Heaven's Prey

by Janet Sketchley

  The silence suffocated his attempted humour, and he made no move to turn off. The tension in the car was almost physical, the air too thick to breathe. His chest pained. Could stress bring on a heart attack? He gritted his teeth. More likely a panic attack.

  He glanced at Ruth, but her tight lips and pale face did nothing to reassure him. She was worried, too, and she was going home.

  A two-minute eternity after entering the town limits, and long before he was ready, a small green sign pointed Police to the left. Soon after making the turn he saw a storey-and-a-half brick building standing guard behind a tidy hedge.

  His pulse roared in his ears as he eased the truck to a stop in the driveway. His chest felt ready to burst. He’d reached the end of the road.

  Harry’s muscles seized as he stared through the windshield.

  Chapter 30

  Ruth unbuckled her seat belt and reached for the door handle, but Harry didn’t move. He gripped the wheel so tightly she couldn’t tell if his hands were shaking. He pulled a ragged breath, the muscle in his jaw pulsing harder than ever.

  Pity overrode Ruth’s impatience. If his turning himself in frightened her, Harry must be terrified. He knew what he was going back to.

  She squeezed his forearm. “You can do this.”

  At last Harry blinked. He continued to stare, but now he seemed aware of what he saw. His hands loosened, slid around the curve of the steering wheel to clasp it at the bottom, then released it. A lover’s touch.

  He turned off the truck and sprang out as if the seat had been electrified. Ruth snatched her purse and coat and limped to catch up with him. The sign beside the front door stopped them on the bottom step.

  “No Saturday hours.” Tears pricked Ruth’s eyes. So close, and yet so far. They could have been halfway to Halifax if she’d kept her mouth shut, and now they’d have to backtrack.

  Harry rattled the door handle, then jabbed the bell. The desperation in his movements wrung Ruth’s heart.

  He reached for the wall phone. “I guess we’ll have to call—” Footsteps sounded inside, and he stepped back. As the doorknob turned, a gentle but firm pressure from Harry’s hand propelled Ruth forward. “You’re my credentials,” he murmured. “I want him to see you’re okay.”

  Her tongue darted over suddenly dry lips as she moved onto the top step. The heavy, white door opened inward.

  A slim, blond policewoman stood in the doorway.

  Ruth whirled and planted her hands against Harry’s chest. Push him away, back to the truck. “We’ll find another station.”

  His breath hissed, and her heart sank. It was too late.

  Harry stood transfixed. “Sweet... Jesus. I don’t believe this.” His eyes met Ruth’s. “I don’t feel a thing. I am free.”

  A cool voice cut through his whisper. “Ms. Warner, are you all right?”

  Ruth turned and nodded at the officer, not trusting herself to speak.

  “Step away from the suspect, please, Ms. Warner.” The crisp note in the policewoman’s voice left no room for objections. A battle-ready aloofness had replaced her smile. Her steely gaze, fixed on Harry, matched the glint from the gun in her hand.

  Chilled at the transformation, Ruth moved off the low steps to the grass. Harry stood still, arms at his sides.

  “You.” Cold hazel eyes drilled him. “Inside slowly. Keep your hands where I can see them.” The gun was steady in her hand. “Ms. Warner, please come into the reception area once it’s clear. I’ll ask you to have a seat on the bench for now.”

  Ruth watched Harry follow the policewoman, who backed through a second doorway into a large, open office. When the connecting door shut behind them, Ruth stepped inside the building and closed the outer door.

  “Down on the floor, feet apart, hands behind your back.” The sharp click of handcuffs locking first one of Harry’s wrists, then the other, came through the opening above the receptionist’s counter. Ruth peeked into the office beyond.

  “I’m sorry to have startled you, Officer.” Harry spoke quietly from the floor, but with a new ring of confidence in his voice. “I’m unarmed. I came to turn myself in.”

  The policewoman picked up the radio microphone with her free hand and thumbed the transmit button. “Mobile units, return to the station ASAP.”

  She replaced the microphone and leaned against the edge of the nearest desk, gun in hand. “Under the circumstances, Mr. Silver, we’ll wait this way for reinforcements.”

