Hearts of Stone

by Brad Smith

  Carl knew the lawyer was right. ‘But it sounds like a rough place.’

  ‘I can take care of myself, Carl. I’m not tough but I’m smarter than most people. Didn’t I ever mention that?’

  Carl forced a smile and left.

  When he got back to the farm the motorhome was parked in the driveway by the garage. It had been leveled and someone had run electricity from the machine shed to it, and the same person had connected a water line to the RV. Carl carried the bundle containing Frances’s clothes inside and stowed it on a shelf before walking down to the warehouse to thank Ben.

  ‘Not a problem,’ Ben said. He was sitting at a counter leafing absently through an organic farm magazine when Carl walked in.

  ‘I’ll pay you for that,’ Carl said.

  ‘No, you will not.’

  Ben didn’t look at Carl when he said it but he made it clear that the matter was closed. Carl let it go for now. He walked over to Norah.

  ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Pretty busy,’ Norah said. ‘Thanksgiving’s over and everybody’s thinking about Christmas already. Lots of e-mails about Stacy and a bunch wondering how Frances is. Not sure what to say, Carl.’

  Carl hesitated. ‘I guess just say she’s in stable condition. We don’t need to say she’s still unconscious. By the time they got the message she’d be awake, and then we’d have to untell them.’

  Norah nodded her agreement. ‘Your daughter called from Scotland.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘She is not very happy with you,’ Norah said. ‘She … um … she knows what happened. Did you think she wouldn’t find out?’ She handed a slip of paper to Carl. ‘She wants you to call her.’

  ‘It’s late there,’ Carl said, glancing at the number and not looking forward to the call. ‘I’ll call in the morning.’

  ‘Don’t forget.’

  Carl took Frances’s cell phone from his coat pocket. ‘Speaking of phones, I need you to teach me how to use this.’

  Taking the cell from him, Norah gave him a long look, as if she thought he was joking. ‘What do you need to know?’

  ‘How to make a call and how to take a call.’

  ‘Geez, Carl. Even the old man over there has a cell phone.’

  ‘The old man can hear you,’ Ben said, still looking at the magazine. ‘I have a phone but I don’t use it for much. It does have a good flashlight in it.’

  Norah gave Carl a quick lesson. He told her that he wasn’t interested in e-mailing or taking pictures. He just needed a phone.

  ‘The battery is nearly dead,’ Norah said.

  Carl gestured toward the burned-out shell of the farmhouse. ‘Frances always charged it on the kitchen counter.’

  ‘My charger will work,’ Norah said, and she plugged it in. ‘Frances should have a charger in her car too, if I’m not around.’

  Carl stood there looking at the phone on the counter, as if waiting for it to charge. As if waiting for something. Norah watched him.

  ‘What are you going to do, Carl?’

  Carl exhaled, looking around. He didn’t know what he was going to do – and then he did. ‘We have a sugar shack to build. I’m going to start it tomorrow.’

  He felt Ben’s eyes on him.

  ‘You’ll have to hire somebody,’ Norah said. ‘You only have one arm.’

  ‘No,’ Carl said. ‘I can start laying it out. Frances was looking forward to this. She’ll help me. As soon as she comes home, she’ll help me.’

  SEVENTEEN

  Dunbar spent the day talking to people who might have some knowledge of the home invasion at River Valley Farm. He had a pocket full of fifties and, aside from the bill he’d given to Pink Stallwood for a story that turned out to be a load of horseshit, he never spent a dime. Nobody had heard any rumors about the fire and nobody seemed to have any theories on it. More significantly, nobody had noticed anyone buying coke or meth or oxi or anything else in the manner of someone who had just come into a windfall.

  With Pink Stallwood, Dunbar should have known better. He’d run into him in a diner along the lake front. The man was obviously jonesing, sitting huddled at the counter slurping coffee, his hands shaking. He told Dunbar that he’d heard a story about what had gone down at the farm, and the reasons behind it. Dunbar, having struck out all day long, had taken a chance. He met Stallwood in the alley a few minutes later. The crackhead slid into the passenger seat and sat there shivering until Dunbar turned the heater on full force. Stallwood wouldn’t speak until he got the money.

