Cold Black Earth Page 17

  “It’s not silly.” Roger was shining the light into the brush across the road. “It’s not silly at all. He’s still out here somewhere. You got a spare?”

  “In the trunk. I can change it. I just needed a light.”

  “I’ll do it, don’t worry.” He went to the back of the car and shone the light into the trunk.

  “I can do it, Roger.”

  “I know you can. But I’m happy to do it for you. Here, hold the light, will you?”

  Rachel obeyed; she was not in a mood to stand on feminist principle. She watched as Roger got out the spare and laid out the tools.

  “This tire’s had it,” he said.

  “It’s an old car. They’re probably all about to go.”

  Roger bent to his work. Rachel held the light and occasionally looked off into the darkness, up and down the road and off into the trees. She was reassured by Roger’s presence but her nerves were still twanging. “I thought you worked days,” she said.

  Roger grunted softly, tugging to loosen the old tire. Rachel wondered if he had heard her and was about to repeat the question when he said, “We’re all working overtime these days.” He pulled the damaged tire free, pushed it away and looked up at her, squinting in the glare from the cruiser’s headlights. “Extra patrols. Us and the State Police. Especially at night.”

  Roger stood up, his knees making a cracking sound. “Because that’s when he comes out,” he said.

  Matt was gone when Rachel came down in the morning. Sleep had attenuated the hallucinatory quality of the previous evening. Today she was just a woman under stress who had added the complication of an affair to a life in disarray. She felt neither remorse nor elation regarding her roll in the hay with Dan; she had needed it and it would probably happen again and when the time came it would be over. Her feelings for Dan had survived the night unchanged; there was a connection there, but she had no illusions. It was a fling, and a well-managed fling could do a woman a lot of good. The trick was the management.

  She ate breakfast in front of the television set, surfing the news shows. The national and international news was depressing and the local stations had nothing new on the Dearborn County killer. Rachel looked out the window at the sunlit, wind-scoured landscape and found that the terrors were manageable.

  Rachel cleaned up and then went upstairs to Billy’s room. In a closet she found a canvas tote bag and then foraged for the things she had promised to bring him. When she had found them she paused, looking around the room. The books on the shelves were a motley assortment of science fiction, graphic novels and high school classics; a rack held a few dozen CDs whose covers looked like advertisements for tattoo parlors. A computer sat on a makeshift desk formed by an old door resting on milk crates. A baseball bat and glove rested in a corner, traces of a boy who had vanished.

  Rachel sank onto the unmade bed, distracted. Her heart was heavy with what had happened to her family. She had grown up with the unshakable idea that the Lindstroms were successes: They had a prosperous farm, they were pillars of the community. They did well in school, married well and lived to a contented old age. They produced no black sheep, suffered no tragedies.

  Rachel knew that her obscure feeling of guilt was irrational; her parents would have died, her sister-in-law would have killed herself and her nephew would have gone off the rails even if she hadn’t gone halfway around the world to marry unwisely and fail in her career. But the idea she couldn’t shake now was that she had run away and failed her family.

  She sighed and rose; she could start atoning by making sure Billy had what he needed in exile. She went and found his toothbrush and put it in the bag. On her way out, she took a flashlight from a drawer in the kitchen and put it in the glove compartment in the car.

  She made good time down the interstate to East Warrensburg. In daylight the town was no more prepossessing than at night, though she could see there was a nicer end of town like anywhere else, where the houses were a little bigger, a little better kept. People had to live somewhere. She managed to find the street that dead-ended at the railroad embankment and pulled up in front of the slovenly ranch house.

  It didn’t take much to make a slum, Rachel thought, looking at it. What passed for a yard showed bare patches and crushed beer cans; a car muffler leaned against the side of the house next to a stack of cinder blocks and a stray tarp crumpled haphazardly. The Dodge Challenger was gone, replaced by a big Silverado pickup that had seen better days. A curtain in one of the windows moved and fell back. Rachel grabbed the tote bag and got out of the car.

