In the Bleak Midwinter (18 page)

The Stoner’s farm was a mile past the Montgomerys’. He crunched into the drive, parking next to Mindy’s Chevelle. He was relieved to see Ethan’s old pickup by the road leading up the hill toward the cow barn.

Mindy Stoner came out on the porch, wiping her hands on a dishcloth. “Russ,” she said. “What brings you up this way?” She was a tall, raw-boned woman, whose square, strong features had looked almost homely back when she was a schoolgirl. Time had refined her so that now, in her forties, she had the spare beauty of a mountaintop blown clean of snow.

He held up the folded paper. “I’m afraid I’m here on business, Mindy. Can I come in?”

She looked back toward the kitchen, then opened the door. “You might as well. No need to freeze out here in the dooryard.” Russ scraped the slush off his boots and followed her through the mudroom into the kitchen, a large room of wooden cupboards, blue-and-white dish towel fabrics, and children’s papers and artwork tacked up everywhere. The woodstove between the mudroom and the pantry was throwing off heat, and the overhead lamp had been lit in preparation for the four o’clock twilight. Their thirteen-year-old—her name escaped him for the moment—was sitting at the round, oilcloth-covered table, doing homework. “Hannah,” Mindy said, “run up to the barn and tell your father Chief Van Alstyne’s here and needs to speak with him.”

The girl gaped, her too-large eyes widening with a mix of excitement and apprehension. “Is Daddy in trouble?”

Russ shook his head. “No. But I am going to have to speak with Ethan, too.”

“He’s out in the barn with Wayne, hooking up for the milking. Hannah, fetch ’em both in.”

At the mention of her brother’s name, the girl had relaxed. “Oh, Ethan,” she said, heading for the mudroom. “That figures.”

Her mother sighed. “What’s he gone and done now, Russ?”

He laid the papers on the kitchen table. “Have you heard about the girl found murdered by the kill last week?”

“Of course. It was on the news. Unidentified body fished out of the kill, that’s not something you see everyday around here.” Mindy’s eyes widened as she listened to herself. She clapped her hands over her stomach. “God in heaven, don’t tell me you think my boy had something to do with that!”

“Calm down, Mindy, I’m not here to arrest him for murder. This is a warrant for a blood test. The murdered girl had a baby about a week before she was killed, and I have reason to suspect that Ethan may be the father.”

Mindy sank into a ladderback chair. “Dear Lord,” she said. “Dear Lord.” She looked up at him. “Who… ?”

“It was Katie McWhorter.”

Mindy pressed her hands more tightly to her stomach. “Oh. No. Oh, no. That sweet girl.” She shook her head back and forth. “That sweet girl…” She covered her eyes with one hand, screening any tears from his view. Russ’s hands twitched, caught between maintaining some sort of professional detachment and reaching out to comfort this woman he had known since his high school days.

She slapped her hand on the oilcloth suddenly, startling Russ into stepping back. “As far as I knew, Ethan broke up with Katie last year. If he was sneaking around without us knowing, and got her pregnant, we’ll have the truth out. And he’ll take responsibility for it.” She rose slowly from her chair, glaring at Russ. “But you listen to me, Russ Van Alstyne. My boy didn’t have anything to do with killing anybody, least of all Katie McWhorter.”

“What’s going on?” Wayne Stoner stood in the mudroom door, prying off his boots with the jack. “Russ?” Wayne had the round reddened cheeks and the ice-pale blue eyes that marked so many people of Dutch descent in the county. He reached out and shook Russ’ hand firmly before he crossed to his wife’s side. “What’s that boy gotten into now?”

“Russ wants to take Ethan for a blood test,” Mindy said. “Seems Katie McWhorter had a baby a few weeks back and Ethan might be responsible.”

“Aw, Christ,” Wayne said, pulling off his hat and slapping it onto the table. “What a damn fool thing to do. Jesus, you can practically buy condoms at the feed store nowadays!”

Hannah had slipped in and was watching round-eyed from beside the woodstove. “Did Ethan get some girl pregnant?” she asked. “Whoa. No wonder he’s been acting so weird.”

“There’s more,” Mindy said to her husband, ignoring her daughter. “Katie is the girl they found dead down by the kill. The one that was in the news?”

Wayne shook his head as if he were checking it for loose wiring. He shook it again. He squinted at Russ. “You think Ethan had something to do with that?”

Russ spread his hands. “Wayne, I don’t know. First step is to get this blood test and see if he could be the baby’s father. Then we’ll take if from there.”

“I’m calling our lawyer,” Wayne said. “I don’t want Ethan leaving this property until I’ve talked to him.” He pivoted to the phone table between the two windows looking out onto the dooryard. Russ heard the slap of the phone book opening.

“Wait a minute,” Mindy said, “wasn’t she killed on Friday? Isn’t that what it said on the news? You saw Ethan on Friday. Remember? We had to come pick him up from that video game place. He couldn’t possibly have… he didn’t kill Katie.”

“The girl died sometime after sundown, Mindy. I didn’t see Ethan until well after ten o’clock.” He looked out the windows. The sky was darkening, blue to lavender, masses of pink clouds floating on the icy air. He turned to Hannah, who had lost the gloating look of a younger sister seeing her big brother about to get it from the grown-ups. It was sinking in that Ethan might be in a whole lot more trouble than she had ever imagined. “Hannah, did you tell Ethan I was here when you got your father?”

She nodded. “He said he’d be right down.”

Russ looked up to the barn. It wasn’t dark enough yet to need lights on, but it would be in half an hour or so. He wanted to get this over with. “I guess I’d better walk up there myself.”

“I’ll come with you,” Mindy said, pulling on her jacket. Outside, they crossed the path separating the barn drive from the house driveway and tramped up the well-plowed gravel road. To the northwest, the clouds were dark blue and heavy, rising from behind the mountains in a solid mass. Snow later tonight or tomorrow.

“You can’t tell for sure from a blood test if Ethan’s the father,” Mindy said.

“No. It’s more in the way of eliminating or confirming him as a possibility. If he has the right blood type, they’ll send his sample down to a lab in Albany that can compare his DNA to the baby’s.”

Mindy opened the cattle gate to the barnyard. “If he has the right blood type, what are you going to do?”

“Ask him some questions. He can have a lawyer present. Depending on what he tells me, we’ll go from there.” He stepped carefully, avoiding half-frozen cow patties.

“Ethan!” Mindy called. The road ended at the gaping two-story-high entrance to the old barn. Even in the antiseptic winter air, the smell of manure and hay and machine oil was strong. “Ethan!”

“Maybe you ought to stay out here,” he said.

“Don’t be ridiculous. This is my son we’re talking about.” Inside, the barn was warm with animal heat. The cows on the left-hand stalls had all been hooked up to their milkers, while the ones on the right waited their turn with bovine patience. The machinery was silent, however, and Ethan was nowhere in sight. The low ceiling was punctuated by four trap doors that Russ could see, leading up to the huge hayloft. The back of his neck felt hot and prickly. Something in the situation read wrong, very wrong.

“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.

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 big 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.”