Cold Black Earth (26 page)

“Terrific,” said Matt. “That’s a relief.” Since their interview with a sheriff’s department investigator who had come out from Warrensburg, he had mostly been sitting motionless, staring straight ahead.

“Could have been a lot worse,” said Roger. “He must have been dead when he was propped up like that. Would have hurt like hell if he was still alive. Once he was dead all our guy had to do was haul him up to the car, shove the handle in through the open window, get in on the other side and run the window up to hold it tight.” Roger shook his head. “Just for show. Sick son of a gun.”

Rachel wanted to get on the interstate and drive till she ran out of gas and then get out of the car and run across fields until she dropped. She had not wanted to come back here, but the sheriff’s deputy who had shown up at the Alwood truck stop in response to Matt’s call had insisted they get in his cruiser and guide him to the spot. The other cops had come wailing out of the night shortly after that.

“Don’t worry,” said Roger. “You shouldn’t have to wait around much longer. There’s a forensic guy on the way from Warrensburg, but he won’t need you. I think our guy’s just waiting for an OK on the radio from the ISP guys to let you go.”

“They won’t let us go,” said Matt.

“Why not?” said Rachel.

“They’ll need to ask us why it’s always us that finds the bodies.”

Roger turned to look at them over the seat and said, “There’s always a reason. There’s a reason why Rachel went over to Ed’s place and found him, and there’s a reason why you got called out and found Carl. And there’s got to be a reason it was you tonight. But it doesn’t mean you had anything to do with it.”

“Tell your detective that. I think he wants to slap the cuffs on us. But there’s no way anybody could know where I was going to put my truck in the ditch. And that’s what determined our route. So he wasn’t laying for us. He was just laying for whoever came along.”

“That’s what I figured,” said Roger, turning again to look out the windshield. “He parked Ed’s truck across the road to get McDonald to stop. You can see the tire marks on the shoulder.” Roger shook his head. “He got him to stop and he got him out of the car. But that’s the part that’s hard to figure.”

A few seconds passed. Rachel said, “Why?”

She could just make out Roger’s long face in the gloom as he twisted to look at her. “He got McDonald from behind. But there’s no cover here. Even before McDonald got out of the car, he should have been able to see if there was any threat. But he got stabbed in the back.” Roger shook his head slowly, looking out at the night, patches of snow showing faintly on the dark slopes. “How does this guy always manage to get behind people?”

26    

Rachel awoke to sunlight glowing on smooth, worn floorboards. She sat up with a start, and the blanket slid off the sofa and onto the floor. She gazed about the living room. The house was quiet. She was fully clothed except for her shoes; the last thing she remembered was sitting with her feet drawn up on the couch, Matt’s arm around her, watching something stupid on wee-hour television. She had been too disturbed to go to bed, and she had needed to sit there with her big brother’s arm around her, trembling.

Rachel rose and walked to the window. Outside it was a bright clear day, the branches of the oak etched black against the hard blue heavens. Over everything lay a pall of dread. It’s all spoiled, Rachel thought. I’ll never be happy here again.

She had been numb with shock the night before, but she was clear-headed enough in the morning light to know that it was time for decisions. She found Matt at his desk in the den, shuffling scratch paper and stabbing at a calculator with the eraser end of a pencil.

He glanced up from his work. “Sleep OK?”

“Lost consciousness for a while anyway, thank God. Don’t you ever sleep?”

“I got my four hours.”

Rachel laid a hand on his shoulder. “Sorry I was such a wreck last night.”

Matt patted her hand. “I wasn’t thrilled myself.”

“Why us, Matt? What’s going on?”

He sighed, staring out the window. “The luck of the Lindstroms, that’s all. The odds are catching up with us after four generations of good fortune.”

“I found one, you found
one, we found one together. Who’s going to believe that’s coincidence?”

“It’s not coincidence. Roger’s right. There’s a reason.” He slapped down the pencil and turned to look up at her. “Look, Ed didn’t have any friends but us. So who else is going to find him but somebody from our family? And then Dan and I are first responders, so that’s why we found Carl. As for last night, we were the only ones out because I had to try and drive home drunk from the bar. All this whole thing means is that we’re plugged into the community and there’s a God damn psycho loose in the community.”

