Widow Town (13 page)

“Joseph, bring that map you’re always going on about into my office.”

Gray released the
intercom button on his computer and waited, the seconds ticking off inside his head loud enough to drown out all other noises. He didn’t move as he sat behind his desk, his eyes beginning to dry in the hot air. Soon he heard the deputy moving down the hall and a moment later the younger man entered the room and strode to his desk, setting down what looked like a folded square of leather.

“I’m surprised you remembered we had this,
Sheriff.”

“Don
’t get cheeky with me, Joseph.”

“No sir.”

“What did you turn up with the calls to Joslyn’s in-laws?”

“They were a little cagey with me but said that they did receive the account balances in full, all the money was there.”

“Well we figured as much.”

“Yes sir.”

Ruthers unfolded the map one layer at a time until it covered over half of the desk. Its surface was opaque with several round symbols sealed beneath a clear, protective cover. Gray ran his fingers across the map.

“It looks like a miniature Twister game,” Gray said.

“A what?”

“Am I the only one who lik
es classic games in this town?”

“What sort of game is it?”

“It has a larger mat like this with differently colored circles to put your hands and feet on. Two people get on there and someone else calls out colors and whose hands and feet to go where.”

Ruthers stared at him.

“The two people get twisted up with one another. Twister.”

“Hmm.”

“The hell with it. How do you turn this damn thing on?”

Ruthers squeezed the map once at its corner and the entire surface lit up from within, its face brightening with lines signifying roads and a scattering of blocks in
the center. The words ‘Shillings County’ hovered at the top of the map.

“Well that is handy, isn’t it?” Gr
ay said, bending over the desk.

“Yes sir,” Ruthers said, rubbing his forehead.

“Headache still bothering you?”

“Yes sir.”

“Caffeine withdrawal is a bastard.”

“I’ll say.”

“Maybe you should go get a coffee.”

“No, I’ll just suffer.”

Gray chuckled. “Okay, let’s find East Six.”

Ruthers touched the pliant mat and slid his finger across its surface, dragging the digital view with it. He stopped and placed his other pointer finger on the map and pulled his hands away from one another. The map zoomed in, the small squiggles of roads expanding into clearer definition, several lakes and pl
ots taking up most of its area.

“This is East Six,” Ruthers said pointing to a relatively straight line running through the cen
ter of the view.

Gray studied the intersecting lines and then touched a spot on the upper right side of the map. A little dot of green light appeared where he’d tapped it. “This is where the transport driver found Miles, about a mile from where Six hits N
orthbound.”

“Is he sti
ll in custody over in Wheaton?”

“No, I released him. He’s from Massachusetts, just passing through on a delivery. All his background checked out. Poor guy was still shaken up when I interviewed him.” Gray studied the map for
a while, his eyes tracing different features before returning to the point he’d marked. “Make me a concentric circle around that point, Joseph, twenty miles in diameter.”

Ruthers touched the mark twice and then drew a line away from it. A circle appeared and grew on the map, a barrage of decimal-pointed numbers racing along its
outer edge until Ruthers paused, stopping the circle at a ten mile radius.

“Good, now can you sh
ow current homesteads on here?”

“Sure can.” Ruth
ers touched the edge of the map. A line of symbols appeared. After tapping one of them a grid materialized, overlaying the current view. Over a dozen rectangular shapes lit in borders of orange. Miniscule print floated within each of them.

“The labels are the names and addresses of each plot registered in the county,” Ruthers said. “The map gets updated each month t
hrough the courthouse’s files.”

“Okay,
here’s where things get tricky because we’ll have to rely on logic,” Gray said. “Stop me anytime you think I’m wrong, Joseph. In my opinion, Miles escaped sometime yesterday, I’m willing to bet in the evening or early morning. Now with his injuries and seeing how frail he is, it’s unlikely he would travel more than ten miles in the space of twelve hours.” Gray glanced at his deputy.

“I’m with you so
far.”

“Good. Now normally I would cut our search down considerably with Wilson Creek running parallel to Six since it would carry even a strong man away when the water’s high, but with no rain that stream would be dry as a bone allowing someone to either cross it or walk down it.” Gray leaned closer to the map. “Which poses a problem for us because most of the residences are o
n the north side of the creek.”

“Whic
h side of Six was he found on?”

“The north side.”

“So he most likely came from that direction.”

“If we’re still treading water in logic, yes.” Gray peered at the map for a full minute without speaking before straightening up. “Joseph, I want you to call Dodge
r and get him and Tex out to the spot where Miles was found, see if that dog’s nose can pick up a trail. The heat might’ve burnt away any scent but it’s worth a shot. And bring a scanner with you out there, I don’t think it’ll be any use with how dry it is but you never know.”

“Sure thing.”

“Can you send a snapshot of that map to my cruiser’s readout?”

“Yes sir.”

“Do it. I’m going to make a few house calls and meet up with you later this afternoon.”

Ruthers nodded and folded the map in half and then half again. “So the
town celebration is tomorrow.”

“Joseph, I’m
not easy if you’re asking me to the dance.”

Ruthers laughed and shook his head. “No, but I wanted to thank you for the urging the other night. I finally got
up the nerve to ask Siri out.”

Gray surveyed the younger man from beneath the bill of his hat. “Well by God, Joseph, you’re
growing up on me.”

A hint of scarlet flushed the deputy’s cheeks and he nodded once, a small smile on his lips.
“It surprised me she said yes.”

“Joseph, that girl is just as smitten with you as you are with her. I would’ve bet on that before the rain any
day.”

“Thanks
, Sheriff.”

