Broken Heartland (19 page)

Greer grabbed for his belt and then threw his arms open, as if surprised to discover he didn't have a gun strapped there. Neuhauser didn't have one either, though why they should need guns was beyond the ex-chairman, even if he was carrying one himself.

Greer was going to be a real pain in the ass if he got elected, and it seemed likely that would happen. The evangelicals had hit town well organized and well funded, as the former chairman knew personally from the results of his recall election. But he didn't care about Greer and Neuhauser. He cared about that Ford. He kind of snuggled down in his seat and prepared to wait for the driver to resurface.

Greer and Neuhauser came running his way. Wynn snuggled even lower. But they didn't notice him. They were focused on the car parked just a few feet away from his Escalade. It was a black Chevy SS. Neuhauser fumbled with his keys and threw open the trunk. The two men rummaged through the contents and came out with a series of weapons of the sort you'd expect to see them grab out of a Hummer in downtown Baghdad. They made selections, including ammunition, slammed the trunk and jumped in the car. A couple of citizens had to move fast to get out of their way as they tore out of the parking lot and headed south.

This was definitely not business as usual for the Benteen County seat. Wynn continued to watch the Ford, but he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.

Now, who should he call, Englishman? Or one of the Englishdaughters?

***

Mrs. Kraus gazed longingly at the top drawer of her desk, the one where she kept her gun. She so wanted to draw the weapon and order everybody out of the sheriff's office. There was quite a crowd. Parents, mostly, who'd just begun learning there'd been a shooter loose at the school. They'd come to the courthouse to look for their kids and get information. Those who hadn't found their children yet were getting pretty upset. Several of them had commandeered the phones in the sheriff's office. At least she didn't have to answer calls anymore. Both lines were in the hands of citizens so determined that only her Glock might have discouraged them.

She was trying to maintain some sense of order in the office, but no one was paying her much attention, not since the highway patrol arrived and took charge. The troopers had pestered her, too, at first, wanting a fellow officer released. She didn't know a thing about that, but she'd shown them where the jail was. Now, the state's boys were surrounded by parents and taking the majority of their complaints. That was also a relief.

She was trying to keep an eye on the voting. She'd been doing that ever since the effort to stuff the ballot box this morning. She'd rounded up a couple of extra folks from each party to monitor voting here. And she'd passed the word so both parties could get more people out to keep an eye on other precincts throughout the county. But the elections officials had prevented her from seizing the ballot boxes and sticking them back in the jail. They would examine the contents and the voter count later, they promised her, with a special eye toward ballots that matched the fake ones Hailey had discovered.

She wished Englishman would check in, though there weren't any lines open. He'd probably call if she had a cell phone, but she refused to carry one of the fool things. She was sick of running into people who said hello while she was shopping in the Dillon's. She would respond and get a dirty look, as often as not, since they were talking to someone on their cell phones instead of her.

It was too bad that the department had stopped using their old walkie-talkies. Of course they hadn't reached halfway across the county, but today they would have given her another means of accessing the sheriff.

According to the troopers, the shooter was thought to have left the school. The kids and their teachers were here, or still coming. She would be just as glad to let those boys in their spiffy uniforms deal with that mess—hundreds of students and their hysterical parents reuniting at the courthouse.

It troubled her, though, to think that one of Benteen County's teens had gone on a shooting spree. A wounded boy had been taken over to the clinic, she'd heard, along with Lieutenant Greer, who'd been injured in a heroic assault on the high school. She was surprised and pleased that Greer and Englishman had set aside their differences on a day like this, cooperating for the good of the community. It made her feel warm inside.

She checked again, found both phones still in use, and wandered across the foyer to look out the front door and watch more folks from the school come flooding across the park. A sunburned old farmer who'd been sweet on her for years came up the stairs about the same time. “Howdy,” he said, giving her a big smile.

“Howdy, yourself.” She never gave him any encouragement because he had bad teeth and a potbelly of awesome proportions.

