Blindside (17 page)

“If his kidnapping was for money, then why was there no ransom note? They had almost two days, surely that was enough time to make their demands known to me.” He paused a moment, streaking his fingers through his hair. “I was certain it was a pedophile who’d taken him, but no, that isn’t the case, and I thank God for that. And I’m as certain as I can be that no one, not even the crooks I caught when I was an FBI agent, would want revenge against me this badly. And if someone did, then why not just shoot me? That would be easy enough to do. Why then, for God’s sake?

“Jesus, this whole thing is over the top. And look at Sam, silent, his eyes blank like he’s really not here, like he doesn’t want to be here because it’s too scary, and he has all this terror locked inside him.”

Katie touched his shoulder. “It’s a terrible thing, what he’s been through,” she said. “But you know, Miles, even with the short time I’ve known Sam, I know he’s resilient. He’s a very strong little boy. Be patient. Sheila is very good. Have some faith.

“Now the motive. There is one, you know that, Miles. There always is. It’s just not obvious to us yet, and just maybe we wouldn’t necessarily understand it, but there is a motive, obviously a very strong one to the person or persons who had Sam kidnapped, given all the lengths Clancy and Beau have gone to. We’ll keep digging and we’ll find it, I promise you.”

It was as if he hadn’t heard her. “And it’s not over,” he said, still looking toward his son, “not by a long shot. Clancy is dead, and with him the name of whoever is behind this. But they’re still out there, I know it and you know it, Katie. And they’ll try again, you know that, too. Why stop now?”

“To be honest,” Katie said after a moment, “I don’t think Clancy would have said a word. Didn’t you tell me that you were certain he planned to kill you after he had Sam again?”

Miles nodded. He began rubbing Keely’s foot in its bright pink sock, so small, just like Sam’s.

“Even so he still wouldn’t tell you who hired him to do this.”

“No.” Miles happened to look down. Katie was still barefoot, wearing only jeans and her nightshirt with
Benedict Pulp: Nonfiction
printed across the front.

He looked down at his own bare feet and saw several cuts. He hadn’t even noticed until now. He’d see to them, but not yet, not just yet. Her feet were cut, too. Who cared about feet? He looked again at Sam and Dr. Raines. His boy wasn’t moving. He just sat there, looking at nothing in particular, moving his hands.

Savich and Sherlock arrived ten minutes later. Both of them hugged Sam, met Dr. Sheila Raines, then left them alone again.

Sherlock said, “You guys tell Savich what happened while I take care of the bloody feet in this room. You got a first-aid kit, Katie?”

Katie looked at her, face completely blank. She repeated, “First-aid kit?”

“Yes, so I can clean up your feet. Both you and Miles.”

Katie blinked, reminded of the cuts on her feet, and shook her head at herself. “Yes, in the kitchen, in the cabinet above the fridge.”

A few minutes later, Sherlock looked up to see Katie walking gingerly into the kitchen.

“Where’s Keely?”

“I gave her to Miles. I think it helps him to hold her. It’s bad, Sherlock, Sam isn’t speaking at all. But I trust Sheila, she’s got a gift, particularly with kids. She’s able to clue right into what they’re feeling—their fears and where they’re lurking, and how to lessen them. She’s really good. Plus I’ve known her all my life. She’s loaded with common sense—” Katie’s voice caught and tears filled her eyes.

Sherlock looked at her a moment, put down the first-aid kit she’d just pulled down from a top shelf, and held out her arms. “Come here, Katie.”

Katie walked into her arms. It was silly, really, particularly since she was bigger than Sherlock, but it felt good to be held, to know that Sherlock understood what she was feeling, it made a difference. She whispered against Sherlock’s hair, “I’ve killed two men—two—since last night. I’ve been sheriff of Jessborough for three years now and I’ve never shot anyone before. Our idea of local crime here is shoplifting and maybe twenty-five DUIs a year. Mainly we herd Mr. James’s cows back into his pasture, pull Mr. Murray out from under the tractor that fell on him, tug Mrs. McCulver’s rat terrier off the postman, and keep traffic smooth on the Fourth of July. I’ve never seen a murder or a kidnapping, at least not here. This is a peaceful town. Now this.”

“I know,” Sherlock said, stroking her hair. “I know it’s been a shock, not only to you but to all of us. But you did exactly what you had to do to end it. You saved Sam, I mean you really saved him. Just think about what would have happened if you hadn’t been with Sam. Do you think now that you had a choice? In either case?”