  ‘OK, spill,’ Dunbar said. He wanted to hear the story and then be done with the little creep. On top of everything else, he smelled as if he hadn’t bathed in a month.

  ‘I heard this from a good source,’ Stallwood began. ‘Think about it, man. You got yourself a rural property there. Nice and private, out of the way. Got some business where they’re selling vegetables and shit. There’s your front. They ain’t making no money selling fucking potatoes.’ He glanced over to Dunbar. ‘You got a smoke?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Can we get us a pack?’ Stallwood gestured to a corner store a half block away.

  ‘Buy your own,’ Dunbar said. ‘You got money now.’

  ‘All right,’ Stallwood said unhappily. ‘So what was I saying? Oh – there’s your front. Pretty obvious what was going on out there. They’re cooking fucking meth, man. They’re cooking and the fucking idiots blew themselves up. There wasn’t no home invasion. That’s a story they made up after the fire. What else are they gonna say – that they were cooking? They’re lucky they got out.’

  Dunbar looked out the window. The day cook from the diner had walked out into the alley and was now standing by the dumpster there, smoking a joint. Dunbar sighed; it had been a long and pointless day.

  ‘Where you getting this, Pink?’ he asked.

  ‘Buddy of mine,’ Stallwood said without hesitation. ‘He’s been buying meth from these fuckers all along. There was no home invasion. I can’t believe your department fell for that shit.’

  ‘And where is this place again?’

  ‘What place?’

  ‘Where it happened,’ Dunbar said. ‘Where your buddy buys the meth.’

  ‘Aw, it’s out in the country,’ Stallwood said, flipping his hand in the air. ‘You know where.’

  ‘Get out,’ Dunbar told him.

  ‘You want me to find out more?’

  ‘No,’ Dunbar said. ‘Get out.’

  He stopped back downtown before he went home. Pulford was at her desk, working at her computer. Dunbar stood inside the door, leaning against the jamb.

  ‘A meth lab, eh?’ she said when she’d heard.

  ‘Yeah,’ Dunbar said. ‘Anything at all with the money?’

  ‘I haven’t heard a word,’ Pulford said. ‘I’m beginning to feel like maybe this wasn’t local. I’ve been looking into the TV show. Turns out it airs on some smaller markets here and there across the country. If the show is what attracted these guys, they could be from anywhere.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Dunbar said.

  ‘You sound doubtful.’

  Dunbar walked over and sat down opposite her. ‘Something about it feels local.’

  ‘Why aren’t they spending the money?’ Pulford asked.

  ‘It’s barely been a week,’ he reminded her.

  ‘A week is a long time for your standard druggie to sit on a pile of cash like that.’

  Dunbar nodded. ‘But we don’t know they’re sitting on it. Could be they’re spending it in dribs and drabs and we don’t know where. Or the money was for something bigger. Keep in mind they wanted a hundred grand.’

  ‘Eventually those marked bills will come back into circulation,’ Pulford said.

  ‘If they change hands too many times, they’re no good to us anyway.’

  ‘True.’ Pulford closed the laptop and leaned back in her chair. ‘So what are you thinking?’

  ‘All we’ve released so far is that it was a home invasion,’ Dunba
r said. ‘Let’s do a press conference, tell them about the money and give them the descriptions of the two men Carl Burns saw. Maybe that will shake something loose.’

  Pulford nodded in agreement.

  ‘Keep this in the news a little while longer, if nothing else,’ Dunbar added.

  ‘I’ll set it up.’ Pulford made some notes as she spoke. ‘You hear the latest on Ken Hubert?’

  ‘What did he do now?’

  ‘Same stuff he’s always been doing.’ Pulford finished what she was writing and smiled up at Dunbar. ‘This time he got caught. He’s been taking bribes from a construction company that got the contract for the new sewer lines downtown. He chaired the committee that accepted the bids. They got him on a wire.’

  ‘That’s my ward,’ Dunbar said. ‘I guess we’ll be getting a new councilor.’

  ‘I would think so. They busted him this morning at his house. They’re serving warrants all over the city today. Do you know him?’

  Dunbar shrugged. ‘I’ve shaken his hand once or twice, when I couldn’t avoid it. One of those guys, you’d like him if you met him. But you walk away afterward feeling like you need to be power washed.’