“Is that what everyone else will think?”

“Who gives a shit what anyone else thinks? Now, will you be available to ride on the tractor with me over to pull the truck out?”

Rachel exhaled, squeezing Matt’s shoulder. “Can I have breakfast first?”

“Sure. I don’t think the truck’s going anywhere.”

Rachel was settling down to coffee when her cell phone rang. She retrieved it from her purse and saw Dan’s number on the display. She felt a little flare of warmth, an ember still glowing under a layer of ash. “Hi.”

“Did you hear?”

Rachel closed her eyes. “I didn’t have to hear. Matt and I found him.”

There was a frozen silence. “Jesus Christ. You found McDonald?”

“Yeah. Matt put his truck in the ditch coming home from the bar and I had to go get him. Coming back we found McDonald. We were up all night with the cops.”

A faint exhalation came through the ether. “Oh, Jesus Christ. Oh, Rachel, I’m sorry.”

She tried a laugh, which was not convincing. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Are you OK? Matt OK?”

“As well as can be expected. We’re functioning.”

“How did you . . . Where in the hell did Matt go off the road?

“Oh, I don’t know. Let me see. We were on West 300 and then we turned west on, it must have been about 1200 North. I’m not sure. The first, no the second road north of Jack Swanson’s place. And he was at the bottom of a hill, maybe half a mile west of where we turned.”

There was another silence. Dan said, “It sucks. Even if McDonald was a prick.”

“
‘Sucks’ hardly covers it. I’m a basket case, Dan.”

“Ah, Jesus, Rachel. This is messed up. Are you all right? I can ditch work if you want, come over to your place.”

“Actually, I’m OK. Matt’s here. And we’re expecting more cops. And more media. It won’t be a lot of fun. But maybe later would be good. I’ll call you.”

“OK.” A pause, and then Dan said, “Look, Rachel. Roger’s full of shit, with this thing about Ryle targeting you. There’s no connection between Ryle and McDonald, couldn’t be. McDonald moved in here from Texas, ten or fifteen years ago. So this has nothing to do with Otis Ryle’s dad picking fights or any of that nonsense. That’s all horseshit. It’s just a fucking madman running around.”

“So we’re all at risk. He’s right here, on top of us. Look at where the killings have been. Ed Thomas northwest of Ontario, Carl Holmes east of Rome, and now McDonald, just south of Alwood, right? They’re all three here in the north part of the county, within what, ten miles of each other?”

“Yeah, that occurred to me, too. He’s hiding out somewhere around here. But that means they gotta catch him soon. I mean, they have to. He’s not invisible. He’s eating and sleeping somewhere. And they got every cop in the state of Illinois after him. He doesn’t have much time left. I bet you.”

“God, I so hope you’re right. But that’s no guarantee.”

“I know, Rachel. Keep the doors locked.”

Rachel heaved a great sigh. “I’m past that stage, Dan. I decided when I woke up, I can’t live out here till they catch him. I’m too much of a wreck. I’m going to see if I can go stay with Susan in Warrensburg for a while. If I can convince Matt to come with me, so much the better. And you. You’re alone out there. You’re not that far from things.”

“No, but I got a shotgun and a thirty-aught-six at home. He shows up at my place, he’s roadkill.”

“Don’t let the guns make you cocky.”

“Don’t worry. I’m looking over my shoulder all the time. Listen, I gotta go. I’m at work. But I want to see you, Rachel.”

“I want to see you, too. Let me give you a call when I figure out what I’m doing with my life for the next few days.”

They made their good-byes, and Rachel sat holding the phone for a few seconds, feeling dazed and hollowed.

Matt came down the hall from the den, carrying a coffee mug. Rachel said, “Matt, I’d like to go camp with Susan in town if I can, just until this is over. I’m too scared to be here while that man’s on the loose. I don’t suppose I can convince you to go someplace safer, too.”

He gave her a look, eyebrows raised. “Like where?”

“I don’t know. Someplace less isolated.”

He cocked his head in the direction of the Larsons’. “Who’s going to watch over Clyde and Karen?”

“All right, I know it’s not practical. I’m sorry, Matt. I’m just too frightened.”

