Levon's Night (17 page)

“The police followed the plow to the lake,” Cecile said from the open doorway.

“How long ago?” Levon asked.

“Five minutes ago. Less maybe,” Cecile said.

“We need to go,” Levon said. Merry nodded.

“Might be best if you stayed here. They’ll be back with questions. I have coffee on,” Cecile said.

“We need to go,” Levon repeated and guided Merry to the waiting SUV. She climbed over the driver’s seat.

“They’ll be blocking off the road,” Cecile called after them.

“Thank you,” Levon said and got behind the wheel.

Cecile watched the SUV leave the lot, turning south onto the unplowed stretch of road. It built speed, vanishing in the contrail of crystalline haze left in its wake.

She wondered if anyone would ever tell her what the hell was going on.

“You did the right thing,” Levon said to her.

“I left my skis behind.”

“You’re not going to need them where we’re going.”

They rode a while, not speaking, down the arrow straight white road. Levon pulled way off to the shoulder to allow a northbound plow to get by. The big horn blared as it approached and blasted by. The angled plow cut a channel, leaving a miles-long drift along the roadside opposite of where Levon was parked. State and county police cars raced by after the plow as if pulled on a tether. An emergency response vehicle and several ambulances and unmarked cars followed a minute behind. Lights flashed and sirens yowled.

Levon didn’t pull out until the road was empty. Ten miles down the road he came to a gas station at the edge of the town of Jedidiah where he stopped long enough to top off the tank and pull the chains from the tires. He left them on the concrete island at the pumps.

A teenaged boy was at the counter when Levon went in to prepay for the gas.

“You see all those cops?”

“Passed them on the way here,” Levon said. He poured himself a hot coffee. He pulled a couple of Snickers for Merry and a Payday for himself from the steel rack of candy. He added two bottled waters to the pile on the counter.

“You know where they were going?”

“North, right? I didn’t pass any accidents or fires on the way here.”

“Forty-eight fifty,” the kid announced.

“You have a rest room?”

The boy pointed to a door in the back of the store.

In the tiny bathroom, Levon pulled thick wads of bills from the pockets of the snow suit and set them on the edge of the sink until he had a stack eight inches in height. He found a banded pack with twenties in it and pulled a thousand dollars from it. Then he replaced the bundles in his pockets.

Back out in the store he put three twenties on the counter and waited for change.

“You been snow machining?” the counter boy said, pointing at his snow suit.

“Yeah. I like to get out early,” Levon said, heading for the door.

“Me too. Get out and make some noise.” The teenager pumped his fist and grinned.

“There’s a Wendy’s ahead.” Levon nodded toward a sign along the verge of the four lane.

“Okay,” Merry said without enthusiasm. She hadn’t spoken since the gas station. She hadn’t touched the candy bar or taken a sip of water.

“You have something you need to ask me, honey?”

“I’m afraid to.” She played with the frayed end of the belt of her robe.

“Mrs. Fenton and the kids are okay. They’re alive.”

“And Mr. Fenton?”

“I don’t know, honey. I didn’t see him,” Levon said.

“Those men. Who were they?”

“I don’t know. Bad men. But they won’t hurt anyone any more. The police are there.”

“Cecile shot Lily.”

“That’s who was under the blanket?”

“Yes. Lily was going to kill me. She had a gun.” Merry’s hands grew white where she gripped the belt of the robe.

Levon said nothing.

With a wet gulp, Merry broke into tears. She turned to him, her face stricken with pain, mouth twisted.

Levon pulled to the side of the road. He reached over for her and she came into his arms, her face pressed into his shoulder. Her body heaved with sighs. He patted her hair and made wordless noises of comfort into her ear.

The Suburban rocked on its springs as car and truck traffic roared past.

43

There were two salt-crusted state cars parked on the lot of a pokey little gas station and market. Ribbons of yellow tape were strung from the pump island to the front of the store. Media was here as well. Local and networks. Vans pulled along the road on either side. Dish towers extended from the rooftops. A few intrepid talking heads braved the cold to stand in the slush in the glare of camera lights to keep the public informed of what little they knew.

