Hearts of Stone

by Brad Smith

  ‘What kind of feedback does the show get?’ Pulford asked the two producers.

  ‘You mean the ratings?’ Shawn asked.

  The woman Christina gave him a look before turning to Pulford. ‘We get comments all the time, usually by e-mail. You’re wondering if there’s been anything negative?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Pulford said. ‘Anything that could be construed, even in the broadest terms, as threatening?’

  Christina shook her head. ‘We get indignant e-mails about – I don’t know – gluten, or the improper use of paprika. That kind of thing.’

  Pulford nodded. ‘What about mash notes, somebody out there with a crush on Frances?’

  ‘She’s been asked out by viewers in the past, I do know that,’ Christina said. ‘She has a standard polite rejection she uses, almost a form letter. Says that she’s involved with somebody and thanks for watching the show.’

  ‘So there’s been no one who might have approached stalker status?’

  ‘No. And she would have told me. We’re pretty close.’

  ‘There’s been nothing that I was made aware of,’ Shawn said. He seemed anxious to be a part of things.

  Dunbar walked over. ‘Did she use a work computer?’

  ‘Just her laptop,’ Christina said. ‘She carried it back and forth.’

  ‘Which means it burned up in the house,’ Pulford suggested.

  Christina thought about that. ‘She was picking up a turkey on her way home. She’d carry that inside before her laptop. Maybe it’s in her car.’

  ‘We can check that,’ Pulford said.

  ‘I can’t imagine you’re going to find anything on there,’ Christina said. She’d been holding things in up until now. ‘She had a cooking show, for God’s sakes. How does that lead to this?’

  Pulford shook her head. ‘I can’t answer that.’

  ‘Have you guys talked to her doctors?’ Christina asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Dunbar said.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Christina asked. ‘They won’t tell me anything.’

  ‘She’s in a coma. They’re not telling us much more than that.’

  ‘There was something on the news,’ Christina said. ‘Some bullshit about a botched murder/suicide.’

  ‘You’re right, it was bullshit,’ Dunbar told her.

  ‘I know that,’ Christina said. ‘If there’s one thing in this world I know, it’s that. So what did happen out there? Everything’s a secret.’

  Dunbar glanced at Pulford, as if giving her permission.

  ‘It was a home invasion,’ Pulford said. ‘We can’t say much more.’

  ‘And you don’t know who did it?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Pulford said. ‘That’s why we’re here.’

  ‘What did they want?’

  ‘It appeared they were after money.’

  ‘They were after money,’ Christina said. ‘So they beat Frances and Carl and killed that poor girl Stacy. For money. What is wrong with this world?’

  ‘I can’t answer that either,’ Pulford said.

  Next stop was the bank in Talbotville. It was a newer style brick building, one story, as banks tended to be these days. The detectives met with the manager – an athletic man named Calhoun – in his office. Before they began he called in the loans manager, Kelly, to join them. Pulford asked that she give her version of events from Friday night.

  ‘We basically gave her almost everything we had on hand,’ Kelly said in finishing. ‘I mean, we had to hold back some cash for our other customers.’

  ‘Did you know Frances Rourke from before?’ Dunbar asked.

  ‘Just from seeing her here.’

  ‘How was her demeanor Friday night?’

  ‘Oh man,’ Kelly said. ‘She was wired. I actually thought she was on something. She’s usually – well, that’s not her.’

  ‘She was flustered?’ Pulford asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ Kelly said slowly. ‘Although I’m not sure I would say flustered. I’m trying to think of a way to describe her.’ She looked at the two cops, squinting as she thought. ‘OK – she was desperate. I mean, she had to have that money. And I remember thinking, why does it have to be tonight? But then, like I said, she kept saying that the deal might fall through. The deal to buy the land.’

  ‘Did she say anything that might be construed as a hint as to what was happening?’ Pulford asked. ‘You know – like maybe she was trying to alert you?’

  ‘No. Absolutely not. She just wanted the money as quick as she could get it.’

  ‘And you gave her how much?’

  ‘Forty-five thousand exactly,’ Kelly said. ‘But when she was leaving she asked about the nearest ATMs. So I assume she got more.’

