Edge of Midnight (31 page)

“Yeah. Go talk to Ida.”

*   *   *

Ida waited, miserable, soaked, and shivering cold. Jesus, what she wouldn't give for a hot bath. Finally Osey, flashlight in hand, came loping up on the porch.

“You got him?” Ida said.

Osey held his flash pointed down. “Did you fire your gun?”

“Yes.”

“I'm going to need it.”

“Right.” Her hand went toward the holster on her belt.

“Easy.”

What was the matter with everybody? You'd think she shot someone the way they were looking at her sideways. Oh God, surely, she hadn't. The first time she'd fired, the sniper had fired back. The second time, she wasn't aiming to hit, only let them know where she was. With thumb and forefinger, she clasped the grip, slowly removed the gun from the holster. She dropped it in the evidence bag he held. What was going on? Nervousness pulled her mind from cold and wet.

“Tell me what happened here,” he said.

She related events, beginning with Hazel's sending her out to warn the citizens about the coming tornado and ending with dragging Kelby up to the porch. “Is she seriously injured? Is that why you're questioning me like a suspect? Did I do some serious damage by moving her?”

“When you started toward the injured woman, the sniper fired at you.”

“Yes,” she said.

“You turned off your flashlight so he wouldn't be able to pinpoint your location.”

“Yes.”

“Then the hail and rain started.”

“Yes.” She was beginning to lose patience. She wanted to get off this damn porch and into some dry clothes. She wanted to get to the hospital and find out how Kelby was.

“You fired at the sniper. One shot.”

“Yes.”

“The woman, unconscious woman, suddenly leaped out of the rain and fell against you?”

“More or less.”

“Did you shoot at her?”

Ida took a breath to spread calmness over her rising temper. “I was expecting the gunman. She startled me. I nearly shot her, then realized it wasn't the creep with the rifle. What's going on?”

Osey looked at her long and hard, then he shook his head. “You shot the chief.”

“What?”

 

39

Parkhurst shucked wet clothes, bundled them in a plastic bag, and took out the extras he kept in the locker. “Where is he?”

“Interview room,” Demarco said.

“He give you any trouble?” Parkhurst pulled on dark gray pants and a white shirt.

“None. Except talking. He wanted to confess, wouldn't shut up. Said his name was Joe Farmer and he did it for Lily.”

“Any ID on him?”

Demarco nodded. “Driver's license with an address in Palo Alto, California.”

“He ask for an attorney?”

“Nope. Said he didn't want an attorney. Signed a release to that effect.”

“Been read his rights?” Parkhurst put on dry shoes, put a foot on the bench and tied the laces, put the other foot up and tied laces.

“Yes.”

Parkhurst went down the hallway to the interview room. Joe Farmer sat in the center of the long table. Forties, thin face, with the tight drawn look of someone who's been sick a long time. Dark hair and dark eyes with the intense stare of a fanatic. Someone had taken his wet clothes and given him an orange jailhouse jumpsuit. Demarco stood by the doorway, Parkhurst sat across the table from Farmer and turned on the tape recorder, stated the date and time and mentioned the names of those present.

“I had to do it,” Farmer said. “Kill her. Kelby Oliver. She deserved to die.”

“Why?”

Farmer talked about Lily, his daughter, how beautiful she was and how smart and how talented as a photographer, how her pictures won awards, then he talked of her brutal death and the trial. “Kelby was the only juror who voted against the death penalty. My Lily is dead but that animal is still alive because of her.”

“You killed her and put the body in the silo.”

“Silo?” Farmer looked confused. “No. I meant to torture her, so she would know what Lily went through, but then…” He shook his head and glanced at Demarco, at the bare wall behind Parkhurst, and then at Parkhurst. “She ran so I shot her. A police officer—she came and dragged her away. I tried to shoot her, too. But the dark and the rain. The wind.”

“Who is the woman in the silo?”

“I know nothing about silos, or any woman in one.”

“How did you find Kelby Oliver?”

“Her friend—Arlette Coleridge. I—uh, persuaded her to tell me.”

