by AR Simmons
“I’m not sure I even know what you mean by that.”
“Sure you do, Carter. You were in the Marines. Think of it as the conduct expected of officers in the Corps.”
Richard hadn’t been an officer, but he knew what Shively meant.
“Okay,” he said, thinking that it was all a bit of overkill for what was essentially an auxiliary position. “Anything else?”
“Finances. If you get in money trouble, I want to know about it.”
“Like what?”
“Like not being able to meet your obligations. I won’t have any of my deputies getting their pay garnished. If you have trouble, we can work something out with the bank.”
Richard grimaced.
“I’m not trying to be unpleasant, Mr. Carter, just honest. You need to know up front what I expect. From top to bottom, I want a department people can look up to. It makes the job a lot simpler.”
“Okay, what does it pay?”
“Minimum wage to begin with, but I can give you forty hours a week, bare bones health insurance, and a week’s paid vacation after you’ve been with the department for a year. We don’t have paid sick days, but there’s flexibility in workdays. For example, if you’re sick and miss a day one week, you can make it up the next.”
“I’ll be patrolling in what?”
“Your own vehicle, I’m afraid. But you get county gas and maintenance based on a log book you’ll keep.”
“I’d like the job,” said Richard.
Shively held out a large hand. “Come by tomorrow morning and we’ll take care of the paper work.”
•••
Later that afternoon, as Richard was taking empty boxes out to the truck to be run into the recycling center, a black Crown Victoria pulled into the drive. He saw only vague shapes through its heavily tinted windows. Then the passenger door opened, and Molly Randolph stepped out. She stood uncertainly holding the door.
“Hi, Mr. Carter. Is Mrs. Carter around?”
“She’s in the house unpacking. Is Mancie with you?”
“Yeah, but she’s asleep and I don’t want her to get out in the cold. Mrs. Allsop just brung me over so I could say goodbye.”
“Goodbye?”
“We’re moving up to Kansas City. I got a cousin we’re going to stay with until I’m on my feet.”
“Can you come in for a bit? I’m sure Jill would like to see you.”
“I’d like that,” she said before bending down to tell her former mother-in-law what she was doing.
“So I guess things are patched up between you and your mother-in-law,” he said softly as they went up the steps to the porch.
“Patched up is a pretty good way to put it. I’m trying to forgive her for thinking I wasn’t good enough for Pat, and she’s trying to forgive me for him leaving me.” she spoke without rancor and with just a touch of humor. “We ain’t ever gonna be close, but we can be civil for Mancie’s sake. She only has one grandma, and I don’t want to take that away from her. Living a good distance away will make it easier on all of us. A person can only do so much pretending.”
“Getting a clean start then,” he said as Jill came into the living room.
“Molly told me that she and Mancie are moving to Kansas City, dear.”
“I don’t imagine James Mill holds too many good memories for you,” said Jill.
“No, but I was tempted to stay. Everybody’s being real nice, even Mr. Adams. Mr. Peele offered me a job, and he was even going to give us a house. I had to think long and hard about that before I turned him down.”
“You turned him down?” said Richard. “Why?”
“Well, a house would have been real nice, but it didn’t feel right. Besides, we needed to get away from James Mill. I don’t want Mancie being too … special. There she would always be the baby Lyla stole and tried to kill. I want her to grow up ordinary.”
“How is your little girl?” asked Jill.
“She’s just fine. She remembers me now. I’m not sure she did at first.” Molly blinked away tears and composed herself. “We’re just fine, Mrs. Carter. I had to come over to say goodbye to you, and kind of apologize for … for everything, you know.”
“Richard, could you bring in the rest of the boxes from the truck?” asked Jill.
There were no more boxes outside, but he took the hint.
After he went outside Jill said, “It must have been a difficult decision to turn down Mr. Peele’s help.”
