“He also plans to ask if they might, by chance, have observed something at this year’s fairs that will help us.”
Henry nodded. “Sounds good.”
He wished Olinda would stop looking at him so intently. He stared back at her while he said, “I need to keep busy or I’ll go nuts with worry. I think I’ll head for town and talk to the police chief. I’ll bring him up-to-date on this. You never know.”
“Good idea,” Olinda said, finally ending her intense stare, “but eat something first. I’m still assigned to you and Edie, so I’ll be here if news comes in about Carrie, or we learn more about the people who abducted her. They are, we assume, connected to our drug case. I should phone the Sheriff, give him an update, and tell him about your plan. It would be smart to let him know you’re going into town and get his okay.”
“Don’t bother about that,” Henry said. “I’ll have my cell phone with me, and I’ll go straight to the police department. I plan to drive Carrie’s car, since it’s less recognizable. I promise to lock the doors and keep my eyes open.”
He tried a half smile, since she was staring at him that funny way again.
Chapter Twenty-Three
SOMEONE NEW STEPS IN
Henry was startled to see what looked like the county sheriff’s unmarked car parked in front of the Booth’s porch. He pulled up beside it and rushed toward the door. Why would someone so high in law enforcement need to be here now?
It took a couple of minutes for Shirley to answer his knock, and Henry immediately heard an unfamiliar male voice say, “Good. Now tell us . . . ,” then lapse into silence when Henry walked in the room.
Initially he had eyes only for his wife. She looked okay, and was smiling at him. Thank God!
He put down her make-up case and the sack of clothing and went to kiss her on the top of the head before he turned toward the man who’d been speaking. He recognized him immediately from newspaper photos. The county sheriff himself, a new one since he and Carrie were in touch with the sheriff several years earlier. The stocky build, greying hair and mustache were certainly familiar enough. So was the poker-stiff posture that spoke of his former life in the military.
“Norman Cook,” the man said, standing and holding out his hand. “I’m glad to meet you, Major King. Your name, and your wife’s, are known to me, as I have just explained to her. Our previous sheriff shared information about a retired police major from Kansas City who, with Ms. McCrite, helped uncover facts that led to solving a couple of murder cases in this area. I’ve also learned about your recent involvement in a case in Kansas City from a friend in the police department there, since that case had a link to Arkansas. I think you know my friend—Doug Boinevich?”
Henry nodded, and said, “For many years.”
The sheriff continued, “Doug said your wife was wounded during the resolution of that case.” He looked at Carrie, and said, “Madam, you need to keep yourself out of harm’s way.”
Henry thought “Amen to that,” then realized he’d spoken the words aloud.
The sheriff smiled at him, and sat in his chair again, saying “But, that’s past. Now you’re in time to join my conversation with Ms. McCrite, and hear any information she has to share.”
Still addressing Henry, he said, “You may wonder why I came in person, and alone. Roger phoned me at home early this morning, explained a few details, and the sensitive situation Ms. McCrite finds herself in. It therefore seemed best that, at least initially, I tend to this myself.
“I should disclose a connection here. Roger is a second cousin on my father’s side of the family. He and Dad spent time together during family picnics when they were kids. The family is increasingly scattered now, and, sadly, those big gatherings have stopped, but the family connection meant he felt he could safely appeal directly to me.”
Still standing, Henry nodded, but his thoughts were in turmoil. Who was this man, really? Okay, Roger’s cousin, and a friend of Doug’s, but is that enough to know?
Since Norman Cook’s election he’d read articles in the newspaper concerning activities in the county sheriff’s office. Those mostly concerned budget items, or were comments about on-going cases. He hadn’t seen anything openly critical. But wasn’t it odd that Roger never mentioned the man was his cousin?
Well, maybe not. Roger might think saying he was related to a man elected to this responsible position constituted bragging. If anything, Roger and Shirley would brag about how ordinary they and their families were.
Now they’re trusting this cousin enough to put Carrie’s life in his hands. That has to count for something, but he’s still an outsider, an unknown element.
Henry felt Roger’s stare, and realized his friend was possibly aware of what he’d been thinking. Both he and Shirley had an unsettling ability to understand other people’s thoughts. Now the corners of Roger’s mouth lifted almost imperceptibly. He gave a slight nod, and said, “Have a seat, Henry. Join us.”
Was there a special emphasis on “Join us?”
Henry took the nearest chair, and both he and Sheriff Cook looked toward Carrie, who was seated on the Booth’s couch with Roger on one side and Shirley on the other. Henry wished the Booths would move so he could be next to his wife, but he thought a request for that might sound out of place to everyone in the room but Carrie.
He sat silently, waiting. He was probably even more eager to hear her story than Norman Cook might be.
But, how would the retelling affect her? As a former police officer, he knew she’d have to speak about it soon. But, he also knew quite well how this retelling could cause pain, even increased trauma, to victims and witnesses. In Kansas City, he’d seen that many times, and hated having to do the questioning, especially when the person was answering from a hospital bed. Was this too soon for Carrie? Surely Roger could have waited at least another day before calling the sheriff?
