Southern Exposure, page 40
When Stoney walked in the front door an hour later, she ran into the living room and threw herself at him. “Thank God, you’re home. Did you find him?”
Stoney shook his head and leaned into Anna, smelling her hair. He held her tight against him; every time he breathed in, he breathed in her; she filled his senses so deeply his head ached. Then he looked up and saw Marian and smiled, without releasing Anna. The three of them walked into the kitchen and Stoney ate two piece of the cake. Then he said, “Thought we had him at one point. Someone was shooting. Only when we got there it was just Ricky Gibson killing a copperhead.” Stoney hunched over the kitchen table. “The longer it takes, the more I’m scared he’s gone. And we’ll never know for sure.”
“Yes we will,” Marian exclaimed. She told Stoney about her visit to Maum Chrish’s house and what the other woman had said. Stoney listened carefully and Marian noticed how tired his eyes looked. The men were worn out. They needed help. “I’m going back with you,” she said. “You can take me with you, or you can make me stay behind. In which case I’m going out there on my own.”
Stoney didn’t argue. Instead he went upstairs to wash his face and lie down for half an hour. He’d just close his eyes for a few minutes and he’d be ready to go again.
An hour later Stoney called Bill Jenkins’ house. Anna and Marian had refilled the water jugs and made more sandwiches. Quietly Stoney spoke to Anna while Marian finished packing up the food. “I want you to go over to Bill’s house until I get back. I’ve called Diane and she said she’d appreciate the company.”
“I’d rather go with you.”
“I know that. But that’s not a good idea. And I don’t want you in this house alone.”
At the Jenkins’ split-level a few minutes later Stoney walked Anna to the door and kissed her so fiercely she was left breathless afterward. And frightened. She had to be sure things would be all right and so she held him a moment longer; she asked no questions, now she just sought reassurance in his touch.
He backed away with his solemn eyes still on her. Anna wanted to beg him not to go. But instead, she stood and watched as he and Marian disappeared into the fading evening sun.
Nineteen
Stoney and Marian shot down the Savannah highway toward the swamps. Crouched over the Rover’s steering wheel, Stoney was already tired from walking the swamps most of the last forty-eight hours, and now and then he stared into the windshield and thought he saw drops of blood splattered on the glass. He shook his head and focused on the road.
“I called Ed Hammond,” he said to Marian after a while. “He came home with me and I dropped him off at his house. I told him—on the phone—what you said about the Sheldon Church. He’s going back out to meet Jim and he’ll tell the rest of them. I imagine they’ll all head down there. Hell, we’ve looked everywhere else.”
Marian didn’t answer. She was thinking about the last look Maum Chrish had given her that afternoon. There had been something unspoken in her eyes as Marian was leaving and Marian had struggled all afternoon to understand what it might mean, what it might have to do with locating Leonard. But she couldn’t figure it out. She had tried to project into Maum Chrish but she just couldn’t get in. She stared up at the moon. As darkness fell, the light of the Dark Satellite patterned the road with patches and dribbles, which they resolutely followed south.
The deeper they penetrated the woods, the larger and thicker the trees seemed until it was hard to tell where the road ended and the swamps began. They crossed low concrete bridges like fugitives, unseen by anyone. Only two cars, going in the opposite direction, passed them, and the sudden headlights invaded the Rover like split-second passing images on a television. Then the light was gone again and the darkness resumed. The trees were older the farther south they drove, as though all life had begun at the sea. These trees leaned like shrunken old people and many were dead. The swamps were thicker too, the smell deeper and loamier and darker. Old cemeteries lay so close to the lowlying road here that sometimes floods unearthed a casket and left it floating in a small inlet for days—like a Norse death-ship launched into the ocean to journey to heaven. Gnats and mosquitoes papered the windshield and at one point Stoney had to turn on the wipers to get rid of them. For a moment he imagined it was raining, but only insects slicked the glass between him and the darkness. Abruptly he remembered going to Harriet’s in the middle of the night months earlier, finding footprints under her sleeping porch. He had told her everything would be all right. Now he saw her face again as it had looked that night. The boldest of the bold alone and afraid.