  Pulford made a note of that. ‘Is there anything else you can remember? Anything she might have said that could help us?’

  Kelly shook her head. ‘No. She just wanted the money.’

  ‘There is something,’ Calhoun said. ‘Purely by accident, she ended up with one of the security packs. A thousand dollars in hundreds. The bills are marked.’

  When the detectives left the bank, they headed back to the city.

  ‘Forty-five grand,’ Pulford said. ‘So out of the blue these guys just invaded a home and demanded a ransom. You have precedence for that?’

  ‘No,’ Dunbar said.

  Pulford pulled up to a red light and stopped. ‘This is a fucking mess.’

  ‘It’s all of that.’

  Carl was dozing off when a nurse came in carrying a telephone, which she plugged into a wall jack.

  ‘You have a phone call from Scotland. Someone says she’s your daughter?’

  Carl hesitated. ‘What did you tell her?’

  ‘We’re not allowed to tell her anything. She said she heard there was a fire at the farm and when she couldn’t get in touch with anybody there she started calling the local hospitals.’

  Carl took the phone. ‘Hey there,’ he said.

  ‘What’s going on, Dad?’ Kate asked. The line sounded hollow. She was probably on her cell.

  ‘We had a fire,’ Carl said.

  ‘I know that,’ Kate told him. ‘I’ve been getting e-mails. I was looking for news online. Are you OK?’

  ‘I’m good. Fell down the stairs is all, banged up my shoulder.’ Carl wondered if the online reports had mentioned Stacy, or if the cops were keeping that quiet for the time being. Kate and Stacy had never met; Carl couldn’t see the point in telling Kate what had happened. He didn’t think he could talk about it yet. She would hear soon enough.

  ‘What happened?’ Kate demanded. ‘Is Frances OK?’

  ‘We’re both good. How are things in Edinburgh?’

  ‘Things are fine here,’ Kate said sharply. ‘My friend said there were rumors about a home invasion. What’s going on there?’

  ‘They’re still sorting things out,’ Carl said.

  ‘What the hell does that mean? Do you want me to come home?’

  ‘No,’ Carl said quickly. ‘You just started the new job, you can’t leave. There’s nothing for you to do here, Kate. Things are up in the air. Nobody really knows what happened yet.’ At least that part was true, to an extent, he thought.

  ‘Why are you in the hospital?’

  ‘I might have dislocated my shoulder. No big deal.’

  ‘No big deal,’ Kate repeated. ‘Why do I get the feeling you’re not telling me something?’

  It was obvious now that she hadn’t heard about Stacy. ‘Listen, everything is still foggy here. Let’s talk in a couple days. Do not get on a plane, Kate.’

  ‘God, but you are a frustrating man.’

  ‘But you knew that.’

  ‘Don’t make jokes,’ Kate said.

  Just then the doctor entered the room, saving Carl from making up a story about a doctor entering the room.

  ‘The doctor’s here.’

  ‘I’m going to call you back,’ Kate said, and she hung up.

  The doctor checked Carl’s chart, took his pulse and
his temperature. A nurse had done the same thing thirty minutes earlier. Carl asked about Frances.

  ‘She’s been moved to St Michael’s in Rose City,’ the doctor said. ‘At the trauma center.’

  ‘Is she awake?’

  ‘She hasn’t regained consciousness. That’s why we sent her there. Hopefully they can pinpoint the problem.’

  ‘She has brain damage?’ Carl asked. ‘The other doctor wouldn’t say one way or the other. What’s his name – Lauzon?’

  ‘Yes, Dr Lauzon,’ the doctor said. ‘She has a head injury, and there has been trauma to the brain. To characterize it as brain damage at this point is premature. Sometimes the brain shuts down, almost as a defensive action. We’re told she fell down some stairs? It seems as if she hit her head at the time.’

  ‘She didn’t fall, she was pushed.’

  ‘Well, it appears that’s when the injury occurred.’

  Carl was quiet for a time. ‘When do I get out of here?’

