Feast Day of Fools hh-10 Read online

  “I didn’t see anything here except six men tormenting a he’pless woman,” he said.

  There was a pause. “You saw what?” the tall man asked, twisting the sole of his boot on Cody’s cheek.

  “Saw a tall man that’s got so much chewing tobacco in his mouth, he cain’t swallow. Saw a li’l bitty fellow over yonder by the horse tank. Saw one man that’s bleeding through a hole in his mask, like somebody seriously fucked up his face. Saw a big gray truck with a diesel engine and a stack on it. Saw a bunch of men that dress like they been in the military. Saw a bunch of men that wouldn’t believe me when I said I called Sheriff Holland. I’m here to tell you the sheriff of this county is one mean motor scooter. He’ll flat kick a two-by-four up your ass. I know. I’ve been in his jailhouse.”

  Cody thought the torque in his neck was going to snap his spinal cord. He could hear the windmill’s blades spinning, a loose door banging in the barn, the thunder in the clouds retreating in the hills. Through the dirt and sweat and rain mist in his eyes, he could see a pale band of cold light appear beyond the hills in the east, as though the season were winter rather than spring. He heard someone snapping his fingers, as though trying to get the attention of the tall man. Then the boot went away from Cody’s face.

  “You’re a lucky fellow,” the tall man said, lifting Cody to his feet by his shirtfront. “But let me leave you this little reminder of what happens when you wise off to the wrong people.” He drove Cody’s head into the truck fender and dropped him to the ground.

  Cody felt himself descending into a deep well, one that was cool and damp and colored by a sunrise that had the texture and pinkness of cotton candy. As though from a great distance, he could hear glass breaking, furniture being overturned, a telephone crashing through a window into the yard, a computer being smashed into junk. These things were not his business any longer. Somehow Cody Daniels had faced down and bested the men who had raped him when he was seventeen. That an event of that magnitude could take place in his life seemed impossible. All he knew was that after a few minutes at the bottom of the well, the truck with the diesel-powered engine drove away, and he found himself cutting the duct tape on Anton Ling’s wrists and ankles, wondering if she was still alive.

  The 911 call came in to the department at 6:47 A.M. The caller said he was an emergency electrical worker who had been sent out to find a downed power line in the neighborhood and had been flagged down by a man claiming to be a minister. “Y’all better get out here. This guy isn’t making much sense,” the caller said.

  “Neither are you. What’s the nature of your emergency?” Maydeen said.

  “The guy says there’s a Chinese woman inside that almost drowned. The place looks torn to hell. There’re two pickup trucks in the yard with the wiring ripped out of the dashboards. Maybe a bunch of those Mexicans went crazy.”

  “Which Mexicans?”

  “The ones that come through here every night. Maybe now y’all can get off your asses and do something about it.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Marvin.”

  “What’s your last name, Marvin?”

  “I didn’t give it.”

  “Well, Marvin I-Didn’t-Give-It, you keep yourself and your smart-aleck mouth there till a deputy sheriff arrives. You also keep this line open. You copy that, Marvin?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Ma’am?”

  “What?”

  “I’m standing in the yard by the horse tank. There’s blood in the water and on the side of the tank. There’s something else, too. Hang on.”

  “Are you still there?”

  “There’s a car, maybe a Trans Am, driving up from the back of the property. It doesn’t have any paint. A guy is getting out.”

  “What about him?”

  “I don’t know. A guy in a suit and a hat. A guy in a dress shirt. I don’t know where he came from. There’s no road back there.”

  “Have you seen him before?”

  “I waved at him, but he’s just standing there. His engine is running.”

  “Can you get the tag?”

  “No, ma’am. He’s got his door open and he’s staring at me. He hasn’t shaved in a while. His shirt is yellow-looking, like there’s dried soap in it.”

  Then the caller went silent.

  “Are you there? Stay with me, Marvin,” Maydeen said.