  She spotted a doorbell but before she got close enough to push it the door opened. Rachel was not surprised to see the girl standing there; she had been topping the list of Rachel’s guesses. She looked better without the heavy makeup, a little healthier at least, but she didn’t look especially friendly. She still looked underfed and her hair could have used a wash. Today she was wearing an oversized white T-shirt over purple tights. The shirt came almost to her knees and said SEX REHAB DROPOUT in big letters. “You’re Billy’s aunt,” she said.

  “That’s right. I’ve got some things for him.”

  “I’ll take them.” The girl held out her hand.

  Rachel hesitated. Looking past the girl she could see a couch with a TV remote lying on it, and beyond that a life-sized liquor store cardboard cutout of a woman in a bikini brandishing a six-pack of beer. Some trailer-trash Rembrandt had added nipples and pubic hair with black marker. “Can I talk to him?” Rachel said.

  “He’s still in bed.”

  “Ah.” Rachel nodded. She was on the point of handing over the bag and fleeing, but suddenly she was irked: She was not going to be turned away by this slattern without getting a sense of who her nephew had taken refuge with. “I’m sorry, do you think you could go wake him up? I’d really like to talk to him.”

  She thought for a moment she was about to get the door slammed in her face, but after stiffening and throwing a glance behind her the girl shrugged and stepped back, beckoning Rachel in. “I can try,” she said.

  She closed the door behind Rachel and walked back through a kitchen divided from the living room by a counter, disappearing through a door. Rachel had halted by the door, staring at the man who was sitting at the kitchen table, smoking a cigarette. She had last seen him sneaking out of the shadows near her back door, casting a glance over his shoulder. Light did not improve his looks; he had long stringy blond hair and pale sleepy-looking eyes. Prominent cheekbones and a massive jutting jaw gave him the angular rough-hewn cast that had struck Rachel; he had a face made for mug shots.

  “Don’t just stand there,” he said. “Make yourself to home.” He had the drawl, and a blaring voice that he didn’t bother to modulate much.

  Rachel took a few steps toward the kitchen, taking in the living room as she went: a television set the size of a small billboard, an armchair with multiple burned spots and a coffee table on which a deck of cards lay scattered in a pool of spilled beer. The place depressed her; it smelled of smoke, beer, dope, unwashed laundry and dirty dishes. It was overheated and she was uncomfortable in her coat. “I won’t trouble you too long,” she said.

  “Ain’t no trouble. Want a beer?” He had one going in front of him, in a can, not the first of the day to judge by the empties on the counter. He was wearing a flannel shirt open over a T-shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal tattoos in blue ink on his forearms.

  “No thanks. I’m driving.”

  He laughed. “That don’t never stop me.” His heavy-lidded eyes had looked sleepy at first; now, as they sized Rachel up from head to toe, they looked impudent. “You’re his aunt, huh?”

  He scared Rachel a little, but she was getting used to being scared; she had also had plenty of experience with men trying to intimidate her, from sour old deputy chiefs of mission to thuggish tribal sheiks. She looked directly into the pale eyes and said, “I am. And who are you?”

  “Me? I’m what the cat drug in.” He suck
ed on the cigarette.

  Rachel nodded, giving him her coolest smile. “You live here?”

  “Shit, no. I been thrown out of here. But the lady that done the throwing ain’t here right now.”

  “I see. Who does live here?”

  “You’re kinda curious, ain’t you?”

  Rachel returned the stare. “Yeah. I’m curious.”

  He grinned, showing crooked teeth. “I guess Billy does, now.”

  “With her?” Rachel nodded toward the back of the house.

  “Her and her mom. The Bitch, we call her.”

  Rachel nodded, looking around. “I can see why you like it here,” she said.

  She thought for a moment that she had made the mistake of mocking somebody who was smart enough to get it. But he only said, “It ain’t bad. You should come around some time when you can stay a while.”

  And Rachel realized with a shock that the sleepy look was not intended to intimidate so much as seduce; this specimen was coming on to her.