Another statie flagged him to a stop at the turn onto Mohawk. He showed his ID and was waved in. The trooper assured Bill that he’d radio ahead to let them know Special Agent William Marquez was on his way.

The road in and around the lake was plowed clean. There was yellow ribbon everywhere, marking homes as active crime scenes. State cars and trucks were parked in the drives before those homes. Hand printed signs were stuck in the snow before each home with the street address in block letters. He passed a big state CID trailer. One of their mobile crime labs.

The center ring of the circus was the Blanco house. Unmarked cars and trucks were on the road and in the drive. An RV was by the house with power lines run inside to share electrical service. Yellow tape created a maze around the house. Numbered markers were stuck on poles here and there in the snow, denoting places where evidence was located.

Bill carded himself into the Blanco house and accepted the paper booties and vinyl gloves offered to him. He was handed along by a trooper to a state CID guy and up to the second floor where a forensic team had broken for a boxed lunch. From a balcony that overlooked the large center room of the open plan chalet, Bill could see three kitchen chairs draped with strands of duct tape. They sat two on one side and one on the other. The same scenario he’d seen before. A smear of blood stained the floor beneath one chair. Tape marked where a body lay. The area describing the head was circled by a dark mess of dried gore.

The forensics team was in the only room not framed in tape. A children’s room decorated with posters and stuffed animals. The team looked like spacemen in their white Tyvek bunny suits, standing in a room decorated in a riot of colors.

“It’s a fucking mess,” Special Agent Ted Brompton said by way of greeting.

“It’s the Blanco house, right? That’s established?” Bill said, peering toward the entrance to the master bedroom. The bright glare of high-wattage stand lamps glowed from within like the heart of a furnace.

“We found family pictures. Fingerprints confirm it. It’s Blanco’s house though he hasn’t been here in a long time,” Brompton said, picking onions off the tuna sandwich in his hand.

“What did they get away with?”

“Better question is, why did they leave what they left? There’s half my section’s annual budget lying on the bed in there in cash. There’s enough Rolexes for the office Christmas party. They either left it behind when they were interrupted or never planned to take it in the first place.”

“They’ve been after a bigger prize all along. Maybe they got away with it,” Bill suggested.

“Who the fuck knows?” Brompton shrugged.

Brompton reviewed the situation on the ground for Marquez. There were bodies everywhere. Civilians and otherwise. First impression was that the crew was out to eliminate any witnesses. There was a guy, a local handyman, found dead in a garage across the lake. Two rounds to the back of the head. There was a retired couple four properties down from that scene. The man shot dead at the front door. The wife in the media room. And there were perps everywhere. Including one found in the woods about six miles north and a woman gunned down by the owner of the gas station down at the highway.

“Any early theories?” Bill asked. He’d reviewed the reports on the flight to Bangor. None of it made much linear sense. No clear timeline had been established yet.

“Thieves fall out? They found what they’ve been looking for and someone was reluctant to share?” Brompton said.

“Anything to back that up beyond pure blue sky?”

“We found that guy bled out in the woods. And there were two vehicles parked with that semi. One of them is gone.” Brompton tossed a wedge of crust back into the box lunch.

“There’s witnesses?” Bill asked.

“Three. But good luck getting much out of them,” Brompton said, rooting in the box and coming up with a cellophane pack of cheese crackers.

44

“I understand that,” Danni said.

“How is your son?”

“They took him to Bangor on a helicopter. The doctors tell me they reattached his fingers. It’s wait and see for now.”

“You’ll be traveling down to see him?” Bill nodded toward suitcases packed by the doorway.

“We’ll be staying in Bangor while he recovers. Nate had family there. That’s where we’ll be holding the funeral. They’re making all the arrangements.”

“I see. I’m very sorry.”

