Mercy Street

by Mariah Stewart

  He unfastened his seat belt. “It was very moving, actually.”

  “It must have been. You still remember it so vividly.”

  “She made a big impression on me. I can’t believe I didn’t think of her sooner.” He looked at the house. “Let’s go let her know we’re here, see what we can find out.”

  Mallory followed Charlie around the house to the front door.

  “It’s so quiet out here,” she said.

  Charlie frowned. “Maybe too quiet.”

  He rang the doorbell, and they heard it echo through the house. When no one answered, he knocked several times, but there was no response.

  “Maybe she doesn’t live here anymore,” Mallory suggested.

  She stood on tiptoes to peer through the front windows.

  “There’s still furniture in there. Someone’s living here.”

  Charlie stood on the top step and surveyed the property. “Late morning on a working farm, you’d expect people to be out and about.”

  She pointed beyond the barn where several black-and-white cows shared the pasture with as many goats and three horses. “Someone’s been here to let the animals out. Maybe they went somewhere. Or maybe they’re in the big barn there.”

  “Let’s take a look.”

  The barn door was partially open, but rather than swing it wide, Charlie paused as if listening. Mallory leaned her head toward the opening but couldn’t hear a sound from within. He motioned for her to get behind him as he drew his gun from inside his jacket; she pulled hers from the small of her back. He opened the door slightly and slid in, and she followed. They crouched low in the dim light and looked around. There were stalls on both sides of the barn, and they all appeared empty.

  “I don’t hear anything,” she whispered.

  “Neither do I.”

  “Let’s check the outbuildings,” she suggested. “You take the small barn, I’ll take the icehouse.”

  “All right,” he said. “Do you have your phone with you?”

  “It’s in my bag, in the car.”

  “Stop and get it, then dial my number. Leave the line open, keep in touch. It’ll act sort of like a walkie-talkie.”

  She did just that, tucking the phone into the pocket of her light linen jacket.

  “Hey, Mallory,” he called to her as she turned toward the icehouse. “Don’t be a hero. If you think something isn’t right, it probably isn’t. Let me know.”

  “You, too.”

  There were leaves piled around the bottom of the icehouse door. Mallory figured if someone was hiding in there, the leaves would have been swept to one side, but she checked inside anyway. There were moss-covered stone steps leading down to a running stream between two large rocks. It was obvious no one had been there for a while. She backed out and reached for her phone.

  “Charlie, I don’t think anyone’s been in the icehouse in a long time. I’m moving on to the chicken house.” She paused, waiting for a response. “Charlie?”

  She frowned, the phone held close to her face. The call had dropped. She dialed again and listened in vain. No service.

  She dropped the phone into her pocket and headed toward the back of the chicken house. She hesitated outside the door, then opened it just enough to slip through. Inside it was dark and warm and humid and smelled of straw and feathers. The windows were cloudy with dust and cobwebs and let in precious little light. Mallory took three steps along the wall, her gun in her right hand. Wooden bins sat waist-high off the floor on both sides of the narrow room; in several, hens sat on straw nests as if on thrones. She lowered her gun hand and stepped into the aisle between the roosts. By the time she heard the whoosh sound, it was too late to react. Mallory fell face-forward as something struck the back of her knees and her legs were cut out from under her.

  “Drop the gun!” someone demanded, then, “Get it. Pick it up.”

  Mallory turned her face and looked up as Misty Bauer grabbed the handgun from the floor and backed away in a flash. She pointed the gun at Mallory with violently shaking hands.

  “Misty, for God’s sake, put it down before you shoot someone,” Mallory told her. “It’s Mallory Russo…”

  She heard the floorboards squeak as Misty drew near.

  “Pick your head up so I can see your face.” Misty leaned over slightly, looked down at Mallory, and then raised her head.

  “It’s her. The detective I told you about. She’s okay, Court.”

  “Stand up.” The voice from behind Mallory ordered. “Get up slowly. Misty, give me the gun.”