Katie shook her head against Sherlock’s face.

“Good. Now, I expect Sam to always be there for you. He owes you his life. He can push your wheelchair or help you dodder around when you’re old and drooly.”

Katie laughed, despite herself. “The image of that,” she said, straightening, “makes me want to both laugh and cry.”

Sherlock cupped Katie’s face between her hands. “The realization that you, no one else, just you, put an end to someone’s life—you have to just look at Sam to know you did the right thing when it counted.”

“Have you ever killed anyone, Sherlock?”

“No, I haven’t, but I wanted to once, real bad. Someday I’ll tell you about Marlin Jones. Dillon has, and he told me it dug right into his gut. There was one time he wasn’t sorry at all, when he shot a real madman, Tommy Tuttle. But you see, he got over it because he realized that a law officer has to be able, intellectually and emotionally, to get the job done.” She paused a moment, and looked disappointed. “I’m really sorry we weren’t here to help you take care of Clancy.”

Katie smiled. “Yeah, I wish you’d been here, too. He managed to break the locks on the back door, came right up the stairs and I didn’t hear him. None of us believed it could happen. Do you know that Clancy actually got into the bedroom where Miles and Sam were sleeping? A fat guy who’s quiet as a mouse—that’s scary. The deputies didn’t see or hear him either, even when he snuck up on them. He had both Miles and Sam out of the house before I heard them.” Katie wiped her hand over her eyes, blew out a breath. “Thanks, Sherlock. I’ll be okay, I promise.”

“I’ve known you for only a very short time, Katie, but I am very certain of one thing: You’re a good person and an excellent sheriff. Now, it’s after midnight, your feet are a mess. Come on, let me fix you up. Dillon needs rest, but that won’t happen until he’s satisfied that everything’s under control.”

Katie, trying for a stab at humor, said, “Maybe I can be an excellent patient, too?”

“We’ll see about that,” Sherlock said. She smiled up at Katie, who was five foot nine if she was an inch, took her hand, and walked her back to the living room.

Once she had a bowl of hot water, soap, towels, and the first-aid kit, Sherlock was ready. She sat on her haunches in front of Katie, holding her ankle firm. When she finished washing each foot, it was time for the iodine. “Hold still, Katie, this is probably going to sting.”

The word
sting
wasn’t all that accurate, Katie thought as she swallowed two full-bodied curses, because Keely would have heard her curse, even in her sleep.

“Sorry. No more stingy stuff, just the bandages.” Sherlock put the iodine back into the kit.

As Sherlock bandaged her feet, Katie said quietly, “I couldn’t believe how Miles kicked the bejesus out of Clancy. He knows karate well.” Katie looked over at him as she spoke. “I’ve never learned a martial art, and after watching Miles, I want to.”

Sherlock said, “Martial arts is grand as long as a gun’s not in your face. Miles and Dillon used to work out together a lot. Not so often now, maybe once a month they get together. Miles has been so tied up with his new military contract and trying to get all the bugs out of the new guidance system design for the army. He’s really quite talented. Dillon said he could fly anything as long as it had one wing.”

After a moment, Sherlock added, “Miles was in the FBI, you know.”

“Yeah, he told me,” Katie said, looking over at Miles, who’d moved to Katie’s big rocking chair, as she spoke. He was holding Keely in his arms, his cheek resting against her head, slowly rocking, all his attention on his son. She supposed she was seeing him with new eyes now. There was no particular expression on his face, but she knew he was fighting his fear for his son. He was hurting, bad. He was holding her daughter carefully, but he never looked away from Sam. It was as if just looking at him, concentrating only on Sam, he could somehow help him.

Savich was sitting next to him, leaning forward because of his back, his hands between his legs, saying nothing. He was just there with him, and that was good.

Sherlock said, “After Alicia died, Miles just retreated, I guess you could say. It was tough for all his friends to see it and not be able to do anything about it. I never really knew her, but Dillon said she was bright, always upbeat, and smart as a whip.” Sherlock looked over her shoulder at him, and said thoughtfully, “Dillon also told me that Alicia sometimes did things he didn’t understand, things over the top, like she’d be terrified if Sam even got the mildest cold. Once she freaked out when Sam had a slight fever. She stripped him down, examined every inch of him before she wrapped him in a pile of blankets. When Miles tried to calm her down, she lost it, screamed at him to leave her alone.