“You’re welcome. Now get your ass moving, we have som
e serious ends to tie up here.”

“Yes sir.” Ruthers headed for the doorway and stopped shy of the hall. “Sheriff, you think it’s all connected don’t you? Even Miles’s disappea
rance?”

Gray glanced out of the window. The shimmering heat shifted on the street in tangent layers. Not a soul occupied the sidewalks. “
Yes,” he said, bringing his gaze back to the young man in the doorway. “But I honestly hope I’m wrong.”

~

Gray eased the cruiser off the highway and into an overgrown driveway. Weeds slid against the doors and undercarriage, a snake’s hiss that drowned out the quiet music coming from the speakers. He switched the radio off and peered through the windshield as a fallen tree came into view, blocking the narrow drive. Gray slowed the cruiser and put it in park, sat looking at the obstruction and the surrounding woods.

The heat soaked into him as he stepped from the car and approached the fallen tree. It was an oak, snapped off several feet from the ground but still attached to its stump. Gray walked its length and studied its dead branches that stretched into the
forest. A black line near the upper branches caught his eye and he knelt to examine it. A small steel latch was embedded in the tree’s trunk and crossed the narrow line that looked like a cut. The latch was painted a grayish brown to match the tree’s bark. Gray fingered the latch and flipped it up.

The tree pivoted
toward him, the cut opening like a jaw.

“Sonofabit
ch,” Gray said.

With a slight pull, the tree swung like a gate, leaving its upper branches where they were and opened clear of the driveway. Gray inspected the stump closer and saw a pinion driven through the trunk
that allowed the tree to swing.

He
returned to the cruiser and pulled past the gate, not bothering to shut it behind him. Ahead the driveway rose and a narrow clearing opened up. A single story, brick house appeared on the right, its solitary window opaque. The structure was small and square, a single bedroom home at most. A larger building stood behind a row of trees, its front obscured by their wilting leaves.

Gray parked and got out, watching the woods for movement. A bird flitted between branches,
the wind gusted and then fell.

Quiet.

His hand on the butt of the Colt, he approached the door, the sensation of reaching toward a high-RPM blade as he knocked. The sound echoed in the clearing as well as inside the house. He waited, moving closer to the side of the door and away from the window.

“Sheriff’s department,” he said
in a raised voice. No response.

Sliding closer to the window, he glanced inside. Dirt covered the hardwood floor in piles. A scarred table stood to one side of the room and a
mound of clothes that might’ve doubled for a bed took up the rest of the space. Several gallon jugs lay interspersed on the floor. He imagined he could smell the refuse from where he stood.

Gray moved away from the house and around back. There was only the front door, no other way out.
A creaking filled the yard with the breeze and he made his way past the stand of trees toward the other structure.

It was a leaning barn, two stories
tall, its boards bleached and dull as old bones. It had no windows that he could see, only a single door that hung partially open, a rusty hinge protesting the wind. Gray moved toward it, his hand still on the Colt, tightening. He stopped beside the door, waited for a draft that pushed it open.

A smell wafted to him, the harsh bite of chemicals, acrid in the hot air.

“Sheriff’s department,” he called again. No answer, no sound of movement. Gray nudged the door open with his foot and stepped inside.

Hazy light slanted through a hundred cracks in the walls and roof, the beams catching motes of dancing dust. A matted covering of old straw lined the floor. Several stan
chions stood empty to the left but the bulk of the room was occupied by a long bench covered with plastic tubing, glass beakers, and an industrial heating element. Stacks of plastic bags rested beneath the bench along with a pallet of what looked like red bricks wrapped in cellophane. A plastic drum in the corner held a black ichor that bubbled continuously.

Gray approached the lab and pulled up his shirt collar to cover his mouth and nose. The chemical bite in the air became so strong near the bench it watered his eyes. Slowly, he backed away, drawing his handgun. He glanced upward into the vacant loft and turned toward the rear of the barn.

The light waned the farther back he went, his feet padding on the crushed straw the only sound. An ancient motorcycle leaned on a bent kickstand, a layer of dust covering its black seat. Another short stanchion grew from the opposite wall and when Gray rounded its boards he pulled up short, taking in the sight.

A five gallon pail full of long knives and hatchets sat off to one side, their blades speckled with dark stains. A multi-legged chain hung from a solid beam mounted in back of the stanchion, half a dozen glinting hooks
dangling from its ends. The hook’s polished steel was marred with blackened crimson, beads of it dried in suspended drips. On the floor lay a pair of soiled, men’s underwear, their edges frayed and torn.

In the distance
a dog barked.

The door to the barn flew open and something hit the back wall above his head. Gray ducked and swung the Colt up, centering its sight on the door. A hissing whine came from his left and when he looked down he saw a canister the size of a
coffee cup, white smoke issuing from one end. Catching a whiff of it, he coughed, the smoke singeing the insides of his mouth and throat.

The door opened again and another canister flew through the air, landing
a half dozen steps from the lab. The white smoke spurted from its end and obscured the only exit in the building. The door slammed shut again.

Gray coughed and moved away from the first gas bomb, shielding his nose and mouth as he’d done earlier. He kept the pistol aimed at the door he couldn’t see anymore and turned in a circle. The boards lining the walls faced him on both sides, the smoke creeping toward him at an even pace.
He lunged to the right, flinging his foot out at a particularly rotted board. It cracked and a piece flew free, dragging his foot with it. Sunlight poured inside, making the growing clouds of smoke even brighter. The dog barked again, sounding closer than before. Hurried footsteps approached the hole he’d made and Gray yanked his leg inside just as a thick-bladed axe slammed into the wood where his flesh had been moments before.