“Persuaded her so hard she died.”

Farmer studied the scarred tabletop. “I'm sorry about that. I never meant to hurt her. She wouldn't tell me what I needed to know.”

“Why'd you set the cabin on fire?”

“That was Kelby. She knocked over the lantern.”

“Torture,” Parkhurst said flatly.

“You don't know what it's like.” Farmer leaned forward. “The dreams…” He tapped fingertips against his forehead. “The dreams, and Lily crying, calling to me, help, and I can't and…” Farmer looked up, face anguished. “I knew if I did to Kelby what that sick bastard did to Lily, the dreams would stop. I could sleep.” He put his palms on his temples and squeezed. “I had to do it. She kept saying she was Cary Black, but she didn't fool me. I knew who she was. She was Kelby.”

Cary Black, Parkhurst thought. The missing wife of police officer Mitchell Black.

*   *   *

Osey guided Faye Turney along the hospital corridor with gently nudging progress. Mrs. Turney, Kelby Oliver's sister, was a woman who couldn't talk and walk at the same time, and she talked a lot. She had blown into the police department and demanded God knows what all. Parkhurst had explained the situation. Sort of. When he'd said Kelby was in the hospital, Mrs. Turney had fits and that's when he'd handed her over to Osey with instructions to take her to see her sister.

“I just knew it.” Mrs. Turney stopped and looked at Osey. “I just knew it. I've been so worried.”

Osey was worried about Ida and what was going to happen to her. She'd probably get fired. You couldn't go around shooting the chief of police and not have serious consequences come down on you. Even if it was an accident.

“… and when Kelby didn't call me for so long, I just knew something had happened to her. She wouldn't let me help her, you know. She was worried he might do something. Harm us. And, of course, there are the children to think of. That awful man. He stalked her, you know. She lived in terror. Thank goodness it's over. Now maybe she can get back to her life and live like a normal person again. It's been hard for her, you know. I hope she's going to be all right.” The last was said with a rising inflection making it a question.

“Dr. Gordon seems to think she'll make a full recovery. It's just going to take a little while.”

“Thank goodness for that.” Mrs. Turney laughed. “Oh well, I mean about the recovery, not that it will take a while. I'm going to take care of her. This time I'm not going to take no for an answer. She's my only sister. I'm going to be there for her.”

Osey thought that would probably double the recovery time. “She's in this room right here.”

Mrs. Turney rushed in with a big smile, then stopped and looked at Osey. “Oh,” she whispered, “you got the wrong room. This isn't Kelby.”

“Are you sure?”

“Certainly, I'm sure. I guess I know my own sister. Who is this person?”

A very good question. Osey hustled Mrs. Turney out of there and, with repeated coaxings and nudgings, got her on the elevator, up a floor, and into the small chapel.

“What's going on?” she said. “You said Kelby was going to be all right. Where is she? Why did you take me to that woman? I demand that you take me to see Kelby this instant!”

Osey very much thought he knew where Kelby Oliver was. In the cooler down in the basement. And he very much doubted Mrs. Turney could recognize that decomposed, rotting corpse as human, let alone as her sister. He asked her to wait, he'd be right back.

“I will not wait! I want to know what's going on!”

“You have every right to know. I'm going to tell you. In just a few minutes.”

Mrs. Turney sank down in a pew, her expression a mixture of anger and fear, and an overall growing awareness that the explanation was going to be bad. Osey backed out, then loped to the nearest nurses station and had them page Dr. Gordon. Using his shoulder mike, he called in and asked dispatch to send him the watch and ring found on the body in the silo. Cooling his heels in the lobby, he hoped Mrs. Turney would stay put. When Ida pulled up at the entrance with the overheads flashing, he dashed out.

“What's going on?” Ida handed him an evidence bag with the items he'd requested.

“I think I've identified the body.” He signed and dated in the required spot, dashed back inside, and took the stairs two at a time.

Mrs. Turney popped up when he came back. He showed her the watch and ring. She identified them as belonging to her sister. Despite strong discouragement from him and the doctor, Mrs. Turney insisted on seeing the body. When she saw the black bloated corpse, she freaked, had to be admitted, and screamed until the sedative took effect.

