Storm Gathering (27 page)

Even over the buzzing sound of the sharpener, Crawford could hear the birds chirping their delight at the spectacular sunset outside. On this Saturday evening in autumn, Crawford’s firehouse was ablaze. The curtains flapped delicately in the slight breeze through the open windows.

But as peaceful as the environment was, Crawford’s unsettled spirit gnawed at him, though in a quite innocuous way. He was not one to be torn into pieces on the inside. Merely nibbled at. He’d learned long ago to save himself. At all costs, save himself.

So, basking in the warm and final light of the day, Crawford mused over the fact that it had been about forty-eight hours since they’d almost captured Mick Kline. How he’d escaped was anybody’s guess, but the theory was that he’d swum downstream. Of course, nobody had known there was even a streambed there, or they might have thought about that. The farmer who owned the land said normally the bed is close to dry, but the wet season had caused it to swell.

Lucky for Mick Kline.

Crawford was formulating a plan. Deep in his mind, in a nearly unreachable place that had formed years ago, churned a desire to see things as they should be. And Crawford, long ago, had decided to let that part of himself remain untouched, to rise to be unequal, to play as though there were no boundaries. Oh, it was such a small part of who he was! But powerful. And intelligent. And passionate.

Crawford smiled at the thought, but the bliss was interrupted. He glanced to his front door where Sandy Howard stood, dressed in a floral Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts. His ugly feet were adorned in black, dusty flip-flops.

“Hey there, Shep.”

Crawford went to the screen door and opened it for him. “Chief.”

Sandy smiled and offered a hand. “You were pretty deep in thought there. I knocked twice.”

Crawford stared at Sandy. He felt violated.

Sandy didn’t seem to notice. He was looking around the house. “I’ve heard about this place,” he said, inviting himself in farther. “Refurbished firehouse. What a thought.”

“I like it here,” Crawford mumbled.

“You’ve done a nice job with it,” Sandy said.

“Give yourself a tour. Bottom level only, though. Top level’s my private quarters.”

Was Sandy a man who could understand that it was the spirits of heroes that dwelled here, creating the ambience everybody loved so much?

Sandy stared at the pile of No. 2 pencils on the kitchen counter, but he remained silent. He walked around the bottom floor, peeking into a few rooms. “You have a lot of books,” Sandy called from the small library in the back wing of the house.

Crawford joined him there.

Sandy pulled out a book on the Vietnam War. “You served, right?”

Crawford nodded.

Sandy smiled a little as he flipped through the book. “My brother did too. He never liked to talk about it much either.” He placed the book back on the shelf with a respectful tenderness.

Sandy scanned the rest of the books, but Crawford kept a protective eye on the well-worn pages of one particular book that had carved his soul as much as his life experiences had. He thought he had probably owned ten or more copies in his lifetime. The words were the same in each one, but as if they were alive, each book spoke something more and more profound.

Sandy’s fingers climbed its spine.
The Count of Monte Cristo.
His finger and thumb tugged at it, right over the smudge of blood Crawford had marked it with.

“Leave it,” Crawford said.

Sandy turned, an eyebrow raised.

“It’s just really old. It’s a family treasure.”

“Oh,” Sandy said, “I understand. I did love that book.” His fingers dropped from the spine.

“Don’t ever remember you dropping by my house in all the years we’ve worked together,” Crawford said, walking back into the kitchen and standing on one side of the long island in the middle of the large room.

Sandy followed and slid onto one of the four barstools. “Don’t believe I have, Shep, but I wanted to talk to you.” He seemed to have trouble starting his next sentence. “It was close the other day. Almost got him.”

Crawford nodded but said nothing.

Sandy licked his lips. “Some of the guys have indicated you’re not too happy. I’m here because I want to hear what you have to say. Nobody else agrees with you—”

“Everyone does as they are expected to.”

“I’ve always respected your opinion.”

“The man who deserves to go down for this crime will go down, Sandy. I believe in justice and its system.”

“As do I.” Sandy nodded. “But you don’t think it’s Kline.”

“It doesn’t really matter what I think. I’m still doing my best to catch him.”

“I wish we could find Taylor Franks,” Sandy grumbled. “The woman has seemed to vanish. It keeps me awake at night.”

“We may never find the body.”

“You’re sure she’s dead?”

Crawford fiddled with one of his newly sharpened pencils. “It’s my instinct you rely on so heavily, isn’t it, Sandy?”

“It makes you one of the best detectives I’ve ever seen. Too bad we have to back it up with evidence.” An edge chimed in Sandy’s statement.

“Maybe if Kline hadn’t run, we could spend our time finding out the truth rather than hunting him down,” Crawford said after a brief silence.

Sandy nodded. “True. But the fact that he did run makes me wonder if he hasn’t got something to hide, you know?”

“Everybody pays for their crimes eventually,” Crawford said, staring out his window at the line of crows on the large limb of the oak tree. “It always catches up to you, no matter who you are or what you’ve done.”

“I guess that’s true.”

“It doesn’t make the world go around. It just keeps the world from stopping.”

“People would disagree with you, Shep. There are a lot of people who have been victims of injustice.”

“Their justice is coming.”

Sandy let out a nervous laugh. “Sounds like an apocalyptic prophecy.”

“Sometimes you have to make justice happen. If you sit back and wait for a benevolent higher being to do it for you, you’ll never get it.”

“I guess you’re in the right business then.” Sandy smiled; then his expression turned serious. “Shep, my opinion aside, the judge wouldn’t have issued the arrest warrant if he didn’t think it was Mick Kline.”