Stoney glanced at Marian. She was staring out the windshield too, immobile, as though she were somewhere far away. He wanted to ask her why, mother or no, she had ever come back to this godforsaken place, to this town with its secrets and swamps, but it felt like prying and so he didn’t ask. He wondered if she felt what he felt. That cool breeze. It was so humid sweat trickled down his leg into his socks but from somewhere he also felt an uncannily cold air pocket. It circled around the back of his neck and whirled down his arms to blow across his hands on the steering wheel. No matter how he turned, he felt that cold breeze encircle him and it filled him with dread. Above them the trees crowded in closer and Stoney wondered if the cooler wind came from them, if some odd juxtaposition of hot and cold currents was causing the prickly sensation on the back of his neck. The tree branches reached down to the car like the hands of the starving—begging for food, aggressive in their need, ripping at the Rover in desperation. Cold hands scratching and clawing, breathing out a cold wordlessness.
He had to talk. “You sure this is the way?”
Marian nodded. “Before long we’ll be out of the trees.”
And she was right. She, too, was glad when the sky opened up; now the trees were fewer, which meant they were nearing the end of the Coosawhatchie Swamp. Marian saw some cattails along the side of the road and she almost laughed aloud. The swamps were giving way to partial marshes, they had made it through. She could see over the trees now. The moon could get in again and at least there was light. And beside them stretched a small inlet, flat and slick with green slime.
“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” Stoney said. “The marshes are so visible. He can be seen so easily here.”
“But only if someone’s looking for him.”
They passed more low savannas with reeds sprouting out of them and herons swooping low for nocturnal feeds. Although many people came to the marshes to fish, almost no one lived along this particular section; this land was even more untenable than the swamps. The ground was always giving way, returning to the ocean.
Abruptly Stoney braked at a stop sign. The highway ended here and they had two choices—go right or go left. He turned to Marian. “Which way is it?”
“The crossroads,” she whispered.
“But which way?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been here, I’ve just heard about it.”
“For God’s sake, Marian. You should have told me that.” Stoney reached for the glove box and rummaged through it, looking for a South Carolina map. “I know I used to have a map in here, it probably has the Sheldon Church on it.”
“I’m sorry. I just thought—I thought I’d just know where it was.”
“Well, I hope to hell Jim and Bill and the rest have a map.”
“Jim must know where it is. Boys used to hunt near it when we were growing up.”
Stoney slammed the glove box shut. “Well, we’re going to have to use the trial-and-error method.”
They got out of the Rover and walked beyond the stop sign into the intersection and stared in both directions. Nothing but darkness. Here the marshes receded again and all the land fronting the intersection was thickly forested. There were no lights on the crossing two-lane road and no cars, no signs, nothing.
“Suppose we split up and you go one way and I’ll try the other?” Marian suggested. “I’ll walk down this way,” she pointed to the right, “and you ride down the other way and if you find anything you circle back and pick me up.”
“No way. I’m not about to leave you out here alone.”
“Stoney, we can’t waste time. If we don’t cover both directions, he may get away.” A pause. “Besides, I know this area much better than you do.”
“No. Absolutely not.”
They went back to the Rover. Inside, Marian snapped open her purse and took out the loaded derringer. “I’ll be okay by myself. I’ve got this. And extra bullets.”
Stoney stared at the gun and thought for a few moments. Then he looked down the dark road. Finally he said, “Okay, just for a little while. But you take the Rover. And stay in it. I mean that, Marian. Don’t get out. You find the church, you come back and get me.”
Stoney climbed out of the vehicle, a flashlight and Jim Leland’s rifle in his hands. Marian slid into the driver’s seat and Stoney waited until she started the engine. Then he slammed the driver’s door shut. “You be damn careful. He’s not afraid of anything.”
Marian slipped the Rover into first gear. “I’ll be okay. You’re the one I’m worried about. You’re on foot.” Marian hesitated, then added, “Stoney, if you have to, shoot first.”
