[Canadian West 05] - Beyond the Gathering Storm (23 page)

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Authors: Janette Oke

BOOK: [Canadian West 05] - Beyond the Gathering Storm
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“What’s up?” Rogers did not lift his head from the report he was completing.
“We’re going to have us a visitor.”
Rogers did look up then. “Good—or bad?”
“About as bad as you can get. Short of murder. Just completed a term in prison. Was released day before yesterday. Now he’s out, and they think he’s on his way back here.”
“You say ‘back.’ Is he from here?”
Henry sat down heavily and continued reading. “Has a shack along the creek someplace. This is already his third trip up with free room and board.”
“Why do they let a guy like that out?” Rogers was on his feet now, moving toward Henry’s chair. He leaned on the desk and looked over Henry’s shoulder. “Look at him. Look at that face. He even looks evil.” Rogers picked up the paper and peered at the mug shot.
“So that’s what we need to look out for?” Rogers said as he put the sheet back on the desk.
“Might be some changes. Beard—no beard. Different haircut. Those kinds of things. Even a dye job. There are lots of ways to change one’s looks. But study the eyes. Can’t change his eyes. Look at him. He looks—”
“Sinister,” Rogers filled in.
They both studied the picture.
“Look here,” said Henry. “He’s got a scar along his jawline. He could almost hide that under a beard. But it would likely still show a bit—right up here.”
“A scar. Left side. Yeah—he can’t very well hide that.”
The two perused the picture as though to memorize every line, every detail. Someone’s life might depend upon it.
Henry shook his head and eased back in his chair, running a finger over his mustache.
“Man—I hate this,” exclaimed Rogers, straightening. “I thought this was a nice safe little town for my wife and kids.”
“I’m afraid it might not be safe for anyone with him around—especially women who might be on their own.” Henry’s thoughts immediately jumped to Sam. How would they manage to protect her?
“Maybe he won’t show.”
“I hope and pray he won’t. We don’t have enough men to carry on with our regular duties plus keep a twenty-four-hour vigil on a guy like that.”
Rogers walked back to his desk, rubbing a hand vigorously over his head. “It would sure help if we could put folks on the alert.”
“You know we can’t.”
“Yeah, I know. But it seems stupid to me. Here’s a dangerous guy on the loose, and we have to cover for him.”
“We won’t cover for him. If he does show up, we’re going to watch him like a hawk. He steps out of line—anything, anything at all—we nail him.”
“He’s likely got plenty of crime savvy. He’ll take some watching.”
“Then he’s met his match.”
But for all his assurances to Rogers, Henry felt restless. Uncertain. How could the three of them keep an eye out on the whole town and the surrounding area? It wasn’t possible. He needed more detailed information on the guy. What were they up against?
His call to headquarters did not give him much additional background. Only caused him further concern. On previous occasions this man had gone after women he knew to be alone. Evening hours—between nine and midnight—seemed his pref erence. That was all they had to go on.
Henry could not settle back to work. He finally gave up and reached for his Stetson. “Keep an eye on things,” he said to Rogers. “I’ll be back shortly.”
He walked slowly to Sam’s, trying to get his foolish heart to stop hammering. If only there was some way—some legal way—to let her know about this possible threat to her safety.
He wasn’t sure if another haircut would be questioned. It hadn’t been that long since he’d had one. Could he cite warmer weather? No, his hair was never long enough to cause him any concern with heat.
Well—maybe he would think of something. Anything. Just to get a chance to talk with her. See if there was some way to alert her and make sure she remained secure.
He stepped up to the door just as it opened. Some other customer was just leaving. Henry stepped aside and nodded a greeting. The man was just putting on his hat—abeat-up, wide-brimmed black Stetson. He returned Henry’s nod. Henry noted intense dark eyes just before the hat hid them from view. Immediately Henry looked at the man’s cheek covered with a light growth of dark beard. There, just below the sideburn, was the ragged tail of a scar.
Henry felt as if he’d been kicked in the stomach. Their worst fear. had just been realized. And the felon had already been in to pay a visit to Sam.
Henry dropped the haircut idea, turned, and headed back to the office.
Henry supposed that none of them were getting much sleep. The police cars were kept on the move, especially in the evening hours. Up and down streets they cruised, back and forth, over and over, watching for shadows, jumping at newspapers flying in the wind or a cat tipping over a trashcan. And not a soul in town knew of their churning stomachs, the intense fear, the wearing down of stamina.
Twice they saw the man on the streets. Twice they followed him when he left, making sure he was heading back to his place in the hills.
He drove an old beat-up, once-blue pickup, with a license plate hanging haphazardly from baling wire. A mangy dog always rode in the front seat beside him and growled deeply when anyone came anywhere near the vehicle.
“You think I could provoke that dog into an attack?” Laray wondered.
“Don’t try anything that might get you hurt,” warned Henry. Truth was, he had thought of it himself. “He wouldn’t have to do anything more than have the dog destroyed. That wouldn’t solve our problem.”
