Evil Harvest

by Anthony Izzo

  “See you tonight,” he said.

  “Can’t wait.”

  After leaving Jill’s, Matt went back to his Aunt Bernie’s.

  He showered, shaved and changed into clean clothes. He also took the Beretta and the hunting knife with him. On his way to the truck, which he had parked in the driveway, he heard the window screen click as his Uncle lifted it.

  Rex Lapchek stuck his unshaven face out the window and said, “You put gas in that?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “You’d better. Better not scratch it either, numb nuts.”

  He gave his uncle a big grin. “Wouldn’t dream of it, dear uncle.”

  “Better keep that grin off your face too.”

  Or you’ll wipe it off, right?

  His uncle drew his head back inside and slammed the screen shut.

  Matt hopped in the truck and slid the knife and gun under the passenger seat. Jill probably wouldn’t even get in the truck if she knew what he had hidden under the seat. But he felt slightly better with the weapons in the truck. Slightly.

  With the murder last night, and with the creatures’ heightened activity, traveling unarmed would be a health hazard. He wanted to bring the Mossberg with him, but that was a little harder to conceal, and if he ran into Rafferty again, he didn’t want to wind up in the slammer. A handgun and knife fit nicely under the seat. A shotgun didn’t.

  He arrived at the Reese home ten minutes after leaving his aunt’s house. He’d looked up the address in the phone book; it was an easy one to find—they were the only Reeses in Lincoln.

  The house was a gray English Tudor covered partially in ivy. Had to be at least five thousand square feet. A triple-paned bay window looked out over the front lawn, which was lush and emerald-like. He didn’t think an artist could paint a more vivid green with a palette full of colors at his disposal.

  The Reeses must’ve spent a lot of time on that lawn—with the heat, everyone else’s on the block was sick yellow and brown. It was like comparing a young man’s lush head of hair to a wizened geezer’s thinning locks. The hedge that separated the property from the neighbor’s was clipped square, and a short wall of decorative stone snaked along the front of the house.

  As he walked up the driveway, he looked up at the chimney. It was slate gray with a letter “R” set inside the brick in a lighter shade of gray. A custom-built job, probably in the family for generations.

  He rang the doorbell at the side door. While he waited, he looked around at the black Humvee parked in the driveway. It looked as dark and imposing as a killer whale.

  The woman who answered the door was nearly his height. She was thin as a sapling. He noticed her hands, the long, slender fingers gripping the door handle.

  She opened the door wider. “May I help you?” she said in a slight British accent.

  The woman wore a white silk blouse and black silk pants. Her hair, polished ebony, flowed to one side and draped over her right shoulder. She seemed to glow, a contrast of light and shade.

  “Is Mrs. Reese home?”

  “I’m Lila Reese.”

  “Carla’s sister?”

  “Her mother. What do you want?”

  “My name’s Matt Crowe. I have some information about your daughter. She’s missing, isn’t she?”

  “She’s probably with Ronnie.”

  “Ronnie?”

  “Her boyfriend. Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “Did you call the police?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t know how to tell you this, but Carla’s body was found in the park last night. I saw the police take it away.”

  “That’s nonsense. She’s with Ronnie.”

  “Can you prove that?” Matt said.

  “I don’t have to prove anything, especially to a stranger.”

  “Where was your daughter last night?”

  “Working.”

  “She never came home, right?”

  “Her boyfriend has a place, Mr. Crowe.”

  It was a damn shame that a college girl didn’t come home and the mother just assumed she was staying with her boyfriend. She hadn’t even checked up on the girl from the sound of it.

  “Mrs. Reese. Do me a favor. Call her boyfriend. Please?”

  She eyed him the way the lion must have eyed the mouse, deciding the fate of the prey. “Why should I believe you?”

  “You don’t have to. For your daughter’s sake, please call.”

  She waited a moment, rolled her eyes and sighed in exasperation. “Wait here.”

  She returned with a white cordless phone in her hand. She dialed a phone number and put it up to her ear.

  Matt listened.

  “Hello, Betty?

  “Fine, how are you?

  “Did Ronnie go out with Carla last night?

  “No?

  “She’s not at your house?

  “Can you ask him if he knows where she is? She didn’t come home last night.

  “He hasn’t talked to her? Okay, thank you Betty. Good-bye.”

  She pressed the Off button, a blank look on her face.

  “She didn’t go to Ronnie’s. She didn’t go. Where could she be?” she asked Matt, as if he would say, oh, she’s in the trunk of my car, I’ll unlock it and get her for you right now. He knew where Carla was, but he had a feeling this woman wouldn’t hear it even if he told her again.

  The blank look disappeared and her face changed, a clear blue sky turning into a black tempest. “How do I know you didn’t do something with her? Maybe you abducted her.”

  “Number one, I’m not a murderer or a kidnapper. Number two, if I was, I wouldn’t show up at the victim’s house.”

  “I suppose not.”

  “Look, Mrs. Reese. My family was murdered here. I know what the police are like. If you call them, they’ll lie to you. They’ll tell you they never found a body.”

  “That’s preposterous.”

  “If you don’t want to talk to me, I’ll leave.”

