Spencerville (36 page)

"Maybe. If he does, he only calls Blake."

Neither man spoke for a few seconds, then Schenley said, "Okay, about two A.M. Monday, I'm on the desk, and Baxter gets in from Toledo with the three guys he took with him — no names, okay? And with them is... her. He brings her into the station house, in cuffs for God's sake, and puts her in a cell. He's got blood all over his pants, down his left leg, and he's limping, and you can tell he's in pain, and his right eye's got blood in it, too, like somebody smacked him or poked him, and he's swearing like a trooper. Anyway, then he leaves with one of the guys, and the other two stay there. One of the guys tells me you tried to knife the chief in the balls. Then, about an hour later, Baxter comes back with his Bronco, and he's in civvies now, and he takes her away in cuffs. I saw that the Bronco was packed with clothes and stuff, and Baxter's three dogs were in the back."

Keith nodded. "Where did they go?"

"I don't know. I heard something about Florida. But I know I saw him turn south on Chestnut Street, and I remember wondering why he wasn't heading east to pick up a highway."

"Because he made a stop at my place first."

"Yeah... I know. Sorry."

"Has anyone gone out to the Porter house to look for me?"

"Yeah. Ward's out that way. The Porters aren't home, but Ward cruises by once in a while."

"How many men in a car?"

"One. We got to cover a lot of ground. They think you're heading back this way. They got all the honorary deputy sheriffs out, too, and they also called out the mounted posse. They haven't done that in about five years since a kid went missing. There's about twenty deputies out in their private cars, and maybe twenty mounted posse. Hey, if you're not in Spencer County, don't come."

"Thanks. I won't." Keith asked, "Did she look all right?"

Schenley didn't reply immediately, then said, "As well as can be expected." He added, "She had a bruise on her face... you know, when she was in the cell, I wanted to talk to her, but the other two guys were there, and I felt about as bad as I've ever felt. She just sat there, no crying, no screaming, just sort of, like, above it all — very classy lady — and when she looked at me and the other two guys, there wasn't any, like, hate or anything, just sort of like... she felt sorry for us..."

"Okay... thanks. I'll remember the favor if it ever comes up in court."

"Thanks, Landry. This is a damned mess. I can't understand how these three guys, who I thought I knew, could do what they did."

"When we know that, we'll have solved most of the world's problems." He added, "I'll put in a good word for you with Pastor Wilkes."

Schenley laughed, then said, "Hey, for your information, Baxter had a homing transmitter on your Blazer."

Damn it. He asked Schenley, "What color is his Bronco?"

"Black." He gave him the license plate number and added, "Hey, let it go, Landry. Stay away from here. They're looking for you, and Baxter's long gone."

"Yeah, but maybe I'll head for Florida, too."

"He'll kill you next time. The other guys with him say they had to pull him off you before he killed you."

"Thanks again." Keith hung up and got back into the van, where Chuck was drinking a Big Gulp and eating a donut.

Chuck said, "Got extra donuts here."

"Thanks. Make a left."

"Sure thing." Chuck pulled out of the 7-Eleven and made a left on the commercial strip. He said, "This ain't the way to Lima."

"No. Make another left at that light."

"Sure thing. Don't mean to be nosy, John, but I get the feeling something's bothering you."

"No, I'm fine, Chuck. In fact, that phone call just restored my faith in the human race."

"Yeah? Sorry I missed that."

"But don't miss your turn. Left here."

They headed south into the country.

Keith thought about what Schenley had said and what Terry had said. Obviously, the call that Annie had made to Terry on Monday night was not made from Spencerville, but from Grey Lake if Schenley's chronology was correct, and it probably was. If Baxter had left Spencerville about three A.M., he'd have been at Grey Lake about nine or ten A.M., with a side trip to burn down the Landry house. Baxter had called his children from Grey Lake in the morning, then made Annie call her sister much later, probably after he realized that all the news reports about the Baxters being reunited and in seclusion needed to be verified by Annie to at least one family member. Also, the Florida story had to be put out. Again, Keith thought, Baxter was not only vicious but cunning. A bad combination.

