In Shadows (8 page)

His hand shot through the banister at the same instant his shoulder struck a step. He felt a sickening crunch as his arm was ripped out of its socket, and then pain flared all over his body as he continued head over heels down the stairs. Finally there was a dull thud and then merciful oblivion. When he came to he was in an unfamiliar bed, but his hand was clutched tightly in his mother’s, and she was signing forcefully to him that nothing like that would ever happen to him again. Every time she removed her signing hand and then replaced it, he sensed the dampness of tears on her fingertips.

It had taken months of painful rehabilitation for him to relearn to walk.

Now he waited patiently in a brightly lit corner of the church surrounded by utter silence and darkness, sensing that—for all his mother’s reassurances—the world outside was growing darker still. And there was nothing at all that she could do about it.

RNIE WALKED
M
ANDI
and Pierce to their car. “Thanks again,” he said, patting her on the shoulder as she slipped behind the wheel.

She looked out toward the dark woods. “You know I’m always happy to help.”

Ernie frowned. “Why don’t you and Pierce come and stay with Pam and me for a while?”

She considered the offer for a moment. “No. You’ve got company already. We’ll be all right.”

“Maybe you two shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“We’ll be fine,” said Mandi. “I’ll keep the doors locked. And I’ll call if I get nervous.”

He lightly touched her arm. “All right. You do that, then. But drive careful. If you change your mind you just hop back in the car and head on up, any time, day or night.”

“Thanks, Ernie,” she said, rolling up her window as he backed away and waved.

She pulled down the long drive, following Barbara’s ancient Buick. Why anyone would live in the north woods and
own a dinosaur like that, Mandi couldn’t understand. Her own Subaru was eight years old, but at least it had four-wheel drive. As the old lady pulled away up the valley, Mandi turned toward home.

But she couldn’t help but think about the young hitchhiker. What if she had stopped to pick the girl up or offered her a place to stay for the night? She would probably be alive right now instead of lying on a cold morgue table. She was someone’s little girl. . ..

But Mandi knew there was only so much room in her heart for guilt. And for eight years—ever since Pierce’s accident—it had been overflowing. She had made the choice between offering assistance to a stranger and rushing home to take care of Pierce. She would always make the same decision.

Without the other car ahead to help light the way the forest loomed ominously all around. She glanced at Pierce, but he was facing out the window.

Just then a large buck shot out of the trees, almost colliding with her grille. She slammed on the brakes, reaching for Pierce at the same time. The tires slung gravel, and the woods seemed suddenly closer. Pierce grasped her hand, questioning her with his fingers, but she ignored him, bending to peer through the windshield as they coasted down the road.

She pulled over to catch her breath, Pierce still signing feverishly into her hand. She signed back, trying not to shake, but she knew he would read her anxiety.

What happened?
he asked.

We almost hit a deer.

Wow.

She squinted, trying to see into the dark forest. Why had the animal burst out of the woods like that? She thought of
Cramer’s grizzly bear and smiled. But the buck was definitely running from
something.

Is it gone?
signed Pierce.

Yes.

Too bad.

Too bad we didn’t hit it?

We could have had barbecued deer.

She shoved his shoulder, and he grinned.

They rest of the ride home was uneventful, but as Mandi climbed out of the car she continued watching the woods, barely managing to shrug off her anxiety while she waited for Pierce to make his way up the ramp into the house. She flicked on the kitchen lights as he headed for the bathroom. Pouring herself a glass of milk from the fridge, she stared out the window into the night. As she sipped the milk she sensed Jake slipping back into her mind.

She couldn’t help but compare what she had shared with Jake with the life she had had with Rich. The two were like opposite poles of a magnet. Jake had always been so gentle, sweet, and loving, while Rich wanted her for only one thing. Being so close to Jake tonight had been wonderful and painful at the same time. Regardless of what she had said to him, she had known in her heart all along that whatever had driven him from the valley, it hadn’t been another woman. And tonight in his eyes she’d seen the same old hurt she knew was there in her own. What terrible wedge had driven them apart? She’d been over their last night together so many times that she wondered if she even remembered it correctly any longer. There was just no reason for him to suddenly wake up and insist that he was leaving. But that was what had happened.