  Pulford laughed. ‘Hey, I was talking to the sergeant earlier. He tells me you’re retiring in the spring?’

  ‘That’s the plan.’

  ‘You must be looking forward to it.’

  ‘I think I am,’ Dunbar said. ‘I’m a little nervous about getting bored. But we’ll see.’ He got to his feet. ‘I’d really like to solve this one first, Rachel. This one bothers me. I have a daughter, you know. Just two years older than the girl who died in the fire.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  Dunbar nodded. ‘Besides, a man wants to go out a winner. A man wants to go out like Ted Williams.’

  ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ Dunbar said. In the doorway, he glanced back just as she opened her laptop. ‘I knew you’d google it.’

  ‘Up yours,’ she laughed.

  Carl spent the night in the motorhome. He got up at dawn and had a shower, the washing made difficult by the wrap on his shoulder and the tiny size of the stall. He dried himself with a roll of paper towels he found in a cupboard, presumably left by the previous owner. Sitting naked in the trailer afterward he realized that he had no food, no extra clothes, no razor or toothbrush. No anything. He dressed in his stale clothes and walked down to the warehouse to make coffee. It was a cold morning, with frost glistening on the garage roof and across the lawn. It was early and Norah hadn’t arrived yet. Using the business phone, he called Kendrick’s Lumber and asked if they had finished milling the pine logs he’d dropped off. They said the planks were ready and Carl told them he’d be there that afternoon.

  He drove his truck to the TSC store outside of Talbotville. He went inside and bought pants and shirts and socks and underwear. Mindful of the coming weather, he also bought insulated Carhartt coveralls and new work boots. As he got into his truck in the parking lot he had a thought and went back inside to buy an air nailer and two cases of nails. There was a good Yamaha compressor at the farm that would run the nailer, and a Wisconsin generator to provide power.

  From there he drove to a grocery store in Talbotville and stocked up on canned soup, cereal, milk, cold cuts and bread. He bought whatever toiletries he needed and some towels at the dollar store. He stopped at the beer store for a case of Wellington lager and headed for Rose City. Several people had asked after Frances and Carl had told them that she was still in the hospital but coming along. Driving in to see her, he told himself it was true.

  It appeared that she hadn’t moved since he’d been there the previous day. Her breathing was even but her color was bad. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, as if she hadn’t slept in days. But sleeping was all she’d been doing. The doctor was not around so Carl talked briefly to one of the nurses. All she said was that there had been no change, that Frances’s vital signs remained good. When she left, Carl told Frances that he was starting the sugar shack that afternoon.

  ‘I could use some help,’ he said.

  He waited for some reaction, a twitch of an eye or a flick of a finger. There was nothing but the steady breathing. Her dark hair hung lankly. Carl asked a nurse for a brush and she found one somewhere. He sat by Frances for half an hour longer, softly brushing her hair as her chest rose and fell almost imperceptibly. He tried to talk to her but he couldn’t think of what to say, he couldn’t come up with the words she needed to hear in her condition. He wished he could.

  Back at the farm he carried his purchases into the trailer and stowed everything away. He heated some mushroom soup on the electric range and ate it over the counter in the dinette, looking out the window there, watching the farm. Ben’s truck was again parked by the warehouse. Norah would be inside, working. On the surface, anyway, things were getting back to normal. Beneath that was a different story. Normal wasn’t a word Carl could ever imagine using again.

  He had been putting off the call all morning. Now he took the number from his pocket and smoothed it out on the counter. He looked at it for a full minute before punching it into the cell phone. She answered on the third ring.

  ‘Well, slow but sure,’ she said.

  ‘Sorry, Kate. Things have been … hectic here.’

  ‘I know how things have been there,’ Kate said. ‘I have heard how things are. I want to know why I didn’t hear about it from you. How’s Frances?’

  Carl sat down on the bench beneath the trailer window. ‘She’s in a coma. I really can’t tell you much more than that because I’m not being told any more than that. She could wake up at any time.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘St. Michaels in Rose City.’ Carl waited for a moment. ‘I don’t want you flying home, Kate.’

  ‘I’ve already booked my flight. I’ll be there tomorrow morning.’

