The Cantor Dimension (18 page)

As Chief Hunsinger didn't know where the Cromwell boy was staying he decided to pay a visit to the Darnell's just to see what he could learn. After all, he'd promised Lieutenant Cromwell he'd keep an eye on the boy and besides, impromptu visits often yielded interesting tidbits of information.

The Darnell farm was surrounded by a hand-hewn log fence. He pulled up to the gate and as he got out to open it, an inhospitable Debbie appeared. She wore faded Levi's and a blue flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Chief Hunsinger wondered at the grit of farmer's families in their shirtsleeves on the coldest of winter days. Debbie made no move to open the gate.

"Don't bother, Chief. It is Chief, isn't it?"

"Yes," Chief Hunsinger smiled, a friendly greeting on his lips.

"Well Chief, what rumor are you chasing after this time? Or have you actually discovered hard evidence for a change?" Debbie's cold stare could have frozen lava in its track.

"Come on, Miss Debbie. We stopped trying to solve that case a long time ago. I'm not here about your grandfather."

"Good because he's not here anyway." Debbie turned to leave.

"Wait! Wait a moment, please."

She raised an eyebrow questioningly, arms folded across her chest. "Well?"

"Well, I, um..."

"That's what I thought. Look Chief Hunsinger, the only time the law ever bothered with us Darnell's was to badger Grandpa Doug or to harass my brother Nick. You're not welcome here, Chief. Unless you have a warrant or you're here to arrest someone, please leave."

"Miss Debbie..."

"My grandfather is dead. Can't you just leave it alone?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"I'll bet you're sorry. Your prime suspect number one is finally out of your reach. Even if he did it and got away with it, your case is closed now."

"Debbie look, I'm gonna level with you. Yes, I think your grandfather killed Billy Starnes. He threatened to kill Billy and everyone heard him. Two weeks later Billy was dead. Even Emily suspected Doug and that's why they say she lost it. Only hard evidence pointing in another direction will make me change my mind about it but that's not why I'm here. I came here to make peace with you and to let bygones be bygones. I've got nothing against you all."

"Maybe we don't want to make peace, Chief."

"Times are changing, Debbie. Crime is on the rise and you never know when you might need us. Look at all the burglaries that have taken place in the last few years. A regular rash of them, you might say."

"Need you?" Debbie laughed. She let out a long, low whistle and several mean looking Dobermans came running. They stopped obediently at her feet waiting for her next order. "Sit!" Debbie ordered. The dogs sat in unison. "Now Chief, it's real simple. If the dogs don't get 'em, this will." Debbie lifted a shotgun that had been leaning against her leg. "See Chief, us Darnell's, we don't need you."

"Okay, okay, I get the hint. You might change your mind someday but for now we'll leave it alone. I won't bother you again unless as you say, I've got hard evidence or I've come to arrest someone, and just so you understand Debbie, I'm not looking for evidence any more. I've got too many current cases to be worrying over something that happened nearly a half a century ago."

"Good. I'm glad we understand each other." With that, Debbie turned and walked away, her long, straw blond hair flying in the breeze and seven Dobermans following closely at her heels.

Chief Hunsinger offered up a silent apology to Lieutenant Cromwell. At least he'd tried. The next stop on his list was the Baker place. Chief Hunsinger had finally succeeded in locating a relative who may have heard of Ann Weissmuller. Thelma Baker was an ancient crone who shared a hovel in Lostant with a flock of chickens. She didn't have a telephone so he'd had to drive out to her shack in person. Thelma was Ann's aunt.

A narrow dirt road passed through a thicket of trees. It was barely wide enough for a vehicle to maneuver. It had originally been a horse trail. The trees finally opened out into a small clearing where a split-rail log fence was all that stood between the shack and the surrounding woods.

In the center of the clearing stood Thelma's place. Weatherworn boards barely shielded the tiny structure from the harsh, midwest winters. The shutters were closed giving the hovel an air of abandonment. Chickens squawked noisily around his feet in the hopes he'd throw them food. They were the only sign of life and they obviously associated people with feeding time.

An old, bent woman came out of the hovel carrying a bucket, wearing a tattered black shawl which all but covered her fleshless face. She sounded like Granny Clampett when she spoke and he could imagine her chasing the chickens with a broom.