“Not really. Mrs. Allsop thinks I’m making a mistake, but I’m not. I don’t intend to let what happened to Mancie … define who she is. You know what I mean? I’ll tell her about it, of course, but I don’t want her to be like a celebrity or nothing, just normal. Besides, it seems like that poor man was … like still trying to take her in a way—you know, to make up for his own little girl. I know he wasn’t, but it just didn’t feel right.”
Jill nodded, but didn’t say anything. Telling Molly that she was right would have been condescending.
“I know his heart’s probably in the right place,” said Molly. “I did let him set up a trust fund for Mancie’s education. I want her to go to college so that she can be something better than her momma.”
“Better than you,” said Jill, shaking her head wistfully. “Don’t sell yourself short, Molly. Everyone but Richard sold you short, including me, I’m afraid. I’m ashamed of the way I treated you. I’m very sorry.”
“You didn’t do nothing wrong. I knew that you didn’t like what I was doing because you were worried about Mr. Carter. But all I cared about was my baby. When I found out he really cared about her too, I wasn’t about to let go of him without a fight. I’m sorry you was worried, but I ain’t sorry that I done it.”
“I’m not sorry either. I think you helped him as much as he helped you.”
“Me? I didn’t do nothing.”
“You believed in him. That’s something I forgot how to do for a while.”
Molly was obviously embarrassed by the personal nature of Jill’s remark.
“I didn’t do nothing,” she repeated awkwardly, “Nothing but be a bother to you both. I just wish I could do something to pay you back, Mrs. Carter.”
“Well, there is one thing you could do for me.”
“Anything,” said Molly. “What do you want me to do?”
“Call me ‘Jill,’ and phone us once in a while to let us know how you and Mancie are doing.”
Cast of Characters
Richard Carter, Marine veteran, former criminology student
Jill Carter (nee Belbenoit), Richard’s wife
Molly Randolph, single mother with a missing baby
Mancie Allsop, Molly’s missing daughter
Hal Dillard, owner/editor of the James Mill News
Lieutenant Reese Adams, James Mill police detective.
Katie Nash, Mancie Allsop’s babysitter
Pat Allsop, Molly’s ex-husband, construction worker
Bobby McComb, brother of Jerry Chandler, owner of the “Honeycomb”
Jerry Chandler, husband of Doris Chandler, country music entertainer
Doris Chandler, sister of Katie Nash, country music entertainer
Rennie Peele, country music impresario in Eureka Springs, AK
Lyla Peele, (aka “Honeybunch” and “Charity”) estranged wife of Rennie Peele
Sarah Rafferty, private investigator, former Marine
JR Reeves, Breton County (Michigan) deputy, Richard’s friend.
George Allsop, Mancie’s grandfather, failed real estate developer
Mark Holmes, worker at The Fishing Hole
Jessie Mills, waitress at The Fishing Hole, friend of Molly’s
Cynthia Sappington, former fellow worker with Molly at The Honeycomb
Rona Pennyworth, owner of The Fishing Hole
Sheri Grimes, owner of Barnburner’s Pub and Grill
Shug Shively, Hawthorn County Sheriff
Places and Features
(An asteris
k * Indicates Geography of the Imagination)
Pere Marquette University*, located at Cartier, MI
Cartier, MI*, in Breton County on Lake Michigan
Breton County*, located on southern half lower peninsula on Lake Michigan
Covington, IN, town in west central Indiana, near Illinois state line
Cassville, MO, small town southwest of Springfield, MO
James Mill, MO*, town southeast of Springfield and northeast of Cassville
Eureka Springs, AK, historic spa and tourist town south of Springfield
Silver Dollar City, MO, theme park at Branson
Poplar Bluff, MO, large town/small city 200+ miles east of James Mill
Branson, MO, family-oriented “hillbilly Las Vegas” without the gambling
Blue Creek*, MO, town on US 60 100+ miles east of James Mill in Hawthorn County
Hawthorn County, MO*, county in south central Missouri Ozarks
SMSU, (now Missouri State University) located in Springfield, MO
Preview of Canaan Camp
(The Third of the Richard Carter Series)
Chapter 1
Marked Tree, Arkansas, April 26, 12:30 AM
Headlights played slowly across family portraits on the wall, the fireplace mantel, a deer head, and a stuffed bobcat, finally spotlighting the girl in the chair. The whites of her eyes glistened before the lights died. An afterimage of her burned in Paget’s mind, distracting him momentarily from the task at hand as he pressed himself to the wall beside the door. Muffled middle-aged bickering accompanied approaching footfalls. Raspy curses overlay the metallic scraping of a key.
