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13
“He’s had a blow to the head, and appears to have a broken wrist. You need to send the sheriff, along with an ambulance. We have reason to believe Rafer Bodine is responsible for the disappearance and probable murder of the three teenage girls who are missing from the area, and the kidnapping and attempted murder of Ms. Carson DeSilva.”
There was a whoosh of breath, and the voice turned hard. “Don’t you lie to me, boy. That’s a crock, and you know it. You, an FBI special agent? Carson DeSilva? Now that surely sounds like a made-up name to me. What sort of game you playing, calling 911? Interrupting the smooth march of the law? Interrupting my afternoon tea?”
“Bodine needs an ambulance and the sheriff,” Griffin said again, his voice calm, patient, though he wished he could reach through his cell, grab the idiot woman around her neck, and tell her to stop smoking.
“All right, all right, boy. You can bet the sheriff will be there when he can, he’s gotta come from Wilfred Hoag’s place, had to go over and pull the old codger out from under his tractor, the paramedics are with him. This isn’t good, isn’t good at all. Don’t you move a muscle and believe me, you’d better pray Rafer don’t die from that blow to the head. You got that?”
“I surely do.” Griffin stared at his cell as he punched off. “That was odd. I guess Rafer is a popular guy. Or maybe the 911 operator is his mother.”
Carson swallowed a laugh. A laugh—amazing. She shrugged. “It’s a small town. Sure the 911 operator knows him, but I bet everybody knows everybody. Gotta say though, what you told her sounds pretty unbelievable.”
Griffin went back inside to see Rafer Bodine still lying on his back, awake now, pressing his right wrist against his chest, gasping out curses. Griffin took Carson’s arm and led her outside. “Why don’t you tell me what happened while we wait for the police?”
They sat side by side on the porch in view of the open front door, Griffin silent to give her time to settle, waiting for her to tell him what had happened. She’d nearly died, and that was a lot for anyone to take in. He felt a hot breeze on his face, heard oak tree branches rustle and a bird he couldn’t identify let out a mellow chirp.
Carson drew a deep breath, flattened her palms on her legs. “I thought it was all up to me, either put up or die. But you were there on the street and you heard I was in trouble, I mean you didn’t hear a noise—you heard me. Several times I believe I’ve heard what someone was thinking, but nothing like this, not someone actually hearing me. Again, Agent Hammersmith, thank you. Has this ever happened to you before?”
He nodded. He thought of Savich. “Yes, but it’s not something I plan to talk about to the sheriff. Let’s compare notes later. What’s important now is the man lying inside the front door, cursing us nonstop. Rafer Bodine looks like a good old boy, doesn’t he? Macho, tough, beard scruff, the kind who enjoys kicking butt, no provocation needed. Now tell me what happened before the sheriff gets here.”
She began with her hearing Bodine’s thoughts outside the market, then waking up in the basement, and finally freeing herself because, thankfully, she’d been a trained gymnast. “—I dropped to the floor when you blasted through the front door and shouted at me.” She stopped, drew a deep breath. “Again, thank you.”
He smiled, marveled at her. “You must have scared him spitless when you looked at him that first time. He knew you were dangerous to him, as if he understood what you’d seen and heard. The missing teenagers—Jenny said one had disappeared every month for the past three months, too many to be runaways. She said a lot of people were beginning to talk about a serial killer, the parents with teenage girls were keeping a tight rein on them, never letting them out alone, particularly here in Gaffer’s Ridge. This was where the first teenager, Heather Forrester, lived, then up and gone, no clues.” He took her hand. “I do believe you might have caught a Serial.”
“Is that how you say it? It makes it sound even scarier. You think the Gaffer’s Ridge mayor will give us medals?” She paused, took another deep breath, looked back to see Rafer Bodine still clutching his broken wrist to his chest, moaning louder now, in between curses. “It’s true I freaked him out, but even so, he’s still too big, too strong. In the end I wouldn’t have had a chance, even if he hadn’t pulled out that gun.”
Griffin said, “You can put the pipe down now. You don’t need to worry, I’ve got his gun.” He nodded at the Walther stuffed into his belt.
“Sorry, not yet,” and she gripped the pipe even tighter. “I can’t, not until he’s behind bars, then I’ll consider letting it go.”
He smiled at her, shook his head. “I guess I don’t blame you.” And for the first time he really looked at her. Before, he’d seen a tall woman in skinny jeans and a dirty white T-shirt, sneakers on her feet. But now, he really saw her. Even with her streaked blond hair falling out of a ratty ponytail and smudges of dirt on her face, he saw her chiseled features fit together perfectly, set off by a stubborn chin that probably helped people look past all the rest and take her seriously. Her chin, and the fierce intelligence in her hazel eyes. He watched her push back a hank of hair, hook it behind her ear, where it didn’t stay. She pulled the ponytail free, efficiently gathered all the hair together, and rubber-banded it again.
“Are you a model?”
She jerked, grinned at him like a loon, showing perfect white teeth. “No, goodness, a model? Me? As in walking a runway? I’d trip over my feet, not to mention I like to eat too much. I’m a writer for American Democracy, a monthly news and business magazine. I’m here in Gaffer’s Ridge to do an interview with a Nobel Prize laureate.” She paused a moment, stared at him. “I see you’re not bad-looking yourself. And here you are an FBI agent. What are you doing in town?”
“I’m supposed to be taking a rest. Well, I guess that’s over.”
“You want to tell me how you found me? How I could hear you in my head, answering me? Do you do that a lot?”
“Nah. Hearing what other people are thinking rarely happens to me. My opinion? I think most people have natural shields. Occasionally, I’ll pick up flashes of anger, or joy, but rarely anything specific. With this guy, Rafer, all I picked up from him was fear and confusion. You definitely spooked him.”
Griffin turned to look back at Rafer Bodine. Blood snaked slowly down the side of his face from the blow from the pipe. How long would it take the paramedics and the sheriff to get here?
“He’s trying to get up.” Carson jumped to her feet and ran back into the house, Griffin on her heels. Bodine had managed to lurch up, and Carson smashed her foot down on his chest. “Stay down, you monster! The sheriff and the paramedics might not want me kicking you again.”
Rafer spat at her, not a good idea because he was on his back and the spit landed on his chin. He tried again to pull himself up. “You bitch, you caved in my head!”
“Yeah, I did, and if you keep moving around I’ll do my best to kick your ribs into your back, sheriff or no sheriff. I only wish I had on my boots, not these wimpy sneakers, then you’d be smart to say your prayers. Don’t forget, there’s always the pipe,” and she waved it at him.
“You’ll regret this, both of you will.”
“Yeah, yeah, blah, blah,” Carson said.
He stared at her out of pain-glazed dark eyes, licked his lips. “You were just like my granny and my ma. Granny’s dead, last year, finally, but Ma, she gets that same weird, distant stare like she’s looking into someone’s head or talking to someone who’s not there. It’s not right. I didn’t mean to do it, I didn’t mean to! It’s evil, you’re evil!”
Griffin said, “What, exactly, didn’t you mean to do?”