  “I don’t know what he wants. He’s just staring at me. His pants are stuck down inside the tops of his boots. Are y’all on your way yet?”

  “Can you ask the driver who he is?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not sure why not. This isn’t a reg’lar sort of guy.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “The way he’s staring at me. He’s got a shoulder rig on.”

  “He’s carrying a weapon?”

  “Yes, ma’am, a big revolver in a shoulder rig. I can see it against his chest.”

  “Go to your vehicle, Marvin.”

  “I don’t think he wants me to do that.”

  “Listen to me, Marvin. Take your cell phone from your ear and walk to your vehicle with it. But don’t break the connection. Are you listening?”

  “He’s walking up to me, ma’am.”

  “Drive away, Marvin.”

  “No, ma’am. This is not the time to go anywhere. Jesus Christ, lady, get out here.” There was a pause, then: “I’m from the power company. I’m not sure what’s going on. The place is a wreck, isn’t it? I think a lady in there might be hurt real bad. Sir, you cain’t take the keys out of my truck. That’s a company vehicle. They don’t allow unauthorized personnel inside their vehicles. Sir, don’t throw my keys up there. I’m gonna be in a heck of a lot of trouble.”

  The connection went dead.

  Maydeen dispatched the paramedics and two deputies to the house, then called Hackberry at his home and told him of the 911 call. “The guy from the power company didn’t say who the minister was?” he asked.

  “No clue.”

  “And nothing else about the guy in the Trans Am?”

  “Just what I told you.”

  “Collins?”

  “I’ve tried to call Marvin twice, but I go to voice mail.”

  “Call the power company and ask them to call the radio in his truck.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “There was blood in the horse tank?”

  “That’s what the caller said.”

  “I’m on my way. Get Pam out there.”

  “She just walked in.”

  “Put her on, please.”

  “It’s Collins, isn’t it?” Maydeen said.

  “That’s my guess.”

  “You’ll probably beat the ambulance there. Wait till I get R.C. and Felix out there for backup.”

  “Do what you’re told, Maydeen.”

  “You’re too goddamn old and stubborn for your own good, Hack. You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

  Pam picked up the extension. “What’s going on?” she said.

  “We ROA at Anton Ling’s place. Maydeen will fill you in. Get ahold of Ethan Riser and tell him Jack Collins is probably in the neighborhood. Put out an APB on a Trans Am with no paint on it. Include Collins’s physical description.”

  “Copy that,” she replied. “Hack?”

  “What?”

  “If you see Collins, forget the rules.”

  “We never forget the rules.”

  “Haven’t you figured it out? That’s exactly what Collins counts on.”

  Maydeen was right. Because Hackberry was driving from his ranch, he arrived at Anton Ling’s property before the ambulance or the deputies from his department. The rain had stopped, and the great boundless baked emptiness of the land that was not unlike the floor of an ancient ocean seemed to have risen cool and green and washed from the storm, a blue and pink and turquoise rainbow arching over the hills, anchoring itself and its promise somewhere beyond the clouds.
r />   Cody Daniels’s truck was parked in front of the house, the ignition wires ripped out. The lineman’s truck was parked close by, the driver’s door open, the keys gone from the ignition. There was no movement either inside or outside the house. Hackberry walked to the barn and the bunkhouse and the stucco cottage and looked inside. There was no one there, and the Trans Am was nowhere to be seen. He pulled his revolver from its holster and entered the house through the kitchen door, the pistol hanging heavily from his hand. The contents of the cupboards and the pantry had been raked on the floor. Through a side door, he could see into the room that served as a chapel. The statue of the Virgin Mary had been broken in half, and the tiered rack of votive candles had been flipped over and the candles and glass holders smashed and ground into the floor. The small altar had been flung into the folding chairs, the white altar cloth grimed with footprints.

