Where Angels Tread (27 page)

Only after Zachary was finally asleep, now that the sun was breaking over the horizon, was Heidi once more able to focus her attention on Shane. She and her son had stayed at the site of the accident for hours, talking, laughing, and sharing memories of John. Afterwards, Heidi treated him to a hamburger and chocolate milkshake at the 24-hour diner downtown. Other than a few seedy-looking men wrapped in overcoats, they were the only customers in the entire place.

Now, alone in her bedroom, she ran her fingers over the screen of her phone. Her heart was pounding with fear; Shane had never returned her call. It seemed unlikely that he would ignore her completely, so the only conclusion that formed in Heidi’s mind was that he was hurt, or worse. Buddy had said that it was only a matter of time before Shane was killed, and Heidi knew that there was no reason to suspect that he was embellishing the truth. Heidi knew that Shane had a quiet determination about him, and if anyone would want to take it upon himself to restore safety to their community, it was Shane Kensington.

Heidi pressed the redial button on the phone, but hung up the call before the voicemail picked up. There was no use in leaving another message, she knew. With no choice but to wait, Heidi sank down on her bed and watched the orange and pink sunlight spread higher and higher in the clear morning sky.

Shane unzipped the duffel bag and slowly removed the contents inside. He had spent an hour the evening before rooting through his closet for clothes that made him look appropriately homeless. Luckily, he thought now as he observed the raggedy shirt he held in his hand, he had a bad habit of holding on to old clothes that were better suited for the garbage can.

He yanked his sweatshirt over his head and pulled on the flannel button-down shirt that was worn through at the elbows. Next, he slid a pair of stained jeans over his hips, removed the heavy gold watch that his father had given him as a graduation gift when he completed the police academy, and donned a weathered baseball cap. His tennis shoes, too white to be believable, had been rolled in a puddle of mud and dirt sitting in his front yard.

Not bad, Shane thought as he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the rearview mirror. If he didn’t know any better, he would think that he had been down on his luck for some time now. Shane only hoped that the other people camped out in the tents dotting the hills would be none the wiser.

He switched on his engine and pushed the gear into reverse, then slowly backed his car into a patch of grass that was completely obscured by a clump of towering birch trees. From the backseat he removed a worn backpack and slung it over his shoulder; hidden inside were a few basic supplies and a tape recorder that he would use as evidence once Shephard confessed. Reaching inside the glove compartment of his car, Shane carefully removed his gun and tucked it behind his sock, then shook his pant leg down to completely conceal it.

The trek up the hillside was a long one, and Shane stopped a few times to catch his breath. Above him, he could see the flaps of a few tattered tents blowing in the breeze, their occupants still sleeping soundly inside. Among them, he knew, was the man who would shoot him dead without batting an eye. Not if I get you first, Shane thought grimly, hitching his backpack further up his shoulders and continuing his ascent.

When he reached the top, a few bleary-eyed men peered at him suspiciously from a makeshift campfire burning in the corner. Above the fire, a few tin cans were strung, and the men were eyeing them hungrily. “Whatcha got in there today?” one asked, pointing inside one of the cans.

“Mushroom soup,” grunted another. “Picked it up from the backdoor of one of them restaurants down the hill. They was just gonna throw it away, so I says I’d take it.”

“Excuse me,” Shane said, picking his way through a scattering of sleeping forms huddled inside dirty blankets. “Do you men mind if I join you?” He tossed his backpack on the ground beside the campfire and glanced around for an empty log to sit on.

The man stirring the soup pointed at Shane with a rusty spoon handle. “Whatcha doin’ here? This is a private camp.” The other men nodded in agreement; one bared his yellowed teeth at Shane in a leer.

“Lost my job,” Shane said. “Tried to rough it near town for a few days but the police kicked me out. Heard about this place and thought I’d come and check it out for myself.” Without waiting for an invitation, he perched on the edge of a log near the outskirts of the campfire and drew out a hunting knife. As the men eyed him warily, he brought out a block of cheese and began cutting it into chunks, which he tossed into their open hands. “Peace offering,” he said, popping a piece of cheese into his own mouth.

The first man lowered his spoon and nodded to Shane, then passed him one of the tin cans. “Damn police,” he grunted, watching as Shane took a tentative sip. “Can’t trust ‘em anymore’n you can throw ‘em.” He snickered. “And some of ‘em are so tubby, that ain’t far.”

The other men threw their heads back and howled with laughter; after a brief hesitation, Shane joined in. “‘Course,” the man continued, a sly gleam in his eye. “One of us is actually doin’ somethin’ about it, eh fellows?” The men shifted on their logs uncomfortably; the air around them grew thick with tension. Shane felt a few eyes darting his way, and did his best to arrange his features into a nonchalant expression.

“Is that right?” he asked. “What do you mean by that?”

Sensing that he may have said too much, the man muttered something under his breath and continued filling the tin cans with soup. “I’ll let him tell you hisself, if he wanna.” He brought the dented spoon to his mouth and took a noisy slurp. “That’s the ticket,” he moaned happily, rubbing his stomach. “I ain’t had a hot cuppa soup in a long time.”

Shane heard the leaves behind him crunching, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching the campfire. “What you got there, Bernie?” a deep voice boomed. The men hastened to make room on the logs for the newcomer, who sat down with a groan. “Got a big day ahead of me,” he said with a wink. “Gonna need my strength.”

“Here ya go, Sammy,” the man said, passing him a can. “Got ourselves a feast this morning.”