  Harry craned his neck to face her. “I hope you appreciate the irony of this situation. I get arrested by a young, blond policewoman.”

  Without taking her eyes off him, the officer addressed Ruth through the cutaway in the wall. “I’m very pleased to see you alive, Ms. Warner. Do you need medical attention?”

  “I’m all right. May I please phone my husband?”

  A siren wailed in the distance. “As soon as the others arrive, we’ll get a phone for you. I hate to make you wait, but it’s better if you stay separated from the prisoner.”

  Ruth settled in the corner of an L-shaped bench. On the other side of the reception counter, she could see only the policewoman’s head and shoulders. This was ridiculous, why couldn’t she use one of the phones in the office? She wasn’t dangerous. Or did the officer think Ruth would help Harry find a better victim in exchange for her own freedom?

  The waiting area was more an alcove than a room, and her claustrophobia returned. She should be free, not stuck in a different trap.

  To her right, a sheaf of papers hung from twin metal rings. The top sheet bore two pictures of an unfamiliar man, a full-length shot beside a close up of his face. A jagged scar snaked from his twisted nose to the tip of his jaw. Shivering at the malignant light in his eyes, Ruth turned away before she could read the typed lines at the bottom of the sheet.

  She thought of the ‘wanted’ posters from the Old West. Was Harry’s image buried somewhere among those pages? He’d escaped less than a week ago. Perhaps there hadn’t been time to prepare a sheet on him.

  Harry cleared his throat. “I was supposed to meet a boat tomorrow morning to leave the country. When your reinforcements arrive, I can show them the rendezvous point on a map. And the cottage where I—we—stayed. You may be interested in some of the owner’s business affairs. One of his employees is tied up in the truck outside.”

  Ruth went cold. He was right to do this, but what would it cost him in prison?

  His words continued, muffled by his position on the floor. “There was another girl—they never found her body. I want to settle that, too.”

  Outside, the siren swelled, then cut off. A door banged open in the rear of the station. “T.J.? What’s up?”

  A burly black RCMP officer joined Harry’s blond guard. Surprise crossed his mustached face as he absorbed the scene. “Is he alone?”

  “No, Ruth Warner is in the waiting room.”

  The newcomer gave a low whistle. “So what happened?”

  The female officer shrugged. “He arrived on the doorstep. Wants to confess to an unsolved murder. Claims there’s a guy tied up in that truck outside. And he’s got an interesting story about some local drug dealers who’ve been acting as his travel agents.”

  “You don’t say.” He eyed the prisoner hungrily. Then he opened the connecting door and smiled at Ruth.

  “It’s a pleasure to see you, Ms. Warner. I’m Corporal Miles Rogers, and in case she was too busy for introductions, my colleague is Constable T.J. Weber. How are you?”

  Ruth’s lips quivered. She was suddenly very tired. “I’ll be fine, thanks.”

  Understanding brown eyes met hers. “I expect you’ve had quite an ordeal.”

  A lump rose in Ruth’s throat, and she could only nod. His smile acknowledged her struggle for control, and he made no move toward her. “T.J. will take care of you in a minute. The main thing is, it’s over now and you’re safe. I’ll just check out this fellow in the truck.”

  He returned supporting a bare
ly-conscious Denny. Ruth shrank against the wall as they passed into the office. She didn’t breathe until the door swung closed.

  “What the—” Denny’s slurred expletives brought Ruth to her feet, and she peered into the next room. The young man stared at Harry, still face down on the floor under T.J.’s gun. He twisted in Cpl. Rogers’ grip. “Don’t hurt me. I’ll talk.”

  Rogers spoke quietly to the young man and steered him into another room.

  Harry muttered something indecipherable into the carpet. T.J. chuckled, but her pose didn’t shift.

  Five minutes later, Cpl. Rogers stepped back into the office and closed the door. “T.J., would you get started with the young man from the truck until we get some backup? Ms. Warner, I’m sorry we’re keeping you waiting.”

  He looked down at Harry. “All right, Mr. Silver, let’s get you up.” He ducked and grunted as he helped Harry to his feet. “You look like you’ve been through the mill.” He waved his hand toward another open door. “Come have a seat in the interview room.”