  The only sound he heard was the wind flapping the curtains on the windows. Through a doorway, he could see the dining and living rooms. The pictures had been stripped from the walls and the dining table turned over, as though someone had been looking for something taped under it, the fabric on the stuffed chairs sliced open.

  “This is Sheriff Holland! Who’s in here?” he called.

  “Sheriff?” a familiar voice said.

  “That’s what I said.”

  “It’s Cody Daniels.”

  “Walk out here where I can see you, Reverend.”

  “Did you bring the ambulance?”

  “Do what I say, please.”

  “Yes, sir, I’m coming,” Daniels said, walking into the dining room. “They beat up Miss Anton and almost drowned her. We got to get her to the hospital. Sometimes people get pneumonia when they almost drown.”

  Hackberry still held his revolver, his eyes roving around the house’s interior, searching over Cody Daniels’s shoulder. “Where’s Collins?”

  “Is that his name?”

  “Will you answer the question?”

  “You’re talking about the guy who killed all those Thai women, right? He didn’t give us his name. He just asked who did this to Miss Anton. I told him I didn’t have a clue.”

  Hackberry holstered his revolver and went into the bedroom. Anton Ling lay on a mattress that had been pulled off the bedsprings. Her dresser drawers had been dumped and her clothes pulled from the hangers in the closet. There was blood on her pillow, her clothes were drenched, and her eyes had the lack of focus that accompanies brain concussion. He knelt beside her. “Who did this to you, Miss Anton?”

  “They all wore camouflage masks. Only one man spoke.”

  “What was Jack Collins doing here?”

  “The man in the suit?”

  “Yes, what did he say to you?”

  “He wanted to know who the men were. He said he and I were on the same side. He touched my face with his hand. Cody told him not to do that, and for a minute I was afraid for Cody’s life.”

  “Cody?”

  “If it weren’t for him, I’d be dead.”

  Hackberry looked over his shoulder at Cody Daniels and said, “Where’s the guy from the power company, the one named Marvin?”

  “The guy in the suit threw his keys on the roof and told him to hoof it. So that’s what he did,” Cody Daniels replied.

  “The ambulance will be here in a few minutes, Miss Anton,” Hackberry said. “I need to talk with the reverend, but I’ll be right outside.”

  “I think I heard someone speak in Russian,” she said. “But I can’t be sure.”

  “You’re pretty sure of that?” Hackberry said.

  “Yes, I’d almost swear it was Russian, or at least East European.”

  As Hackberry got to his feet, tentacles of pain wrapped around his lower back and his buttocks, sinking into his viscera and then disappearing. He walked Cody Daniels toward the kitchen. “What were you doing out here?” he said.

  “I wanted to see if she was all right. Then I left. That’s when I saw this gray truck with an extended cab come down from the hills behind her fence line. It had a smokestack on it, one sticking up by the cab. The only guy I talked to had a mouth full of chewing tobacco and smelled like it, too.”

  “What time did you arrive on her property?”

  “It was dark. I didn’t note the time.”

  “You were looking in her windows?”

  “I don’t do things like that.”

  “You just drive out to other people’s property in the middle of the night?”

  “Yeah, in this case, that’s what I did. I got a better question for you. When’s that dadburn ambulance coming?”

  “Why were you suspicious of the truck?” Hackberry said.

  “’Cause I thought they might be working for Temple Dowling.”

  “You know Dowling?”

  “Dowling was at my house. He said he wanted me to spy on Miss Anton.”

  “Why would he select you for such a noble enterprise, Reverend?”

  “Ask him.”

  “Don’t worry, I will.”

  “You got the right to think anything you want of me, Sheriff. But I told you the truth. If you don’t like it, that’s-”

  “Who were those guys?” Hackberry said.

  “It wasn’t Dowling or his people.”

  “If they wore masks, how can you be sure?”

  “Dowling and his thugs invaded my house and threatened me on my deck. They would have recognized me. These guys didn’t know who I was. What’s so hard to understand about that?”

  “Did Dowling offer you money?”