“Remember your training, men,” whispered Beuler.
The fool stood on the wrong side of the door of course, holding his pistol in an inane two-handed grip. Pitts stood nervously in the kitchen doorway, also out of position and useless. When the door swung back, a man entered suddenly. Paget smashed his pistol into the man’s head, yanked a gaping woman inside, and shouldered the door shut.
“What the hell!” blurted Beuler. “You were only supposed to—”
“I improvised. The son-of-a-bitch is carrying,” spat Paget in disgust as he took the unconscious man’s automatic from its holster. “You should have anticipated that. He’s a gun dealer.”
He propelled the woman roughly. She stumbled, lost a shoe, and fell heavily at his nominal superior’s feet.
“Well, just remember we’re soldiers,” said the Captain lamely as he helped her to her feet.
•••
An hour and we still don’t have the combination, fumed Paget silently.
“You’re brave, Riepe,” whined Beuler. “But this is foolish. Sooner or later you’re going to have to tell us. Make it easy on yourself.”
The overweight gun dealer clamped his mouth shut.
Paget was disgusted. Save for the mouse from the love tap he’d given the old man, Riepe looked like nothing had happened to him—which it hadn’t. Beuler’s soft ineptitude still convinced the pig-headed fool that he could tough it out.
“Let me reason with him,” he said as he shouldered Beuler aside and knelt to capture the man’s eyes. He took the Winstons from the man’s shirt pocket, shook one out, lit up, took a deep drag, and then blew smoke in Riepe’s face. Getting up slowly without saying a word, he dragged over the chair in which the man’s wife was tied. For the first time, a hint of real fear registered in the man’s face.
“Leave her alone, and stick with me if you’re any kind of real men!” he shouted.
Paget took the cigarette from his mouth and examined the glowing end. He slowly, almost gently brushed the woman’s long hair to the side, and then stabbed the cigarette into her exposed neck. She screamed into her gag, bucking in agony and threatening to overturn the chair in her struggle to escape the pain.
“Stop!” yelled her husband.
“That’s not authorized,” spluttered Beuler. “We don’t do that.”
Paget smiled thinly at the gun dealer.
“If you don’t care about your wife, maybe your daughter can convince you to help us out here.”
“Okay! Okay! I’ll give you the combination!” cried Riepe. “I’ll give you anything you want.”
•••
Poplar Bluff, Missouri, 3:00 AM
After transferring the weapons from Riepe’s van into the one they had left hidden in a copse of trees off a nearby gravel road, they took US 67 north in order to get out of state as soon as possible. Knowing that Riepe would report how many of them there were, they would split up and take separate routes back to the compound in Oregon.
Paget got out at the Wal-Mart where the car he had stolen earlier was waiting. He had switched plates taken from another car of the same make and model and of similar color. Unless really unlucky, it would be at least a couple of days before the plates were reported stolen.
“Drive slowly and carefully,” Beuler instructed, as he had done repeatedly since leaving Marked Tree. “Don’t do anything to get noticed—”
“Give it a rest, Beuler. If anybody screws up, it won’t be me.”
“Then I’ll expect you at the compound no later than—”
“I’ll be there when I get there. We’re wasting time,” he said as he rammed shut the door and turned his back on them.
He watched in amusement as the van made a cautious turn onto the four-lane and drove slowly north through the sleeping town.
Wouldn’t it be something if they did catch you? he thought as he buckled up. The boys in the pen would home in on you the first day.
