by Laura Crum
But I remembered the fear-intense, visceral-and I wondered if the horse rapist had been there. Had he been scared off by Bart and Clay's arrival? Or, my mind blinked, was he Bart? Had Bart got me out there to try and kill me? Why would he, my brain rebutted. I never suspected him.
Because, came the answer, he thinks you might have seen him at Nico's. I had seen nothing, but I remembered the confused sense I'd had of horses and motion, I remembered how I'd swung my flashlight around. If the horse rapist had ridden to Nico's, perhaps he had been riding away and was afraid I'd seen him. And was he Bart? Or, even more unwelcome, could it be Clay? Clay had come out to the barn, too.
I could not believe it was Clay. Despite the fact that I found him hard to read, I felt I had a sense of his essential goodness. I could not believe I would find myself attracted to a man who was capable of murder.
But Bart now, Bart was different. I very much disliked Bart. Had Bart set me up to be murdered and been disturbed by his brother?
No ready, instinctual answer came to mind. But I had a conviction that someone had been stalking me in that barn. And it was certainly at least odd that Bart, recognizing me, had chosen to sneak up behind me in the dark, rather than turning the lights on and calling out. At the very least he'd meant to scare me.
There was a lot of hostility in Bart, that much was clear. How he was working it out, what he was actually capable of, was much less clear.
But someone, some man, was capable of raping horses, of bashing a little girl over the head, of strangling a woman and raping her after she was dead. Some very twisted man was capable of a lot of violence.
With the thought, anger rose in me. He had killed Nico; I believed he meant to kill me. This stupid, warped, evil man who cared nothing for the destruction he wrought. This despicable creature so absorbed in his own desire to fulfill his strange sexual needs. He had killed Nico, ended all that beauty and talent, as a means to his own disgusting, paltry end.
The thought made my blood boil. Anger felt good, much more comfortable and empowering than grief. The tears were gone now.
I spoke out loud to the night. "Supposing I kill you, you son of a bitch. Suppose I put an end to you."
After that I was quiet. I watched the windows, watched the night, and thought.
It seemed to take forever. What felt like hours went by and nothing happened. Just thoughts chasing themselves through my brain and starting to make a pattern. The sky outside the windows stayed dark. I began to think it was still the middle of the night.
But I kept on waiting and watching. And it finally happened. Subtly but unmistakably, the sky began to lighten. First light, almost indistinguishable from darkness. The very faintest graying of the sky above the eastern ridge.
Dawn had come.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Two hours later I was pouring French roast in the filter when the dark green sheriff's sedan pulled up the driveway. A woman got out of the car-Jeri Ward.
Stifling the urge to look in the mirror, I walked to the door and opened it. "Come on in," I said. "I'm just making coffee."
A few minutes later I was seated at the table with Jeri, coffee cups in hand, once again providing my usual disheveled contrast to her neat and put-together appearance.
"I just came by to check on you," she said. "You didn't look like you were doing so good yesterday."
"I know," I said. "No doubt, I don't look a whole lot better today."
"Well, you sound better," Jeri said.
I smiled, surprised I was able to do it. "I am better," I said. I regarded her carefully. "You say you're no longer on this horse rapist case."
"That's right," Jeri said, "This is a social call. I'm on my way back from a domestic violence problem."
"Then can I tell you something in confidence?"
"It depends," she said. "I'm a cop, remember."
"All right," I said. "I'm going to tell you this and assume it's in confidence. I will not tell it to any member of your department, and if you tell them, I will deny it."
Jeri shrugged one shoulder and waited.
I recounted the story of last night's experience at the Bishop Ranch.
When I was done, I told her, "So you see, nothing happened. There's nothing to report. It's just a feeling I had. I'm not obligated to tell anyone."
Jeri nodded slowly.
"The thing is, it gave me an idea. An idea I think I'm going to follow through with. I could use some help. And you would be my first choice, if you were willing."
"What's your idea?
"My friend Kris Griffith is going away tomorrow for two weeks, and I'm going to take care of her place. Feed her horse, water her plants, you know how it goes.
"Anyway, after last night I was thinking about this horse rapist person and how you said the act becomes compulsive. So, of course, he'll probably need to do it again pretty soon. And if he's true to his pattern, he'll return to one of his former spots. Like Kris's."
Jeri looked at me. "No, Gail," she said.
"You can't stop me," I said "I have every right to go over there, feed the horse, and sleep in the barn if I want. It's nobody's business but mine. If you tell that Matt Johnson," I said, "I will say you made it up and are trying to make trouble for me."
"Gail, that's crazy. Do you want to get killed?"
"No, I don't want to get killed. I want to-" I stopped myself in time. "Catch him," I continued, "before he hurts or kills someone else. Like me, for instance." I looked at her. "You could help me."
"Just what do you have in mind?"
"I've taken care of Kris's place before when she went away," I said. "She leaves her car in the driveway to make it look like she's home, takes a taxi to the airport. I usually turn different lights on every time I'm there, turn the TV or radio off and on. So we always make it seem as if she's there.
