Cold Black Earth Page 9

  The Thomas murder had monopolized the first ten minutes of the encounter, but Rachel had managed to steer the conversation away from it before her central role had emerged, merely acknowledging Wally’s probing remark that it had happened “over your way.” When Susan had finally focused minds on the task at hand, Rachel had sat queasily trying to follow, wondering how long it would take her to feel right.

  “We were living on the old Berger place north of Regina at the time,” Wally was saying. “I rented the house from Old Man Berger for ten dollars a month and that was too much. He hadn’t done nothing to it since his grandpa built the place after the Civil War. We had an outhouse and a pump. Wasn’t no running water. We had electricity for lights but no telephone. Didn’t get a phone till sometime in the fifties.”

  “Fifty-two,” his wife cut in. “When Bobby came along. My oldest. I told Wally, ‘I’m not sitting out here in the middle of nowhere with a baby to take care of and no way to talk to anybody. I’ll lose my mind.’”

  “And you did anyway,” said Wally, winking at Susan.

  Janet shot him a fierce look. “Well, it’s lonely out in the country. You try spending your whole day with nobody to talk to. Half the farm wives out here are a little crazy.”

  That fell flat, the company possibly recalling Rachel’s deceased sister-in-law. Wally said, “Not like this Ryle boy, though. There was something wrong with that boy from the start. You could see it.” He shook his head.

  Everyone just stared at him. “You knew him?” Susan said.

  “Well, I think so. How many Otis Ryles could there be? I recognized the name when it came on the news. He lived with his grandma in Regina when he was a boy. Bessie Ryle. The Ryles were kind of a ne’er-do-well family. Bessie lived in a tumble-down kind of a place and cleaned other people’s houses to make a living. Bessie’s boy, I think his name was Otis, too, had gone out west sometime in the fifties, and then when he came back he brought a wife and a little boy with him. I don’t know the whole story, but apparently she turned out to be a tramp and after a few years she ran off and left him with the boy. Well, that didn’t last too long. Otis took off, too, after a while, just dumped the boy with Grandma and disappeared. I guess Bessie did what she could, but from what I heard he was a real stinker even when he was little. Bessie couldn’t really do nothing with him and then she gave him up. The state came and got him and we never heard no more about him.”

  Susan and Rachel traded a look. Rachel turned to Wally and said, “Do a lot of people know that? That he grew up here?”

  The old man shrugged. “If you’re old enough you might know. But that was a long time ago.”

  “I think maybe you should talk to the police. They’ll want to know that he has connections around here.”

  “Oh, I don’t think he has what you’d call connections. He hasn’t been around here for forty years. And Bessie’s long gone.”

  “Even so. I think they’ll want to know.”

  Wally shrugged. “I don’t think anybody’s going to be hiding him, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “I’m not saying that. But if he lived here, even a long time ago, that could determine where he looks for shelter, that kind of thing. I think it’s something the police should know. Would you talk to them?”

  Wally laughed, flapping a hand. “Sure, if they want. But I don’t know how much I can tell them.”

  There was an uncomfortable pause. Rachel was framing an excuse to get Susan moving out the door when Janet spoke. “He was a mean little boy. I remember people telling me about him. He caught a rabbit once and poured gasoline on it and set it on fire, just to watch it run.”

  “Oh, God.” Susan made a face. Rachel looked at the floor, lips pressed tight.

  “Well, he didn’t have much of a start in life,” Wally said. “I remember someone saying the boy got whipped a lot. I think Bessie kind of took her bad luck out on him.”

  So much cruelty, thought Rachel, who had seen Arab children whipped in the street. She said, “I remember reading somewhere that severe abuse of a child, at a certain point, around six or so, produces what they call the ‘malevolent transformation,’ and after that the child is lost. That phrase just kind of haunted me. ‘The malevolent transformation.’”

  The room fell silent, everyone staring at Rachel. “That’s awful,” Susan said finally.

  Wally cleared his throat. “Well, that’s what happened to Otis Ryle. What you said there. They lost him.”

