Deep Winter (17 page)

A
fter Danny had shown up on their doorstep, covered in blood, face all swollen and black on one side, and every inch of him shivering from the cold, he nearly collapsed inside their house. Mr. Bennett had managed to get the overgrown man-child to the sofa to warm up before the fire—and the boy hadn't moved from the spot for the last fifteen minutes.

Mr. Bennett crouched in front of the fireplace, gripped a fire iron in a fist twisted up by arthritis, and poked at the logs to keep them burning. Droopy jowls quivered and shook with every prod of the fire iron. He still had a full crop of gray hair, but unsightly hairs sprouted up all over the rest of his head as well—on the ears, on the tip of a bulbous nose, patches of it creeping out from his nostrils. And while most of him seemed to be shrinking, his earlobes just seemed to be getting bigger. He wore thick-rimmed glasses—the same pair he'd worn for the last twenty-some years.

He glanced over at Danny, who savored the warmth from the roaring flames in the fireplace, liking the way it made his face feel and how the heat soothed his throbbing jaw. Danny sat mesmerized, watching red embers hiss and spit off the logs. The embers glowed for a few moments in a pile of ash before they slowly faded to a dull gray. Danny held a mug of hot tea in his hands and tried to sip it, but his mouth hung open and most of the warm liquid ran down his neck.

Mr. Bennett set the fire iron on the stone hearth, struggled to his feet, then took a seat beside Danny on the sofa. Before speaking he watched his wife skitter around the house looking for a blanket and some rubbing alcohol to clean up some of Danny's wounds.

Mr. Bennett clasped his leathery palms together and wore a heavy expression on his face and jowls. “Danny, if you didn't do nothing wrong, then you got nothing to be worried about. You just need to tell the sheriff the truth about what happened. Nobody's gonna put you in jail for something you didn't do.”

Danny's head still felt funny, and Mr. Bennett's voice sounded far away, like he was speaking through a tunnel or something. Danny looked at Mr. Bennett's kind face and shrugged his shoulders, then took another sip of tea and grimaced as he swallowed. He began to speak, saying the words slowly and as clear as he could, and tried his best not to move his jaw too much. “But they think I hurt Mindy. I wouldn't do no such thing, Mr. Bennett. She was my friend. Besides—” A flare of pain shot through his jaw and stopped him short. His whole body jerked and he waited for the sharp ache to ease up some before continuing on. “Mindy was dead when the deputy and Carl came out of the trailer.”

Mrs. Bennett hustled back into the living room, her face flushed red with worry. Her gray hair was pulled into a bun, and her hands
trembled a little as she put a warm blanket over Danny's lap. She might be a little thick around the middle, but she moved with a lively spring in her step. A hardy woman with strong country hands used to digging in the garden, chopping firewood along with her husband, and plucking the feathers from a chicken when they were in the mood to fry one up for dinner. She gave her husband a look, and they spoke without saying anything.

Mr. Bennett nodded and turned back to Danny. “Okay, Danny. Just drink your tea up, and we'll get things sorted out.” He gave Danny's knee a quick pat, and then he stood and hobbled into the kitchen on arthritic knees.

Mrs. Bennett was right at his heels. Her hands were cupped around the folds in her neck and her fingers twisted around an old mother-of-pearl necklace she favored wearing.

“You better call Lester and get him up here,” she whispered, sneaking a peek back toward Danny in the living room. “That deputy of his is nothing but trouble. I bet
he
did something to that Knolls girl.”

“Hold on, now. Danny's not exactly the best source for reliable truth. You know how he is. Maybe he
did
do something by accident and is getting the facts all mixed up in his head.”

“You really think so, Sherman?” Mrs. Bennett asked.

Mr. Bennett didn't really believe that Danny would hurt anybody. Especially Mindy. “Well, no, I don't know for sure, but we'll just have to let Lester figure all that out.”

Mrs. Bennett nodded reluctantly and watched her husband pick up the phone. He dialed a number and waited while the phone rang and rang on the other end. After ten rings he put the phone back in its cradle.

“Not in the office. Must be out looking for him. I'll take Danny
back to town after a bit. Let him drink that tea and get back a little strength.”

Mrs. Bennett's eyes widened with a worrisome thought. She gave Danny another look before saying anything. “You don't really think Danny would have done anything to that poor girl, do you?”