At the sound of the man’s name, Shane could feel his blood pulsating behind his ears. Here we go, he thought to himself. Turning slightly on his log, Shane glanced quickly at the man sitting adjacent to him, now spooning the steaming soup into his mouth.

His face hit Shane like a punch to the gut. The shaggy beard, deep age lines, and dull green eyes were unmistakable.

Heidi’s thoughts were elsewhere as she wrapped a sports bandage around the wrist of a little boy with bright blue eyes and a trembling lower lip. “There,” she said, patting him gently on the arm. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” She rolled her chair over to the medicine cabinet, opened a drawer, and withdrew a cherry lollipop. The boy’s eyes lit up in excitement. “I thought that might help,” she said, winking at the little boy’s father, who hovered over him anxiously. “Try and keep him from moving his wrist around too much. Luckily, it’s just a small sprain, so it should heal pretty quickly.”

Heidi leaned over the boy, who was now enthusiastically unwrapping the lollipop. “Now I need you to promise me that you won’t jump down the steps anymore. You don’t want to get hurt again, do you?” He swung his head back and forth and popped the lollipop in his mouth; his tongue immediately turned bright red.

“I think that’s the last time he’ll try that,” the father said with a laugh. “I have three kids and two eyeballs. Somehow, it seems like that doesn’t add up.” With a cheerful wave at Heidi, he steered his son from the room.

Heidi watched them until they rounded the corner, then slid her phone out of her pocket. It wasn’t strictly forbidden to keep her phone on her while she was on duty, but it was definitely frowned upon unless there was an emergency. This, Heidi decided, looking once more at the blank screen, could definitely be categorized as an emergency. No one had heard from Shane in two days, despite the numerous messages from his family that Heidi knew were now crowding his voicemail.

Dr. Conway rounded the corner with Josie at his heels, and Heidi hurriedly shoved the phone back in her pocket and returned the remaining portion of the sports bandage roll to the cabinet. Josie poked her head into the room where Heidi was sitting. “How are you doing?” she asked, her brows furrowed in concern. “Has anyone been able to reach Shane yet?”

“No,” Heidi whispered, motioning for her to step inside the room. “He hasn’t been returning anyone’s calls.” Every time she pictured Shane, a sick feeling swelled in her stomach. The idea of never seeing his face again…well, that was something Heidi didn’t want to imagine.

“So does this change things between the two of you?” Josie asked, perching on the edge of the examining table and folding her arms across her chest. “Think you’ll get back together?”

“I don’t know,” Heidi said uncomfortably. She had been so undone by finding Zachary at the scene of the accident, followed by Shane’s alarming disappearance, that she found herself telling Josie the entire story when she arrived at work that morning. Her emotions were in such turmoil that it was unbearable to keep them bottled up inside any longer. Josie had listened sympathetically, and had agreed with Heidi that the position she was in was practically impossible.

“I’m still not sure how I’d ever be able to look at him and see anything else but John,” Heidi continued, then hesitated.

“But?” Josie prompted.

“But I’m torn,” Heidi admitted. “Right now, the not knowing if he’s safe or not, that’s killing me. I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to him.” She felt the color drain from her face. “What am I doing? I can’t sit here any longer.” She stood up and took a step toward the door, but Josie held out a hand to stop her.

“What the hell do you think you’ll be able to do?” Josie said with a snort. “You’ll only get yourself killed. You said Buddy was going after him, right? Leave it to the professionals. I don’t want anything to happen to you, Heidi. If you’re not worried about yourself, at least think about Zachary.”

Heidi’s shoulders wilted. “You’re right,” she said, sitting back down heavily and dropping her head into her hands. Buddy had called her earlier in the day to tell her that if he hadn’t been able to get in touch with Shane by midday, he would bring a couple of other officers out to go looking for him. The fear in his voice when he told Heidi his plan did nothing to ease the anxiety bubbling up in her chest.

“Just hang tight,” he had said. “If we find him, I’ll let you know.”

So now, the only thing Heidi could do was sit back and wait, praying and hoping that Buddy would catch up with Shane before he did something that could never be undone.

Shane instinctively reached for the handle of his gun, still tucked safely out of sight beneath the leg of his jeans. Then, he slowly withdrew his hand. Here he was, sitting no more than ten feet away from the man whose face was plastered all over the county, and at that moment there was nothing he could do about it. He needed to wait, Shane reminded himself, until he was one hundred percent certain that he had the right person. If he marched into the police station proclaiming he had captured Sam Shephard only to be mistaken, he would be the butt of jokes for years to come. Patience, Shane thought, picking up his tin can once more and draining the last drops of soup from the bottom.

Slowly, the men around the campfire trickled away to be replaced by others who emerged from their tents and took seats on the logs. Most regarded Shane curiously; others ignored his existence. Through it all, Shephard remained in his seat, idly carving a thick stick with a small penknife and whistling through the gap in his front teeth.

Shane waited, biding his time. Once the area had mostly cleared away, he slid down the log he was sitting on until he was directly across from Shephard. “I’m Jimmy,” he lied, holding out his hand for the other man to shake. “Just found the camp this morning.”

Shephard peered at him, then nodded curtly, avoiding Shane’s outstretched hand. “Sam,” he said gruffly.

“Been here long, Sam?” Shane asked casually, tossing his can to where the others were scattered around the campfire. He picked up a long stick and poked at the dying embers of the fire, which glowed orange against the black coals.