  11

  “We actually knew that,” Roger said. “A few people have told us about it. People in Regina remember Ryle. But as far as we know he never came back to the area after he went into state guardianship in 1968. Until they brought him to the psych unit here in ninety-nine.”

  “Where the hell was he for thirty years?” said Matt. He was nursing a beer. Roger had declined one because he was on duty. Rachel had made herself a cup of tea. Outside, the first snowflakes were swirling on the wind.

  “All over the state,” said Roger. “Foster care in Peoria, Kankakee, Decatur. Then the juvenile home up in St. Charles, after he attacked his foster mother with a hammer.”

  Matt made a noise of disgust. Rachel said, “I’m sure that did him a lot of good. I mean, if this was a disturbed child, an institution for juvenile delinquents doesn’t sound like the best place to get help.”

  Roger shrugged. “There’s more kids that need help than there are resources to help them.”

  Matt said, “What do you do with a kid that attacks a woman with a hammer, anyway? It was probably too late to fix him by then.”

  Roger nodded. “Most likely. This was a pretty disturbed individual. I looked at his file from the psych unit. Reported distant and out of touch with reality as a child, bullied by other kids, sometimes violent in response.”

  Matt said, “But he wound up married. Who marries a guy like that?”

  “Who knows? The wife’s not around to ask anymore. When he got out of St. Charles he went to Chicago, and he was their headache for a while. He did a term in Pontiac for assault in the late seventies. But then he seemed to settle down. At least as far as we can tell. He got married and had kids, moved back downstate to Bloomington and got a job. And then one day he snapped. Killed the wife and kids, cut ’em up and ate ’em.” Roger looked and sounded tired, slumped at the end of the table.

  Rachel felt something black and viscous and heavy settling on her heart. She had come halfway around the world fleeing this dread, and now it was here.

  “So where’s he hiding?” said Matt.

  Roger sighed and ran a hand over his face. “Brother, I wish I knew. We’re turning the county upside down. We think he took Ed Thomas’s truck, and so we’re looking for that. We’re checking out every barn, shed and corn crib and abandoned house between Moline and Peoria. But there’s a lot of them, and not many of us. We’re asking anyone who might know Ryle or have an idea where he’d hide to contact us. We’re asking folks to keep their eyes open and their doors locked.”

  Rachel watched snowflakes dance just beyond the kitchen window. “If he took the truck, maybe he’s far away. That’s what I’d do, in his place. Just get on the highway and go. Maybe that’s why there’s no sign of him.”

  “Well, there’s a bulletin out on him coast to coast. If that’s what he’s doing, somebody ought to pull him over before too long. We can hope.” Wearily, Roger pushed away from the table and stood up. “Gotta run. We can hope, but we can’t let our guard down. Take care, Rachel. Thanks for the call and keep your eyes open.”

  “Oh, yeah,” she said. “From now on I’m sleeping with my eyes open.”

  Rachel was lying on her bed in a fetal position, wrapped in a blanket and trying desperately to recall images of sunnier climes and easier times, when she heard a vehicle pull up on the gravel outside. A minute later she heard Dan Olson’s voice downstairs.

  She gave it a minute or two before she threw off the blanket and went into the bathroom to wash her f
ace and comb her hair. I don’t care who it is, she said to herself in the mirror. I need the company.

  When she came into the kitchen Matt and Dan were at the table, the beers open in front of them. The look Dan gave her had none of the usual levity in it. “How you doing, Rachel?”

  “I’ll live.” She filled the kettle with water and lit the stove. Turning to face him with arms folded, she said, “I hope Matt gave you the story, because I’m tired of telling it.”

  Dan nodded. “I’m sorry you had to see it. Must have been a shock.”

  “So much of a shock that I can’t remember it, actually. I guess that’s a blessing, till it comes back to me, anyway.”

  “Jesus.”

  “It wasn’t any fun. But I’ll get over it.”

  “Yeah, you will. When I was a kid I saw my Uncle Rollie get crushed under the rear wheel of a John Deere Model B. I couldn’t sleep for a week. It was the sound more than the sight that did it.”

