Working methodically, Martin filled his containers and placed them about the house, in every room, along the walls, in the corners, under the stairs and in the closets. In several instances the rats were at his feet, tussling to reach the container while he still held onto it. The smell was intended to attract them.
At last he stopped. He did not remove either his gloves or his mask until he was back in the kitchen. Then he sat down his flashlight, carefully shut and tied the nearly empty cloth sack. He removed the towel and gloves and scrubbed his hands and arms and face.
He took his last clean pants and shirt out to the porch and changed his clothes. He would sleep in them. Again with flashlight in hand, he walked carefully through the tall grass to the tent. Checking inside, he saw Sandra sound asleep on the air-filled tent bottom, wrapped in a flowered blanket, head on a new pillow with a white pillow case. Her flashlight poked between her elbow and side, still on, casting light on the tent top.
He saw that she had made a spot for him. The tent was close quarters, but she had folded his blankets in a highly defined separation. Without questioning anything, Martin lay down on his spot and was asleep in less than a minute.
Chapter Six
For Bill Bendix, Friday was a long day. Bill did not see Martin all day, except for Martin using his phone early in the morning and then leaving again. Bill missed him. He spent some time guessing what Martin might be doing. He watched from his tractor seat, the trucks zooming by, lifting the dust from the road.
A furniture truck, the lumber yard crew each driving their own pick-up, the cement plant truck loaded with crushed rock, and a semi-load of lumber passed within an hour, early in the morning. With difficulty, Bill resisted quitting his work to go see what was up.
When he had to call the lumber yard, or the cement plant for one of his projects it took days to get what he wanted. When Martin called, they could not get there fast enough. “Nosy bastards,” he said. But he kept to his own work. He would see whatever was happening at Martin’s in the morning. Saturday would likely be two days worth of Martin.
On Saturday morning Bill ate his bacon and eggs while sitting across the table from Tillie. She looked pretty this morning. He thought perhaps she had a new perm but always better not to ask if he should already know. Instead he said, “I am a little concerned about bringing this Crook fella to Martin’s.”
“It will be fine,” Tillie said. “You have to trust Martin’s judgment on this.”
Bill choked and coughed and spit out his coffee. Wiping his mouth, he said, “Of course I can’t trust Martin’s judgment. That’s why I have to judge for him.”
At 7:30 AM, Bill aimed his big Lincoln car toward Martin’s place. Lincoln was a five-hour drive and Crook was scheduled to be released at 2:00 PM on Saturday afternoon.
This Crook fellow might be all right and he might not be. No matter, it was sure to raise hell in the little farm town of Wheaton, him being from a mental hospital and all. He and Tillie knew Maureen’s feelings on the matter. She didn’t like Crook or she didn’t like what Crook meant to Martin, even though the man befriended Martin when in most need. She thought if Martin was able to leave the hospital then he should leave Crook behind as well – a clean break so to speak.
Martin would not do that.
So in the early morning light, a few clouds remaining on the horizon, Bill drove to Martin’s place and prepared to bring Crook home. Bill hoped this was not a big mistake. He knew it was going to make a difference, somehow, in his life. He was afraid, and he was going to do it anyway.
First Bill saw the new mailbox with the red flag up. Martin was mailing some letters. Then as he drove the curve of the driveway he saw stacks of wood, siding, windows, shingles, and assorted boxes set in perfect rows on Martin’s yard. Scaffolding lined the south side of the house in preparation for the lumberyard crew to install windows, siding, and roof.
As he pulled to a stop near the porch, he thought, “The lumberyard crew was a busy little beehive yesterday.” The porch sported a new gray shingled roof. Twelve new windows lined the porch and a new combination screen door fit into a new doorjamb. Forms for cement steps led to the door. The siding was gone and new wood waited for new siding. Martin had scathed away the weeds and grass for several feet on the lawn side of the house plus he had dug all the weeds and saplings from the foundation around the porch
The old porch siding was tossed in a broken pile to one side of the steps. Bill thought, Martin needs to add dumpster to his list.
