by John Bowers
“I wish I didn’t have to do it, Dru, but I don’t have a choice. The entire congregation is under a spotlight right now because someone has been trying to kill that devil marshal, and Maggie was right there last night when it happened.”
“What does that have to do with Maggie? She didn’t try to kill him!”
“Whoever did dressed like one of ours, and the heathens think we’re responsible. It wouldn’t be much of a stretch for them to decide that Maggie was setting him up. She should have fled the very appearance of evil, and yet she embraced it.”
The old man turned to his son. “Titus, put Magdalene in the car.”
He turned to face the boy.
“Nicodemus, I want you to keep your eyes open. Move around town and see if you can find out who is trying to shoot that cursed marshal. If it’s one of ours, I want to know his name. If it’s one of the heathen, find out who, so I can tell the police chief. I won’t have our congregation smeared by this kind of scandal.”
Nicodemus, looking stricken, merely nodded.
“Yes, Father.”
Chapter 15
Nick, Nelson, and Officer King sat in Dwyer’s office as the chief updated them on what his people had found the night before. It wasn’t very enlightening.
“No spent shell casings,” he said grimly. “No footprints because it was a lawn area, and no descriptions because no one was at home in the houses on either side. We did find garbage cans that had been moved between the houses, enabling the shooter to hide behind them and probably use them as an armrest while he took aim. We’re still processing the prints on the cans.”
“Did any of the prints match those on the rifle from yesterday?” Nelson asked.
“Not yet. Some of them were smeared, but we’re still processing. Our officers also interviewed people in that neighborhood to see if anyone spotted someone with a rifle yesterday morning, before the first shooting. No one did. We now think the shooter may have entered the tower during the night and waited for daylight. The church isn’t locked and the tower is easily accessed from the front entrance.”
Nick sat silent while Nelson let out his breath noisily.
“So that’s it?” Nelson said. “Really nothing to go on?”
“I’m afraid not.” Dwyer didn’t look happy.
Nick shifted in his chair and twisted slightly, popping his spine.
“Is there any way to trace who might own a large caliber pistol?”
“No. Alpha Centauri law doesn’t require firearms registration.”
“So you have no way of knowing who owns what kind of weapon?”
“None. We know the Groaners have guns, lots of guns, but we don’t know who or what they have.”
“We’re looking for someone with a 10mm rifle and a .44 magnum pistol.”
“How do you know it was a .44? We didn’t find the slug. The damn thing must have ricocheted.”
Nick flexed his spine again. “Well, it was at least a .357 magnum, from the sound of it, but it felt like a 20mm cannon.”
“The 10mm was widely used by the Coalition in the war,” Dwyer said, “so probably everyone who fought and survived still has one. The pistol could belong to anyone.”
“I think the only thing left,” Nick said, “is to set a trap. Make him come to us.”
Dwyer stared at him. “How are you going to do that?”
“Haven’t decided. But if we can draw him out, make him show his hand, we can get him. We’ll just have to get creative.”
Dwyer grimaced. “I hope you’ll clue me in before you do that. So I can give you some backup.”
“Sure, no problem. I just need to think on it a bit.”
“And don’t be running off into Groaner country by yourself anymore.”
Nick grinned. “You’re starting to sound like Luther.”
“Well, if Luther said that, then he’s right. You should listen to him. And stop wearing that damn cowboy hat.”
“That isn’t going to happen.”
“It makes you a target.”
“Good. The shooter needs to target me instead of the people around me.”
“That didn’t help the girl last night.”
“I was already down. He thought I was dead.”
“Then why did he shoot the girl?”
“Not because of my cowboy hat. I have a feeling that was personal. Maybe he killed her because she was a heathen. He probably knew the cult girl and didn’t approve of her choice of friends.”
“Well…”
“Look, he killed Hugh because of the hat. He thought he was shooting me. So make damn sure nobody else in town wears one until this is over. I’ll keep mine so he doesn’t get confused, and we’ll get him.” Nick glanced to his right, where Officer King was sitting. “But I really don’t need a bodyguard.”
“Officer King has nothing better to do today. Do you, Officer King?”
“No, sir.”
Nick shrugged. “Fine. But if you need her elsewhere, don’t short yourself on personnel just on my account.”
Dwyer clasped his hands together and sighed.
“Look, Marshal, you don’t work for me and I can’t tell you what to do, but it would look really bad for this department if another U.F. Marshal was murdered in my jurisdiction.”
“It’s my jurisdiction, too.”
“I know that, but you have the whole territory to look after, and I’ve got just this town, so I have a really personal interest in what happens here. I hope you’ll humor me a little. We’re looking for the shooter and we’ll get him…”
“Unless I get him first.”
“…unless you get him first. One of us will get him, but until we do, I think it’s pretty clear he isn’t going to stop trying to kill you.”
“I just don’t want Officer King to stop a bullet that was meant for me.”
“She’s wearing the same armor you are.”
Nick nodded. “After last night, the shooter knows that. Next time he’ll try for a head shot.”
The room fell silent for a moment, and Dwyer glanced at his officer. Her eyes had widened a fraction, but after a brief second she just nodded at her boss.
