Red knife

THIRTY-SEVEN

Will came home in the late afternoon. He walked in the door without a word about where he’d been, hung his jacket in the closet, and spoke with his back to Lucinda, who was on the floor entertaining Misty with a rubber pig that squeaked. “Where’s Ulysses? He was supposed to wash your car, but it’s still covered with dust.”

“He’s at Darrell Gallagher’s house. They’re playing some kind of video game. He said he might be there until late.”

Will left the closet and headed toward the kitchen. He would not look at Lucinda. “Gallagher,” he said. “I don’t like the feel I get from that kid.”

“Uly says he writes poetry.”

“Hitler wrote poetry.”

“Uly says he feels sorry for him. The boy is lonely. He has no friends except for Uly.”

“There’s usually a good reason someone has no friends.”

She watched him walk away from her. “Will, I know what you did.”

That stopped him. In the doorway to the kitchen, he turned and stared at her.

“I know you killed Buck Reinhardt,” she said.

“Reinhardt’s dead?”

His surprise seemed so genuine that Lucinda suddenly doubted all the horrible conclusions she’d come to.

“Two nights ago, the night you left,” she told him. “He was shot with a rifle from a distance.”

“A night shot?”

“Yes.”

“And you think I did this?”

“I went to your shop yesterday morning. You weren’t there, and the Dragunov was missing.”

“The Dragunov? Jesus.” He quickly returned to the closet and grabbed his jacket.

“Will?”

“Not now, Luci.”

He hurried out the door and was gone again.

The baby smiled and reached for the pig, but Lucinda barely noticed. She was thinking about Will and his surprise at the news about Reinhardt. Perhaps he did not kill the man. She was so ready to feel relief. She didn’t know for sure where he’d been, but that was not unusual. As always, she had her suspicions.

The Blue Jays won the regional playoff game in a dramatic finish. One run down, bottom of the seventh and final inning, Cara Haines hit a double to right field that brought two Blue Jays across home plate. Stevie sat with Cork in the stands, and they both went crazy, along with the rest of the home crowd. They waited for Annie behind the bleachers, and she came with her teammates, who were headed to the locker room. She said a bunch of the girls were going out to celebrate; she’d probably be home late. Cork told her to have a good time.

It was almost six thirty when Cork and Stevie walked back to the Bronco in the school parking lot. “We could go home and I could fix up something to eat, or we could go to the Broiler and have some fried chicken. What do you say, buddy?”

Stevie grinned. “No-brainer, Dad.”

“Let’s call your mom, see if she’ll join us.”

He tried her work number, but the line was busy. He tried again when they pulled into the Broiler parking lot. This time she answered.

“I was on the phone with Lucinda Kingbird,” she explained. “Will’s being held in the jail.”

“What for?”

“He confessed to the murder of Buck Reinhardt. I’m on my way over to the sheriff’s office now.”

“Do you want me there?”

“I can’t imagine what for, but I’ll want to talk to you later, I’m sure. Don’t go out of cell phone range, okay?”

“I’ll be here.”

“Oh, Cork? How’d they do? The Blue Jays?”

“Just a second.” He handed the phone to Stevie. “Your mom wants to know how your sister’s team did.”

Stevie took the phone. “Kicked butt,” he told her.

Will looked so tired Lucinda wanted to weep. Hold him and weep.

“Thanks, Cy,” Jo O’Connor said to the deputy who’d brought Will in.

“Let me know when you’re ready to leave.” The deputy tapped the buzzer on the wall next to the door to make sure she knew how to summon him, then he stepped outside.

“Oh, Will.” Lucinda reached across the table, but he pulled his hands away and dropped them into his lap.

“What are you doing here?” he said to Jo.

“Lucinda asked me. She’d like me to represent you. I told her I would, if you agreed.”

“Nothing to represent. Open-and-shut case. I killed the son of a bitch who killed my son. That’s all there is to it.”

“Why not let the sheriff’s people handle it?”

“They were doing nothing. I got tired of waiting.”

“How did you do it, Will?”

“I shot him.”

“Could you be more specific?”

“I knew he liked to drink at the Buzz Saw. I took up a position on a rise across the road where there was cover and a good field of vision. When he came out, I shot him.”

“What did you use?”

“My Dragunov. It was an easy shot.”

“Easy shot? That’s not what the sheriff’s people think.”

“For a trained sniper, it was a cakewalk, believe me.”