  “Courtney, I—”

  “I said, give me the gun.”

  “It’s okay,” Mallory turned to Misty. “Give it to her. Carefully, though. That’s not a toy.”

  Misty passed the pistol to her sister.

  “Courtney, I’m so glad you’re safe. You, too, Misty. Everyone is worried about you.”

  The gun shook in Courtney’s unsteady hands.

  “I’m here to help you. You and Ryan.” Mallory looked around the small space. “Where is Ryan?”

  “She shot him.” Courtney’s eyes welled with tears. “She shot him.”

  No need to ask who she was.

  “Where is he?”

  “In the little barn,” Courtney told her.

  “Where is she?” Mallory asked.

  “I don’t know.” Courtney shook her head.

  “Is Ryan still alive?”

  “I don’t know,” Courtney said.

  Misty’s words came in a rush. “She had me and Courtney in the barn and Ryan came in and she turned around and she shot him and Courtney hit her with a rake and she fell and she started to get up and we ran…”

  “Okay, okay.” Mallory reached for the gun. “I’m going to need to have that back now.”

  Courtney handed it over without protest.

  “There’s a detective here with me, he’s going…” She stopped in midsentence. “Shit.”

  She remembered where Charlie had been headed.

  “Stay here. Don’t—”

  Two shots rang out.

  “You stay here until I come back for you. Do not leave, hear?”

  Both girls nodded silently. Mallory pushed open the door. She stepped outside into the bright sunlight, momentarily blinded. She heard another shot and ducked behind a rusted-out tractor that stood between the chicken house and the small barn.

  She sat as still as possible and listened.

  The shots were all contained inside the small barn, but who had fired them? Had any of those shots hit its mark? Which way in would be the safest?

  She studied the building. There was a door on the second floor that most likely led to a hayloft, but there was no way to get to it. Crouching close to the ground, she ran to the back of the barn and tried the door she found there. It opened quietly. She held it in place for a moment, listening. When there was no sound from within, she opened it another inch or two and peered through. The door opened into a tack room. Saddles were slung over sawhorses, and several bridles hung from hooks on the wall. She slipped through the opening and crouched down, then crawled on her hands and knees to the opening that she suspected led into the rest of the barn.

  Her back to the wall, she sat and listened for movement. She could hear the sound of deliberate footfalls on the straw floor, but they weren’t close. She crept around the corner, and fell over Ryan Corcoran’s body.

  She sought a pulse and found one, stronger than she’d expected. At her touch, he opened his eyes, and she put a hand over his mouth.

  “Shhh,” she told him, and pointed to the room beyond.

  Ryan nodded slowly and reached for her hand.

  “Where were you hit?” she asked.

  He moved her hand to his abdomen, and her fingers touched the warm stickiness of his blood on his shirt. Her fingers felt the skin beneath the shirt, found the entry wound. While still bleeding, it wasn’t a steady flow, which she hoped was a good sign.

  “Hang on, Ryan,” she
whispered. “We’ll get you out as soon as we can.”

  She opened her phone, hoping to find there was service, but the line was dead.

  “Courtney…”

  “She’s fine. She and Misty are fine. Now you hold on, okay?” She gave his hand a squeeze, then let go and began to inch along the floor behind a stack of hay bales.

  “Oh, come on out and play,” Mallory heard a woman’s voice cooing. “Come on, big fella. Come on out.”

  She peeked between a stack of bales and saw a thin woman with short spiky black hair standing in the center of the room, her legs spread wide, one hand on her hip. Mallory couldn’t see her other hand, but from the way it was extended, she knew it held a firearm, and she knew it was pointed at Charlie.

  And since Charlie wasn’t shooting, she reasoned, he must have taken a hit.

  Mallory had never imagined a time when she’d raise a gun to shoot someone in the back. She didn’t relish the thought, even if that someone was Regina Girard.