Keith had no idea what was going on at Grey Lake, but he knew it wasn't a reconciliation. He tried to take some comfort in Annie's assurance that she could handle Cliff Baxter. But in truth, after what Baxter had seen — his wife and her lover naked in bed together — Keith was certain that Baxter had snapped. If he was even halfway rational, he wouldn't have kidnapped his own wife and left such a mess behind; he would have stayed around to protect his job, his power, and his reputation. But obviously the man knew he was finished, and with that knowledge, whatever social control he'd managed to maintain up to now was gone.

But he wouldn't kill her. No, but he'd make her wish she was dead.

Keith directed Chuck to an intersecting highway, then gave him a few other directions. Chuck asked, "How do you know this place so good?"

"I was born here."

"No shit? Hey, you're a Buckeye! Give me five, John!"

Keith felt compelled to solidify the camaraderie, and they did high fives.

A few minutes later, they approached the Porter house. Keith could see for a good distance in all directions, and he didn't see any police cars, or in fact any vehicles, not even the Porters' car in their gravel driveway. "Pull in here, Chuck."

Chuck pulled into the drive, and Keith said to him, "Thanks, buddy. This is it."

"This ain't Lima."

"I guess not. There's the sixty, and here's twenty more. See you next time I'm in Toledo."

"Hey, thanks."

Keith opened the door and got out. He said, "I love this van."

"Ain't she somethin?"

Keith moved quickly to the back of the house. There was no one in the herb gardens, but the back door was unlocked, and he went inside. He called out, but no one answered. Keith put his briefcase on the counter, locked the back door, then went around to the front door and bolted it.

He went back to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and took a bottle of orange juice and a bran muffin, which he ate as he drank the juice straight from the bottle. He finished both and felt his stomach heave, but managed to keep it all down. He was definitely not well and was operating on pure adrenaline and hate.

He had no idea where the Porters were, or when they'd be back, but he was actually glad they weren't around.

At some point, the Spencerville police, or the sheriff, or the posse, or the deputies, or somebody would come around again, and he had to get moving. It was nearly three hundred miles to northern Michigan, and he needed a rifle, a car, clothing, and the other odds and ends of the killing game.

He went into the front foyer and started up the stairs, then heard a knock on the front door.

Keith went quickly to the living room and peered out the window. Parked in front of the house was a Spencerville police car.

There was no one in the car, so the question was, How many cops were around the house? Schenley said only one in each car. There was another, more insistent knock.

Keith didn't have to answer it, of course, but if it was one of the men who had accompanied Baxter to the motel, Keith wanted to say hello and maybe borrow the car and the shotgun in the car.

He peered sideways out the window and saw Kevin Ward, his thumbs hooked in his gun belt, not looking very alert.

Keith went to the front door and opened it. "Hi."

Before Ward could react, Keith delivered an uppercut to Ward's groin, then as Ward doubled over, Keith pulled him inside, kicked the door closed, and delivered a powerful hand-chop to Ward's neck. Ward crumpled to the floor, semiconscious.

Keith took Ward's handcuffs and cuffed his right wrist, then snapped the other cuff to the radiator's steam pipe. Keith unbuckled Ward's gun belt and pulled it off.

Ward was coming to now, and Keith said to him, "You looking for me?"

Ward lay on his side, and it took him a few seconds to realize he was tethered to the steam pipe. He stared up at Keith and said, "You fucking..."

Keith drew Ward's service revolver, aimed it at Ward's head, and cocked it. "Where's your boss?"

"Fuck you."

Keith fired into the wooden floor in front of Ward's face, and the man actually levitated off the floorboards.

Ward shouted, "Florida! He's in Florida!"

"Where in Florida?"

"I don't..."

Keith fired again into the floor near Ward's head, and again Ward bounced, then yelled, "Stop! He went... I think he went to Daytona. Yeah, to Daytona."

"Where in Daytona?"

"I... he never told us."

"Okay. She with him?"

"Yeah."

"Did you have fun at the motel?"

"No."

"Looked like you were having fun."

"I was scared shitless."

"Not as scared as you are now."

"No. Hey, Landry, I just follow orders."

"Every time I hear that, I want to kill the guy who said it."