  Carl had been afraid of that. He didn’t want Kate to come home. There was nothing she could do there but, more to the point, he didn’t want her close to the situation. He didn’t know where the culprits were but he had to assume that by now they knew they had left eyewitnesses. Maybe they were of a mind to do something about that and Carl didn’t want his daughter anywhere near if that was the case. He wouldn’t tell her that, though.

  ‘You can’t just pick up and leave. You have your job.’

  ‘Dad, a woman was killed,’ Kate said. ‘And Frances is in the hospital. My job will either be here or not. But I’m coming home.’

  ‘Things are a mess here,’ Carl said. ‘The house is gone. I’m living in a trailer. Seriously, there’s nothing you can do right now.’ He had a sudden notion. ‘I wish you would wait and come home when Frances gets out of the hospital. She’ll need you then.’

  ‘What about you?’ Kate said. ‘I heard you were injured too.’

  ‘Dislocated my shoulder. I’m fine.’

  ‘You’re not fine,’ Kate said. ‘Either you’re bullshitting me or you’re bullshitting yourself. That girl Stacy was killed and I know you and Frances thought the world of her.’

  Carl got to his feet and glanced down toward the warehouse, where he knew that Ben was sitting, flipping through magazines or doing crossword puzzles. Keeping his daughter safe.

  ‘What are you going to do when you get here?’ he asked. ‘There’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing I can do right now either. We just have to wait for something to happen with the cops. Stay there for the time being. You have your job.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have answered the phone,’ Kate said. ‘I should have just gotten on the goddamn plane.’

  ‘You know I’m right.’

  ‘I don’t know anything of the kind.’ She was beginning to waver. ‘What’s the doctor’s name at St Mike’s? I want to talk to him.’

  ‘Harkness.’

  Carl could hear her exhaling heavily. ‘All right. I’ll stay put for now. At least until I talk to him. But you need to keep me in the loop.�
��

  ‘I will.’

  ‘You will,’ she repeated.

  When Carl got off the phone, he pulled his jacket on and headed down the hill. The GMC stake truck was inside the machine shed. There were empty hampers and bushels stored in the back. When Ben saw Carl unloading them he came out to help.

  ‘How you figure to put up that building with one arm?’ Ben asked when Carl told him he was going to pick up the lumber.

  ‘I bought an air nailer,’ Carl said.

  Kendrick’s had the pine boards ready, stacked in the yard in sixteen foot lengths, as Carl had requested. He also bought enough two-by-six spruce boards for the floor joists and rafters.

  Back at the farm, Ben helped again as they transferred the lumber from the truck to a hay wagon. Carl set his tools atop the boards – generator, saws, nailer, level, square, chalk line and sawhorses. He backed the Ferguson tractor to the wagon tongue and Ben dropped the pin in place.

  ‘I could come back and help you unload,’ Ben said.

  Carl glanced at the warehouse. ‘I think Norah is more comfortable having you here, Ben.’

  Ben nodded. ‘Any news from the police?’

  ‘No.’

  When he got to the bush, Carl pulled the wagon alongside the site he and Frances had staked out. He fired up the generator and in the couple of hours of daylight he had remaining, he built the frame for the cabin floor. With one arm the work went slowly. Without the air nailer he couldn’t have managed.

  By the time he drove up to the farm it was nearly dark. He backed the wagon into the shed for the night, to keep the tools out of whatever weather might come. In the motorhome he turned the electric heater on and made a sandwich. After eating he sat in the semi-darkness, drinking beer, waiting for the fatigue he knew wouldn’t come. He would have to work harder tomorrow. He needed to be tired. He needed to be so tired that his brain would shut down, at least for a few hours. He wished he’d picked up a bottle earlier; the beer wasn’t going to cut it.

  It was a clear night and from inside the motorhome he could see the ruins of the farmhouse. He realized it would be up to him to speak to the insurance company about cleaning up the mess. When Frances came home, she would be anxious to rebuild the house. He supposed he would have to get the cops to sign off on the investigation before anything could happen. He would call Dunbar in the morning about that. Then he could contact the insurance company, if he could find out who it was. Frances would have had that information, probably stored in the rolltop desk in the study. The paperwork would have gone up in the fire. But maybe there was something on it in the files down at the warehouse. Norah might know.