  ‘Your surgery is in the morning. You have a bad tear in the rotator muscle, as well as the separation. But you should be able to leave tomorrow night, or Wednesday morning at the latest. You’re going to be operating with one arm for a few weeks.’

  Carl nodded. ‘I want to see Frances.’

  ‘I’m not sure if that’s possible right now. I can ask.’

  ‘I want to see her.’

  ‘I completely understand,’ the doctor said. ‘Don’t worry, she’s at one of the best trauma centers in the country. They’ll do everything they can to help her wake up.’

  ‘She’s going to wake up.’

  The doctor started to respond but instead he just nodded, hooked Carl’s chart to the foot of the bed and went on his way.

  FIFTEEN

  Chino spent the morning getting the Freightliner dump truck to run and when it finally fired he drove it around to the yard and parked it there. For months now he’d been stockpiling farm machinery and assorted parts from backhoes, bulldozers and loaders, waiting for the price of scrap to go up. Now he set to work with the torches, cutting everything into small enough chunks to toss into the box of the dump. When it was full he’d lift a set of plates off one of his junkers and drive the Freightliner to the recycling center and sell it all, truck included. The price was still down, due to the fucking Chinese screwing with the market, but it might fetch enough to see him clear with Tommy Jakes.

  He’d told Bug that he should be there helping him to clear the debt, but Bug was of the opinion that the debt was all Chino’s doing. For a retard, Bug sometimes did too much thinking. If Chino didn’t get square with Tommy, Bug would be in as deep as he was. Chino would see to that. Still, Bug hadn’t shown up that morning. Halfway through the afternoon he finally did, wheeling into the yard in the Dodge, skidding to a stop.

  ‘Fuck,’ he said when he got out.

  ‘What now?’ Chino said. He was changing the acetylene tank on the torches, the goggles pushed back on his head.

  ‘They got out,’ Bug said.

  ‘Who got out?’

  ‘The woman and the dude,’ Bug said. ‘They fucking got out of the house.’

  ‘Where’d you hear this?’

  ‘It’s on the fucking news, man.’

  Chino put the torches aside. ‘So they’re alive?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  A diesel motor fired up in the distance and Chino glanced across the road to see the farmer who lived there pulling into the field with a tractor, trailing a seven-furrow plow. The tractor was half the size of Chino’s house and probably cost a hundred and fifty grand. Chino had talked to the man, whose name was Vanhizen, a few times and – like all farmers – he always claimed that he wasn’t making any money. Then he’d climb into his sixty thousand dollar pickup and drive off. The only reason the man talked to Chino at all was to try to buy Chino’s place. Chino knew he considered it an eyesore, although he never had the balls to say it out loud. He wanted to buy it and bulldoze everything – house and shop and yard. Chino would sell eventually but for now he liked saying no to the prick. The guy kept claiming he was broke and then in the next breath offering to buy the place. They were all the same, just like the bitch that night at the farm, saying she couldn’t raise a hundred grand. Now Chino watched as the tractor started across the field, the gleaming shares cutting into the sod like knives.

  ‘Nothing puts us there,’ he told Bug. ‘Why do you think I torched the place? That means no prints, no DNA.’

  ‘They fucking saw us, man.’

  ‘I don’t know what they saw,’ Chino said. ‘They were so fucking scared, you think they could pick us out of a line-up? And we’re not gonna be in a line-up anyway. You gonna talk, Bug?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Neither am I,’ Chino said. ‘There’s nothing to connect us to this. Nothing.’

  ‘What about Billy?’

  ‘What about Billy? You’re the one said he could be trusted. You better be sure about that, Bug. Because I’ll go over there today and slit his fucking throat.’

  ‘He wasn’t happy that night,’ Bug said. ‘All that shit went down, he didn’t want nothing to do with it. On top of that, he never got paid for running the border to begin with. You remember that, Chino?’

  ‘What are you saying, Bug?’

  ‘I’m saying neither one of us got paid.’

  ‘Things didn’t go like I planned,’ Chino said.

  ‘Seems like they never do.’ Bug indicated the box of the dump truck, half filled with scrap. ‘There gonna be any extra cash from this here?’