He came back to earth in time to hear Roger say, “When she learned Norm is my cousin and could be trusted to keep her secret, she insisted I call him right away.”
“I was afraid I might forget details,” Carrie said, “and I really wanted to have the telling over with so I could start thinking about something else, if that makes sense to you.”
She was addressing the sheriff, but looked at Henry, who nodded, and said, “It does.” It’s important for her peace of mind that she shift part of this burden to someone who can take positive action. That’s typical of trauma victims, as I know all too well. Oh, dear God, I’m sitting here analyzing my own wife!
“Go ahead, Ms. McCrite,” the sheriff said. “Don’t be afraid of repetition. I do know something about the case, and the unique position of Milton Sales with the department. I’ve also heard about Ms. Embler’s probable connection to the DEA, though I haven’t verified that yet. However, I am not as familiar with other details as Detective Burke and Deputies Rosten and Rainwater. So, if you’ll begin at the beginning, please.”
She did, starting with Edie’s phone call, repeating details Henry already knew, until she got to her capture in the restroom and the abduction following. He could have verified that her recitation to that point was accurate and complete. Evidently the sheriff found it so. He’d not stopped her once to ask a question.
Now Henry kept silent with some difficulty as she described being put into the van and driven away. He looked down at the braided rug on Shirley’s floor, following its pattern around and around with his eyes. What was past couldn’t be changed. Raging about it now would be futile.
He nodded in appreciation as she gave her account of listening for sounds that offered clues to where she was. When she got to the unpaved road part, and the sound of what she assumed was the tractor of an eighteen-wheeler, the sheriff stopped her.
“You’re sure?”
“Pretty sure. It sounded like that to me. I can’t say whether or not there was a trailer attached, but since the driver changed gears several times I assumed he was backing a trailer into place. After
the motor noise stopped, what sounded like a truck cab door slammed, and I heard men shouting. I couldn’t distinguish much of what they said. Only the words smooth, and cash came through.”
“Ah,” the sheriff said. “So there’s no way you could know how many men were involved?”
“No, other than the two voices I could distinguish and, of course, the two men with me.”
“Okay, go on.”
Henry broke in when she mentioned hearing a woman’s voice, and what she had heard of the woman’s conversation. “Could you repeat that, Carrie?”
She did. “Hurry. Get her to tell you. Use the car; they’ll be searching for the van by now.”
“Sounds like she was the one in charge,” he said.
“Yes, it definitely sounded that way. Several times after we left there, the men referred to ‘the boss,’ and I wondered if that woman might not be the person they were referring to.” She stopped speaking for a moment, and her voice faltered when she continued, “I am sure she’s the one who gave them orders to kill me.”
Henry flinched, and fought to control a compelling urge to go to her.
“It does sound like she was in charge of events,” the sheriff said. “Go on.”
The rest of her story had Henry feeling horror and awe alternately. To lie there, expecting death, and then your adversary shoots into the ground? He could barely comprehend what it would be like. Bravery under fire? As far as he was concerned, she’d managed that with the best.
The sheriff said, “He was supposed to kill you, didn’t, and before he walked off, asked you to protect him by playing dead, so to speak, until he could get away?”
“He said, ‘get out of the country,’ but I don’t really know how he meant that.”
The room was so quiet after she spoke that Henry heard a cow bellow in a distant pasture. Neither Roger nor Shirley paid any attention, so Henry assumed such noises were common enough to be ignored, and the bellow didn’t announce the pending birth of twin calves.
Finally the sheriff said, “It is your intention to honor his request?”
“Of course. He saved my life. I don’t think he has the heart of a killer.”
“My deputies are spending their time searching for you and your abductors.”
“I don’t see any need to stop them from doing that. It seems to me searching for abductors is legitimate activity, no matter where I am, or whether I’m dead or alive. Arnie Frost is still a criminal, as is the woman, and possibly others.”
Henry said, “Exactly. And there is also a drug case to pursue, as well as the death of John Harley, and the disappearance of his wife. She may well be dead, too.”
“Yes,” the sheriff said, then fell silent, obviously pondering the serious matters facing him. Respecting this, no one spoke.
Finally he said, “What we really have here is a witness protection situation. I’ve got to figure out how to take care of that, since I’ll also be covering up the fact the witness—a woman we are using officers to search for—has been found.”
Roger cleared his throat. “The point is, how safe is your department for keeping Carrie’s escape quiet? How many of your deputies might want to blab to others just because this is a really great story? Besides that, are you darned sure every officer you have is—how do you guys put it—clean? Drug money talks pretty strong. I, for one, am not willing to risk Carrie’s life on trusting that no one in your office has been dirtied. I believe she’s safe as long as Arnie and his boss continue to think she’s dead. We need to keep it that way.”
“Exactly,” Henry said, and thought, Hooray for you, Roger, you’ve pinpointed my concerns about the whole situation, and bringing your cousin into it. Since it’s important for Carrie’s safety and mental peace that we keep her escape a secret, that’s exactly what we’re going to do.