"What I'm thinking is that this time I'll do the same, but park my truck in a cul-de-sac down the road where it's hidden and walk to the house every evening. I'll feed the horse and wait in the barn. Until he comes."
"And you want me to do this with you?"
"If you want," I said. "Two would be better than one."
Jeri was quiet, considering.
"You have a gun?" she asked.
"Yes. A .357 pistol," I said.
"Can you shoot at all?"
"Reasonably," I said.
She was quiet some more. "I'd get in a lot of trouble," she said at last.
"Not necessarily," I said. "Are you on call this week?"
"No," she said.
"I'm not either. What if it's just a social thing, two of us spending an evening together. We happen to be over at Kris's, to feed her horse, and this guy shows up and goes after the horse. Naturally, you nab him. Where's the problem?"
Jeri thought and slowly smiled. "I could put it that way. Matt would be pissed as hell." I got the definite impression this pleased her.
"No one will hear otherwise from me," I said.
Jeri looked straight at me. "Gail, if I consider, for even a minute, going along with this crazy scheme, you have to promise me one thing."
"What?"
"You leave me in charge. If this guy comes, you do what I say. Period."
I thought about it. "I get to be there," I said at last. "I want to be there when we catch him. I won't budge on that. But other than that you're in charge."
We regarded each other for another moment and Jeri nodded very slightly. "All right," she said. "Does Kris Griffith know about this?"
"Not exactly," I said. "She knows I'm taking care of the place, that's all. I don't want to worry her. The same story can apply if we catch him."
"All right," Jeri said again. And then, more to herself, "I really want to catch this bastard."
"Me, too," I said.
We confirmed a few more details, and Jeri took her leave. As she started toward the door I asked her, "How's ET?"
"Oh, he's doing fine," she said. "He's gaining a little, and he seems to feel
fine. I rode him yesterday," she added. "Just in the arena." She looked back at me. "That guy Bart is sure an ass," she said. "I had him come out and pick up Nicole Devereaux's mare-the one thing old Matt didn't want to deal with. Bart said he'd take care of her, but he was a little prick about the whole deal."
"Uh-huh." I nodded and said nothing more. Best to keep my suspicions of Bart to myself.
Jeri let herself out and I made eggs and toast for breakfast. By my reckoning, it had been twenty-four hours since I'd eaten.
Two hours later I'd fed the animals and fielded a call from Kris. I'd assured her I was fine and that the horse and her place would get taken care of. She was relieved, I could tell. She'd been stressed enough herself and was in no shape to deal with my problems.
I was just about to step out the door when the phone rang again. It was Blue.
The sound of his voice triggered an odd mix of emotions. Part pleasure, part apprehension, and part reluctance to deal with anything else now. Still, his "Hi, this is Blue," was far from unwelcome.
"Just thought I'd call and touch bases with you," he said.
"Oh ... yeah." Damn. I'd completely forgotten I'd asked him over to dinner. "Look," I said, "there's a lot going on with me right now."
"Oh?"
Realizing that he hadn't already heard about it-perhaps he didn't read the paper-I said, "Remember that situation I told you about, the woman whose horse was being abused?"
"Right."
"I found her murdered on Friday night."
"Oh no," Blue said.
"It looks as though the same man did it."
"That must have been terrible for you."
"It wasn't easy," I said. "And I'm afraid I need to ask you to put our dinner date on hold for a while. I'm just not sure how things are going to go."
"Whatever you'd like."
I heard the instant retreat in his voice, and as was my habit with this man, felt myself softening toward him. For whatever reason, perhaps our suddenly intimate proximity on last summer's trip, I always read his seemingly aloof reserve as shyness, felt that he was vulnerable under his apparent detachment.
"It's not that I don't want to see you," I told him bluntly. "I'd love to have dinner with you. But there's some stuff arising out of this woman's death that I have to deal with."
"Are you doing all right?" Blue asked.
"More or less. I promise I'll let you know when things get resolved and I'll cook you that dinner."
"I'm looking forward to it," he said quietly. And then, "Take care of yourself, Stormy."
"I will," I said.
But as I hung up, I sincerely doubted that Blue would consider my current plan to be taking care of myself.
TWENTY-NINE
Jeri met me at eight o'clock the following evening. We took her car, a small gray sedan, less conspicuous than my truck, and parked it in the cul-de-sac, as planned. Side by side we walked to Kris's house, not speaking.
I fed the horse while Jeri reconnoitered. After a few minutes, she came back with a report.
"It's like I remembered. If he does it the same way as before, he'll come in the main door of the barn." She glanced around. "If you stay behind the haystack and I wait in the tack room, we'll have him covered from two angles. And I should be able to see into the stall."
"See into the stall?"
"Yeah. He'll take the mare into the stall, we assume, and do you-know-what."
"You're going to watch him?"
"More or less." Jeri looked at me. "The semen will give us definite proof that we've got the right man."
"I see," I said. Somehow I hadn't pictured waiting in the shadows while the horse rapist actually did the deed. But what Jeri was saying made sense.
"When he's done," she said, "I'll arrest him. You stay put and be quiet."
"What if he, uh, resists arrest?"