  Rachel winced. “Oh, thanks for sharing that.”

  “But I got over it. So did he, by the way. He never walked too well after that, but he lived.”

  “I think this is a little different,” said Matt.

  Dan waved a hand. “Shit, I know. I’m sorry, Rachel. I’m just running off at the mouth. I don’t know what to say. I’m freaked out. I mean, what the fuck? Is this the crazy guy? What the hell’s going on here?”

  “Roger says the detectives are starting with that assumption. But they’re not ruling anything else out.”

  They all looked at that for a second. “Who else would it be?” said Matt.

  “Old Ed didn’t have too many friends,” said Dan. “But I don’t think anyone would have sliced him up with a chainsaw just because he was a liar and a cheat.”

  Matt gave him a sharp look. “What are you talking about?”

  “I mean the way he screwed guys who rented his land.”

  Matt shrugged. “I heard a couple of things. Everyone grumbles about landlords.”

  Dan’s frown deepened. “It happened to Pete Harris once. They had a handshake deal for Pete to plant eighty acres of his, down south of Ontario. A week later Ed calls Pete to tell him he’s given them to somebody else because he was willing to pay him ten dollars an acre more. So much for the handshake.”

  Matt sat back on his chair with a sigh. “Yeah, I know he wasn’t everyone’s favorite neighbor. Hell, I’m not gonna apologize for him just because he and my old man were friends. But Jesus, that shouldn’t happen to anybody.”

  “No, I’m not saying it should. I just . . . I don’t know what I’m saying. Let’s just hope they catch the fucker.”

  The three of them sank into a glum silence. Rachel made her tea and brought it to the table. “Did you know Otis Ryle lived in Regina when he was little?”

  Dan peered at her. “Are you shitting me?”

  “No. His grandmother raised him. Till the state took him, anyway. Her name was Bessie Ryle.”

  “Ryle. I don’t know of any Ryles still around here.”

  “Me neither,” said Matt. “But you gotta know the police are gonna track down everyone she might have been related to.”

  Dan scowled at him. “Good God. If anybody around here would hide a guy like that, after what he did, they oughta be shot.”

  Rachel said, “I can’t imagine anyone taking him in. Unless he threatened them or something. Some old relative or something, somebody he can intimidate.”

  Matt said, “Would he know who to go to? I mean, if he hasn’t been around here in forty years or whatever? Who does he even remember? I can’t see it.”

  “Me neither,” said Dan. “More likely, if he is still around, he’s hiding in some old abandoned house or something. There’s a bunch of them. There’s the old Miller house down by the creek across from my place. I saw a couple of sheriffs’ cars down there yesterday, checking it out. There’s got to be twenty or thirty abandoned farms between Rome and Bremen.”

  Rachel sat down at the table. “Roger said that’s what they’re checking first, vacant houses. But I’m betting on the getaway attempt in the truck. I think some state trooper’s going to pull him over somewhere today. Maybe already has.”

  Dan took a drink of beer and cocked his head, considering. “I don’t know that I’m so confident of that that I’m gonna leave the doors unlocked tonight.”

  “Me neither,” said Rachel. She shuddered, and it was visible enough that both the men stared at her.

  “You sure you’re OK?” said Matt.

  “No, of course not. But I’m not going to freak out and cry or anything.”

  The look of real concern on Dan’s face caught her by surprise. She managed a smile and said, “Does sleeping with a light on help?”

  His look softened. “TV helps. I remember after my uncle got hurt my mom let me fall asleep on the couch with Johnny Carson on for a few days.”

  Matt said, “It always works for me. Puts me out like a light. We’ll set up a cot in the living room if you want.”

  They fell silent then, and Rachel could tell they were all thinking about the same thing: the need, sooner or later, to climb into bed and lie there listening to the night.

  Rachel came awake in the dark; she didn’t know where she was or what had woken her up. She was aware only that something had brought her up from sleep and that there were bad things in the dark. She listened.

  The house was silent, though Rachel knew it had not been, a moment before. There was a reason she was awake. She knew now that she was on the couch in the living room and that somebody had put a blanket over her. The last thing she could remember was watching something idiotic and soothing on the television, Matt in the armchair across the room.