“I just don’t buy it,” Jim Leland said to Bill Jenkins and Heyward Rutherford. “Makes no sense at all for Leonard to go down to the Sheldon Church.”
Bill swatted at the gnats flying around his face. He felt like he’d sweated off ten pounds and the frigging bugs must have eaten away at least another five. “I’m just telling you what Ed said. Marian believes he’s there.”
Jim wondered if he’d done the right thing. Putting so much stock, despite his misgivings, in Marian’s opinion. Telling everyone to follow the river as they had earlier, but to advance southward now as rapidly as possible. When the river ended, at the marshes, they would be almost exactly at the Sheldon Church. So that part did make sense. If Leonard followed the river, then he would also end up there. And would need a new place to hide—someplace out of the way, with lots of cover. Of course, Buck Henry had looked down his nose at the whole thing. They were to follow the advice of a schoolteacher who’d obtained her information from a half-looney voodoo queen? Was this the kind of police work that went on in Essex all the time?
Jim shivered when he heard the drumbeats again. Lordy, he wished they’d quit that, whoever was doing it. Over and over again just this one drum beating. Just when he thought it had stopped, it started up again. It sounded like a death knell, the way the bell in the tower of the Lutheran church had once been rung for dead people. People over sixty never stopped talking about the way it had rung over and over again for Elizabeth Setzler in the twenties. Jim listened again. Thummm—thummm—thummm. Did that sound give Buck Henry the willies too? The Ashton sheriff had finally agreed to send his men toward the church, so they would all end up there eventually. Probably at about the same time, give or take. Coming through the swamps, they might even beat Stoney and Marian. If Leonard was there, it would be good to have everyone together. On the other hand, Jim knew that if he got to the church first and found Leonard, then this would be his arrest. Leonard Hansen, who had tricked him, who had even offered to help him, would be arrested and behind bars. Leonard would kill no more. Not in the town where he was police chief.
Abruptly Jim froze. What was that?
Bill and Heyward, ahead of him, stopped too.
“What is that?” Bill’s voice was almost inaudible.
“I don’t know,” Heyward cried. “Sounded like something moving.”
“Quiet!” Jim bent low and held his rifle up to his chest and carefully unhooked the safety, signaling with his eyes for the other men to do the same.
Then they heard it again. The sound of hard and heavy footsteps. Tree limbs snapping back. Something running.
Jim listened. Whoever it was, he was close. Buck Henry had those damn dogs way upstream and they had Leonard right here! Jim stared at Heyward and Bill, wondered if they were the back-up men he’d have chosen.
The moon suddenly shot out from behind a cloud and illuminated the three men. Bill Jenkins jerked back from the light. “Which way?”
“I can’t tell.” Jim’s head pounded, and he bit his lip so hard it bled. He pointed. “He could be over there. Or on the other side of the river.” The police chief straightened his shoulders abruptly. “You two cross the river and check there. I’ll go this way.”
Bill Jenkins looked doubtful, thinking about Jim alone. He also thought about confronting Leonard himself with only Heyward to help. Then he saw the story it would make if he were personally involved in Leonard’s capture and he forgot Jim and turned to scramble across the river, dragging Heyward with him. Jim watched them go, then turned in the other direction and started running.
Leonard Hansen knelt down beside the rusted water pump, which sat on a raised brick platform, and worked the iron handle up and down for several seconds. Water coughed in the lines and finally shot out of the spout. Leonard cupped his hands and drank deeply, still kneeling, his rifle butt resting against his thigh, the barrel cradled in the crook of his right arm. He pumped the handle again and leaned his head under the spout, allowing the water to run down his cheeks and across the back of his neck. Slowly he wiped his face on his shirt sleeve and sat back on his haunches, his right hand nervously gripping his weapon.
He never heard the approach, just the voice. “Don’t move, Leonard. Not an inch.”