He pulled out a chair and sat, giving her a thoughtful look. “Do what you have to do. But I’m staying here.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what? After what you’ve been through, I’m surprised you’re still in the state.”

Rachel put her face in her hands and suddenly she was crying, softly. “I wanted it all to be like it was. I wanted to come home and be babied.”

“And we let you down.”

She reached for his hand. “Nobody let me down. It’s just bad luck.”

Matt squeezed her hand and released it, pushing away from the table. “The luck of the Lindstroms,” he said.

“We’ll put you in Michelle’s room,” said Susan, leading Rachel up the stairs. “It’s become the guest room by default, since Abby still comes home on break and Jason’s room has never really recovered from darts in the wallboard and paint schemes out of Marvel Comics.”

“I’m sure it’ll be perfect,” said Rachel, leaning against the weight of her overnight bag.

And it was: clearly a girl’s room, but neutralized by the disappearance of knickknacks and favorite toys, a cozy nook under the slope of the roof with floral wallpaper and white-painted built-in bookshelves, with a window on the quiet street below. Rachel tossed her bag onto the bed and sank down beside it. “I love it.”

“I put out towels for you in the bathroom at the end of the hall, which is all yours, at least till Abby gets home next week. Greg and I have our own.”

“I don’t know how to thank you, Susan.”

“My God, it’s the least I can do. I can’t believe what you’ve been through.” Susan came and sat beside her. “I’m worried about my parents out there. I think it’s a great time to go spend a couple of weeks in Florida, but Daddy’s too cheap. He’s like, ‘I’m not letting some maniac run me off my land.’ He thinks he’s John Wayne or somebody, waiting for the Comanches. But he’s locking the doors and not letting my mom go anywhere by herself.”

“I’m terrified for Matt, too. He’s being stoic, a perfect Scandinavian male. He hasn’t shown any emotion about it at all. He’s gotten very good at suppression, I guess.”

“He’s probably in denial. Nobody believes it can happen to them.”

“Until it does.
I
believe it.” Rachel shuddered.

Susan’s arm went around her. “You’re safe here.”

“It’s awful. I was never this scared in Iraq. Never. Of course there I had the U.S. military to protect me.”

“Well, we’re almost to that point here. The radio this morning said they’re bringing in more state police for the task force. I think it’s only a matter of time before they catch him.”

“They have to find him first,” said Rachel.

Aunt Helga was asleep in her chair when Rachel came in, head canted over awkwardly and mouth slightly open, her sunken breast heaving just perceptibly. Rachel lowered herself quietly onto the chair by the window and waited, glad of the chance to sit and be utterly vacant for a moment. Her gaze wandered about the room: the pictures on the shelf, the slightly rumpled bed, the Christmas cards crowded together on the small table. This is my future, she thought. Except there will be no grandchildren to visit. She drew a deep breath, remembering her aunt’s contempt for self-pity.

Perhaps ten minutes went by. Helga stirred and opened her eyes. It took her a few seconds to focus on Rachel. “How long have you been there?” Helga said.

“I just now sat down. I’m sorry to wake you.”

“Oh, don’t be sorry. I have all the time in the world to sleep.” The old woman collected herself, locating handkerchief, paperback book and glasses in her lap. She peered at Rachel. “You don’t look well, honey.”

“I’ve been under a lot of stress.”

“Have they caught the Ryle boy yet?”

“Not yet. There was another murder last night.”

This brought a sharp look. “Who got killed?”

“A man named Mark McDonald. He lived up near Alwood.” For a moment Rachel considered telling her what had happened, but she found she had no stomach for it. “He wasn’t from around here originally, so it doesn’t look as if this one was part of whatever vendetta Otis Ryle’s engaged in.”

Helga blinked at her. “Well, there were some McDonalds that lived south of Ontario when I was young, but I don’t know what became of them. All the Scots that settled around here, that’s never been a particularly common name.”

“Well, the vendetta theory is just a guess anyway. I’m starting to believe he’s just a madman.”

“But I believe I remember John Black’s daughter married somebody named McDonald about twenty years ago. Though I don’t think the marriage lasted.”

Rachel frowned across the room at her. “John Black? Is that Roger Black’s father?”

“Yes, Roger was his son, I think. And the daughter was Marcia.”