The Pact: A Detective Locklear Mystery Page 13

  Something snapped. Metal. Sharp. Closed. A rock became his pillow. Hot liquid squirted from his head down his forehead.

  He raised himself up and tried to free his foot from the trap. He tugged twice but it was useless. His eyes became heavy and his vision clouded over. He lay back and he closed them. He wanted to sleep but a foot gently kicked into his side.

  “Wachiwi?” he called. Her first name.

  He screamed as the rough hands pulled at his foot. He heard the metal snap again, teeth tearing, fluid flowing. He opened his eyes and tried again to raise himself up. A man circled him, surrounded him, watched him. More tearing, of cloth. Something was tied around his head, then around his foot. The oozing stopped. The hot fluid slowly cooled and hardened, cracking along his face and forehead. He closed his eyes. Another kick – harder now – a branch thrown at his side, feet treading on the ground, fading, then silence. He was alone. Twice more he drifted off and, when he came to, at his feet stood the broken trap, his sock still enmeshed in its rusted teeth. He moved his hands down and lifted himself from the blood-soaked rock that had welcomed him as his body met the ground. He flinched as he stood. The tightly wound bandage made it difficult for him to see how badly his foot was cut. He reached down and lifted the long thick branch left by his rescuer as a walking stick and slowly made his way in the direction he hoped would lead him to Helena Wyss’s kitchen.

  When he caught sight of the farmhouse, Locklear’s strength seemed to leave him. He fell in the open plain at the back of the house and lay there until lifted by two men, Peter Wyss and a Mennonite man with kind, worried eyes, into Helena’s kitchen.

  She did not speak to him for the first twenty minutes of his arrival as she boiled water to disinfect his wounds. He caught her eye as she tightly tied a white bandage to his foot and her husband phoned Mendoza to come get him.

  “It’s only a flesh wound,” she said, breaking the deafening silence between them.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  Peter Wyss had left to attend to his evening farming duties. Locklear had noticed that the man had not spoken to him and that his glances had not been friendly.

  Helena slammed the basin into the sink and folded her apron into a drawer.

  “What were you doing up there?” she asked.

  “Looking for Luke Fehr’s hideout.”

  She swung around as tears filled her tired eyes.

  “Are you completely without redeeming qualities, Mr Locklear? Do you not feel? Not love anyone, anything?”

  Locklear thought about his lonely cactus sitting on the windowsill of his quiet, empty apartment. It was a ridiculous thought and one that annoyed even him. He lifted his coffee and finished the cup in one gulp.

  “He has something I need.”

  “He has a right to safety!” she snapped.

  “He saved me, you know, least I think it was him. Took my foot out of the trap and bandaged my head.”

  Helena smiled though watery eyes. She had put up a good act of pretending to dislike Luke Fehr intensely.

  “For all his faults, Luke is a good man,” she replied.

  Locklear nodded. Luke Fehr could have killed him on that hill and buried him in a shallow grave but he didn’t.

  “Do you know what will happen to him if someone saw you? Do you know what will happen to Luke if they find him?”

  “Do you trust the Mennonite man that helped lift me in here?”

  Helena looked out the window. “He is a distant cousin. He will not tell.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were hiding Luke?”

  “Tell you? I do not know you. I have no reason to trust you.”

  “You can trust me.”

  “I cannot!” she screamed. “You placed Esther in danger. Luke worked hard to make sure they were all safe. As long as she was with the Pletts, Samuel Shank could not harm her – and now she is in hiding, away from her people, away from here. Luke chose that crook Lombardi for Andrew because he knew Shank’s hoodlums wouldn’t dare go after Andrew there. And as long as Abigail was with me ... I’d die for her.”

  “Is that why Andrew was pretending to be slow? In the hope that Shank would leave him alone?”

  Helena nodded. “It was Luke’s idea. It didn’t work though. They came after him anyway.”

  “What’s going on here, Helena? What is this all about?”

  She stood again and looked out into field as her husband herded the few cattle they now kept. Abigail was beside him, playing with a dog.

  “It started out as a penance handed down from the Pastor Shank of the time. He said the Fehrs brought shame on the community. I don’t know much more about it than that. Samuel Shank has carried on that punishment but it has turned into something much more evil, more greedy and destructive. He won’t be happy until every last one of those children are dead.”

  “Mrs Wyss – I’m trying to put an end to all of this so the Fehrs – and you – can live in peace.”

  Helena Wyss laughed. There was hysteria to her voice that Locklear had not heard before.

  “You cannot change anything here! All any of us can do is to get through each day and to keep the Fehr children living.”

  “Do you call this living? Luke hiding in a cabin, waiting for you to bring him food and clean clothes in the dead of night?”

  “You were watching me?” she asked as an expression of terror spread over her face.

  “I saw you last night in the dark. From the Fehr farm.”

  She turned from the window and placed her hands over her mouth. Hot tears ran down her thin face.