  Her astonishment struck her dumb until the door at the back opened. “He’s getting dressed,” said the girl, coming back into the kitchen. Her eyes flicked from Rachel to the man and back.

  “Thanks.” Rachel turned. “I’ll be waiting outside.”

  “Shit, sit down and have a beer,” said the man. “Don’t be that way.”

  “Thanks but no thanks,” Rachel said, making for the door. “I’m in kind of a rush.” She let herself out.

  Outside in the cold she shook her head. You have got to be kidding me, she thought. Do I look like the type who sleeps with Neanderthals? The enormity of his presumption appalled her, then made her stifle a laugh. She thought of Dan suddenly, six three and two-hundred-something, linebacker sized.

  I have a man who could wipe the floor with you. Rachel leaned on the car, surprised at the atavism of her reaction. Cavemen fighting over a woman, she thought. But it felt good to think of Dan, swatting the punk like a fly. It felt good to think of him, period.

  The door opened and Billy came out. His hair flew in the wind as he came to meet her. “Jeez, thanks. I appreciate it.” He took the bag.

  “Billy, who the hell is that guy?”

  He gave her a shamefaced look. “That’s Randy. I know, he’s kinda hard to take sometimes. Did he say something to piss you off?”

  “No, he was pretty friendly, actually. Would his last name be Stanfield by any chance?”

  Billy nodded. “My dad warned you about him, huh?”

  “He mentioned him. Who’s the girl?”

  Billy shrugged. “Just a friend. Kayla. She’s cool.”

  Rachel nodded vaguely and they stood looking at each other, Billy shivering in the wind. “Billy. My offer stands. You come up with a plan to change your life, I’ll fund it. I’ll loan you what you need to get started somewhere else. I haven’t done anything else for this family for twenty years, so it’s time. But you have to have a plan.”

  He stared gravely at her for a long time, then his eyes fell. “I ain’t going nowhere till my court case comes up. But I’ll be thinking about it. And I really, truly appreciate it, Aunt Rachel. Believe me, I do.”

  “All right, then.” Impulsively she grabbed him in a quick hug.

  His arms went around her briefly and then he pulled away. “Thanks for this shit.”

  22

  Somebody had put up decorations in Aunt Helga’s room: a nativity scene on the dresser, a string of lights around the window, a tiny Christmas tree with needles made of foil on an end table. Steve was in attendance today, lounging in a chair by the window, one leg crossed over the other and tapping his fingers nervously on the arm of the chair. “Matt waited too long to crack down on the kid,” he said. “I always thought he was too easy on Billy when he was little. Seemed like whenever there was a tussle, Billy always got his way. And then when Matt tried to rein him in, it was too late.”

  That was met with silence from Helga and Rachel, who was not getting the solace she had hoped to find here. “I’m not in a position to judge,” Rachel said after a moment.

  “Matt didn’t spoil that boy any more than your daddy spoiled you,” Helga said, peering at her son. “You got your way plenty.”

  Steve shrugged. “OK, whatever. I’m just saying.”

  “I think Billy’s hurting,” said Rachel. “I think he blames Matt for his mother’s death. So he’s trying to get back at Matt.”

  “How in the hell can he blame Matt?” said Steve.

  “For moving back to the house after our mother died. Margie didn’t want to leave the house they’d started out in when they were married. Matt thinks that made the depression worse. He’s still second-guessing himself about it.”

  “A woman likes to take pride in her home,” said Helga. “It’s like a farm. You put work into it, build it up, it’s something you can call yours.”

  “Still, to kill yourself because you had to switch houses? That’s a little extreme.”

  “I think there was a little more to it than that,” said Rachel. There were times when her cousin Steve irritated her; he was one of those men whose views were as unshakable as they were unreflective. “She was depressed. She was on medication for it. The move was just a precipitating factor.” She was dealing with a couple of skeptics, she could see. “Anyway, you don’t have to be a psychologist to recognize pain. And Billy’s in pain.”