  Harry turned, sharing a long look with Ruth as Cpl. Rogers led him away. Ruth sprang to her feet. She opened her mouth, but she couldn’t say goodbye, couldn’t give him any last words of comfort or encouragement.

  The interview room door shut. Ruth sank onto the bench, hands shielding her face, and tried to pray.

  The office door clicked open, and she looked up to meet Constable Weber’s concerned gaze. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Sgt. Vandenheusen is processing the young man who allegedly tried to keep Mr. Silver from turning himself in.”

  Ruth’s head came up. “Allegedly—Constable, that man frightens me as much as Harry Silver at his worst. He just doesn’t have the track record yet. If his buddies hadn’t kept him away from me—” Heat rushed into her face and every muscle trembled. Sobs shook her, loud and ugly.

  A door slammed, then slammed again. A gentle hand squeezed her shoulder. “It’s over now, Ms. Warner. You’re safe. Would you like a tissue?”

  Ruth opened her eyes to the box in Constable Weber’s other hand, grabbed a handful of facial tissues and mashed them into her tears. “I’m... sorry. It was so... awful.” She sniffed. “One was bad enough, but to meet a second one—”

  A few more tears seeped into the tissues. Ruth wiped her eyes again and blew her nose. She blinked at the officer and tried to smile. “I’m sorry.”

  “No need. Sometimes when the pressure’s off, the emotions are free to start working through what’s happened. I’m sure you’ve had quite an ordeal. May I take you to the hospital to get checked out? After you phone home, of course. Your husband could meet you there.”

  “Please, no hospital. I just need to go home.” Ruth’s voice quivered, and she hoped the officer would take the hint before the waterworks started again.

  Constable Weber held Ruth’s gaze for a long moment. “After you make your call, we’ll talk and see where it goes, okay? You can follow me now.” She led Ruth through the deserted main office, opened a door at the rear, and preceded her up the stairs. Ruth took them slowly, her knee complaining. Another door at the top of the stairs opened on a comfortably furnished room.

  “This is our coffee room.” T.J. Weber’s voice sounded light and friendly. She closed the door firmly behind them. “You can rest here and call your husband. He must be worried sick.”

  Ruth sank onto the end of the couch, dropping her coat and purse on the floor beside her. This felt like someone’s living room, worlds away from the sterile office below. The coffee table bore ringed scars from an army of mugs. The latest People magazine clung to one edge.

  A television sat against the opposite wall under a bright print of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police Musical Ride. A small bulletin board hung on the pale wall beside the door, overflowing with postcards and snapshots of the officers’ families.

  Sunshine poured into the room through a generous window, but Weber switched on a small lamp on the table beside Ruth.

  “Can I get you a drink? Coffee or tea?”

  “Coffee with cream and sugar, please.” She shouldn’t sit here and expect to be waited on, but she couldn’t move. Her bones had turned to rubber.

  Weber scowled at the coffee machine. “I came in half an hour ago to do some reports, and brought a coffee with me. This stuff looks like it’s been on since dawn. I’ll make a fresh pot.”

  She dumped the inky liquid into the bathroom sink and reset the machine. As it started to brew, she moved the phone to Ruth’s side.

  “I need to take your statement, but first I’ll give you some privacy for your call. Or do you mind being alone?”

  Ruth shook her head.

  “Okay. I won’t be long. That’s a direct line out.”

  “Thank you.”

  Weber smiled. “You’re welcome.”

  Ruth’s hand trembled as she picked up the phone. She forced herself to push the grey buttons slowly and carefully. The line rang, once... twice... “Oh, Tony, please be there.” Her heart hammered in her throat.

  Three rings. Click. It was Tony’s voice, but only the answering machine’s mocking playback.

  Chapter 31

  Ruth’s free hand bunched the phone cord. The answering machine beeped. Was he screening calls so he didn’t have to talk to reporters? She’d better say something, fast, before the machine reset. If he didn’t pick up, she’d try his cell. “Tony, it’s me. I’m—”

  Another click cut her words. Tony’s voice, his real voice, alive and warm, came through. “Ruth! Oh, thank God. Where are you, babe? Are you all right?”

  She wilted against the couch and her words caught in her throat.

  “Ruth?”

  “I—I’m okay. I’m at the RCMP station in Chester. Can you come?”