Leonard froze, his hand tightening on his rifle. The voice was behind him. Leonard turned his head slightly; in his peripheral vision he saw a figure in the shadows. A gun, perhaps a rifle, was pointed at his back.
“I said, don’t move!”
Leonard sat perfectly still but eased his hand toward the safety on his rifle.
“Pick up your rifle and toss it to your right.”
Leonard waited but didn’t move.
“Throw your rifle to the side. Now.”
Leonard stood, his back still turned. “I’m lifting it up,” he said, holding the gun out from his body. “I’m going to toss it over toward that tombstone.” Slowly he angled in the direction of a nearby grave. “Here goes.” He flung his right arm wide but didn’t let go of his weapon; instead, he slowly pivoted to face the gun still aimed at his chest.
“Throw it down, Leonard. Or I’ll fire. I swear I will.”
Leonard stared but didn’t raise his rifle. “No you won’t.” He smiled but the hand holding his downturned firearm trembled slightly. “If you had the guts, you’d ’a already done it.”
They stood for a moment in complete silence. Then, “You bastard. You killed all of them, Sarah and Brockhurst and Harriet. They knew what kind of man you really are—and it cost them their lives.”
“Got it all figured out, have you?”
“Not just me, everybody knows. About the money your father wouldn’t leave his own son, how Sarah told him about the rape years ago. Everybody’ll be here in a minute. They’re going to lock you up for the rest of your life.”
Leonard glanced toward the ruins of the Sheldon Church. Behind the building was another way out of the grounds. He stared at his accuser. “I shoulda took care of you a long time ago,” he growled.
“Drop your rifle, Leonard. I mean it.”
Leonard smiled. “No you don’t. You don’t have it in you. Takes guts you ain’t got.”
“But you do, of course. You’re brave enough to rape teenage girls and kill frail old ladies.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“Drop your rifle.”
Leonard stepped forward and breathed, “Except for the damn noise, I’d shoot you through the head right now.” He brushed past and started walking up the path toward the church.
“Stop right there!”
Leonard kept walking. He heard footsteps behind him but he didn’t stop. When he got to the church, he paused for a second and turned around. “I will take care of you now if I have to. Beats the shit outta crawling around old houses that stink of catpiss, or carving up goats for stupid fools who’ll believe any—”
The sharp sound lasted only a second, then he felt it.
All the searchers were now near the church. They all heard it clearly. The shot so loud it was handed off by the trees one by one until everyone covered their ears. Not one shot, not two, but three. Then a silence as thick as dirt.
Buck Henry careened out of the swamps with his two deputies and grabbed the map sticking out of his back pocket. The three men ran east through the woods and then found a paved road. They followed the road for half a mile; then the sheriff noticed a six-foot-high rusted wire fence on their right. “That’s it.”
The men sprinted alongside the fence until they reached the open gate and the stone steps leading into the enclosure. Abruptly they all halted. In the distance moonlight outlined the ruins of an old brick church, a ghoulish shell minus its roof and windows, crumbling red brick walls missing a corner here and there, twenty-foot arched holes missing their stained glass, and four mammoth columns out front that were now detached from the rest of the structure. The building was surrounded by live oaks, and a thick mist that was indistinguishable from the ghostlike strands of Spanish moss lay upon the churchyard like a mantle.
They started toward the church. On their left was an old-fashioned water pump, its greenish-iron handle still up, water dripping from the spout. Someone had recently taken a drink. Buck Henry stared at the pump; then he saw a single tombstone, leaning and illegible, to one side of it. Then he saw another. The church had no formal graveyard; its grounds were so expansive that the dead had been buried randomly, in isolated pockets of the yard that suddenly appeared out of nowhere.
“Buck, somebody’s down there. At the church.”
The sheriff stared down the worn dirt path. The mist was so clouded it was hard to see the structure, just those decapitated columns sticking out of the treetops. But then he saw the people too. He relaxed, slowed down. Many of the men were already here. They were all very still, so Leonard Hansen either wasn’t here or had got away. But the shots. Who fired them? And why was everyone just standing around?