“But that doesn’t matter now. What’s happened to Sam would lay any parent nearly flat. Miles is holding up well, but I’ll tell you, Katie, I’ve never seen anyone so scared as when he discovered that someone took Sam.”

“I can’t begin to imagine that fear,” Katie said. “Thank God, I’ve never had to face it.”

“I pray that I won’t have to either.” Sherlock peeled the wrapper off a Band-Aid and gently wrapped it around a cut on the pad of Katie’s foot. “It’s got to be a parent’s worst nightmare. You know something? I’m glad Clancy is out of the picture, dead or alive. Finally. I’m glad you just got it over with. Do you believe for even an instant that he would have stopped? I can see him breaking out of prison to come after Sam again, no matter what. My God, he came two times. What would make someone do that?”

Before Katie could say anything, Miles said, to no one in particular, his voice pitched low, “Clancy said he didn’t necessarily believe it.”

“Believe what?” Savich said.

Miles shrugged. “I asked him why he wanted Sam so badly and he said someday he just might tell me, and then he added that he ‘didn’t necessarily believe it.’ It sounded like someone else believed something about Sam, but Clancy didn’t agree with it, or wasn’t sure about it. I’d swear now that he looked baffled when he said that. Like it was something unbelievable, which makes no sense at all to me. I don’t know of anything weird or unusual about Sam at all.”

He looked over at Sam again, who was now holding Dr. Raines’s hand. She was closer to him, too, and he was leaning into her. It looked like she was getting through to him. He felt a jolt of helplessness that he couldn’t be the one with Sam, that he wasn’t the one Sam was leaning against, listening to.

He looked up when Sherlock came down on her knees in front of him. “No, you won’t do this yourself, Miles. You’ve done enough. You just sit there and let me clean up your feet. Don’t rock too much or you might kick me on my butt. Now, I’ve finished with Katie, if you want a recommendation.”

Miles said, without hesitation, “Katie, are your feet better?”

“She put iodine on all the cuts and they stung for a bit, but yes, now they’re better. Trust Sherlock.”

Miles smiled down at her. “She’s always been a rock, just like her old man. I’d trust her to make doubly sure I’m really croaked before she let anyone pull the plug.”

“That really makes me feel special, Miles,” Sherlock said, and patted his knee.

“Okay, that was a bit much,” he said to Katie. “I’d trust her enough to play net in tennis doubles. How’s that?”

“Not as dramatic,” Katie said. “How good are you, Sherlock?”

“She’s a killer,” Savich said, and smiled at his wife.

Sherlock just grinned. “Now, hold still, Miles. Goodness, you’ve got big feet. What, size twelve?”

“Just about.”

“Well, you’ve got a big body to support, so that’s okay.”

“What size does Savich wear?”

Sherlock patted his arch. “A twelve.”

Katie stretched out her long narrow bandaged feet in front of her. “Well, I’m nearly five-ten, not all that much shorter than you guys. Maybe someday I can wear a twelve, too. Just three sizes to go.”

Savich watched his wife putting Band-Aids on Miles’s feet when he wasn’t watching Sam and Dr. Raines. He wanted to move from the chair to that very comfortable sofa to relieve the pain in his back. He also wanted some tea. He took everyone’s order and went to the kitchen. He saw Katie start to follow him and held up his hand. “Nope, you just sit there and let those size nines recover. If you abuse them, they just might never grow. I’ll find everything, and I won’t make a mess.”

Dr. Sheila Raines, holding both of Sam’s hands, said quietly against his temple, “Your papa is so scared I think he’s going to start howling at the moon.”

Sam gave her a long look and said, “Clancy’s not going to come back anymore, is he?”

That stopped the show for about ten seconds. Then Sheila answered him. “No, he’s not, and that’s a very good thing. He was a criminal, Sam, and criminals shouldn’t be allowed to terrorize us. What do you think about him and Beau being dead?”

Sam thought about it, bit his lower lip, shot a look toward his father, and said at long last, “It’s just that one minute he was yelling and then . . . he was just . . . gone. There was this gunshot, and he was dead, just like my mama. I’m not glad my mama’s dead.”

Oh dear.
At least Sam was talking, thank God. Sheila leaned her forehead against Sam’s and said not an inch from his nose, “Trust me on this, Sam. Your mama’s in Heaven and I’ll bet she’s kicking up her heels that you’re okay. All the angels are cheering and I’ll bet you there’s even a big smile on Saint Peter’s face.