Driven (18 page)

S
amantha’s Dairy Farm” was hand painted in small lavender letters on the white mailbox. Gavin turned into the driveway and
stopped before driving on. A wire fence, probably electrified, bordered the ascending dirt driveway on either side. On the
right side of the driveway several brown cows stopped grazing to stare at them.

“Check it out,” Amy said, pointing at the cows. “How adorable.”

Gavin did a double-take when he saw the cows all had pink bows on their necks. “Can I trust you to not ride any of these?”
Gavin said. Amy smiled.

He turned his attention to the house at the top of the driveway—a white two-story with pink shutters and a wraparound porch.
Gavin thought it looked like a dollhouse; Amy said it was adorable. To the right of the house was the broad side of a white
barn with about two dozen small windows running the length of it, all with pink shutters. Between the windows, large multicolored
butterflies had been painted in detail. Several black crows perched along the ridgetop.

“Shouldn’t the crows also have pink bows?” Gavin asked.

“Definitely. Look!” Amy said. A large bird circled high over the barn. “That must be an eagle, or a hawk.”

Gavin wanted to tell her which it was, but the truth was he didn’t know. For some reason he felt embarrassed by that, like
he should know such things. The bird circled effortlessly, without even a single flap of its wings to maintain its lofty height,
then drifted over their heads. Both Gavin and Any craned their necks around, following the majestic creature’s flight over
the valley fields that bordered the river.

The country setting was beautiful and serene, a place Gavin could easily imagine getting used to. But why had Reverend Buchanan
come here? Why had he left his congregation in New Jersey? Was it because this was “God’s Country”? Was it an escape in the
wilderness? Escape from what? Krogan?

Suddenly the great bird stopped drifting across the sky, flapping its wings to hold its position. Then, as if for the thrill
of its audience, it tucked its wings and fell headfirst like a meteorite to the earth until the high grass of a nearby field
swallowed it up. Gavin and Amy looked at each other with wide eyes then, without a word, unbuckled their seat belts and kneeled
on their seats, craning for a better view. The tall golden grass moved lazily in the gentle breeze without evidence anything
had happened. Just as Gavin wondered if he had witnessed one of nature’s strangest ritualistic suicides, the bird suddenly
swept back in the air with a limp animal in its claws.

“Shoot!” Amy said. “How would you like to be that poor little guy? One second you’re enjoying a great day in the sunshine,
sniffing
for roots and seeds, the next second, boom, you’re dead… in the claws of a giant flying monster.”

Gavin said nothing. He could not help but see the bird as Krogan, crashing into Amy’s brother-in-law off the fishing pier,
leaving his limp, lifeless body half crushed under the car that had pounced on him.

“ ‘The brave live as long as the coward allows,’ ” he said.

Amy looked at him quizzically. “You okay?” she asked lightly.

“Yeah.” They both turned and slid back into their seats. “Say good-bye to the muffler,” he added as he slowly started what
looked to be a bumpy ride up the driveway.

“Not that I’m real up on this, but I’ve never heard of reverends or ministers or preachers, or whatever you call them, working
a dairy farm,” Amy said.

“Mr. Buchanan, remember,” Gavin warned. “And I get the impression he’s no longer a preacher.”

“Don’t you think we should let him correct us just in case the old lady was wrong?”

“I suppose you’re right. Calling someone Reverend isn’t exactly an insult,” Gavin said.

“Unless he no longer wants to be associated with his old ministry,” Amy said after a moment of thought.

“We’ll find out soon enough.”

“What about you, Gavin. What are your beliefs?”

“Why?” Gavin said.

“Well, if the subject comes up I don’t want to be shocked. Partners should know what each other’s beliefs are.”

Gavin looked at Amy, wondering if she was serious. Her reasoning had merit, but now was not the time to open a possible can
of worms. “I’m a Christian. I don’t know much about the details, but I know that.”

“So you believe in loving God and loving your neighbor?”

“Yeah. And I also believe in my gun inside Krogan’s mouth,” he said, really not wanting to get into this now.

“Wonderful,” she said sarcastically. “Now I feel I really know you.”

“Sorry. You get what you see.”

“What about reincarnation?”

“What about it?”

“Well, have you seen enough with Karianne to at least believe in that?”