“Where’s the Dragunov?”

“I got rid of it. Threw it in a lake.”

“What lake?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking too clearly.”

“Where did you go after that?”

“Drove, just drove.”

“Drove? Where were you parked when you shot Reinhardt?”

“Down the road.”

“Could you be more specific?”

“About half a mile north, where Lowell Lake Road comes in.”

“Okay, where did you drive to?”

“What difference does that make?” he said.

“Will, she’s trying to help,” Lucinda said.

“Yeah, and what’ll this help cost? Because I’m thinking that in my situation, a public defender would do as well.”

“For right now, Will, let me represent you. It’s what Lucinda’s asked. And I’ll let you know when I’m ready to begin charging for my services, which is not yet, okay?”

He thought it over and agreed with a slight nod.

“Can he come home?” Lucinda said.

“No, Lucinda. They haven’t charged him yet, but they’re going to hold him. Because it’s the weekend, they have until Monday to make a decision. Then they’ll have to charge him or let him go.”

Lucinda looked deeply into her husband’s eyes. As always, it was like staring into a starless night sky. Where is the light, Will? she wondered. He seemed not to care what was ahead for him. But she cared.

“I’ll bring you something if you’d like,” she said. “Is there something, Will?”

“Nothing. I don’t want anything, Luci. Who’s watching Misty?”

“Uly. I called him at his friend’s house and asked him to come home.”

“You told him about me?”

“Yes.”

“Did he say anything?”

“No.” Then, “Yes. He said the man deserved it.”

“Will,” Jo O’Connor said, “I don’t want you talking to anyone unless I’m present, is that understood?”

“Yeah.”

She looked at Lucinda. “We should go.”

“May I kiss him good-bye?”

“Of course.”

Lucinda walked around the table to Will. He held himself rigid, and when she kissed his cheek made no sign that he’d felt it.

Jo signaled the deputy, who came in and escorted Will away. The sheriff was waiting outside. She said to them, “Could we talk in my office?”

Lucinda followed the sheriff through the department. No one looked at her oddly, looked at her like a woman whose husband had killed one of their citizens. And Jo O’Connor walked gracefully, as if it was natural for her to be in this place, and that helped Lucinda not to feel so helpless.

When they were inside the office, the sheriff closed the door. “Please, have a seat. Would you like some coffee?”

“No, thank you,” Lucinda said.

“No thanks, Marsha.”

The sheriff sat at her desk. Outside the window behind her, the sky was almost dark. Along the edge of the western horizon lay a pretty blue-green afterglow that reminded Lucinda of the color of a dress she’d once owned, long ago. The memory had a happy feel, though she couldn’t say why. It gave her a much needed sense of hope.

“Mrs. Kingbird, I’m Sheriff Dross.”

“I know.”

“Your husband is in serious trouble.”

“I understand.”

“He’s confessed to murder, but all of us here who’ve spoken with him are a little confused.”

“Why?” Jo asked.

“We weren’t really looking at him for the crime. Because of the possible connection between Reinhardt and the murders of Alexander and Rayette Kingbird, he was a person of interest to us, of course. Still, I’m at a loss to understand why he came forward on his own.” She looked to Lucinda. “Can you help me?”

The woman didn’t wear a badge or a uniform. She had a powder blue turtleneck sweater with the sleeves bunched just below her elbows. Her hands were large and bony, not pretty hands, though the nails were carefully manicured. She wore no makeup, and Lucinda saw lines at the corners of her mouth and eyes that told her the woman often smiled. This was someone, Lucinda thought, who might understand. But she couldn’t say what was in her heart, not to this woman, not to Jo, who was her friend, not to anyone.

“I don’t know why he would do such a thing,” she said.

The sheriff seemed disappointed. She turned her attention to Jo. “His confession may be enough to charge him. He certainly had motive and opportunity, and from his background we know he had the ability. It’s in the county attorney’s hands now, but there are things about all this that, frankly, trouble me. I’d like to talk with him some more.”

Jo said, “I’ll need to be there when you do.”

“Of course.”

“Is that all, Marsha?”

The sheriff looked again to Lucinda, who could tell she was being given one more chance to open her heart. Lucinda stared beyond her, out the window to the west, where the blue-green afterglow had faded away, replaced by the dark of night.

“All right,” the sheriff said with a note of resignation. “I’ll be in touch.”