  After a silence Steve said, “Well, I’m sorry for him, then. But he’s still got to straighten up and fly right. You don’t get any points with the law for being in pain.”

  “Of course not. I think Billy’s going to be OK. He’s got some growing up to do, that’s all.”

  “Let’s hope he doesn’t have to do his growing up in jail.”

  That brought conversation to a halt. Rachel was on the point of taking her leave when Helga said, “She made a lot of trouble, you know.”

  Rachel blinked at her. “Who, Margie?”

  “That’s right. Did you know the sheriff took Matt in and questioned him about it? There was a lot of talk for a while about how he could have shot her and made it look like she killed herself. Anybody that knew him knew it was ridiculous, of course. That sheriff’s a fool.”

  “Poor Matt. That’s horrible.”

  Steve said, “They had to at least take a look at it. Something like that, it has to at least cross your mind the husband could have done it. Out there, no witnesses around, he could get away with it, easy. I bet it happens all the time.”

  “Steven. How can you even think such a thing?”

  “Jeez, Mom. I’m not saying Matt did it. I’m just saying the cops had to be suspicious. They had to take a look at the possibility. They wouldn’t be doing their jobs if they didn’t.”

  “It’s ridiculous.” Helga waved the notion away, handkerchief clutched in her knobby hand. “That poor girl wasn’t strong enough for the burdens she had to bear, and she killed herself. That’s all there was to it.”

  Except for the pain she left behind her, Rachel thought, but chose not to say.

  The sheriff’s department cruiser was parked next to Matt’s pickup when Rachel got home, and her heart sank a little. She sat in the Chevy for a minute before going in, telling herself there was no reason her conscience should be uneasy with regard to Roger just because she had wound up in bed with Dan. She didn’t owe anybody any explanations.

  She did, however, owe Roger a word of thanks. When she came into the kitchen Roger and Matt were sitting in silence, coffee cups in front of them, as if waiting for her. “Hello there,” said Roger, smiling. “Tires holding out OK?”

  “So far. Thank you so much for helping me last night.” To Matt she said, “Did Roger tell you how he rescued me?”

  “Yeah,” said Matt. “Who says chivalry’s dead? I’d have let you change the damn thing yourself.”

  “I didn’t want to chip a nail,” Rachel said, playing along.

  “I was happy to do it,” said Roger. “It was something to do on a bori
ng shift.”

  Rachel hung up her coat and got a mug from the cupboard. Matt said, “Roger’s just filling me in on what to expect with Billy.”

  Rachel poured herself a cup of coffee. “And what can we expect?”

  “Probably probation,” said Roger. “Nobody’s gonna put him in jail for a bar fight.”

  “Not even for hitting a cop?”

  “Not unless he went after the cop on purpose. Which it doesn’t seem like he did. But he’s gonna need a lawyer, for sure.”

  “I’ll take it out of his college fund,” said Matt.

  Rachel sipped coffee. “He says he’s willing to go with the public defender.”

  Matt and Roger traded a look. “That could work,” said Roger.

  “Suits me,” said Matt. “Maybe a little jail time would be good for him, who knows?”

  “I don’t think it does anybody much good,” said Roger. “But probation’s been known to get a kid’s attention.”

  Matt scowled at him. “Man, that’s a great credential to have when you’re applying for a job, a criminal record.”

  “Could be a lot worse,” said Roger. “If he gets probation it won’t look all that bad on paper. Of course, he’s got to stay out of trouble from now on.”

  “I wish I could guarantee he would.”

  “He’s not your responsibility anymore. And like I keep telling you, you could have done a lot worse. There’s successful prominent citizens in this county that raised more hell when they were young than Billy has.”

  Matt sighed. “You been a good friend, Roger. I appreciate everything you’ve done.”

  “I just try and look out for my friends.” He looked across the table at Rachel. “How are you?” There was no smile today, crooked or otherwise.

  “I’m fine, Roger.” He knows, she thought. Matt told him. “Anything new in the investigation?”

  “Which one?”