“I’ve seen enough to know I haven’t seen enough.”

“Now that’s deep.”

“What do you believe?” he said defensively.

“I believe there’s something going on behind the scenes.”

Gavin looked at her again. She was staring at him as if she hadn’t appreciated his shortness with her. He knew he should be
touched she wanted to know him better. If only he wasn’t so tired and wired. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had
cared what he believed. “It cuts across my basic beliefs. But to tell you the truth, I’d never really thought much about reincarnation
before Katz brought it up.”

“And now?”

“Now it’s a distraction. Katz can’t keep his mind on the case. Look, if you really want to get into this, I promise you my
full attention… later.” She nodded.

Gavin stopped the car in front of a bluestone path that led to the porch entrance. The path was generously bordered by a billowy
procession of colorful annuals that extended up to and surrounded the base of the porch. The sweet fragrance brought high
praise from the various bees and butterflies that danced about the flower tops. Gavin and Amy walked up the path, he with
a newspaper rolled up in his hand. The porch steps were in far better condition than the ones at the store. They felt solid
and appeared to have been recently
painted, as did the rest of the porch. An assortment of potted plants hung from the roof beam, all of them well kept and flourishing
in the southern exposure. The warm, light breeze wandering up the hill would have gone unnoticed if not for several small
wind chimes tinkling pleasantly, two of them over a wicker porch swing. Somehow, even the unmistakable scent of cow manure
was not offensive.

As he walked to the door, Gavin looked longingly at the swing with its tufted pastel cushions. The coffee he had been pumping
through his veins was losing its battle to keep his eyes open and the cushions looked very comfortable. In fact, the porch
floor looked comfortable.

He searched for a doorbell, but couldn’t find one. By default, he pinched a polished brass horseshoe doorknocker and gently
clacked it three times.

“What have we got here?”Amy said as a snow-white cat brushed up against her leg, purring. “Where’s Daddy?” she asked the cat
as it prowled affectionately around and between her legs, tail held high.

Gavin tried to peek through a window next to the door, but the white lace curtains made it impossible to see anything. All
this dainty femininity. The emphasis in Samantha’s Farm was obviously Samantha. Like the old lady had said, you couldn’t miss
it.

He gave the door three more clacks, then listened hard with his ear close to the door, hoping to hear some movement. Nothing.
He backed away from the door with his hands on his hips, turned, and looked out from the porch. The magnetic view and the
fact the Reverend was not there was all the excuse he needed to wait in the swing with Amy. But, no. He was certain he would
fall asleep and had no wish to awaken to the view of someone’s shotgun pointed at his nose.

“Nobody’s here,” he said, then pointed to the barn. “Maybe there.”

The door in the middle of the north side of the barn was wide open. They walked over and stepped inside, looking around. The
entrance divided a long center aisle with cows parked in milking stations on either side. Not surprisingly, they also had
pink ribbons. “Hello,” Gavin called. Turning left, he saw the back of a man at the far end, busy at work.

“Excuse me,” Gavin said, walking toward him. The man made no reply. Gavin motioned for Amy to follow him and started down
the aisle. The cows were facing away with a single chain to keep them from backing into the aisle. Each chain had a little
name plaque dangling from it. Gavin shook his head as he read some of the names. Cutzie… Cinnamon… Cuddles… Fuzzy… Sweetie
Pie… They sounded more like names of little pet rabbits than cows. Just behind each cow’s back feet was a gutter drain for
their urine and manure to fall into—a scene that hardly went with “Cutzie.”

“Hello,” Gavin repeated, louder this time. Still the man continued to work under the back of a cow. Gavin and Amy continued
until they were but a few feet from him. “Excuse me, sir,” Gavin said.

“That’s Gregory,” said a raspy, deep voice that could have belonged to James Earl Jones after a swig or two of kerosene. “He
can’t hear you.”

Gavin and Amy turned to see a black man of medium build with a little bit of a paunch, bold white hair, and a white mustache.
He appeared in his mid-sixties and wore jeans, work boots, and a white T-shirt.

“We’re looking for Reverend Buchanan,” Gavin said.

“Nobody worth being revered around here. Least of all me.” The man held up his hand. “Name’s Buck. How can I help you?”