It was a big house to re-side and re-roof. Bill walked around the house and looked it over. He shook a scaffolding bar to make sure it was solid. Martin did know how to motivate workers. He saw that with the electrical crew. “Amazing,” he said aloud. All this work confirmed Bill’s belief that Martin was a genius.
He knocked several times on the new screen door and then opened it and entered. Under his feet, he felt a solid floor. Rolls of blue-green indoor-outdoor carpet sat against the wall. The ceiling and walls were also waiting for sheetrock. Only as Bill turned to his left did his chest tighten. Three new bed frames leaned against the wall. What good did it do Martin to be a genius if he imagined people? Sandra Peters was not inside this house.
He heard Martin in the kitchen and called to him, “They must have had everything on your list.”
Martin opened the kitchen door. “No,” he answered. “I wanted hanging plants.”
“It will be nice, Martin, real nice, once it is done,” Bill said, though he could not look at the three bed frames.
“Bill,” Martin said in his soft, quiet voice, “sit down a minute. We have time.”
Bill thought something had gone wrong with Crook’s release. Then when Martin continued to block his entry into the kitchen, he thought maybe Martin had damaged the table.
Martin gestured toward three table chairs. They sat along the far south side of the porch next to the bed frames. Bill walked to the chairs and sat down. Martin carried three coffee mugs in his big hands. Bill could not speak because behind Martin, Sandra Peters carried the coffee pot, and she was pregnant.
Bill found his voice. “Is crazy contagious?”
Then, composing himself, he said, “Sandra, we have to get you home right now! The whole town is looking for you.”
Neither Martin nor Sandra said a word. Bill couldn’t understand it. They had to get the girl home right now. Finally Sandra moved forward and poured them all a cup of coffee in a slow-motion, stiff movement.
“I can’t go home, Mr. Bendix,” Sandra said. Her voice allowed no argument.
“Your parents will understand. I know they will,” Bill said. “I faced the same situation with my daughter. It was not easy, but we loved her all the same.”
“It’s more than facing my parents,” Sandra said. Her tone held the stone calmness of a decision that could not be changed.
Bill forced his mouth to close. He studied her face. She had a hard face and hard eyes. He saw eyes like that only once before in his life and that was in Korea.
She said, “Martin told me to tell you what happened.”
Bill’s heart raced. All he could think was to get the child home, but he couldn’t move from his chair.
“Nine months ago I was raped,” Sandra said.
Bill said nothing. He listened, unable to look away from her face.
“Sheriff Hauk raped me. Now three people know that, four counting Hauk. I will not say it again. I can only say it now because I’ve switched to plan B. For plan B I need help.” Her words squeezed through stiff lips like forcing solids through a sieve.
Bill felt a shock like a physical blow. He looked at Martin who looked back with this sad sympathy in his eyes. “I can’t believe it,” Bill said. “I can’t believe that you are here in Martin’s house. I can’t believe any of it. Not that you are lying. There has to be some mistake.”
Martin said, “See now why I had to buy Pampers.”
Bill nodded. “Martin found you hiding he
re?” Bill looked at Sandra but he thought about Martin. He had to force his hands not to shake.
“I told Martin because when he found me, he did not run screaming to the nearest phone. He didn’t say it was my own fault. I had to say what happened to someone while I still could. I mean before anything happened to me.”
She looked very young to Bill. She did not look fragile or vulnerable. Bill thought that Sheriff Hauk would regret his actions. Cassandra Peters was no one’s victim.
“We need to take you home all the same,” Bill said.
Sandra shook her head. “I’m not the first.”
When Bill could only gape at her, she continued. She adjusted her chair slightly to include Martin in the circle though Martin kept sidling his chair further away. Bill thought Martin was trying to escape, to hide from this horror.
“Do you remember two summers ago when that other teenager disappeared?” Sandra’s eyes looked huge in her pale face.
“I remember her picture in the paper. She had black bangs in her eyes,” Bill said. “I remember that no one searched for her. Hauk completely ignored that disappearance.”