  Like a wave of physical sickness, knowledge came flooding back.

  Something moved in the dark. A floorboard creaked, clothing rustled. Rachel knew now that it was the sound of the back door opening that had woken her up.

  Steps came softly up the hallway from the kitchen. Her heart thumped. He was watching, Rachel thought. He was watching when I found Ed.

  The footsteps paused in the doorway. Rachel held her breath. As the seconds went by the silence became unbearable.

  Somebody took a step into the room. Rachel cried out, thrashing at the blanket, jerking upright. In the doorway, faintly backlit, the shape of a man loomed. “What the fuck,” it said.

  “Who’s there?” Matt’s voice boomed from the den.

  “It’s me, for Christ’s sake,” said Billy. “Hold your fire.”

  Light flooded the room as he switched on a lamp. Rachel had slid off the couch onto the floor and was propped on one elbow, her heart kicking wildly. Matt came lumbering out of the den, in T-shirt and briefs, and stood gaping at him, not quite awake.

  “Jesus Christ,” said Billy, scowling at them. “A little nervous, are we?” He wore a black leather jacket over a hooded sweatshirt, and there were flakes of snow on his shoulders and in his long stringy hair. He looked like a Hun on the steppes, scanning the horizon for plunder.

  Rachel laughed, covering her face with a hand. “Just a bit, Billy. Just a little bit.”

  In the morning the world had changed. There hadn’t been quite enough snow to soften all the hard edges—corn stubble poked through a layer of white, and the wind had scoured clear patches on the slopes—but the dark earth was brightened and Rachel’s mood with it. A few hours of genuine sleep with no dreams had taken her another few steps away from the horror, and she could feel the tiny pilot light of her native optimism rekindled, deep in her inner workings. She fixed a big farm breakfast for herself and Matt, knowing that keeping busy was the best way to avoid brooding. Cleanup and laundry and an hour’s worth of news on CNN took her up through late morning. Matt had gone to look at dairy equipment in Kalmar. Then she heard movement upstairs, the hiss of the shower and finally Billy’s step on the stairs.

  He passed through the kitchen with strands of wet hair splayed out on bare shoulders, jeans sa
gging low on his hips revealing the plaid of his boxers. “Morning,” he said, making for the basement steps.

  “If you’re looking for clean clothes, they’re in the living room. I did a couple of loads and folded them in there.”

  He muttered something and did an about-face, his eyes fleeing hers as if suddenly embarrassed by his naked torso. He was lean and wiry, with just a wisp of hair on his chest. Rachel rose and went to the refrigerator. When Billy came back in he was buttoning a flannel shirt. “Sorry I scared you last night,” he said.

  “That’s all right. Want some bacon and eggs? Your father and I went for the big artery-clogging breakfast today. We can’t do it too often, but you’re too young to worry about that.”

  Billy shrugged. “Sure.” He poured himself a cup of coffee. He fiddled with milk and sugar while Rachel heated the skillet and laid strips of bacon in it. “So you found the body,” Billy said.

  “That’s right.” Rachel poked at the bacon, not looking at him.

  “Must have been a shock.”

  “It was.” She glanced at him over her shoulder. “I knew Ed Thomas. He was a friend of your grandfather’s.”

  Billy nodded. “Everybody knew him. He was a real creep.”

  Rachel shoved the bacon to one side. “How do you like your eggs?”

  “Aw, just scramble ’em. I’m not too particular.”

  “Pancakes?”

  “Nah, don’t bother. I’ll just have some toast.” He fished out a couple of slices of bread and put them in the toaster. “I know you’re not supposed to bad-mouth people when they die. But I don’t think anybody’s gonna be too sorry he’s gone.”

  Rachel tended to the eggs and bacon. When they were done she put it all on a plate and brought it to Billy at the table, then sat back down with her cup of tea. “Why’s that?” she said.

  Billy shrugged, swallowed and took a mouthful of coffee. “Like I said, he was a creep.”

  “You mean the feeling up girls?”