The old lady had been right. But why, Gavin wondered, not buying the humility angle just yet. “I’m Detective Pierce. This
is
my… assistant, Amy Kirsch. We were disconnected on the phone, what was it, two days ago? I don’t know anymore what day it
is. I’m sorry, but my list of leads is too short to scratch you off.”

“You’ve come a long way, Detective. I’m sorry if I seemed rude on the phone. I don’t like being rude.”

Suddenly, there came a noise from behind them. Gregory had apparently been startled by their presence. Buck smiled calmly
and quickly spoke to him in sign language. The man signed back and then went back to his work. Gavin was impressed by Buck’s
choice of a second language.

“Now, Detective,” Buck said, returning his attention to them. “Your persistence is admirable and I’m sure it will lead you
to the man you seek, but as I tried to tell you over the phone, I cannot help you find him.”

“Can you tell us why?” Gavin said, trying to stay calm.

“Well, for one, I don’t know where he is,” Buck said with a shrug.

“Are you telling us that you do know
who
he is?” Gavin said.

“Detective, I don’t mean to confuse you, but you don’t know what you’re asking me and I can’t explain it.”

Gavin frowned. “Don’t you at least want to know what we know about him?”

The ex-preacher paused, as if the question needed careful consideration. He looked at Gavin and then at Amy and then at Gregory,
who was silently tending to his simple tasks. “No,” Buck said.

“Buck,”Amy said sweetly. “We’ve traveled far to find you. Won’t you please at least hear us out?”

Buck furrowed his bushy white brows and sighed. “You did come a long way. I suppose there’s no harm in listening. God knows
I’ve asked the same of a congregation often enough.”

Amy winked at Gavin’s disbelieving expression. He could have begged and pleaded until the pink-ribboned cows were wearing
steak sauce and he wouldn’t have been shown anything but the exit. But a few bats of her emerald greens and her foot had slipped
right into the front door. Well, he supposed he couldn’t fault Buck; he’d been there more than a few times himself.

“Like I started to tell you over the phone,” Gavin said. “We believe we are after the same man who killed your family and
we don’t believe any of it is an accident. We’re tracking down leads in connection with the serial killer the media has dubbed
the Ghost Driver.” He closely watched Buck’s expression.

“Forgive me, Detective. I’ve never heard of the Ghost Driver. The only newspaper I read is a local one that keeps me in touch
with some of the needs of the valley. I don’t own a TV. I find it distracting. And the only time I turn the radio on is if
the Angels are playing the Devil Rays.”

Gavin looked at him in confusion.

“I’m sorry. I can’t seem to get away from corny pulpit humor,” Buck said.

“Oh, yeah. The Angels. I get it,” Gavin said. He didn’t smile. He wanted to ask Buck if anyone around here watched TV or read
the papers. The man did live in the sticks a couple of hundred miles from Long Island, but Gavin still found it hard to believe
Buck hadn’t heard of Krogan—if not through the media, then at least through local conversation.

“Does the name Karianne Stordal ring a bell?”

Buck’s congenial smile evaporated as his eyes froze onto Gavin’s.

“Was she in an accident?” he asked with a look of concern, his eyes unblinking.

“Uh, yes,” Gavin said, surprised.

“Did she survive?”

“Yes. But what made you think she was in an accident?”

The preacher-turned-farmer had closed his eyes. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you, Lord.”

Gavin looked at Amy, who shrugged as they both watched Buck continue to give thanks for the spared life of someone who had
been in the assailing car that had killed his family. They waited a long moment until the old man seemed finished.

“Buck?” Amy said softly.

“Passenger-side air bag, I presume?” Buck said, without any explanation of his reflexive prayer response to Karianne’s well-being.

“Exactly. But how—”

“I’m sorry, Detective. She was in the car that collided with us in Norway, as I’m sure you know. I just assumed something
similar,” Buck said, looking in Gregory’s direction.

“That’s quite an assumption, Buck. I mention her name and you immediately assume she was in a crash? From what we know, the
only other crash she’s ever been in was with you.”

Buck was silent.

“Buck, please tell us what you know,” Amy said.

The old man shook his head. “The last time I did that the local media misquoted me, made a mockery of my words, and went behind
my back to interview my granddaughter.”