“Why do you care what I think about it?”

“Because you’re my best detective, and we’ve always seen eye to eye on things. This is an exception, but it’s not the rule. And it shouldn’t put a wedge between us. We have to trust each other to work like we do. And the same goes for Fred. He’s your captain, Shep.”

“Have I done anything to indicate I’m working less than I would if I agreed?”

“Not at all. But I wanted you to know that. And be at peace with the outcome.”

“You also don’t want this to leak to the press because then I could be fodder for the defense in cross-examination.”

Sandy shook his head. “That’s not my fear.”

“True colors will show, my friend.” Crawford glanced into Sandy’s eyes. “A killer, a kidnapper . . . can’t hide behind himself very long.”

“You have a strange belief system, Shep, but it works for you. It lets you sleep at night, I guess.” Sandy rose from the barstool, using his two hands to push his heavy body off. He walked to the door, his flip-flops dragging across the floor in a shuffling manner. “I think we’ll get Kline. He’s been a little too bold. Don’t know why in the world he’s hanging around here anyway. Suppose ’cause he’s got family. We still got a tail on Aaron?”

“Off and on. I don’t think Aaron knows where he is. Sometimes tailing a less-obvious person pays off anyway.”

“All right. Well, let’s try to hit the news this weekend. I want this guy’s photo all over the place.”

Crawford nodded.

Sandy shook his hand again. “Have a good evening.”

Two knee-replacement surgeries caused Sandy to take the porch steps slowly, and he waddled his way to his sedan. He waved before driving off.

The vanishing sun left the air cold.

“This was nice.” Jenny smiled at Aaron as they headed back from Grapevine, where they’d taken an evening drive. “It’s been a while since we just drove around. Like teenagers do.”

Aaron laughed. “How come I don’t feel like a teenager?”

She stroked his arm and looked out the windshield of the pickup. “The sunset was beautiful tonight.”

Aaron nodded. “What do you say we go by Mick’s house? Make sure it’s in order and everything. We’re only a couple of minutes away.”

“Sure. Whatever you want to do.”

After a few moments of silence, Jenny asked, “So what do you think now that a few days have passed? Do you think he’s innocent? Deep in your heart?”

“I know he’s innocent of this crime. I know it. I just hate that his life has had to fall apart like this. I always expected it would happen, you know? Eventually you hit bottom. But I hoped that he wouldn’t have to go so low that he might not get back out.”

“Have faith that God knows what He’s doing.”

“Don’t you think, though, Jenny, that eventually God turns us over to the devil if we deny Him enough times?”

Jenny sighed. “I don’t know, but don’t you think God is capable of handling your brother better than you are?”

Aaron glanced at her. “Are you saying I’ve done something wrong?”

“I’m saying that you’ve planted a lot of seeds along the way. Maybe it’s time to let God water them.”

Aaron sighed, leaning his head against his hand, which was propped up against the driver’s-side window. “There’s a calm about you. It’s a little uncanny, to tell you the truth.”

Jenny shrugged. “I guess I just believe that this isn’t an accident and that God is using this in some way. That’s all.”

“No accidents.” He shook his head. “I don’t know that I can believe that. Do you know how many car wrecks I’ve worked? Drunk teenager hits a family of five head-on? The blood and carnage I see just on the roads make me wonder.”

“Aaron, your faith is being challenged. Let it be challenged. Don’t fight it. Let God show you what He can do.”

“Would you be saying the same thing if we’re putting my brother’s body in the grave next week because he was shot to death by the police?”

“Don’t you have enough to worry about today?”

Aaron pulled into Mick’s driveway and stopped the truck. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to check around the house, make sure everything’s intact.”

Aaron hopped out and checked the front door, which was still locked. He peeked through the windows, then went around back where past memories snapped at him like a vicious dog.

Aaron sat on the back-porch steps, holding his head, heavy with despair, in his hands. “Mick,” Aaron whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for all those times I never gave you the benefit of the doubt. I think I’m most scared of never seeing you again and you not knowing how much I love you. That’s all. We all mess up, bro. I think I became a self- righteous pig and didn’t see . . . I should’ve looked deeper.”

Aaron stared at the dirty cement under his feet. How much he longed for the simpler days of their childhood, when they played and laughed and had few cares. Life was real now, and somehow Aaron had taken the right track.
By the grace of God
, he reminded himself.
I was one beaten path away from the wide road too.

Standing, he checked the back door, peered into the still and somber house, and returned to the truck.

“You okay?” Jenny asked.

Aaron nodded.

“Why don’t we get his mail?” she suggested.

“Good idea.” It would make it seem as if Mick were just on a long vacation and returning soon.

The mailbox boasted a wide mouth crammed full of junk. Aaron attempted, unsuccessfully, to pull it all out without dropping it, but several letters fell onto the ground. Pushing the rest of the mail under his armpit, he bent to retrieve the others. As he straightened, one envelope stood out among the junk mail and bills.

Walking back to the truck, he studied it. It was a handwritten envelope, with no return address.

“Here, Jen, hold these,” Aaron said, standing at the passenger’s side and handing the mail to her through the window.

“What is it?”

The postmark was from Irving, mailed the day after this whole fiasco started. Aaron flipped the envelope over, deciding whether or not he should open it. Now he was snooping through his brother’s mail? Biting his lip, the indecision caused several seconds to drift by. He could feel Jenny staring at him.