The sheriff shook his head, looking worried. “It’s your life that could be in danger too, Roger, and the lives of everyone here. If you read the news today, you know drug lords, terrorists, and similar criminals can kill scores of people to reach one person, or prove a point. If that applies here, you are no more safe than Ms. McCrite, so I certainly understand how important it is that no one finds out she’s here.”
Roger said, “Now, Norm, if we all keep mum, how will the bad guys find out? And, where else would you like her to be?”
“In a safe house we can guard, but that would mean some in my department would have to know she’s alive.”
The sheriff turned to Carrie. “Are you sure you want to protect this second man, as you call him? He may be guilty of many crimes, including murder.”
“Yes, I am sure, for the reason I have already stated.”
“Are you familiar with the Stockholm Syndrome?”
Henry shifted in his chair, and watched his wife’s expression change from surprise to anger to ice. He could see the emotions easily, even on her damaged face, and he understood the reason for them. To suggest she was sympathetic to her captors because she had begun to identify with them was an insult.
He said, “She was in their presence for less than a day, Sheriff Cook. I hardly think that would be enough time for her to identify with those men or want to protect them. That sort of thing isn’t in her nature anyway. What she is asking is in response to a very singular event, that one man has risked his life to save hers. In the name of humanity, she owes him something. She wants to pay that debt, and her experience must be seen as unrelated to his past activities. If he is a killer, then his actions toward her are even more striking, and more likely to signify a change in his outlook. I won’t go so far as to suggest character reformation, but it is possible, no matter how remotely.”
“But, as a former law officer, you would know that . . . ” the sheriff began.
“That does not negate my humanity, Sheriff, nor that of the man who saved Carrie’s life at great risk to himself.”
Carrie broke in. “Both of you are getting off track. As Henry knows, I have always been a keen observer of people, and I’ve lived long enough to add depth of experience to that. When I said I did not feel the one I named Second Man had the heart of a killer, it was a result of observation, not sympathy. I had surmised this about his nature very early, and that helped convince me it would be a good idea to remain pleasant and submissive when I was with the two men. I sensed that would be more productive on my behalf than anger or resistance. I am sure you can follow my logic. I can’t affirm my actions made any impression on Arnie, but I think they did on Second Man, and that probably helped save my life.”
Henry said, “Carrie, after you were switched from the van to the car, then driven to our house, how far did it seem?”
“Not far. I didn’t hear any sounds I recognized after we left there, but I did keep track of turns. We drove back to the paved road, turned right, went probably a couple of miles—unless my judgment of distance was way off—and then turned left. After a mile or so we turned into our lane, so the only big unknown is where the unpaved road we were on is located. By then I was getting kind of disoriented, but I am sure about the turns, and it didn’t seem like we were in the car very long.”
Shirley, who had been untypically silent, spoke up. “Jo Marshall, one of the ladies in our County Extension Homemakers’ Club lives on an unpaved road about three miles that way.” She pointed. “Isn’t that the direction you think you came from, Carrie?”
After Carrie nodded, she continued, “It’s called Marshall Road, since her family has been there long enough to have the road named after them when the county went from rural route box numbers to real addresses for the 911. I’ve been to Homemakers’ Club meetings at her house, and a place I pass on her road sometimes has big trucks around. I always thought it kinda odd for such a business to be off a paved highway, but Jo said it had been in the same place for more years than she could remember, and most county roads weren’t paved back when it first set up there. She said she thought they did some kind of freelance hauling.
�
�Last time I was at her house for a meeting they’d just put up a couple of new-looking metal buildings at that business. When I said something about it, Jo told me the place had new owners, and she’d been watching to see what they were going to do there. She was hoping it wouldn’t be more trucking, since the heavy rigs churn up clouds of dust in dry spells, and the dust turns to muck when it rains.
“Y’know, I think I’ll pay a call on Jo this afternoon. I seem to recall she was interested in the recipe for a casserole I took to our meeting there back in August. I think I’ll write out a copy and take it to her, apologizing for forgetting to do it right after the meeting. It doesn’t matter that she won’t remember asking for my recipe. She’ll probably think she did ask to be polite. We all do that sometimes. I can stay for a chat if she seems to welcome it. That okay with you, Norm?”
“Yes, see what you can find out, but be your usual canny self and don’t stick your nose into anything that might fall down on you. I suggest you drive Roger’s truck instead of that noteworthy Cadillac.”
“Better ‘n that, I’ll drive Junior’s pickup.”
“Good. Call me on Martha’s phone at home this evening to tell me what you learn. In the meantime, we’ll see what we can find out about any business located along Marshall Road. I’ll have one of our guys follow up and go by in his personal truck like he’s looking for something further along. He could get lost and stop to ask directions. I can tell the deputy I’ve had an anonymous tip about a business on Marshall Road that’s a suspected front for drug dealing.
A Fair to Die For Page 18