  “He mentioned it.”

  “What else did he mention?”

  “Sir?”

  “I know the Dowling family. I know how they work. Is Temple Dowling blackmailing you?”

  Cody Daniels’s hand was resting on the kitchen drainboard. His fingers twitched slightly, then became motionless. “I guess you could call it that. No, it’s not up for debate, that’s exactly what he was doing.” His gaze drifted from the side window to the yard. “There’re your deputies and the ambulance coming. Can I talk to your chief deputy a minute?”

  “No, you can’t. Did you have a gun or a weapon of any kind when you came back to help Ms. Ling?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You just did it?”

  “Not exactly. My teeth were rattling like Chiclets.”

  “What does Dowling have on you, partner?”

  “You’ve pulled my sheet. Take your choice.”

  “You went down for forgery, but that’s not it, is it?”

  “I got no more to say on the subject.”

  “It’s the bombing at the abortion clinic, isn’t it?”

  “I need to talk to your deputy. It’s important. At least it is to me.”

  “Go sit on the gallery and let your mind think cool thoughts. You know who said that? Satchel Paige. He said the key to longevity was to have cool thoughts and not to eat fried food. Why don’t you try that?”

  “Why you got it in for me, Sheriff?”

  “Because I think you helped blind and mutilate a defenseless woman. Because I think anyone who plants a bomb among unsuspecting people should be stuffed feetfirst into a tree shredder.”

  The skin of Cody Daniels’s throat prickled, as though it had just been windburned. “You really mean that?” he said quietly.

  “Probably not,” Hackberry said. “But I mean something right close to it.”

  “You’re not one given to mercy, Sheriff. I don’t think it’s right to talk to people like that, even the likes of me,” Cody Daniels said. He went outside and sat by himself on the front steps, his face wan, his gaze fixed on the apron of bare earth at his feet.

  Hackberry helped the paramedics place Anton Ling on the gurney and take her out to the ambulance. Before they put her inside, she touched his wrist. “I could hear you in the kitchen,” she said. “Don’t be too hard on Reverend Daniels.”

  “He has no explanation for being at your house.”

 
“It was his pride. I shamed and demeaned him in the parking lot at the grocery store. I treated him like human refuse.”

  “To my mind, that’s not an unfair description of a clinic bomber.”

  “You’re wrong about him,” she said.

  “We’ll straighten up your house and lock the doors. I’ll be up to see you at the hospital. In the meantime, I don’t want you to worry about anything. We’ll get the guys who did this.”

  “Maybe,” she replied.

  “What were they after, Miss Anton?”

  “Noie Barnum.”

  “No, in the house. What were they looking for?”

  “My guess is they’re looking for technical material about the Predator drone.”

  “Is it there?”

  She shook her head.

  “Did Barnum have it on him?”

  “To my knowledge, all he brought to this house were his wounds. He stayed in the cottage. I forgot to tell you something. I hurt one of the men who was holding me at the sink. I stabbed him just below the eye with a screwdriver. He’ll have to go to a hospital or see a doctor.”

  “You’re a tough lady, Miss Anton.”

  “You won’t catch them.”

  “Pardon?”

  “The men who did this to me have been with us a long time. They’re in our midst every day. We just don’t acknowledge their presence,” she said.

  A paramedic closed the back door of the ambulance. Hackberry watched the ambulance drive away, then walked back to the windmill and watched Pam Tibbs and R.C. stringing crime-scene tape from the barn to the front of the house. R.C. was over six feet and had a skeletal frame that looked tacked together from the staves in an apple box, his stomach and buttocks flat, his waist twenty-eight inches, his face perpetually young, his mouth small like a girl’s, his eyes always bright with surprise. He was chewing gum, snapping it in his jaw, his coned-up white straw deputy’s hat slanted down over his brow. “Found a bloody screwdriver that somebody kicked under the counter in the kitchen, Sheriff,” he said.