The toilet flushed, and the bathroom door rattled as Pierce headed for his bedroom. She heard him digging for his pajamas, and she strolled over to the bedroom door. He
was standing beside the bed in his briefs, neatly folding each item of clothing before setting it on the bedside table. Then he slipped on his pjs and tucked himself in. She waited until he’d signed his prayers, then took his hands.

Nothing bad’s here
, she signed.
And nothing bad’s going to happen to you. Not ever again.

He nodded slowly.

Good night
, she signed, holding one hand against her cheek.

Love you
, he signed back, smiling.

You, too.

She left the door open a crack and flipped off the light.

As she climbed the stairs she noticed that the moon had disappeared behind the clouds, making the night dark as pitch, and the window was covered with a thin mist.

Pierce could still feel the residual touch of his mother’s fingers in his palms.

Nothing bad’s here. And nothing bad’s going to happen to you. Not ever again.

But as much as he knew that she loved him and would die to protect him, he wasn’t sure what she could do. He lay stiffly beneath the covers, sensing the dark presence on the other side of his window.

But instead of just quivering in fear, he let his mind roam, trying to understand what it was that stared through the window, and what it wanted. Once again he discovered tangled almost-thoughts that made no sense, and then something beyond
thoughts
, almost like something he
could
understand.

Suddenly he experienced the all-too-familiar and terrible feeling of being alone in some darkness where there were no smells, no vibrations, no tastes, just a horrible empty void. And then into that emptiness came the same presence that
hovered outside his window. He could feel it reaching out for him, testing him in some way that he couldn’t quite understand. It wanted something from him, and he knew that it would kill to get it. But he didn’t know what it was that the thing needed. And he knew that there was no way his mother or anyone else could protect him.

It was up to him to protect them.

And suddenly he felt very small and alone.

FTER BREAKFAST
, Pam asked what he and Cramer had planned, and Jake shrugged. “Why not run into Arcos and say hello to Mandi? Her office is right downtown.”

Jake shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“She missed you, Jake.”

He hadn’t gotten that feeling last night. More than likely she hated his guts and just covered it real well. It was probably better that way.

“You just gonna hide out here all the time?”

“I’m not hiding just because I don’t want to pester an old girlfriend.”

“I thought you two were a little more than that.”

Jake frowned, but she was right. He and Mandi had been a lot more than just boyfriend and girlfriend. He wasn’t sure
what to call it, but soul mates had always sounded too feeble to explain what they’d shared.

“What did I say that finally caused you to cave and come back?” Pam asked, surprising Jake by bringing up the subject in front of Cramer. And Cramer seemed to be enjoying the conversation
far
too much this time to let something like simple etiquette force him to leave.

“Respect for Albert,” he muttered.

“I can appreciate that,” she said, letting him know with her eyes that she knew there was more to it than that. “I really am glad you came.”

“You aren’t acting like it.”

“How do you want me to act?” she asked, setting a pan in the drainer.

“I don’t know why I said that. I’m sorry.”

“Are you gonna visit his grave?”

“I guess I should. Is he in the family cemetery?”

“Close to your mother,” she said quietly.

Jake stared at Cramer.

“I’ll warm up the car,” said Cramer, rising at last.

Jake watched him go, wondering again why he’d come. It seemed incredibly unlikely that Jimmy Torrio would be stupid enough to follow them to Maine. But he sensed that Cramer felt somehow as though he’d let Jake down on the beach, even though the whole thing was Jake’s fault. Cramer was like that, although he’d never admit it.

“That’s what family does,” said Pam.

“You reading my thoughts?”

“I don’t have to. I could see it in your face. You were wondering why he took care of you.”

She really could read him. She’d always been able to. Only his deepest, darkest thoughts were hidden from her. And sometimes he feared that she might be able to read them, as well.

“I tried to get you to come back to work out the thing that’s inside you, Jake,” she whispered. “So that we could all help you work it out. If you want to leave again after that, then fine.”