  “Try to keep me away. You’re really okay?”

  “Really.” She nodded, even though he couldn’t see her.

  “What about Silver?”

  “He’s here, he turned himself in. You’ll never believe it, but he surrendered to the Lord.” She was talking to Tony as another Christian. What if—? “Tony, I saw you on TV. Did I misunderstand what you said... about you and prayer?”

  His rich chuckle wrapped around her like a hug. “Nope. Surprise. I’m still not used to it, myself. I stopped fighting God and asked Him to take over. I was...”

  Ruth dabbed her eyes as she waited for him to get himself under control.

  He drew a shuddering breath. “I was out of my depth, and desperate.”

  “We’re going to be all right now.” Ruth’s voice wobbled. “I want to come home. Please hurry.”

  The door opened and Constable Weber walked in. Ruth looked up and smiled, then continued. “I have to go, and give a statement. See you soon. I love you.” She replaced the phone, Tony’s voice warm in her mind.

  “Thank you, Constable. He’s on his way.”

  Weber tossed a pen and a clipboard of lined yellow paper onto the coffee table. “You’re welcome. Call me T.J., by the way.” She poured coffee into a flowered porcelain cup and set it in front of Ruth, then joined her on the couch.

  “You must have had a pretty rough time.” Her voice was low, sympathetic.

  Ruth nodded, and reached for her cup. The sharp, everyday coffee smell soothed her nerves.

  T.J. cradled her own mug, no longer smiling. “It shook me when Harry Silver escaped. I knew he chose blond women, and I’d read some pretty detailed reports about his crimes. Then he shows up here, and I’m involved in the search.” She gave an exaggerated shiver.

  The coldly professional officer who held a gun on Harry was gone. This side of T.J. Weber felt safe, comforting. Ruth’s muscles began to loosen their knots.

  “May I call you Ruth?”

  “Of course.” She took a tentative sip of coffee.

  “Okay, Ruth, we need to take a statement from you, and you have a choice. All statements have to be videoed, and our interview room downstairs is in use. So, we can set up a camera here, or we can transport y
ou to the Bridgewater Detachment and use their facilities.”

  Ruth frowned. Recording would be standard procedure, but still...

  “The wall cameras are more discreet,” T.J. offered. “It’s no trouble to run over to Bridgewater if you want to go.”

  Ruth looked around the cozy room. A formal interview set-up would be sterile and intimidating. “I think it’d be easier to talk here. This is where Tony—my husband—expects to find me. And I don’t want to go any farther from home.” She longed for a hot bubble bath and her own bed.

  “Okay.” T.J. grinned at her. “What’s the first thing you’re going to do when you get home?”

  With a feeble smile, Ruth shared her thoughts. They chatted over their coffee, and discovered a mutual interest in sewing. Ruth settled deeper into the couch as she described the quilt she’d hoped to finish before summer. It was so good to feel safe, to have a normal conversation again.

  Cup empty, the young officer pushed herself up from the couch. “Get you a refill?”

  “Sure, please.”

  As she poured, T.J. said, “I’ll go get the camera now.” She gestured toward the bathroom door. “If you need to freshen up, it’ll take me a few minutes to get things ready.”

  When Ruth emerged from the bathroom, T.J. was attaching a video camera to a silver tripod. “Make yourself comfortable on the couch. I’ve hooked this up to the television. Once we’re sure everything’s set up right, off goes the TV, and we’ll forget about this baby here.” She gave the camera a brisk pat.

  Ruth found it disconcerting to watch herself, live, on the television screen. T.J. made some quick adjustments to the apparatus, then turned off the set.

  Seating herself on the couch, the officer touched Ruth’s hand. “This won’t be so bad. Your husband will be here by the time we’re finished. What’s his name again?”

  “Tony.”

  “I’ll bet he was ecstatic to hear your voice on the phone.”

  “You should have heard him—he kept asking if it was really me—was I really okay?”

  “And are you?”

  Ruth stared into her coffee. “Compared to what I could be, for sure. There’s a bump on my head, and my knee’s killing me—” how could she use that word so lightly? “Physically, I’ll be fine. Emotionally—” The lump swelled again in her throat.