He gave a left-turn signal and waited for the light to turn. He would hit US 60 six miles north of town and take it west through Springfield while the others continued up 67 to St. Louis to catch I-70. It would be a long, boring haul, but at least he wouldn’t have to put up with the toy soldiers any longer. Just before the light changed, the images he had been manipulating in his mind since they first entered the Riepe home flashed into achingly sharp focus. Unable to resist the impulse he turned right instead of left. Twenty minutes later he passed the State Line Café and continued south into Arkansas and the darkness.
•••
Poplar Bluff, 9:00 AM
The room stank of stale smoke and overheating as cheap motels do in the summer. Ratty fifties era furniture looked as if it had neither been cleaned nor repaired since the dump was built. Paget sat on the dingy bedspread and poked through the pile of wallet trash. He frowned at the debit card. He could have sworn it was a Master Card. Trying to use plastic was a loser’s play, and he couldn’t be caught with the photos. Memories would have to serve.
Except for the necklace, he thought, playing it through his fingers to savor the tactile reminder.
Opening the heart-shaped necklace, he saw with disgust that it had some dude’s picture in it instead of hers. He picked up the photo from the old man’s wallet.
“Everyone calls me ‘KC.’” he could hear her say.
He snickered, remembering how she had played up to him. No matter how young or stupid, they all had that instinct, but none of them ever played Bobby Lee—none of them.
“KC. Butch name for a girl,” he muttered.
Since he had her pin number, maybe he’d use the debit card after all.
Dumb play. Just burn everything.
He dug the boy’s photo out of the locket with his knife. Then he scooped it up with all the other crap, placed in an ash tray, and set it afire. After it stopped blazing, he carried it into the bathroom and flushed the ashes and unburned bits. Yawning, he stretched out on the bed, clasped hands behind his head, and closed his eyes. Replaying the highlights, he found them already going stale. The necklace helped some, but not much.
Too sticky to sleep, he rolled to his feet and stripped. The full-sized mirror in the bathroom was dirty, but it gave him a good view of his body. The girl had admired it. They all did.
The shower stream was flaccid because of lime deposits. Errant squirts doused the f
lyspecked ceiling as a fat roach scampered through the oversized hole where the rusted showerhead emerged from the wall. He didn’t notice the squalor. Bobby Lee Paget’s whole life had been nothing but squalor. Without toweling, he flopped onto the creaky bed. The uneven rattling of the AC bothered him not at all. Soon he drifted into an untroubled sleep.
•••
Marked Tree, Arkansas, April 26, 11:15 AM
Agent Hal Tanner sensed the undercurrent of animosity as he worked his way slowly through the living room. The volume of stolen weapons had brought in ATF. They, in turn, called the Little Rock field office for assistance with the complicated crime scene. The locals had invited neither of them. There were ruffled feathers to soothe, a minor but integral part of his job.
He moved from victim to victim, gradually making sense of the havoc. Empathy was the key. He imagined what it had been like for Riepe, for the wife and mother, and finally for the teenage daughter in the other room. Despite differences in treatment, he leaned toward a single killer, but not a single perpetrator. Already he was beginning to see and hear it the way it went down. The main perp, the killer, had taken his time with the girl. In a way, it was two separate crimes.
Paraphilia, he thought, studying her from the doorway. What you did to her had nothing to do with the rest of it.
I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s concentrate on the overview.
He sketched each room and made notes as he went through the ransacked house: an empty gun safe, a pile of weapons on the floor, a discarded cash box. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but what happened seemed clear.
Robbery and a crime of opportunity? Two stages to it? Let’s see. Three people to control, so there were probably more than two of you.
He looked at each of the victims in turn.
This took a long time.
Forensics would determine if the girl had more than one attacker.
Tanner examined the parents more closely. The man had been beaten, but not severely. A single blow to the left temple left a two-inch blood-clotted abrasion. A split lip had bled onto his shirt. The hole behind the right ear showed the “cross split” and tattooing of a contact wound.