“That was nice of you,” he said.

She had turned to go check on the phones again and his comment caught her by surprise. “What was nice?” That she'd turned her back on him? Was he being sarcastic, or had she just misunderstood?

“Loaning your car to that boy.”

“I didn't loan my car to anybody.” She elbowed past him so she could point it out, still parked over across from Bertha's Café, where she'd started her day with a wholesome breakfast of bacon, sausage, eggs, hash browns, and a short stack of pancakes. “See,” she pointed, “it's right where I left it.”

Only it wasn't.

“Lord!” she howled, hoping to get one of the troopers' attention. “Somebody stole my car.”

The troopers ignored her. In fact, hardly anybody but the old farmer even glanced her way.

“Stole it? You sure you didn't just forget? He said he had your permission. And he's such a nice kid.”

Mrs. Kraus got right in his face. “I am as sure as the day is long. I did not loan out my car.”

“Oh dear,” he said. “I don't suppose I should have told him you keep your spare keys in the glove box, then, should I?”

It was probably a good thing her Glock was back in the office. As it was, the look she gave him may have shortened his life expectancy by several years. “You damn fool,” she said, “who'd you help steal my car?”

“What with all his family's problems, I figured if he needed to borrow your car it would be all right.”

“Who?”

“Why, Chucky Williams.”

Mrs. Kraus' jaw fell. “Chucky Williams. Don't you know that boy's been shooting up the school this morning?”

“You're joshing me,” the old man said. “Things like that don't happen here.” He smiled at her but she didn't smile back. “Though I did wonder,” he admitted, “why he was carrying that AK-47.”

***

Watching her dad drive off and leave her like that hurt. Deputy Heather thought she'd done a good job, getting word to the gym full of potential victims just in the nick of time and in spite of that rogue trooper. Not just good—kick ass. She deserved better than to be dumped in the parking lot with instructions to hike back to the courthouse and help with busy work.

She couldn't really blame Englishman for wanting to spare her what he was likely to find at the Williams place, though, or even for wanting to keep her away from the action where she was safe. After all, she'd come home today and gotten involved in all this because she'd been trying to keep him away from danger. She still wanted to do that, but a deputy on foot couldn't stay ahead of a sheriff in his truck.

After Englishman turned the corner and disappeared, she just stood there, staring mindlessly across the parking lot full of cars. Then it occurred to her that she was staring at one car in particular. It was an old gray Ford, a Taurus, slightly battered. There was something familiar about it. She'd noticed it earlier because…. Because that was the car Chucky had taken the trombone case out of as she drove away from the campus this morning.

She walked over for a closer look. It wasn't locked. She could see from here that both the driver's and passenger's windows were down. Some duly appointed law enforcement officer ought to check the vehicle out, she decided. She knew just the one for the job. Every other law enforcement officer had gone elsewhere. A couple to the courthouse. Two to patrol streets for Chucky. One, with Doc, to collect the bodies in the basement. And the others, with Captain Miller, to make sure Chucky wasn't still in the abandoned school.

The Taurus had experienced a close encounter with something that creased the left rear fender. Hood, trunk, and top were dimpled, like the surface of a golf ball—hail damage—a condition that wasn't uncommon in Benteen County. The interior was clean, though. Or mostly. A stack of books and a notebook lay on the front seat. She let herself in and checked. They were Chucky's. Nothing very interesting, until she found the bookmark in his English text. It was stuck in a section explaining gerunds—not something to uplift your spirits, but hardly likely to have started Chucky on his killing spree.

The bookmark, though, that was interesting. It was a plain business-sized envelope with Chucky's name neatly penned on the outside. No address or return address, no stamp—it hadn't been mailed.

Something else had been written on the reverse. This penmanship was tight and jerky and hard to read, but she managed to puzzle it out.

“We're so proud of you,” it said. It was signed, “Mom & Dad.”