The next time the convict was in town, Laray entered the office out of breath. “I just saw that there fella jaywalking. Want me to bring him in?”
Henry shook his head. Everyone in town jaywalked at one time or another. “No—they’d never hold him on that. He might have to pay a twenty-dollar fine. That’s all. Just keep an eye on him. He’ll trip up one of these days.”
Henry wanted to believe his own words, but he was getting more and more nervous about it.
It didn’t help Henry any when the next time he went for his regular haircut, he again met the fellow just coming out. This time he was grinning, and he tipped his hat to Henry.
There was little sleep after that. The three patrolled with a passion, paying particular attention to any house where they knew a woman lived alone. Jessie was offered rides home in a police cruiser if she had to close shop very late.
The officers forgot about the roster, putting in as many hours as they could manage and still function. Henry worried about Rogers’s family. Those little girls must have wondered why their daddy had to be gone so much. Possibly the officer had confided in his wife. Henry thought he would have been tempted to give some kind of warning if he had a wife and baby girls at home.
Henry decided the squad car was a bit too obvious and took to walking the streets. He didn’t want the whole town speculating about why they were out prowling around the neighborhood.
His circuit took him past Sam’s bungalow several times a night. Always he stood on the other side of the street, hidden by a growth of caraganas, and watched and waited. His eyes looked for movement, shadows, anything that didn’t belong to the night.
I’m getting downright jumpy,
he accused as a night bird’s call startled him.
He was about to move on when he thought he saw movement at the screen door. His stomach did some kind of a nasty flip. His heart pounding wildly, he made his way across the street and silently onto the porch. The screen door was gently rocking back and forth in the light breeze. Henry reached for the wooden door’s brass knob, praying it would resist his hand. It didn’t. With a soft squeak that sickened him, it turned and opened.
The house was dark and silent. But he had to know. Had to. Should he call? Should he turn on a light? No, if there was indeed an intruder in the house, he did not want to spook him. But what if the fellow already had been there and left? That thought drove Henry onward. He stumbled over some piece of furniture, chiding himself for the scraping noise it created. One hand outstretched, he groped his way forward. He had no idea what rooms were where.
He was about to enter another door when he saw a movement to his left. He stopped absolutely still, readying himself to spring forward. A curtain shivered in the breeze at the window, letting in a splash of light from the streetlamp in front of the house. Sam stood there, arm upraised, prepared to do battle with the intruder. Before he could say a word, she flung whatever it was she had in her hand with all her might. He had just enough forewarning to lift his other arm, diverting the blow from the piece of firewood that came hurtling at him. The end of the stick grazed his cheek. He could feel the sting of it even as he called out, “It’s me. Delaney.”
He heard her intake of breath. In the next instant the room was flooded with light. She stood there, breathing heavily from fright and exertion. Her face was as pale as her worn robe, framed by hair hanging down around her shoulders.
“What in the world do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.
“Your ... your door was open,” he said lamely, dabbing at his cheek with his handkerchief.
“Open? It was closed when I went to bed.”
“It ... well, the screen door was swinging in the wind.”
“It often swings in the wind.”
She wasn’t making this easy.
“When I checked it, I found the inner door wasn’t locked.”
“Most folks in this town don’t worry about locked doors.”
“Well, they should,” he said firmly. “From now on I want that door locked every night.”
“You have so much time on your hands you’re policing doors now?” she asked, her sarcasm plain.
He moved toward the door. “Please, please,” he said. “I’m asking you to do this for reasons I’m not at liberty to divulge.”
She backed up a step and swallowed hard, her expression changing. “You frightened me half to death,” she said, pulling her robe more tightly around her slender frame.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Sorry.”
“I’m a little on edge,” she admitted. “There’s this guy who’s been coming in for cuts lately.” She shook her head. “Well, anyway—” She broke off and moved toward the kitchen. “Come in here,” she said, “so we don’t waken Danny. You’d better let me check your cheek.”
“It’s fine. Fine. A little scrape, that’s all. Just—please—lock your door when I leave.”
“Okay. I’ll lock it.”
As soon as he was back on the sidewalk he finished dabbing at the injury. It was already swelling slightly. His arm had taken quite a whack too. He shook his head; then a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. The little lady packed a mighty wallop.
“What happened to you?”
Henry had known he would be questioned. He didn’t know how to be evasive, and he wasn’t about to lie. “A chunk of firewood. Mistaken identity,” he answered without looking up.
“So who ... mistook you?” Laray set down his coffee cup and surveyed the bruise.
Henry kept his eyes on the map he was studying. “Well ... Sam, actually.”

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