"Keep on staying put and being quiet. I don't want him to know you're there."
"Even if he tries to kill you? Even if he's getting away?"
"That's right," Jeri said crisply.
I gave her a look. Even in the dim light of summer dusk she read it perfectly.
"Look, Gail. That's my job. To catch the bad guys and protect the citizens from harm. It's my responsibility to make sure you don't get hurt. If you do get hurt, I'll be in all kinds of trouble."
"Uh-huh," 1 said.
We looked at each other.
"I know it sounds bossy and dictatorial," Jeri said. "But it is my job and we agreed I was in charge. I don't want him to know you're here."
"Right," I said. "I'll hide and wait."
Jeri gave me a doubtful glance, but after a minute she shrugged. We both settled into our respective places. I rearranged a few hay bales so that they shielded me completely, while at the same time providing me with a handy crevice to peer through. Jeri took a stance behind the tack room door. We waited.
We'd agreed earlier to wait silently from nine until midnight. As far as we knew, the horse rapist had always come during these hours. After midnight we'd go home and get some rest, be ready to watch again the following night.
I rested my pistol on a hay bale, shifted my weight from time to time, careful always to take a position that I could hold if need be. I could not see Jeri from where I stood, but I could see the open barn doorway. I waited.
A barn, even a little barn like Kris' s, has a life of its own at night. I could hear the soothing rustle and munch of Dixie, out in her corral, eating hay. Smaller, closer rustles were probably mice. The gentle sounds of a summer night drifted in through the open doorway-crickets chirping, an owl hooting, the occasional swish of tires on pavement as a car passed by on Harkins Valley Road. All was peaceful.
And here we were, waiting for a murderer. It seemed bizarre. And yet, with my whole being, I wanted to catch this man. More than that, I wanted to kill him-something I didn't plan on telling Jeri.
Every time I thought about him killing Nico, red-hot rage bubbled up inside. That something so fine should be destroyed by such a bestial creature-that her life had been taken by such a thing ... I'll kill you, you bastard, I chanted softly to myself. I'll make an end to you. I'll make sure you never walk this earth again.
The focused hatred that coursed through my veins was completely foreign to me; I would never have imagined I could feel this way. All parts of me seemed to rise up in a fierce instinctual protest against this defiler of innocent creatures, this rapist, this murderer. I hated him. He was unfit to live.
I shifted my weight, rearranged the position of my gun. He would come. If not tonight, then some night. And we would see.
Thinking, watching, waiting passed the hours. The barn grew colder. I was glad I had thought to wear several layers of sweatshirts. No jackets, nothing that would rustle. All dark colors. I endured the chill and waited.
Eventually came Jeri's soft voice. "It's twelve-thirty."
"All right."
Slowly and stiffly I worked my way out from behind the haystack.
Jeri emerged from the tack room, just visible as a human shape in the moonlight that filtered through the doorway. "Not tonight," she said.
"I guess not. Maybe tomorrow."
After a final glance around, we headed out of the barn and back down to the car, Jeri's flashlight illuminating our way. Once back at my place, she left quickly with only a brief, "See you tomorrow."
I fell into bed and to sleep almost at once, tomorrow echoing in my head.
But it wasn't tomorrow. Or the next night either. By Thursday night, the endless watching and waiting were getting to me. I was starting to feel sleep deprived, what with getting up every morning at six and never going to bed before one. It was hard to focus on my job. And it was becoming more and more difficult to stay awake as I huddled in the barn. I wondered how long I could do this.
The intense desire for revenge that drove me was still there, but fatigue was eating away at it. I had no idea how Jeri felt. We didn't speak about our enterprise much, j
ust went through the necessary motions. No doubt Jeri had participated in such stakeouts before and was familiar with the problems.
But for me this endless, patient stalking was an entirely new experience. Hide and wait, with life itself on the line. Adrenaline crashed through me at the slightest noise; when a deer rustled through the trees outside the barn, my heart pounded erratically and I gripped the pistol with suddenly sweaty hands.
Like a hunter waiting for a tiger to come to a goat, waiting for a man-eating predator to appear out of the forest. With a mix of fear and keen anticipation, I waited on Thursday night, as I had waited every night, with the hunter's instinct alternately fighting sleep and the sudden rush of nerves.
Leaning my head against the haystack, I listened to the familiar little noises of the night-nothing new there. The wet, foggy chill in the air wasn't new either. My eyelids drooped over my eyes. I gave it a minute, then pushed them back open. All was quiet. And then Dixie neighed.
Sparks shot along my nerves. I shifted my weight carefully and placed myself where I could see well through the crevice in the hay. Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly and did my best to relax my tired but suddenly tense muscles. Still, be still.
Dixie neighed again. And then another neigh, lower-pitched. Not Dixie. A different horse.
His horse, I thought, his horse. I shot a glance toward the tack room, where I knew Jeri waited, though I couldn't see her. Surely she had heard it, too.
Another neigh from Dixie, another answering nicker. The confused sound of muffled hoofbeats-perhaps Dixie trotting around her corral. I waited, my eyes fixed on the barn doorway.