"Give me a break. You got me down. I told you what I know. Hey, for all I care, you can go down to Daytona and kill the son-of-a-bitch. I hate him."

"And he's not real happy with you either. You saw his wife naked. You better hope I kill him, or you have a career problem."

Keith holstered the revolver and climbed the stairs before Ward started to think about that. With any luck, Ward knew that Baxter was at Grey Lake and would call Baxter to say he'd been a good boy and sent Landry off to Florida. It didn't matter that much either way, but you never passed up an opportunity to play the great flimflam game.

Keith found the master bedroom, which had a very lived-in look, with clothes strewn around, the bed unmade, and every object out of place. He got down on the floor and reached under the bed, hoping that Gail had taken him literally and put the rifle there, but he couldn't feel the carrying case. He looked around the room. In truth, the rifle could be on the floor, and he wouldn't see it amidst the junk. He went around to the other side and looked under the bed, but aside from the clutter, there wasn't anything resembling a canvas carrying case.

A voice said, "Looking for this?"

Keith straightened up and saw the muzzle of the M-16 rifle resting on the edge of the mattress. Keith stood and said, "Hello, Charlie."

Charlie Adair dropped the rifle on the bed and said, "You look like shit."

"Thank you. You, too."

"Did I hear you assaulting and abusing an officer of the law downstairs?"

"He was that way when I found him."

"That was very clever — getting the Florida story out of him, and you know that's not where they went. You're very good in the field. I always thought your real talents were wasted behind a desk."

"That's what I've been saying." Keith had no idea how Charlie Adair knew that Baxter and Annie had not gone to Florida. For that matter, he had no idea how Charlie had wound up in the Porter house.

Adair looked around the room. "With friends like these, you don't have to raise pigs."

"They're good people."

"They're left-wing radicals."

"Don't check out my friends, Charlie. I don't like that."

"These are the kinds of friends I have to check out."

"No, you don't."

"Actually, they are nice people."

"How'd you get onto them? Or should I ask?"

"You shouldn't. You should tell me."

Keith thought a moment, then said, "Telephone records."

"Bingo. You haven't made many calls since you've been here, so it was easy. Don't be impressed."

"I'm not." He asked, "Where are the Porters?"

"Running errands. Hey, I never saw a man in an Armani suit step out of an iridescent van. Who was that guy?"

"Chuck. From Toledo Airport."

"Ah. Good. He coming back?"

"No."

"You're without transportation."

"I have a police car. Where's your transport?"

"I just clicked my heels, and here I am."

"Charlie... I already have a headache. What can I do for you?"

"That's not the question, Keith. Ask not what you can do for your country, but what your country can do for you."

"That's not how it goes."

"Unfortunately, Keith, that's exactly how it goes in Washington, the big tit of the world. Your country is here to help you."

"With no strings attached."

"I didn't say that."

"I don't really have time for this."

"A little time with me will save you a lot of time later. Hey, can we get out of this sty? I think I saw a clean spot downstairs."

Keith took the rifle off the bed, and, carrying Ward's gun belt and holster, he followed Charlie into the upstairs hallway, where Charlie picked up the carrying case with the scope and ammunition. It was just like Adair, Keith thought, to materialize out of nowhere, brandishing a rifle that could just as well have been in its case — Charlie Adair was all show, mostly drama and comedy, but one day, for sure, tragedy.

They came down into the front foyer, and Charlie went over to Kevin Ward on the floor and stuck out his hand. "Hi, I'm Barry Brown from Amway."

Keith almost laughed as Ward actually put out his left hand and shook with Charlie.

Charlie said, "I have some stuff that'll make that uniform look like new again. I'll be right back. Stay there."

Keith and Charlie went into the kitchen. Charlie washed two glasses in the sink and said to Keith, "There's fresh tomato juice in the refrigerator."

Keith got the pitcher out and poured two glasses. Charlie touched his glass to Keith's and said, "Good to see you alive."

"Good to be alive, not good to see you."

"Of course it is."

They drank. Charlie smacked his lips. "Not bad. Needs vodka. But maybe you shouldn't drink. You really look like shit. I guess Chief Baxter got ahold of you."