  “Wait here.”

  She disappeared, shutting the inside door behind her. It was ivory colored with a frosted oval window. The door opened again, and it was apparent she still didn’t believe he was completely harmless.

  She held a .45 at her side.

  “Now you can come in, Mr. Crowe.”

  She led him through the kitchen and dining room, then through a pair of white French doors.

  Brilliant sunlight poured through the bay window at the front of the room. Likewise through a skylight in the ceiling. A creamy Persian rug with an inky pattern partially covered the honey-colored hardwood floor. With the sunlight and the abundance of white furniture, it looked like the waiting room to get into heaven.

  “Sit down, please.”

  The couch swallowed him whole. Getting up in a hurry would be a definite impossibility. He propped his elbow on a pillow, only to have it slide off the shiny material. Satin.

  Lila Reese sat on the matching love seat directly across from him and crossed her legs. She set the .45 on the cushion next to her, but kept her hand on top of it.

  “My father was a Mossad agent. This gun belonged to him. And he taught me how to use it. Just in case your intentions are not as you say.”

  “Whatever makes you more comfortable.”

  “Now what’s this nonsense about my daughter?”

  Matt told her the story of how the body was found, what the witness saw, and the body being carted away in an unmarked white van.

  “How can you be sure it was Carla?”

  “The girl who found her told us it was Carla. She graduated from Millard Fillmore, right? The girl recognized Carla from school.”

  Lila Reese looked to the mantel, where an eight by ten photo in a black frame was propped up. The girl in the picture was a younger, prettier photocopy of Lila Reese.

  Because the picture was in black-and-white, he couldn’t tell the eye color, but if he were a betting man, he would bet the farm that they were
fiery blue, like her mother’s. Even in black-and-white they were extraordinary.

  She remained silent, staring at the photograph.

  Matt felt awkward, like being in an elevator full of strangers. “I know how hard it must be to hear this. I lost my family here too. The killers were never found.”

  “Not my Carla,” she said. “It’s impossible.”

  She looked through him, like she was watching something through the bay window, a passerby on the street. He wondered if her mind had snapped, or if she was starting to shut herself off from reality, retreating into the part of the mind that didn’t have to face reality, the part responsible for daydreams and denial.

  “It was some other girl. The girl who found the body must be mistaken.”

  “It was her.”

  “Then why haven’t the police contacted me?”

  “The police in this town are crooked, Mrs. Reese. Don’t trust them.”

  “You’re obviously some sort of paranoid, delusional man.”

  “This town is dangerous. Have you lived here long?”

  “Eight months. We have several homes around the country.”

  “I suggest you use one of them and get out of town.”

  If her gaze were any colder, ice crystals would’ve formed on her lashes. “I’m sure Carla will be home in time for supper.”

  She stood up, and with her right hand, smoothed the front of her pant legs. The .45 hung in her left, the barrel pointed at the floor. He had no problem imagining this woman bringing the gun level and pulling the trigger. Especially if she thought he was a maniac.

  “Leave, Mr. Crowe. I’ll be talking to the police, and if you’re lucky, I won’t mention this discussion.”

  Matt pushed himself out of the quicksand couch, lost his balance and flopped back into the cushions. The second time he tried, he planted his fists into the cushions and used them to leverage himself up.

  He paused at the French doors and turned toward her. “She’s gone. I’m sorry.”

  “Get out. Now.”

  He left before he wound up with a bullet in the back.

  The phone conversation with her brother had left her saddened and angry. Donna wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand, then dried it on her hospital gown. The cup of water she had thrown across the room lay on its side against the baseboard.

  She couldn’t have been more stunned if Jesus Christ walked into her hospital room and sat down to watch Wheel of Fortune. She knew Bobby was cheating on Rhonda, but for him to view her death and the burning of their home as a liberating experience made her wish she could choke him through the phone line.

  Ed Rafferty walked into the room, thumbs in his belt loops. He paused for a moment, legs spread, feet planted shoulder-width apart, like a gunslinger entering a saloon. The day wasn’t getting any better.

  Who was he trying to impress? she wondered.

  He stepped forward, hit the water on the floor, and slid. His hand shot out and he gripped the door handle, regaining his balance. Donna stifled a laugh.

  “Good afternoon. Officer Ricci, right?”

  “You forget my name already?”

  The man looked like he’d been beaten with the ugly stick. He had a crooked nose and squinty eyes, and his mouth was a thin slash.

  “Mind if I shut this door? I have some police business to discuss with you.”

  “Go ahead.”

  He shut the door, careful to step around the water on the floor this time.

  “I’m glad you came to see me, Chief Rafferty.”

  “Oh?”

  “I was actually planning on paying you a visit when I got out of here.”

  “Then it looks like we’re on the same page.”

  He came back over to the side of her bed and stuck his hands in his pockets, all except for the thumbs, which poked out like sausages. She was still lying on her side, looking up at him; she felt vulnerable. She pushed herself up so that she was sitting against the partially reclined bed.

  She tried not to wince from the pain.

  “You were in the Barbieri house when it burned.”

  “That’s right.”

  “What the hell were you doing in there?”