  “Come on, I know you’re back there,” Regina taunted. “You can’t hide forever. You know I’m gonna find you.”

  The woman fired at some farm equipment parked on the opposite side of the room, then laughed.

  “I’m real good with this little baby, don’t think I’m not. I been practicing,” she said. “You’re a fun guy, you know, but I got other business to attend to here, so I’m just going to have to finish this now. Wish we had a little more time, I could show you just how much fun I can be.

  “So we’re going on three here.” She walked slowly in Charlie’s direction, and the countdown began. “One…two…”

  Mallory stood and took aim. Hearing her, Regina turned, the gun pointed directly at Mallory, who managed to fire off the first shot. She hit her target square in the chest, and the gun fell from Regina’s hand as she dropped to her knees on the dirt floor. Mallory came forward from the shadows and kicked Regina’s gun across the room, then knelt and felt for a pulse. The woman was still alive, but bloody foam was bubbling up at her lips.

  “Charlie!” Mallory called.

  Charlie was already walking toward her from at least twenty feet away from where Regina had aimed.

  “What are you doing over there?” Mallory frowned. “I thought she was shooting at you over here. I thought you were wounded and she was getting ready to finish you off.”

  “Guess I’m a better actor than I thought I was.” He looked down at Regina. Her eyes were open, but she wasn’t moving.

  Mallory stared at Charlie. “I thought she was going to kill you.”

  “If she could have, she would have.” He nodded. “No question.”

  “She shot Ryan, left him for dead,” Mallory told him. “He’s still alive.” She searched her pocket for her phone, but her pockets were empty. “I must have dropped it. Didn’t get any reception anyway. See if you have better luck.”

  He dialed and the call went right through.

  “Ambulance is on its way.” He put an arm around her and drew her close, kissed her mouth. “I’m so glad you shot before she did. I don’t know what I’d have done if she’d shot first.”

  “Neither do I.” She kissed him back, drinking in the feel of his lips. She pulled away long before she was satisfied. “We need to let Ryan know that the ambulance will be here soon. He’s scared out of his mind.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Back there, right outside the tack room.”

  “Did you find Courtney?”

  Mallory nodded. “She and Misty are in the henhouse. I’ll get them, you take care of Ryan.”

  She started toward the door, but he grabbed her by the arm and held her for just a second.

  “Mal, I’m really grateful that you’re a better shot than she was.”

  “So am I.” Mallory nodded. “So am I…”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  The ambulances arrived only minutes before the car that brought Linda Bauer and Chief Drabyak. Notified by the chief that her grandson had been found alive, Mary Corcoran had run to the high school and begged Father Burch to drive her to the Rayburn farm. They were followed up the lane to the farmhouse by a very confused Corina Rayburn and her equally befuddled niece.

  Charlie watched as the gurney carrying Ryan was lifted into the back of the ambulance. After much discussion, Mary still was not permitted to accompany him, so Father Burch steered her back into his car and followed closely behind as the EMTs rushed the boy to the hospital.

  “The medics said his vital signs were pretty strong, considering.” Chief Drabyak walked toward Charlie. “You did a hell of a job, Wanamaker. Nice debut.”

  “I can’t take all the credit, you know that,” Charlie told him.

  “Yeah, I do know that.”

  Their eyes followed Mallory, who was joining Linda Bauer and her daughters on the back steps of the house where Corina Rayburn stood.

  “You make a good team,” Drabyak observed.

  Charlie nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Wish I could bring her back,” the chief said.

  “Ever think of that? Offering her job back?”

  Drabyak shook his head. “It wouldn’t be good for her. Those bastards would eat her alive.”

  It was on Charlie’s tongue to suggest that maybe the chief could do with a few less bastards, but he held it. It wasn’t his place to tell Drabyak how to run his department. Besides, he knew how it was when cops closed ranks. He’d been part of that himself, once upon a time. He understood.

  “Much as I’d like to, for her own sake, I can’t bring her back.”

