, brushing against my hip.
The pepper spray.
I can’t believe they didn’t find it. I feel Suggs’s eyes on me and I pray he can’t read my thoughts.
Keep him talking
. I say the first thing that comes to mind. “How did she die?”

A quiver runs through him. He stops our forward progression and looks at me, his expression angry, as if I’ve overstepped some invisible line of decorum. “I figure that’s the last thing I want to talk about.” He nudges me toward the barn door. “Move.”

I do as I’m told. “I’m scared.”

“Nothing I can do about that now.”

We go through the door. His right hand grips my left bicep. He’s so close I can hear his breathing. I feign a stumble and twist right. Jamming both hands in my pocket, I yank out the pepper spray. He releases my arm, reaches for his pistol. I spin toward him. The revolver coming up. But he’s not fast enough. I spray his face. High velocity, right in his eyes.

He tries to bat my hand away, but the burn kicks in. His hands fly to his eyes. An animalistic roar tears from his throat. His knees hit the ground. Coughs rack his body. I spray again, get the side of his face. Sputtering, he swings at me, but I dance back and he misses. I look around for his weapon. It’s on the ground. Too close to him for me to reach. I need my hands free first.