The envelope had been neatly slit along the top. Heather wished she had some gloves, but she didn't, and she wasn't about to let that stop her now.

A single sheet of paper was within. It was folded exactly the way they told you professional communications should be.

She was disappointed, at first. There was no logo, no indication of who it was from. But this message was printed. Times New Roman, if she knew her fonts. Easy to read.

Rejoice. You may help a man “take up his pallet and walk.” You have been tested and found pure. At the hour of midnight on the 5th of November you will gather with the faithful in the selected place. From there, go forth unto the holy man. You are not the chosen, but you are first among the successors. You shall help “roll away the stone,” should the chosen one prove unable. Come with great joy, for you are most righteous and you shall be rewarded on earth and, eternally, in Heaven.

Easy to read, maybe, but not easy to understand. She thought she got some of it. Chucky had scored high on those medical tests at the Bible camp. His name had ranked first among the best matches for a transplant. If she understood this Bible babble, someone else had been chosen to make the donation, but Chucky was being invited to come act as a backup. Jeez, talk about your unwanted honors. Well, she would feel that way about it. And maybe Chucky had, after the accident. Especially if the dead kid in the station wagon with the stem cells had been number one.

Had Chucky decided to decline the offer? Had people tried to force him? Was that why he'd gotten the gun and started shooting? Or was she misreading this and giving it more weight than it deserved?

Whatever, she was sure the “selected place” had been the Bible camp. Going forth to the holy man, that must be the journey that had been interrupted by this morning's accident. If she wanted the answer to the rest of her questions, she could ask Chucky. Or she could ask the driver of that bus, Galen Siegrist.

Doing either would be a problem, except that Chucky hadn't appeared to care what happened to his parents' car after he took the trombone case into the high school. That must be why he'd left the keys in the ignition and provided Heather with the transportation she had been lacking.

She got behind the wheel and turned the key and, in spite of the absence of any court orders, confiscated the evidence.

***

“I thought about staying home this morning, going down by the creek to practice singing,” Pam said, “maybe take a dip.”

“Would have been a better choice,” Mad Dog said, rubbing his sore shoulder.

“Except I wouldn't have finally gotten to know you,” she said, making him feel much better than the situation warranted.

They were alone now, in the same room where they'd been frisked and blood tested. The door was a solid core type with quality hardware that would resist being broken through. Oddly, all that hardware faced the wrong way. This was a room you locked people into, not out of. Besides, a professional gunman was nearby and, Mad Dog thought, prepared to do what was necessary to keep them from leaving. Before the guy locked them in, he'd told them not to bother trying to break out. He and the door would hold them, and the window, he said, was bulletproof glass. Mad Dog had tested the window, which faced on the front yard. He'd taken a running start and lowered the shoulder that was sore now. The window hadn't budged and he'd gotten a muffled “I told you so” from the guard in the hall.

Pam took over rubbing his shoulder and bent and whispered in his ear as she did so.

“Where's Hailey, now that we need her?”

Hailey had disappeared before they ran into Galen for the first time. Then she'd gone again, right after rescuing them from the bin and alerting them to Mark's presence. Where? What was she up to?

“She's my
nisimon
,” he told Pam, also whispering. “That's a Cheyenne thing, kind of like a witch's familiar.”

The girl nodded, as if she'd expected as much and ran into guys who had supernatural partnerships with their pets all the time.

“And you're right, actually. She might be able to help us get out of here.”

Pam nodded again. “It would be nice if she could open that window the way she opened the door to the grain bin.”

“Maybe she can, or maybe she'll help us another way, if I ask her.”

“How?”

“Like this.” Mad Dog sat on the carpet and folded his feet under him. It was similar to the lotus position he used to assume when he wanted to be one with the universe back in his Buddhist period. Fortunately, Cheyenne stopped short of that, since Mad Dog could no longer get both feet on top of his thighs these days.