  “You are safe,” he said. “We will protect you.”

  “I am not worried about me!” she spat. “It’s Abigail. I am the only mother she has. If anything happens to me, what will become of her? What will become of Andrew?”

  A car pulled into the driveway. Locklear stood and saw the patrol lights of Mendoza’s car. He forced his bandaged foot into his mangled shoe and limped over to the doorway.

  Helena opened the door and stood to one side.

  “Never come here again, Mr Locklear. You are not welcome.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said as the door slammed loudly behind him.

  Mendoza looked at Locklear’s foot as he groaned his way into the car.

  “Hospital?” she asked.

  “No hospital. I’m fine. Caught it in a metal trap.”

  “I’m taking you to hospital. You need a shot for that foot.”

  Locklear did not reply and rested his dazed head on the headrest. He closed his eyes.

  “Hey – don’t sleep – you might be concussed,” she ordered.

  “You going to tell me what happened today?” he asked. “You look like shit.”

  “How about you tell me?” she said angrily. “You were looking for Luke Fehr, weren’t you?”

  “Yes, I was.”

  “You shouldn’t have gone up there alone, sarge. Luke Fehr could have killed you.”

  “Luke didn’t do this to me. I heard my mo–”

  “Heard who?”

  “Nothing. Actual fact, he freed my foot from a trap and looks like he tore the shirt off his back to stop the bleeding.”

  “Regardless, you should have waited for back-up.”

  Locklear stared out the window as he rubbed his throbbing head. It was the first time in days he felt like having a drink.

  “What happened today with Rahn?” he asked.

  Mendoza swerved onto the main road and sighed.

  “First off, I think he’s hiding Esther Fehr there. I think I saw her.”

  Locklear nodded. “We don’t need her anyway. She’s safer there.”

  “He talked about taking care of Andrew when he’s discharged from hospital. I’m thinking that will put Esther at risk.”

  “Yes, well, apart from Rahn and his wife, only three other people will know Andrew’s whereabouts. You, me and Carter.”

  “I started with the two families who moved to Richmond. Neither
of them would talk to me even though Bishop Rahn phoned ahead to tell them it was OK. I then went to three families in Harrisonburg. In one house there was definitely no one home. But the other two – I saw signs that the houses weren’t empty so word is out not to speak to us.”

  Locklear thumped the dashboard, frightening the trooper. “Don’t these people know we’re trying to save their lives?”

  “There’s a family in Arlington and the father sounded real scared when I phoned. He asked after Andrew Fehr and said he and his family were praying for him and for all the Fehr children but he wouldn’t say a word against Shank. All he said was he and his family slept better at night being away from Dayton. There was no answer to the Chesapeake family’s phone. I left a message but I doubt anyone will be calling me back soon. The last three families – they’ve all left the faith and their whereabouts are unknown. I think they’re the families we need to talk to most.”

  “Where can three Mennonite families hide without being noticed?” Locklear growled.

  “Well, if they’ve left the church chances are they’re just fitting into mainstream life.”

  “With those German accents?”

  Mendoza inhaled deeply. “OK – I’ll dig deeper.”

  Chapter 15

  After a brief visit to the emergency room where Locklear had to endure the embarrassment of a tetanus shot while an amused Mendoza looked on, he had slept for the entire journey back to the motel. The pain medication the doctor had given him had kicked in.

  He leaned heavily on crutches too short for his height, which the hospital had given him, as they made their way into his room.

  Mendoza pulled back the covers on the bed and sat him down on it. She carefully took off his shoes and his one remaining sock, then reached forward to remove his pants.

  “What are you doing?” Locklear slurred.

  “Don’t worry – you’re old enough to be my father. I’m just helping you into bed.”

  Locklear mustered up as much strength as he could to shove the young woman’s hands away and lowered himself back onto the bed.

  He closed his eyes. “Mendoza?”

  “Yeah, sarge?”

  “Do you think I’m without redeeming qualities?”

  Mendoza frowned at him.

  “Helena Wyss said that to me today.”

  “And that hurt you?” she asked, confused by her boss’s sudden vulnerability.

  Locklear didn’t answer. Then he said, “I heard my mother today, singing to me.”

  Mendoza pulled the covers up over him and sat down on the bed.

  “Did she sing to you often?”

  There was a faint smile on his lips.

  “Never,” he said with a laugh.

  Mendoza smiled. “Then she was definitely singing to you now – making up for lost time.”

  She sat a while longer until she began to hear a faint snore. She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. Then she stood and quietly left the room, hoping that in the morning Locklear would have no memory of the vulnerability that he had shown to her or the affection she had demonstrated.

  At breakfast the following morning, she found Locklear already sitting in the diner, crutches at his side. She sat down in front of him and ordered her usual breakfast.

  “You still eating that crap?” he barked.

  Mendoza smiled. He didn’t remember.