“You may be right,” Dwyer said to Nick. “If you are, then you’ll need eyes in the back of your head. Officer King will provide those eyes.”
Nick glanced at the young officer and she smiled at him…but he thought she looked a trifle pale.
“Okay. Then I better get back on the street.” He stood up and pushed his chair back. “Are you ready?”
Carrie King also rose. “Ready.”
As they left the chief’s office they passed through the police station lobby. Nick saw a middle-aged man and woman talking to a teenage boy, and recognized the kid he had arrested the night before. Rip van der Pool stood red-faced and frowning as his parents scolded him.
On a sudden hunch, Nick turned and approached them. The parents saw him coming and turned to face him, both looking a little shame-faced.
“Are you Marshal Walker?” the man asked before Nick could introduce himself.
“Yes, sir. You must be Mr. van der Pool.”
The man stuck out his hand, a little reluctantly, as if he wasn’t sure Nick would accept it. Nick did, and nodded at the woman.
“Marshal…I just want to apologize that you had to arrest our son,” the man said. “We didn’t raise him to be a hoodlum.”
Nick looked at the boy, whose face had turned even redder. The kid met his eyes only for a moment, then looked at the floor.
“Well, I think Rip just needed an attitude adjustment,” Nick said. “Maybe a night away from home was good for him.”
Van der Pool nudged the boy with his elbow. “Is there something you’d like to say to the Marshal?”
The kid raised his eyes again. He spoke with difficulty, supremely embarrassed.
“Sorry, Marshal. I… It won’t happen again.”
Nick stared at him a moment, then extended his hand. The boy took it and they shook.
“I don’t hold grudges, Rip. Life is too short for that. You do the right thing and we’ll be friends for life, okay?”
The boy nodded, forcing a sheepish grin.
“If you have a minute,” Nick told the parents, “I’d like to ask Rip a couple of questions.”
“Sure, absolutely. My wife and I will wait outside.”
They walked out to the street, leaving their son alone with Nick and King.
“You go to school here, right?”
Rip van der Pool nodded.
“Do you know any cult kids?”
“You mean, like…the Groaners?”
“Right.”
“They don’t go to our school. The Groaners teach their kids at home.”
“Oh.” Nick was disappointed. He hadn’t considered that, but of course it made sense.
“I see some of them around town, though,” Rip offered.
“Yeah? Do you ever talk to them?”
“Sometimes. We’re not buds, or anything—more like enemies. They don’t like normal people very much. Always shooting off their mouths.”
“What sort of thing do they say?”
Rip’s lip curled as he thought about it. His eyes turned angry.
“Anyone who isn’t part of their group, they call heathens. They say we stole their land, we’re trespassers, stuff like that.”
“Are they combative?”
“Combative?”
“Do they start fights?”
“Sometimes. More often they’ll just throw a rock at you when you aren’t looking. You chase after them, most of them will run.”
“They ever hurt anybody?”
“Yeah, once in a while. You get nailed with a rock and it can kill you if it gets you in the head. I’ve known a couple of kids who got broken bones from rocks.”
Nick stood in thought for a moment.
“Any one kid in particular?”
“What do you mean?”
“Is there one kid that stands out in your mind who might be really dangerous? Dangerous enough to actually shoot someone?”
Rip stared at the floor a moment, then nodded. He looked up at Nick.
“Yeah, there is one. I never see him hanging around with the others. He’s always alone. About six months ago he ambushed my rew—”
“Your ‘rew’?”
Rip stopped, his eyes turning sheepish again.
“My friends, my ‘crew’, the ones you saw last night.”
“Your brother and his friends.”
“Yeah. Only…they really are my friends too, no matter what Charlie said.”
“Okay. Tell me what happened.”
“We were walking through the park, and this Groaner kid bushwhacked us with rocks. He hit a couple of us, but nobody was hurt. So we chased him and ran him down. We cornered him over on Ninth Street and he fought like a maniac. We beat the shit out of him, but he never gave up. Kept screaming at us. We finally just walked away, because if we hadn’t we might have really hurt him.”
Rip’s lip curled again.
“Not that he didn’t deserve it.”
“Had you seen him before?”
“Yeah, he lives down that way somewhere. But that was the first time he ever did anything like that.”
“Any idea what set him off?”
Rip hesitated, then nodded. “I think so. A day or two before that we were trying to talk to one of the girls.”
“One of the girls…a Groaner girl?”
“Yeah. There’s this one girl, a redhead—she’s pretty hot. Most of the cult girls just ignore you, but this one likes to flirt. Her mom keeps her on a short leash, so we don’t see her much, but sometimes she sneaks out.”
“What’s her name?”
“Maggie something.”
Nick felt his pulse quicken. “Maggie Downing?”
Rip shrugged. “I don’t know. Just Maggie.”
“Tell me about Maggie.”
“Well, it’s like she’s a rebel, you know? Against her own people. Like she’s one of them but doesn’t want to be, like that. I actually kind of feel sorry for her, because she wants to be like everyone else but she can’t. So she asks all these questions about clothes and music and stuff. She even asked what it was like to go to a dance.”