“That was Allyson. Some of her teachers and classmates organized kind of a search, but that was it.” Sandra’s coffee cup shook.
Bill thought about this. “Everyone presumed she ran away from a broken home. How is it that no one is remembering her? Really, it was a similar situation except Alyson was not you.”
“Hauk knew Ally was dead,” Sandra said. “No need to search for her.”
“There is likely no connection at all,” said Bill. “If Hauk hurt her as he did you that would have come out. He would not have gotten away with it.” Even so the memory of that girl planted doubt in Bill’s mind. He wondered, had Hauk hurt these girls? A knot of fear clutched his chest.
“He got away with it the same as he will get away with killing me,” Sandra said.
Martin leaned forward and said, “This man will never hurt you or anyone again.”
Martin’s words did not shock Bill as much as the manner in which he said them. He spoke without doubt.
Bill said, “How can you know that, Martin?”
“I will tell Crook,” Martin said.
Bill looked from Martin to Sandra. Suddenly overwhelmed, he put his head in his hands. “My God, help us in this vale of tears.” The words sprang unbidden from his mouth. For a minute the world had stopped.
“Well,” Bill said. “Well,” he said again. “We have to do what we have to do.”
“I know,” Sandra said, “that my mom and dad are sick with worry. I’m sorry for that.” She looked more determined than sorry, but there was sorrow in her eyes. Bill felt better at seeing it.
Reluctantly, Bill accepted that Sandra’s parents would have to suffer a little longer. Short of physical force, the teenager was not going home. This was the only thing about which he was sure.
“Hauk is a jerk and a bully, but rape and murder? What are we even thinking here?” It was too difficult to grasp.
“Look, Mr. Bendix, doubt all you want. I’m living it.” Sandra turned burning eyes to Martin.
Bill saw Martin acknowledged her pain with a nod as though to say, “He’s old, give him more time.” Bill felt helpless.
Martin sat ashen faced and tight lipped. Then he spoke. “I remember looking at Allyson’s picture in the paper. I read that Ted Peppe found the body in the spring in a low spot along his fence line. The coroner ruled it death by exposure.”
Bill said, “There were whispers at the time that Alyson was pregnant, but they came and went quickly. She had not been a part of people’s lives. Not like Sandra is a part of life in Wheaton.”
“We could call the cops in Sioux Falls,” Martin said. “But we can’t, too many questions.”
“My plan may not be sensible, but it is the best one. By a miracle from God, no one knows I’m pregnant. I have to keep it that way.”
Bill understood that Sandra would have her way. “What is the plan?”
“I will have this baby in secret and go home like it never happened,” Sandra said.
“Tomorrow,” Martin said. “Today we have to get Crook.”
Bill suggested she spend the day with Tillie. He believed Tillie could convince Sandra to go home by noon. Sandra refused.
Bill sighed. What did it take for a child not to run home crying after one night alone in this house as it was then?
“Time to get Crook,” Martin said.
Sandra said, “I’ll lay down and die before I admit to anyone that this is Hauk’s baby.”
“Adoption,” Bill said. Where would she have the baby? He didn’t know. He couldn’t think.
“Must be on our way.” Martin started toward the door.
“Martin.” Bill’s voice was urgent. “We can’t take Sandra across state lines. She is only seventeen. We are not relatives. Do you know the trouble we could be in?”
“We won’t be in trouble,” Martin said. “No one will notice us.”
“I can stay here,” Sandra said. “Nothing happening today.”
“No, you can’t,” Martin insisted. Turning to Bill, Martin said, “Work men will be here today, in and out. Sandra is safer with us. What if Hauk decides to search here today? That is much more likely to happen than someone stopping us on the road.”
Bill felt himself relenting and could not believe it. “Hauk likely has been informed that you’re bringing Crook here today as a resident. He might have plans to check on that, but I doubt it. He’s too wrapped up in this search to read his mail.” Still it was too strong of a possibility to ignore.
The mention of Hauk checking on Crook’s arrival turned Martin’s skin ashen gray. His dark hair looked like a picture frame around white paper. Bill turned to Sandra. The decision was hers. If she wanted to come along, he would take her.