“What is it you want to ask me?” Danni sighed, lowering her eyes.

“How did you escape? Your statements are vague. You and your children were securely bound. You told state CID and the Bureau that you were able to rip free from the duct tape. But the tape was cut by a blade.”

Danni said nothing. She twirled her wedding ring on her finger with her thumb.

“I’ve been on this case, following this crew, for nearly a year, Mrs. Fenton. They don’t leave witnesses. Never. They didn’t let you go. So who did? Who cut you free?”

“Are you religious?” she said, looking up to meet his eyes.

“I’m Catholic. Lapsed.”

“Me too. That teaching sticks. You may not go to mass but you still pray, am I right? Every now and then?”

Bill nodded.

“I was helpless while my child was being maimed. I knew they’d killed my children and me. I knew my husband was dead. I knew we were in the hands of men with no souls. No mercy. I did the only thing I knew how. I prayed. I prayed to God, Jesus and the Holy Virgin to save my babies. I prayed harder than I’ve ever prayed. I begged. I promised and I swore to dedicate my life to the Lord if only he could come and lift us away from the hands of those men.”

Bill waited.

“And my prayers were answered.” She locked on his gaze, defiant.

Bill pushed himself away from the table.

“Thank you, Mrs. Fenton,” he said before letting himself out.

45

Levon had stopped at a Walmart and picked up two changes of clothes in their sizes. A pair of sneakers for Merry along with a sweater and a winter coat. A fresh set of pajamas to replace the ruined pair she’d been wearing since the night before. Bags of socks and underwear. A gun cleaning kit. And toothbrushes, shampoo, and other necessaries.

Merry spread the new clothes on the bed. A towel turbaned on her freshly washed hair, snug in a new terrycloth robe that came to her ankles.

“And it’s not even my new birthday yet,” she said.

“Your birthday isn’t until August,” Levon said. He sat at the room’s deskette, cleaning the Sig Sauer he’d picked up. Lying by his elbow were four magazines and two boxes of nine millimeter ammo he’d found in the door pockets of the Suburban. He also had a new Keltec twelve gauge shotgun and six boxes of buck that was in the cargo area of the SUV.

“My second birthday. Moira Roeder’s birthday is in February. The one on the papers.” Merry smiled and took a nip from the end of a pepperoni slice.

“Two birthdays? Is that right? Well, you might be getting a third birthday.”

“We need to change our name again?”

“Somewhere between here and Mississippi. I need new eye-dee to get us a new car.”

“Daddy?” she said and took a seat on the corner of the bed nearest where he worked.

“Uh oh. That’s your ‘don’t be mad at me’ voice,” he said and turned smiling to her.

A returned smile grew and faded on her face. She lowered her eyes.

“I told Giselle Fenton my real name.”

“What else did you tell her?”

“Nothing. Just to call me ‘Merry’ when we were alone.”

“Maybe she thought it was a game, honey.”

“Maybe. You think so?” Her face brightened.

“Either way, there’s not much we can do about it,” he said, still smiling.

Merry threw herself back on the bed covers to reach for the TV remote. She was pointing it at the TV when a gentle knock came from the door. Merry looked from her father to the door.

Levon covered the action of the Sig with his hand to mute the sound of it sliding closed, chambering a round. He moved to the door, standing to one side, away from the spyhole set in the center.

“Who’s there?”

“Housekeeping. I brought extra towels.”

Levon nodded to Merry who was off the bed in an instant and retreating to the bathroom.

Hand tight on the doorknob he spun it open as he rammed his shoulder against it. The door struck the person on the other side, sending them sprawling onto the sidewalk. The lot was dark and empty. He’d chosen a room facing away from the highway. A hand held a small revolver. Levon stamped his boot heel on the wrist and tugged the .38 from the gloved hand. He dropped a knee to the visitor’s abdomen, pinning them unmoving to the concrete. The hood of the anorak fell away, revealing a head of blonde hair.