"Marigold, you quit yer squawking, you old fussbudget!" she scolded. "Come on, Aster, come on over here. And Petunia! You ought to be ashamed o'yourself, bothering that man!"

She reached into the bucket and scattered some grain on the ground. The clucking stopped instantly as the chickens dove for the seed. She put the bucket down and faced Chief Hunsinger, her black eyes keen in spite of her years.

"Now who are you and whaddya want out here?"

"Thelma Baker?"

"Who wants to know?"

"Mrs. Baker, I'm Police Chief Hunsinger from Utica. I'm trying to locate Ann Weissmuller. Her maiden name was Ansley."

"What fer?"

"Her son is missing and it appears that she is missing as well. No one in the family seems to have heard of her." He noticed the incongruity of his own statement and winced.

Thelma paused, concentrating. Her face softened. "Ann. Yes, I remember Ann. She was my sister's girl in a manner of speaking. My sister Alice had been married for about two years and was pregnant with child. They had one daughter named Mary and were hoping for a son.

"Alice believed she was carrying a girl and was planning to name the girl-child Ann, but Alice was shot by a burglar and she and her unborn baby Ann was killed. The girl-child never got to be born. Ann ain't missing, Chief. She lived her life up in heaven and I expect I'll be joining her soon."

"What happened to your sister's husband Luke Ansley? Is he still around?"

"Luke? Why I have no idea. He was a mess after Alice's killin'. He kept in touch for awhile but the memories was just too much for him. I heard he moved away somewhere down south."

"You never kept in touch to see your niece Mary?"

"Naw. I ain't much on kids and Luke was desperate to get away from the bad memories so I let them go peaceful-like."

"Do you have any idea where? What state?"

"No, I never asked. A man's got a right to his privacy."

"Yes, well thank you Mrs. Baker. You've been a big help."

Chief Hunsinger drove back through the thicket of trees toward the main road. He stopped at the mailbox to think. It appeared that the only Ann Ansley ever to have existed was the baby conceived by Luke and Alice Ansley - the baby that had never been born and who therefore could not be Eric's mother.

His search for Ann had produced one dead end after another. He let out a long, frustrated sigh. His reprieve at Thelma Baker's mailbox wasn't accomplishing anything so he turned onto the main road and headed for the next stop on his list, wondering as he drove how Thelma Baker collected her mail.

It was easily a mile from her mailbox to the hovel she called home. He shrugged and headed toward the Starnes' farm. It was his day to be out on the road. He enjoyed getting out of the stuffy office and breathing in a bit of fresh air so he often took care of these things in person rather than sending one of his officers. They didn't mind as it gave them more time to sit back at places like the diner Ed Stokes frequented.

There'd been reports of strange lights bobbing in the windows of the Starnes' farm. Several neighbors had called to report the lights and one neighbor had even spotted a dark figure lurking about. Chief Hunsinger suspected that the Starnes' farm was the perfect hangout for teenagers experimenting with their first cigarette, their first bottle of whiskey, their first joint - or boys needing a place to take their girls without fear of interruption. It was the perfect teenage hideout.

Chief Hunsinger pulled up to the front door and grabbed his flashlight. If teenagers were hanging out in there they'd leave evidence: cigarette butts, matches, condoms, beer bottles, whiskey bottles, roach clips. Even the absence of cobwebs would prove that someone had been moving around inside.

The Chief had gotten a late start that day, not leaving the precinct until early afternoon. First he'd gone to the Darnell farm and then to Lostant to talk to Thelma Baker. Twilight was descending rapidly as he approached the front of the farmhouse. He wiggled the doorknob and as expected, it was locked. He aimed the flashlight through a crack between two boards over one of the windows. It was pitch black inside. A cold chill touched his spine and he shivered.

"Damn, it gets dark way too early this time of year," he muttered. He circled the farmhouse looking for a more inviting window. There wasn't one. The back of the house was more menacing than the front. The witch-trees stood sentry at the back door, shielding it from the view of the neighboring farmhouses - he could see no one and no one could see him.

The witch-trees were black and twisted and like a coven of witches, there were exactly thirteen of them. A neighbor had once set out to cut one of them down so that there wouldn't be thirteen but there'd been an accident with his chain saw and he'd lost three fingers. No one went near the witch-trees after that.