The color on her lips was startlingly bright. Her hair looked like a floating halo, and her skin was flawless.
“I don’t want to be alone today,” she answered.
And Bill thought it was a better risk to take her than to leave her. He would keep an eye on her until he took her home.
Martin said, “Let’s go. Crook will be waiting.”
Bill repeated, “Let’s go then,” with far less bravado. He felt exactly like this in Korea. The reluctant heaviness came back to him the same as standing in the mud facing his soldiers. “Move out. Let’s go.”
Sandra sat in the front so she wouldn’t get car sick. Martin sat in the back behind the driver’s seat. As they turned south on Highway 81, Sandra found a Golden Oldie station on the radio. For sixty miles barely a word was said. Bill sang with Tina Turner, What’s Love got to do with it, got to do with it.
Only when Martin began poking his hand in and out of the front seat while attempting to walk like an Egyptian did Bill reach for the volume button. They crossed the James River Bridge and passed the scenic hills outside of Yankton, still in South Dakota; so far, no problem.
Bill’s Lincoln moved with the Saturday morning traffic through Yankton. No one pointed at them or shouted for them to halt. At any second he expected sirens to blast, or the Special Forces Unit to line the street. Nothing happened. It was just another sunny Saturday along the Missouri River in Yankton, South Dakota.
At the bridge crossing into Nebraska, Bill’s Lincoln stood apart in the line of campers and sport vehicles pulling boats. Lewis and Clark Lake beckoned to everyone trying to hold onto summer. No one cared about Martin, Bill or Sandra. They could just as well be law abiding citizens, not kidnappers.
As Bill inched his vehicle forward, he gave some thought to driving to the police station, going inside and turning himself in. He trusted the police to protect Sandra. He gave her a side long glance. She was tapping her fingers on her knees to a quiet Elvis Presley doing a jail house rock. Her head rested on the back of the seat and her eyes were closed. She appeared vulnerable. He drove on. Let’s get there and get back, he decided.
Bill mo
ved forward across the old, historic bridge. The water far below looked ragged and deep even as the sun danced on the waves. His fellow passengers perked up to see the water, the traffic, and the huge, U-shaped steel girders.
“We are crossing the state line, Sandra,” Martin said.
“Yeah.”
Even on low volume, the radio music was clear - Every breath you take, every move you make, I’ll be watching you. No other sound conflicted with the words as the bridge slid foot by foot beneath the car.
Sandra said, “I feel a little spooked.”
Bill said, “We can’t go back now.” Bill was thinking of the one lane, bumper-to-bumper traffic. He meant they would have to wait to turn around.
Martin said, “We are at the point of no return.” Martin leaned forward on the front seat. His elbows touched Sandra on one end and Bill on the other.
Bill, who considered himself the least prone of all people to the horrors of imagination, felt a tingle on his neck. “You are right, Martin, we are at the point of no return.” A line had been crossed other than the state line into Nebraska. He thought, I am one of four people who know what Hauk did. Now what?
Martin sat back, and Sandra turned her face toward the window. The Nebraska farm land rolled by, cows grazing, the houses prosperous and clean: the landscape turned boring.
“What did you do while the workmen where there on Friday?” Bill asked Sandra, his voice shattering the silence.
“I hid upstairs in one of the back bedrooms.” Sandra shifted her position so she could look at Bill.
Martin returned to lean his chin on his hands on the front seat between Bill and Sandra. “I gave her a book to read and some food.” He sounded defensive.
“Oh, yeah.” Sandra rolled her eyes. “Basic Design, I couldn’t put it down.”
“And if the baby decided to arrive in the midst of all that pounding?” Bill asked.
Martin answered, “That’s tomorrow.”
Then as the miles miraculously slid beneath the Lincoln, Martin explained to Bill how he scrubbed the upstairs bedroom sterile before he allowed Sandra inside. He used his hands to describe, and nearly hit his fellow travelers several times, as he talked.
Martin, Crook, & Bill Page 6