“What if it’s not something that can be worked out?” he asked, fighting to keep his voice steady. “What if it’s not that easy?”

She squeezed his arm before giving him a nudge toward the front door. “I never said it was going to be easy. Nothing worth doing ever is.”

The family cemetery clung to the slope of the largest of the mountains that rimmed the valley like worn dragon’s teeth. Jake stood with one hand resting on his mother’s simple stone, looking across at Albert’s grave, still too fresh for a monument. The smell of earth and flowers hung in the air, interwoven with the clean scent of the surrounding pines. As Jake surveyed the valley rolling away beneath them he felt empty, as though he were standing in the center of some infinite black space with another even more powerful vacuum inside of him. For almost a decade and a half he had hidden from his family and friends for their own good, or so he thought. Fourteen years of living like a hermit, of not hearing familiar voices, of not touching a single one of his family. Incongruously, he had discovered a modicum of peace in a very dangerous and potentially violent profession. But at least in Houston he had believed that he had distanced himself far enough that
he
would not be the cause of danger to those he loved.

And now he’d never see Albert again. Had he made the right choice? His mind wandered to Mandi, and he blinked back a tear. He’d given up so much.

“Albert taught me how to use a chain saw and how to drive a bulldozer,” he mused.

“Nice talents to have. How about table manners?” Cramer said.

Jake smiled. “Albert wasn’t much on those. He taught me how to be a man.”

“And the sheriff fit in, how?”

Jake shrugged. “Virgil came around pretty often after . . . after my mom was killed. I think he felt sorry for me as much as Albert did. He got to taking me on patrol with him sometimes when it was slow. I hung around the jail in Arcos, and I learned a lot from him, like how to keep quiet.”

“Dat one I don’ know,” said Cramer.

“I’m aware of that.”

“Stop me anytime. How was your mother killed?”

Jake started toward the car, but Cramer paced him easily with his longer stride. Jake jerked open the door of the rented Camry, glaring at Cramer as the big man walked slowly around to take the driver’s seat.

“She was beaten,” said Jake at last. “But the ME said cause of death was heart failure.”

“Your father ever attack her before that?”

“He never touched her.”

Cramer shook his head. “So what set him off?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” said Jake, closing the subject.

By the time they got off the mountain, Jake was certain Cramer was going to get them killed. Instead of watching the dirt lane that was little more than two tire ruts, he kept peering out through the trees, more than once edging perilously close to a ravine or gully. When Jake finally spotted the valley road ahead he breathed a sigh of relief, and Cramer gave him a funny look.

“Son, I could have driven for Nascar if I’d wanted the fame and fortune,” said Cramer.

“You couldn’t have done it anywhere with trees.”

“It’s true I’m not your frontier type. Want to start investigating now?”

“We’re not supposed to interfere.”

Cramer waited.

“If Virgil catches us at it, he’ll be really pissed,” said Jake.

“What else are we doing here? You didn’t fly two thousand miles to stand over a grave. And you don’t seem to be any good at family reunions.”

Jake was still trying to figure that out himself. He had climbed on the plane almost by instinct. But since returning to the valley his subsconscious had been ominously silent. He stared at the gravel intersection realizing that only one direction might lead to answers. But were they answers he was prepared to face?

“Take a right and then the first driveway,” he said quietly.

“I’m guessing your uncle’s place?”

Jake nodded. When they reached the driveway he pointed to the side of the road. “Stop at the mailbox.”

He slipped his fingers underneath the box, removing a key with a magnet attached.

Cramer wound the car up the drive and parked in between Albert’s weathered old trailer and a large, tin-sided shed. Yellow police tape formed an X across the trailer’s front door. Jake peeled it away. Cramer looked at him but only shrugged and followed him inside.

The place still had the familiar salty, urine odor of death, and the carpet and walls were streaked with brown bloodstains. But to Jake the air reeked of Albert’s sweat and the Old Spice he used to cover it up, of the garlic and Tabasco with which he saturated his food, and lastly the pipe smoke that followed the old man everywhere. Jake’s throat tightened as
he stared at the worn sofa where he had often sat playing checkers or just jawing with the old man. An easy chair lay on its back in the corner, and several ripped-up magazines rested on the floor along with scattered newspapers.