  The chief turned to Charlie and said, “Be careful with her. She’s not as tough as she’d like you to think. And she isn’t as much of a loner as she’d like to be.”

  Charlie had already figured that out for himself, but didn’t say so. He just let the chief talk.

  “You seem to know her pretty well.”

  “Probably better than anyone.” Drabyak glanced over at Charlie. “Not the way you’re thinking.”

  “I wasn’t thinking that.”

  “She was top in her class, she tell you that?” Charlie shook his head, and the chief smiled. “I didn’t think so. She had all the makings of a great cop. She was a great cop. She moved up quickly through the ranks, faster than anyone I had here. Not because of what they said about her and me. That was just ludicrous. I did have a personal relationship with her—still do—but it was more like father–daughter, you understand?”

  Charlie thought he did.

  “My wife and I never had kids. Wanted them, but never had them. Then this kid came out from the academy, so smart, so insightful—I told my wife she reminded me of myself when I was that young.” Drabyak smiled again, this time, Charlie thought, maybe from the memory. “June—that’s my wife—met her a few times, we had her over for dinner now and then, this before I was chief, by the way. Over the years, we grew close. June and I really care about her. She doesn’t really have anyone, understand?”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Charlie asked.

  “Because I don’t want you to believe what you’ve heard about her and me. I don’t want you even to wonder about it.”

  “I really hadn’t, sir.”

  “She never had a father, did you know that?”

  “She told me, yes.”

  “Did she?” Drabyak looked surprised at first, then smiled again. “Good. That’s good. She told you that. She tell you everything?”

  “I don’t know about everything, but she told me about her mother…her aunt not really wanting her…”

  “Makes you wonder what some people are thinking, you know? June and I, well, we would have done just about anything you could think of to have had a daughter like Mallory.” Drabyak blew out a long breath. “Well, that’s a conversation for another day. In the meantime, we didn’t have this one, you and I. Capisce?”

  Charlie nodded. He understood perfectly.

  “Hey, Chief. You’ve had a big day today.” Mallory was walking
toward them. “You bag the sniper, your new man brings home the missing kids, and a killer is down for the count.”

  “Doesn’t get much bigger than that around here,” the chief replied. “Congratulations on your part in finding the kids and helping to take down Girard.”

  “She did that on her own, Chief,” Charlie said.

  Drabyak looked at Mallory. “Is that right? You shot her?”

  Mallory nodded.

  “I’m going to have to get statements from both of you. This is going to require an investigation, you know that.” He looked annoyed. “It’s a technicality, but it’s going to be a pain in the ass.”

  “It was justifiable, Chief, she—,” Charlie began, and Drabyak cut him off.

  “There’s no question in my mind that it was, but there’s still going to be questions about why she was there, why she was armed, and why she was the one who was doing the shooting.” He held out his hand to Mallory. “I’m going to need that SIG I know you have tucked in your waistband.”

  “Like you said, it’s a technicality,” Mallory said as she handed over the pistol. “I’ve weathered a lot worse than that from the department, Joe. Just assign someone to the investigation and get on with it.”

  “Right.” The chief stood with hands in his pockets and watched the ambulance carrying Regina Girard speed away.

  “I’ll assign someone…maybe Hendricks. He never got caught up in all the bullshit, and he’s an honest cop.”

  “There you go,” Mallory said cheerfully—mostly, Charlie suspected, for the chief’s benefit. “I’m available anytime he wants to talk to me.”

  “Did you get a shot off?” Drabyak turned to Charlie, who nodded and turned over his gun without waiting to be asked. He knew the drill. You fire the weapon, you forfeit it until the investigation has been completed.

  “The press is going to be all over this,” the chief said as if it had just occurred to him that this was newsworthy. “We were having a press conference at six PM to talk about the sniper case, but we’ll do this at the same time.” He turned to Charlie and said, “Go home and get cleaned up. Tonight you make your debut on local TV.”