  “Finding you a murderer.”

  “Is that so. Who?”

  “Name was Charles Dietrich. Thin, blond, a junkie. He killed my sister-in-law.”

  “This isn’t your jurisdiction, Officer Ricci.”

  “That’s Chief Ricci. I extended you the courtesy.”

  “Still isn’t your jurisdiction. Even if it was, you had no business being in that house.”

  “Maybe I didn’t. But I found the killer.”

  “How do you know he was the killer?”

  “He admitted it to me. I believe his words were ‘I killed that whore.’ ”

  “What happened to this Dietrich?”

  “I chased him through the house. I blacked out. I don’t know what happened to him.”

  “My men on the scene didn’t find a body. They didn’t see anyone leave the house either.”

  “I’m not making this up. Did they find my gun? I had it on him and he slapped it out of my hand.”

  “No gun.”

  “Don’t you care that someone was killed in your town?”

  He smirked, then turned away from the bed, looking at the floor. He started pacing back and forth across the room.

  “I’ll investigate this on my own, Officer Ricci. If you’re smart, you’ll keep your nose out of my business.”

  “You don’t seem to be doing much investigating. No leads, no clues. And I just named the killer.”

  He continued to pace. “What else did you see in that house?”

  “What?”

  “You saw something else in that house.”

  “You’re full of shit.”

  He was on her in one stride, gripping her bandaged arm and squeezing. She gasped, unable to draw a breath for a moment.

  “I know what you saw in there. And you know what you saw.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “You can deny it if you want. If you go telling anyone else what you saw or what happened, I’ll come looking for you.”

  He squeezed harder, her bones feeling as if they might turn to powder if he squeezed any more. Donna yelped. Gritting her teeth she said, “I’m not hard to find.”

  He clenched his teeth. He was almost nose-to-nose with her, still gripping her arm. The smell of him was too much. The same smell that was on Dietrich after he turned into the creature.

  It became clear that Jill Adams was right; Rafferty was one of them.

  “Stay the hell out of my town. And not one word to anyone about any of this, bitch.”

  A vein pulsed over Rafferty’s eye, and his face flushed.

  “Let go of my arm.”

  “Promise me you’ll stay out of this.”

  “Can’t do that.”

  He squeezed even harder. She thought she felt some stitches rip. He’s really going to break my arm, she thought.

  Drawing her head away from him, she slammed it forward, mashing his lower lip. There was a crunching noise and she felt a stab of pain in her forehead, but it was better than the pain in her arm. He let go of her and reared back, his hand covering his mouth.

  “You little—”

  The door opened and Donna’s nurse, Brenda, walked in. She looked at Rafferty, then at Donna, unsure of what was happening inside the room.

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Fine,” Donna said.

  “I was just going,” Rafferty said.

  He put his hand to his lip, got some blood on his fingertips and then looked at them as if to confirm the fact that he was bleeding.

  “What happened in here?” Brenda said.

  “I slipped on some water. You ought to clean it up,” Rafferty said, and walked out the door.

  “I’ll get one of the aides to clean it up.”

  Donna’s left arm was bleeding, a brig
ht red splotch seeping through the bandage from Rafferty ripping her stitches.

  “We better take care of this as long as you’re here,” Donna said.

  “How’d you do that?”

  “Bumped it on the bedrail.”

  “Just like the police officer slipped on the water. I don’t believe either one of you.”

  “Believe what you want, as long as you sew me the hell back up.”

  CHAPTER 21

  When he thought his hands would stop trembling, Matt let go of the steering wheel.

  He was parked outside of 109 Chestnut Street, home of Sally Perski.

  He wiped his damp palms on the front of his jeans, and then the sweat from his brow. The air-conditioning in the truck was going full tilt the whole way over here, but he still dripped perspiration.

  The Reese woman was in severe denial, and if he had pressed her, he may have wound up with an extra orifice in his body. He wondered if she believed him and was pushing the truth away, or if she completely refused to accept the notion that her daughter was dead.

  Despite the fact that he had nearly pissed himself when she leveled the gun at him, he couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. Rafferty and his band of goons would lie to her, tell her there were no leads in the case, that her daughter had simply disappeared. The witnesses would be intimidated, threatened or removed, and the story would die out, one more person who simply vanished from Lincoln’s streets without a trace.

  He got out of the truck and walked up the weedy, cracked walkway to the front porch, which sagged as if an invisible giant were using it for a footrest.

  He climbed the steps and stood in front of a wooden screen door. The screen inside the frame was rusted red and had a tear in it. He looked around the porch and saw a wicker couch, now missing its cushions.

  After ringing the doorbell, he waited for a moment.

  A toddler with a mess of curly blond hair scampered to the door and looked up at Matt. His baby gut hung over his diaper.

  “Hiya!” he said, and darted out of sight.

  “Brendan, don’t answer the door!”

  Sally Perski appeared behind the door. “You’re that guy from the park.”

  “Can I talk to you?”

  “You’re not a detective.”

  “How’d you know?”

  She crossed her arms and put her weight on one leg, hip thrust out as if to say “here’s how I know.” “The police told me there’s no detectives in Lincoln.”