  ‘I would be real surprised,’ Chino said. ‘Market’s gone to shit. I’d prefer to hang on to it, wasn’t for Tommy being such a hardass about certain things.’

  ‘Right,’ Bug said. ‘And I work for free again.’

  ‘I don’t recall you doing a whole lot of work,’ Chino said. ‘I do remember you filling your fucking nose full of free cocaine, Bug. And sucking bourbon like it was your mother’s tit. And if I’d had a run of luck at the casino, you would have made out real good. So that’s the chance you take.’

  ‘The casino wasn’t supposed to be part of it.’

  ‘I had no choice, the way Johnny K and Tommy Jakes planned it,’ Chino told him. ‘So quit your fucking whining.’ Chino went back to his torches, tightening the fitting on the acetylene. ‘You’d better head over to Tareytown and talk to your Indian friend. Make sure he knows that so long as he keeps his mouth closed, nobody’s got a problem. But if I see a cop pull in my driveway, I’m going to know it was him. Got it?’

  Bug nodded unhappily.

  ‘I got work to do, Bug,’ Chino said. He fired the torch and began to cut the front axle out from under a loader. Bug watched for a minute, then got into his truck and left.

  Billy wasn’t home when Bug got to the house in Tareytown. His car was gone but Bug knocked on the door anyway. When nobody answered he drove down the street to a bar he knew about, a beer and wings place called Roosters. Bug figured he could sit by the front windows and drink draft while he waited for Billy to drive past.

  It was nearly dark when he did. Bug chugged his beer and got into his car and followed. Billy didn’t go home, though; he drove past his place and a couple of blocks along he pulled up in front of a white two story frame house with green shutters. He went inside and came out a minute later, carrying a little kid. Bug was parked behind Billy’s car and he got out when Billy came down the walkway. Better to talk to him here than back at his place, where his old lady might be hanging around, all ears.

  ‘Hey, Billy.’

  Billy’s eyes went flat when he saw Bug and it seemed as if he held the kid tighter to him, as if to shield him from whatever Bug represented. He didn’t say anything, just stood there staring at Bug.

  ‘You watch the news?’ Bug asked.

  Billy nodded.

  There was movement from the house and Bug glanced over to see a woman standing in the open doorway, watching them. Watching Bug more than anything. She woul
d already know who Billy was, if she was looking after the kid.

  ‘Ain’t no problem if everybody keeps their mouth shut,’ Bug said, turning back to Billy. ‘The fire and all took care of any prints or whatever. You know what I’m saying?’

  Billy didn’t move a muscle. He didn’t even blink. The kid in his arms was squirming now.

  ‘Anyway,’ Bug went on. He was pissed that Billy wouldn’t respond. ‘Chino figured I should come talk to you. Make sure we’re all thinking the same thing.’

  Still nothing.

  ‘Chino says he might have some money for you,’ Bug lied. Anything to get a reaction. ‘He’s squaring things with Tommy Jakes and says he might have something left over for you.’

  ‘I don’t want any money,’ Billy said.

  ‘Why the fuck not?’

  ‘I don’t want anything to do with it. I don’t want you coming around either, Bug.’

  Bug shook his head. ‘I know things got fucked up there, Billy. Wasn’t supposed to be that way. But fucking Chino, man, that’s the way it goes with him. Bad shit always happens.’

  ‘Wasn’t just Chino.’

  ‘I know,’ Bug said. ‘I get into that powder and I’m fucked. I need to get into a program. Maybe you can help me find a program. Indians know that shit, right? You got problems with substance and all that.’

  ‘Stay away from me,’ Billy said. He and the kid got into the car and drove off.

  SIXTEEN

  Carl was obliged to ride in a wheelchair down to the front entrance of the hospital, something about policy. Rufus Canfield was there to push the chair. He had shown up with a bag containing Carl’s clothes from the night of the invasion. Apparently the nurse had given them to Rufus earlier to take home and launder. By the front doors, Carl stood up and walked outside. Rufus had parked his car, a fourteen-year-old Volvo, in the hospital lot. Carl got into the passenger side carefully, mindful of his left shoulder which was heavily bandaged and strapped to his side after the surgery.