Chief Hunsinger cautiously approached the back wall of the house. He found a narrow door which was barely tall enough for a man to walk through. The door was nailed shut. At his touch, a shower of paint chips skittered loudly onto the cement step. To the left of the door was a small shed that had been added onto the house - a rotted out building that bespoke of rats and whoopings and fiddleback spiders. The paint had peeled off long ago allowing the exposed wood to deteriorate until a man could grab a piece of siding and pull it off with his bare hands without even the aid of a crowbar.

The door hung at a lopsided angle, held in place by the lower hinge. Chief Hunsinger peered into the dark recesses visible near the upper hinge, shining his flashlight through the wide gap. Two glowing yellow orbs peered back in answer. The orbs leapt straight for the gap and Chief Hunsinger's face. He jumped back and nearly lost his footing. A black cat came sailing through the opening and bounded off into the witch-trees.

"Holy shit!" he swore, watching the cat's hind end disappear into a clump of weeds at the base of a tree. He mopped his brow which was bathed in sweat. His hand was shaking badly. The Starnes' farm carried such an air of malevolence that it didn't need any ghosts to keep the townsfolk away. Police Chief Hunsinger walked briskly back to his car, locked all the doors, and returned to the precinct.

The dingy office seemed almost cheerful after his bout with Debbie Darnell and the eerie presence of the Starnes' farm. Relaxation rolled over him in waves. Sitting safely in his office, the Starnes' farm with its witch-trees seemed almost a distant memory and he wondered why he'd let his imagination get the better of him. He grinned at his own frantic escape from a bunch of lousy trees. It was a moment he didn't intend to share with a soul.

He needed to find Ann Weissmuller which had become almost more important to him than finding Eric. With this in mind he called Bob Weissmuller.

"Mr. Weissmuller? Chief Hunsinger again. Say, what were your wife's parent's names?"

"Ann's parents? Why, Luke and Alice Ansley, of course! Everybody knows that."

"Do you know where I can find them?"

"Well Luke passed on a couple years ago and is buried next to his folks. Died peaceful in his sleep, he did. Alice sold the farm and went back east to stay with her own people."

"Did Luke ever live down south?"

"Down south? Naw, Luke was a good man. He'd have never left his kinfolk to run after the city lights."

"What about Alice? Do you know where back east?"

"Naw, sure don't. One o' them big eastern cities, I reckon."

"Well, okay. Thank you again, Mr. Weissmuller."

"Sure, anytime!" Bob Weissmuller paused a moment then added, "You can't change God's will, Chief. He come and took his own and God don't leave no clues."

He hung up. It was another dead end, albeit a bizarre one. Thelma claimed that Alice was killed years ago and that Luke had moved down south with their infant daughter Mary. Bob claimed that Luke had never lived down south, had recently died right here, and that Alice had been the one to go off someplace. Obviously someone was telling a lie and it was usually the spouse so he was beginning to think that Bob might be involved in his wife's disappearance, and possibly his son's.

He had hoped he could talk to Luke or Alice Ansley. He settled for Mark Boeing in their stead.

"Mark, it's Chief Hunsinger. I have a couple of questions about Eric."

"Sure, anything you want to know. I want to help. Eric was my best friend."

"So you've said."

"He was! I don't know what I can tell you, though. I wasn't with him when it happened."

"Where were you?"

"Me and my dad were out hunting us a Christmas turkey."

"And did you get one?"

"No. Too many hunters trampling through the woods. Scared 'em all away I guess."

"You expected to shoot a turkey in the woods? Wouldn't the open fields have been better?"

"Well yeah, I guess. I don't know... ask my dad, it was his idea! I just went along to keep him company."

Somehow the conversation had gotten onto the wrong track. Chief Hunsinger got back to the matter at hand. "I will ask your father later. Right now I want to talk about Eric. Was he acting at all strange or out of character before he disappeared? Or did anything seem to be bothering him?"

"Well yes, now that you mention it. He started hanging out at the Starnes' farm, spying on the ghosts or something he said. I meant to tell you the other day. It was pretty stupid if you ask me but like I said, he tended to believe in strange things like UFOs, so why not ghosts? He had books on all that weird stuff."