by John Bowers
Chapter 6
Nick was still at his desk when he heard the bullet hit the corner of the building. An instant later came the sound of the shot, and he was on his feet in a flash. Nelson also scrambled toward the door and they rushed out to find Hugh sprawled face up on the sidewalk. Blood fountained from a hole in his chest and Nick knew from long experience that it was a fatal wound. He felt his blood run cold as he knelt over the young deputy.
“Get an ambulance!” he told Nelson, and came to his feet with both guns drawn. He didn’t know which way to look, but two pedestrians across the street were pointing.
“It came from over there!” one of them shouted.
“The bell tower!” yelled the other one.
Nick looked. The bell tower looked empty, but he began to run in that direction. He wondered absently if Suzanne had heard the shot, and how far away she was. The next thought that passed through his head was—who had done it, and why? But he already knew the why, or thought he did—after last night’s town meeting there was only one likely suspect.
But would “Father” Groening be so blatant? It would be stupid to kill a U.F. Marshal just hours after making public threats…unless one was confident of not being caught…
…or certifiably insane.
Nick reached the church at a dead run, but slowed his pace. He saw two or three people on the street outside the building, gazing up at the tower. He heard auto traffic on the next block, the whine of turbines and the whir of lifters. The people by the church turned wide eyes on him, still shocked at what they had seen.
“It was one of those religious nuts, Marshal!” a woman told him.
“Did you recognize him?”
“No, they all dress alike!”
“I think it was a Groaner,” her husband said. “They’re the only ones who carry guns.”
“What did he look like?”
“Didn’t get a good look at him. He was running away. Black pants, white shirt, black hat—he had brown hair, fairly long. And he was young.”
“He was skinny,” the woman added. “And he was fast.”
“Did you see a rifle?”
“No. He must have left it up there.”
“Was anybody with him?”
“No, but after he ran around the corner we heard a car take off.”
“Hovercar?”
“A ground car. The cult freaks don’t use hovercars.”
“Which way did it go?”
“East.”
Nick holstered one of his guns and took a second to catch his breath. If the car was heading east it would be out of town by now, and nothing lay in that direction but farmland; to the east and north lay thousands of square miles of farms. Whoever had fired the shot would disappear into cult country and he would never find them, at least not easily. But if he could recover the rifle, it might have fingerprints on it.
As he hurried through the church foyer he heard sirens, the ambulance coming for Hugh. Laser pistol in hand, he pushed through a door leading to the bell tower. The tower was six floors high and had no lift; the light was poor, the air stuffy. Tiny beams of light shone through cracks in the wooden siding, highlighting thousands of dust motes swirling like a maelstrom. Whoever had been in the tower had departed in a hurry, stirring the accumulated dust on his way down. Nick had to pinch his nose and fought the urge to sneeze; he turned at each landing and kept climbing, alert for anyone who might still be on the stairs. He finally reached the top and pulled open the door of the belfry.
The belfry had been enlarged; the bell was now head high, with plenty of room underneath for someone to move around. For just a moment Nick stood frozen in the doorway, unable to will himself to step into the belfry; the last time he’d been there had been the longest nightmare of his life, and it seemed like only yesterday. His chest constricted and his heart pounded as he imagined the incoming fire, the bullets hitting the bell, ricocheting every which way. The belfry itself had been chewed to pieces by bullets and he’d taken several hits—the corpsmen had had to carry him out.
He lowered his head and breathed deeply for thirty seconds, forcing himself to get a grip. Finally he stepped out of the doorway and stood beneath the bell. It still bore the scars from bullet strikes.
The belfry floor was some kind of stone composite, hard as rock and covered with a fine layer of dust. In the accumulated grit he saw scuff marks, as if someone had been kneeling—and shoe prints, but they were smudged and indistinct. Lying in a corner was a single spent cartridge, a 10mm; he had no evidence bags so he didn’t touch it, but made a note to keep everyone out of the tower until he or Nelson had time to comb it for evidence.
He didn’t see a rifle.
Nick holstered his weapon and scanned the streets on all sides. He saw vehicles and pedestrians, but no one who appeared suspicious, and no one in cult clothing. He pushed his hat back and peered over the edge of the belfry; he had a clear line of sight to where Hugh Povar still lay on the sidewalk, surrounded by paramedics. It was only two and a half blocks, an easy shot even without a scope.
Nick started back down the stairs, taking his time. Letting his eyes adjust to the dimness, he spotted what he’d missed coming up. On the second landing from the top, flush against the wall, lay the rifle. The shooter must have panicked as he fled—perhaps the long barrel had slowed him down in the tight turns, or maybe he just didn’t want to be caught with the weapon; whatever the reason, he had dumped it.
Nick knelt by the weapon and looked it over, but couldn’t make out much detail in the poor light. It was definitely a 10mm and had a sniper scope, but the shape was unfamiliar and he didn’t know who manufactured it. Hopefully it would contain fingerprints, but he wasn’t sure that would help—it seemed unlikely that many of the cultists, especially the younger ones, had ever been printed.