  “I suppose you’re going to tell me how to drive all the way to the station too?” she said. “I wouldn’t if I were you. Can’t see you walking the distance if I throw you out of my car.”

  In the event, Locklear remained silent for the short drive but kept his good foot on an imaginary brake on the passenger side of the car. As they passed Lombardi’s car yard he noticed that every curtain was drawn in the house. Rosa Nardoni was dead. As they rounded the corner he saw Lombardi sitting outside the house, staring into space. Locklear felt pity rise up inside him. He swallowed. He did not want to pity Lombardi, not with everything he had done.

  When Mendoza helped Locklear shuffle on the short metal crutches into the incident room at Dayton station, they were startled to find Lee Carter sitting at the table, his arm in a sling. Mendoza approached him and put her arms around him. Locklear watched the scene, amazed at how affectionate she was with a person she’d known only days. He could never be like that. He could never let his guard down.

  “Shouldn’t you be in hospital?” Locklear asked gruffly.

  “I signed myself out. Couldn’t stick it any longer.” Virginia dropped me off. Thought I’d see how things were going. I found these –” He lifted a pile of letters off the desk. “Maria Whieler dropped them by so I thought I’d make myself useful.”

  “You sure you’re up to reading them?” Locklear said. “They’re from Sara, you know?”

  Carter nodded. He had read about fifteen of the oldest letters in the pile and was glad there was no one in the room to witness the effect Sara’s description of her feelings for him had had on him.

  “It’s no problem, sarge.”

  Locklear pulled out a chair and lowered himself into it. He groaned as he tried to move his foot under the desk.

  “Should I ask?” Carter laughed.

  “Luke Fehr gave him a going-over,” Mendoza replied. “It’s like working with the walking wounded. I’m the only healthy cop on the team now.”

  Carter raised his eyebrows and stared hard at Locklear.

  “He didn’t,” his boss finally responded. “I stepped into a trap and he freed me.”

  “You saw him?”

  “Not exactly – banged my head off a rock.”

  “Well, I don’t trust him,” Mendoza offered.

  “I do,” Carter replied. “He saved my life that night. I hope I get a chance to thank him.”

  “Find anything in those letters yet?” Locklear asked.

  Carter shook his head. “Mostly just teenage girl stuff.”

  “Well, you let me know if you find anything useful.”

  Carter placed another letter into its yellowed envelope and pushed back his chair.

  “Is now a good time to tell you about John Grant? Better update you before someone else tries to shoot me.”

  Locklear and Mendoza sat quietly as Carter told the story of John Grant, a fifty-year-old black Union solider from New York caught behind enemy lines at the end of the Civil War. Incarcerated in a Confederate prison at Camp Sumter in Andersonville, Georgia, he befriended the gullible Fehr brothers who were imprisoned for fighting with the Union.

  “I found most of this stuff in a history book on the Civil War written by a Northern writer called Hennessy who’d interviewed Grant in prison in New York,” Carter said. “The South refused to acknowledge black Union soldiers as free men and believed those who had originally been slaves should be returned to their owners.”

  “But Grant would surely have been a free man even before the war began?” Locklear asked. “He wouldn’t have had an ‘owner’.”

  “Correct – but he had other reasons to escape – I’ll come to that. So he broke out of prison and, on foot and without any money, had to live off the land and travel by night.”

  “He couldn’t have got far,” said Mendoza.

  “He didn’t. He told the writer that he hid in the house of a blind widow and did work for her in exchange for food and shelter. The woman was well off and lived alone. Doubt she realised he was black.”

  “As a black Union soldier in the south, how did he hope to ever make it home?” Locklear wondered.

  “Well, he must have known his chances were slim, but he took the risk anyway. And, as I said, he had his reasons.”

  “What reasons?” Locklear snapped.

  “I’m coming to that. Eventually his cover was blown in the widow’s place. Some relatives came to check on her and he had to run. Then he walked for days in the wrong direction without realising it and survived by teaming up with others in the same situation. Something odd about this – how could he walk s
outh, east or west thinking he was going north? Couldn’t he see where the sun was rising and setting? And not just him – the ‘others in the same situation’ all made such a basic error? He also claimed they gave him a horse – wonder if he stole it from the widow? Then, somehow – and this really makes me doubt certain features of his story – when the Fehrs were released, he met up with them on the road and latched onto them as they faced the nine-day march for home. Could that really have been a chance meeting? I’d say he knew the Fehrs were soon to be released and lay in wait for them. I suspect he had decided to use them for what they could give him. Sanctuary.”

  “Makes sense,” Locklear said.

  Carter looked gratified at this. “Then on the road they met with up with another Union solder returning from war – Eli Shank. But Shank wanted nothing to do with Grant. He was a lot smarter than the Fehrs and sensed what kind of a man Grant was. Eli of course knew that he was not going to receive the welcome home his northern-based fellow-soldiers would enjoy but, battle-hardened and homesick, he headed south in the hope that he would appeal to his religious father’s Christianity.”