Over the years Jake had placed everyone in the valley inside a time warp where they never aged or changed. Discovering that one of the people closest to him had been murdered was stunning. That Albert had been savagely beaten to death was totally unnerving. Staring at the bloodstains, he could picture the carnage that had taken place. Albert was small and old, but he was feisty. He would have tried to put up a fight.

“Probably not much to learn here,” said Cramer. “The scene is old, Jake. The local cops and medical examiner have been all over it.”

“I know . . . but this just doesn’t make sense.”

“No,” agreed Cramer. “Crazed killers out for blood and cheap thrills leave clues.”

“Right.”

The outline of a lower leg lay permanently dyed into the worn green carpet beside the overturned recliner. Blood spattered the low plasticized ceiling, and brown scabs trickled down the window. From the trail, the violence appeared to have started near the sofa. Jake surmised that Albert had been sitting there when he realized what was about to happen.

Cramer walked past Jake into the small kitchen, opening and closing drawers and cupboard doors. There had to be
something
Virgil had missed.

Jake lifted Albert’s tattered chair back to its feet beneath a dusty, freestanding reading lamp. Gray light filtered in through the windows, but it was so weak that it seemed to soak away into the carpet, and the humidity intensified the musty smell of old blood. Jake ran his fingers along the walls. The killer must have battered Albert like a madman to
create the carnage the bloodstains revealed. And the sight of it was far too familiar.

“One thing bothers me,” mused Cramer, after he and Jake had inspected the rest of the trailer.

Jake stared at him.

“Where’s his guns? Did the killer take them? The report claimed nothing was missing.”

Jake shook his head. “Albert didn’t like guns. He wasn’t a hunter.”

“A logger in a backwoods hole-in-the-wall like this who was an antigun nut?”

“He wasn’t a nut. He just didn’t like them. His father killed himself. Albert would never talk about it.”

“His father would be your grandfather?”

“On my mother’s side. Albert was my mother and Aunt Claire’s brother.”

Cramer closed the front door behind them. Jake tried replacing the tape, but it wouldn’t stick, and finally he just let it fall.

As he started down the rickety stairs he glanced toward the empty shed where Albert usually kept his bulldozer. His eye was drawn to a frazzled sheet of newspaper clinging to the wall of the tin building, quivering in the breeze above the stacked firewood. It was almost certainly just a bit of trash pasted there by the wind. Virgil or one of his men would have been over the shed already. But the familiar tingling of one of Jake’s hunches drew him toward the scrap. He slipped across the gravel drive to the side of the shed and stood on a couple of fallen logs to reach the paper. But before he could pull it from the splinter it was snagged on, Cramer caught his wrist.

“Don’t,” said Cramer, staring at the paper and shaking his head.

“You don’t think . . .” said Jake, eyes glued to the scrap.

“I don’t
know,”
mumbled Cramer.

On one corner of the torn page, the toe of a shoe sole was clearly visible in a brown stain that looked like blood. In the center of the sole was an equally legible eight-pointed star.

There had been bloody shoe prints on the trailer’s carpet, of course. But they were all so smudged that it would have been impossible for the cops to tell what size they were, let alone what kind of shoe.

Jake shook his head, unwilling to believe they’d found something so easily that Virgil had missed. Cramer read his mind.

“Look at it,” said Cramer, nodding toward the sheet flapping in the breeze. “If it was windy the day Albert was killed it could have been blown anywhere.”

“And then it just floated up here and got caught?” said Jake, frowning in disbelief.

Cramer shrugged. “Stranger things have happened. Sometimes the
Iwas
are watching out for you.”

“Try telling that to a judge.”

“First we have to find out who did the killing. Then we can worry about a judge.”

Cramer gently wedged a piece of firewood against the paper to hold it in place.

“Call your buddy the sheriff.”