He spun and drew his weapon again as he heard footsteps on the stairs. A moment later Nelson reached the landing and stopped. They stared at each other a second, then Nick holstered his pistol again.
“What’s the story on Hugh? Is he gonna make it?”
Nelson shook his head. “He never had a chance.”
Nick chewed his lip to fight down the emotion that suddenly surged up inside him. He lowered his head and nodded, then pointed at the rifle.
“I think I found the murder weapon.”
Nelson crouched beside the gun and looked it over without touching it.
“I’ll ask Chief Dwyer to send a forensics man over. Anything in the tower?”
“Some scuff marks and a spent shell. That’s it.”
Nelson stood up and glanced around. Except for footprints on the stairs there was nothing else to see. He looked into Nick’s eyes.
“You okay?”
“No.” Nick leaned against the wall and rested his head on the wooden siding. “That shot was meant for me, Luther.”
“I know. I warned you about that damn cowboy hat.”
“And Hugh went and bought himself one.” Nick chewed the inside of his lip as tears stung his eyes. “The shooter was waiting for me to step outside the office door…”
“But Hugh stepped outside first.”
Nick nodded. They stood there for nearly a minute, neither of them speaking.
“I’ll go see his mother,” Nelson said finally.
But Nick shook his head. “I’ll do it. I’m the one who got him killed.”
Hugh’s body had been removed by the time Nick and Nelson returned to the office. The quantity of blood on the sidewalk left little doubt of the young man’s fate, had anyone been wondering; the building was spattered and blood had pooled in the gutter where it congealed into a black, gummy paste. Nick’s teeth clenched grimly when he saw it, and for a moment he felt a knot in the pit of his stomach. To see Hugh end like this was almost more than he could take.
He turned away from the scene and stalked into the office, Nelson at his heels. Nick went to the nitro-cooler and pulled out a bottle of water. He drank the bottle half d
ry and turned back to his desk; to his annoyance he was getting the shakes, just a slight tremor in his hands. He sat down and stared at the wall for a minute. Nelson noticed his silence and turned to face him.
“I found the slug in the middle of the street,” he said. “It was pretty mashed up from hitting the building, so I’m not sure if it’ll be much use in a ballistics test.”
Nick shook his head, still unfocused.
“Doesn’t matter. We have the murder weapon. If we can get prints off of it…”
“That may not help either, Nick. Very few of the Groaners have ever been fingerprinted, and good luck getting them to agree to it after the fact.”
Nick nodded. He’d already thought of that, but at the moment it was the only lead they had. Two or three people had seen a young cult member running away, but only from behind. The best they could offer was that he was young and had long brown hair, which probably matched half the young men in the cults.
“Run the prints anyway.”
“Okay.”
Nick was silent a moment, his mind rambling. Suddenly he looked up at Nelson.
“Luther…I didn’t mean to be giving you orders. You’re the senior man here.”
Nelson shook his head. “I’m out of office. The minute you showed up, you became the Marshal of record. I’m just here to help you transition, so don’t even think about it.”
Nick nodded. “I appreciate your help. Now that Hugh’s dead, when you leave it’s going to be pretty lonesome around here.”
Nelson cleared his throat. “I could stick around for awhile.”
But Nick shook his head. “That isn’t the answer. I’ll recruit another deputy. There must be quite a few young men who would be interested.”
“You may need more than one. If Groening is gunning for you…”
“We don’t know for sure that he’s behind it.”
“After his little performance last night, he’s my prime suspect. Whoever it is, you’ll need eyes in the back of your head, especially if the threat is coming from one of the cults.”
“I have the police department.”
Nelson shrugged. “Twenty-two men, only four or five on duty at any one time. What you really need is a platoon of Star Marines.”
Nick smiled for the first time, a bitter, ironic smile.
“Yeah, that would soothe everyone’s feathers, wouldn’t it? That’s what got this whole thing started in the first place.”
“I’m just saying. All by yourself, you’re a clear target.”
“I know.”
“So what are you gonna do? You know they’ll try again.”
Nick was silent a moment, considering. Then he looked up and met Nelson’s gaze.
“When I was here eight years ago we were on the defensive. We dug in and waited for them to come to us. So I’m going to do the last thing they’ll ever expect.”
“What’s that?”
“Attack.”
The front door opened and Nick looked up to see Suzanne standing there. She stared at him a moment, her face ashen, then hurried across the room toward him. Nick stood up in time to embrace her, and she buried her face in his shoulder.
“I just heard!” she whispered hoarsely. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”
She pulled back to inspect his face.
He nodded and kissed her.
“Yeah. Didn’t you hear the shot? You hadn’t been gone five minutes.”
“No. As soon as I got home I jumped in the shower. I heard sirens when I came out, but I figured it was an accident or something.”
Nick squeezed her and kissed her again.
“I’m glad you’re safe,” he said.
“Do you know who did it?”
“Not yet. Couple of leads.”
“Why would anyone kill Hugh? He was such a nice kid.”
Nick glanced at Nelson, then looked into Suzanne’s eyes. He said nothing, and her eyes widened slowly.