“Did anything else happen between you?”
Rip looked confused, then blushed. “You mean like sex?”
Nick nodded. “Or kissing or touching.”
“I swear to god, Marshal, it was nothing like that. We were just talking. She’s asking all these questions and we’re all trying to impress her with how much we know about those things. It was almost like talking to a little kid because she’s so…innocent.”
“Okay. So what happened?”
“Well, this guy shows up, the one I was telling you about.”
“The rock thrower.”
“Right. He came looking for her, calling her name, like he was her father or something. And when he found us talking to her he got really pissed. He started screaming at her about being a slut and a harlo and everything.”
“A ‘harlo’? You mean, a harlot?”
“Yeah, that’s it—a harlot. He even slapped her.”
Nick frowned. “He actually slapped her?”
“Yes, sir, just like she was his kid. That’s when we got in his face, told him to knock that shit off or we’d fuck him up.”
“What did Maggie do?”
“She took off running back home, crying and shit. And this kid starts screaming at us, telling us we’re a satanic influence on her, and we’re all gonna burn in hell.”
“Did you fight?”
“Not then, no. We just kept talking shit. I think he was afraid of us because it was five to one, so he backed off, but he was yelling at us all the time.”
“And two days later he ambushed you.”
“Yep.”
“You’re sure it was the same kid?”
“Absolutely.”
“Do you know his name?”
“No…but I think he might be related to Maggie. Her brother, maybe.”
“What does he look like? Can you describe him?”
“Just like all the rest of them. He was wearing that stupid black hat and a white shirt with suspenders.”
“What about his physical features—height, weight, eye color, hair color…?”
“Kinda tall, skinny. Brown eyes, I think, brown hair…and his hair was long, four or five inches past his collar.”
Nick glanced at Officer King, whose expression revealed that she had also made the connection.
“How old is he?”
“Sixteen, maybe seventeen.”
“What makes you think he was dangerous? Aside from the rock throwing?”
“He hated us so much that he wouldn’t give up. We told him we’d stop hitting him if he’d just quit, but he wouldn’t. Even when his face was all bloody he kept attacking us. Calling us murderers.”
“Murderers?”
“Yeah. Like we had attacked him, instead of the other way around.”
“Was he carrying a gun?”
“I don’t think so. He would have used it if he had one.”
Nick nodded again.
“Okay, Rip, thanks for the information. Do me a favor, will you?”
“Sure. Like what?”
“If you see this kid again, or find out his name, come and tell me or Officer King here. If you can’t find us, go to the marshal’s office and tell whoever is there. But whatever you do, do not confront this kid, you hear me? Stay clear of him. And tell your…rew…the same thing.”
Rip nodded slowly, his eyes wide.
“Yeah, okay. Marshal…what did this guy do?”
“Well, I’m not absolutely sure, but he may be the one who shot my deputy yesterday. So keep clear of him, and report any sightings of him. He may be innocent, but I still need to talk to him.”
Rip van der Pool, who the night before had tried so hard to look galaxy-wise, stood wide-
eyed with wonder. His mouth formed the word Wow.
“Okay, sure. I’ll let you know if we see him again.”
Nelson was already back in the office when Nick and King got there. He was refreshing his coffee cup as they came in the door.
“Got a fresh pot here,” he said, “if anybody is interested.”
“None for me,” Carrie King said. She stood in the middle of the room, looking a little unsure what to do with herself. Nick poured himself a cup and settled down behind his desk.
“Take a chair, Officer King.”
“You can call me Carrie.”
“Okay. Take a load off your feet.”
Nick took a sip of coffee and updated Nelson on what the van der Pool kid had told them.
“So what does that add to the puzzle?” Nelson asked.
“The description matches what the witnesses saw yesterday—a cult kid with long hair.”
“That ain’t much. Quite a few of them probably have long hair.”
“True enough, but how many of them live in town? The general age and size are right, and the kid Rip told us about apparently hates heathens. Calls them murderers. Sounds like someone with some major anger issues.”
“Enough to shoot someone from ambush?”
“Enough to throw rocks, which can be deadly all by themselves. Maybe the leap to using a gun isn’t all that far.”
Nick glanced at King. “Does any of this resonate with you? Have you run into anyone like that on your patrols?”
“No. The Groaners mostly keep to themselves. They don’t cause the kind of trouble that merits a police call and they avoid contact as much as possible. But the neighborhood sounds right—the cult people live on the east end, starting at Eleventh Street all the way to the edge of town.”
“Rip said they caught up with the kid at Ninth Street, so he was probably running for home.”
“Sounds like it.”
“You’ve never arrested any cult kids?”
“Never. And I’ve never seen one in custody. They usually avoid trouble like the plague. And not just the kids—all of them.”
“What about you, Luther?”
Nelson also shook his head.
“The Groaners have never caused any trouble that I know of,” he said. “They’re almost invisible in that respect—you know they’re there, but they don’t bring attention to themselves. Except when Father shows up at a town meeting, but that doesn’t happen very often.”