*   *   *

Cary floated in silence on a soft cocoon of black water. Whispery voices were calling to her. She drifted on. The voices got louder, insistent. One higher voice. Shrill. Hysterical. She tried to make out the words. They had no meaning. When she opened her eyes, light rushed in and pain splintered through her brain. Cautiously, she reached up to touch her head. Gauze. Bandages. Why did she have bandages wrapped around her head? A wave of sleep rose up and washed her away.

The voices were back. She clung to the tattered edges of sleep. The voices prodded. Eyelids raised a tiny bit, she saw blurry shadows. White jacket. Doctor? Saying someone was very lucky. It was good that someone was lucky, but she thought she'd just go back to sleep.

“Lucky?” Another voice. Talking with the doctor.

She moved her head a fraction, trying to get her small section of sight to center on the second speaker. The effort was exhausting and made the pain worse.

“From a medical standpoint she's very fortunate.” The doctor again.

She wished they'd discus this somewhere else.

“Broken ribs knit fairly quickly. The collar bone will take time, but should have no problems healing. Compound fracture of the left radius. Is she left-handed?”

Talk somewhere else. If they didn't go away, they would tear through the sleep and let the pain in.

“What about the head injury?”

“Concussion. We wait and see. Her vitals are strong.”

The next thing she knew, someone was thumbing her eyelids up and shinning a light in her eyes. “How do you feel?”

With great effort, she raised one hand and did a thumbs up.

He laughed and patted her shoulder. “It will get better. Just give it time.”

He disappeared from her sight and she felt herself drift along toward the black ocean where there was no pain.

*   *   *

Voices again. The doctor and—no! Not Mitch! No!

Machines beeped. “What happened? She was fine a second ago. Why has her pulse shot up like this?”

Fear faded along with the voices and she rode on blue velvet.

“Cary Black…”

Cary licked her lips and mumbled, “Go away.”

“I need to ask a few questions, but first I need to read you your rights. You understand?”

“Yes…”

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney…”

*   *   *

Osey watched her as he recited the Miranda warning. Face and right arm scraped raw and crisscrossed with scratches, left arm bandaged and immobilized in a sling. Deep cut on her upper arm, stitched with black thread and oozing fluid. She looked small and vulnerable, battered by someone much stronger than she was.

“If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you free of charge before any questioning, if you want. Do you understand?”

A long second's wait, then a slight nod.

He couldn't see this woman getting in a rage and pushing Kelby Oliver into the silo. Cary Black didn't seem capable of pushing a kitten into anywhere, but he wasn't seeing her at her best. Maybe it wasn't rage, but cold-blooded calculation. Kill the Oliver woman, assume her identity, and take over everything that was hers.

Well, it wasn't up to him to make the big decisions. He just followed orders. When a machine started beeping, a nurse came in to check and threw him out.

 

40

After three days in the hospital, Susan was more than ready to go home. While the tornado was roaring into Hampstead, an ambulance was screaming to the emergency room. The twister touched down in two places, uprooted trees, flattened houses, twisted cars, and downed power lines. Eight people injured, two seriously, fortunately no deaths. While George and Parkhurst dealt with the aftermath, she languished in a hospital bed.

Dr. Sheffield snapped on latex gloves and eased the bandages from the wound on her left hip. “Looking good,” he said.

“Easy for you to say.” Lying on her right side, she craned her neck to see what damage Ida's bullet had done.

“No signs of infection.” Doctor Sheffield prodded and squeezed and tapped. “You're fortunate the bullet missed the femur.”

She gritted her teeth as pain zinged through her entire left side. He dropped bloody bandages in the hazardous material receptacle, applied clean gauze, and taped it securely. She felt better having the wound covered up.

“Another day and you should be able to go home.

Susan looked up at him. “I need to leave now.”

“Another day,” he repeated. “To make sure you don't do any more damage to that leg. That you stay off of it and keep it dry.”