“My goddess!” she gasped. “It was meant for you, wasn’t it!”
She sank into a chair, her mouth hanging open.
“Sophia!”
The door opened again and Mayor Robinette stepped inside. He was a big man in his late forties, slick and groomed and overfed. His hair and nails were immaculately trimmed, his teeth capped, his suit stylish and expensive. Nick had only spoken with him once or twice and was still undecided about him; Robinette was friendly enough, but maybe a little too friendly—everything about him screamed politician.
He stood there a moment, flushed and out of breath, as if he’d run all the way from his office. He looked at Nick, then at Nelson, and back to Nick.
“I’m calling a special meeting of the council!” he declared in a loud voice, as if making a campaign speech. “We’re going to outlaw firearms within the city limits. We can’t have this kind of thing happening here.”
Nick sat on the edge of his desk and crossed his arms. Robinette babbled on for a few moments, until he realized no one was answering him. He stared into Nick’s narrowed eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
“Bad idea, Mayor. The Federation Constitution guarantees every citizen the right to bear arms. You can’t overrule that.”
“Only within the city limits!” Robinette bellowed. “My god, man, your own deputy was just murdered!”
“With all due respect, your Honor, this is a knee-jerk reaction.”
“What the hell are you talking about! A man was just gunned down in front of your office!”
Nick didn’t move for ten seconds. Robinette began to fidget, glancing from one man to the other. He didn’t even seem to notice Suzanne sitting beside Nick’s desk.
“How long have you been wanting to ban guns?” Nick asked quietly.
“I’ve always been against guns! There isn’t a single defensible reason for carrying a weapon on the streets of this town!”
“Think it through, sir. You’re dead wrong.”
Robinette blinked in dismay, evidently not accustomed to being opposed by law enforcement.
“You think so?”
“I know so. If you ban guns you’ll just create more trouble. First of all, the only people who will give up their weapons are the people who are no threat to anyone. Whoever shot Deputy Povar will keep his weapons, and he’ll think your ban gives him a blank check to shoot anybody he pleases. And he’ll be right.”
“The best way to fight crime,” Nelson said, “is to shoot back.”
Robinette’s face slowly fused red. “That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard!” he said. “Povar didn’t shoot back, did he?”
“He was ambushed. If he had time to recognize the threat, he would have.”
“Maybe the next guy will shoot back,” Nick added, “if there is a next guy. Personally, I don’t think the town is in any danger from the killer. He was after one specific target, and that was me. Stripping the town of guns, even if it was a good idea, would serve no purpose. If anything, the town needs more guns.”
Robinette wavered, frowning. “Well…then we’ll just make it illegal for the Groaners to bring guns into town.”
“That’s religious discrimination, sir. You can’t do it.”
“We both know damn well who killed your deputy! It was one of those damn Groaners!”
“I have a strong suspicion that you’re right, but until I can prove it we don’t know that for sure. Mayor, you can’t just go off half-cocked and start passing ordinances. If it turns out to be somebody else, you’ll look like a fool.”
“Well, goddammit, I have to do something!”
“No, you don’t. That’s my job.”
Robinette glared at him, breathing hard, his face flushed.
“Tell me what I can do,” he said after a moment.
Nick smiled. The man might be an asshole, but he really did want to help.
“Please advise Chief Dwyer that I’m sending what I believe is the murder weapon over for fingerprint analysis. If he can rush the forensics that would be
a big help. I also may need to borrow one of his officers for a day or two, but I’ll get back to him on that.”
Robinette nodded quickly. “Absolutely. I’ll tell him to give you full cooperation.”
“Thank you, Mayor. I knew you would.”
Chapter 7
Nick was anxious to get moving on the murder. He’d been planning a trip into cult country even before Hugh was killed, and now it seemed more urgent than ever, as he was reasonably certain the murderer had run in that direction.
But first, came an even more urgent matter, one he dreaded but didn’t dare put off. Nelson went with him, and Suzanne insisted on tagging along as well. It was a short walk, only two blocks, to Hugh Povar’s house.
It was a nice frame dwelling, typical of Trimmer Springs, with a wide front porch. The front door was open, covered only by a screen to keep insects out. As he tapped on the door, Nick could smell food cooking from inside, steamed vegetables and roasting meat. He realized it was nearing lunch time, and Hugh would have been coming home to eat. He removed his hat and held it at his side as footsteps approached the front door. The screen swung open and a woman stood there, a matronly lady in her early fifties. Nick hadn’t met her, but would’ve had no trouble guessing that she was Hugh’s mother—the resemblance was striking.
“Marshal Nelson!” Mrs. Povar exclaimed. “What a pleasant surprise!”
Nelson smiled weakly. “Hello, Mrs. Povar.”
The woman stared at him a moment, then at Nick and Suzanne. Her smile began to fade.
“Mrs. Povar, this is Nick Walker. He’s the new U.F. Marshal who’s taking my place.”
The woman forced her smile back into place and offered her hand. Nick shook it.
“And this is Suzanne Norgaard, the marshal’s friend.”
The two women nodded at one another. Mrs. Povar swallowed.