Mr. Bennett didn't answer right away. He poured himself a cup of coffee and blew on it for a minute. “Danny's always been quiet and kept to himself, and to be honest, I just don't know what he might be capable of doing. He's been carrying a world of hurt and pain around for a long time now. Can't be easy to live that kind of life.”

Mrs. Bennett wanted to disagree with him, but she wasn't absolutely sure. “You think you should take him to town? I don't think he did anything to that girl, but I don't know if I want you alone with him.”

Mr. Bennett tugged on his jowls, thinking on that for a second. “Can't let him stay here. Besides, his jaw is a mess. Looks to be broken pretty bad, and I think he's got a fever, which probably means he's got an infection, too. The boy needs to see a doctor.”

His wife nodded. “Guess you're right.”

They both nearly jumped out of their skin at a violent thudding on the front door. Three heavy knocks. They gave each other a look as whoever it was pounded on the door once again—harder this time.

“Probably the sheriff now.” Mr. Bennett shuffled back into the living room and toward the door. As he passed by the couch, he noticed that Danny sat upright and rigid. The man's eyes were glued to the door, and he had an uneasy look about him.

“It's all right, Danny.”

Danny shook his head. “I don't know, Mr. Bennett.”

“You got nothing to worry about. You'll see.” Mr. Bennett swung
the door open, and Sokowski's wide shoulders were framed by the entranceway. A few paces behind him, Carl stood with weak shoulders bent south. Both men had rifles slung over their backs.

“Got us some police matters here, Sherman,” Sokowski said.

Mr. Bennett took a quick step back. “I was thinking that you were the sheriff.”

“Nope. I ain't.” Sokowski glared past Mr. and Mrs. Bennett toward Danny, who sank a little deeper into the sofa. “We're here for Danny.” Sokowski's eyes were a mess of bloodshot, and he breathed out a strong wave of booze. He never took his eyes off Danny as he bumped up against Mr. Bennett and stepped inside the room.

L
ester hadn't seen the statie in a while. He'd been crystal clear with the big fella to stay in plain view. These woods were pretty unforgiving if you hadn't spent the better part of your life in them.

He decided to backtrack and see if he could find the man. Officer Taggart was a city slicker, and it seemed pretty clear the man was out of his element around here. Plus, Lester had a bad feeling in his gut about Taggart. It was plain as day that the man had a lot of anger knocking around that head of his. Taggart was a lost soul who thought the bottle would get him out of his life's worries, and Lester knew that that was a losing battle. Seen it too many times before.

Lester didn't want to lose much time in tracking Danny, but something told him that there was more to this situation than met the eye. He reached into his pocket for his pack of smokes and felt the robin figurine. He pulled it out and gave it another look. Had to admit, it was a fine piece of work.

The boy had shown up at her trailer to give her a present, then went and killed her? Still didn't make much sense. Maybe another rejection from her was too much. Living a life with nothing but limitations and ridicule would be a tough thing to bear. It would be understandable for someone like him to snap and do something awful. Understandable, but out of character for sure.

He saw some movement in a thicket of woods ahead of him, so Lester dropped the carving into his pocket and headed toward it. Lester's lower back had tightened up pretty bad, his legs not faring much better. He pushed on anyway. The sun had started to warm up a bit, making the snow soft and slightly more difficult to walk through. He moved past a grouping of pine trees that had trunks the size of his waist and saw Taggart trudging his way through the woods. It was pretty evident that the man wasn't paying much attention to where he was going—he just tromped along in the snow like a lost child.

Lester approached him and knew immediately he'd been drinking again. Slack face, glazed eyes, uncoordinated movement. “Son, you finish that bottle yet?”

Taggart didn't look at him. He kept plodding forward, so Lester stepped beside him and matched his stride.

“I've been straight with you, Mr. Taggart. I expect the same.”

Taggart finally looked at him. “No. Still got a few drinks left.”

“Look, son—”

Taggart stopped. “Save it, Sheriff. The last thing I need is a morality lesson from you. There's going to be an investigation into what happened, and I
will
go down. I'll lose my badge, my family. Everything. And when that happens, I'm going to implode. It's been a long time coming, so I can't think of any reason to stop drinking. Not one.”

Lester nodded. “Fair enough. So where does that leave
us
?”

Taggart thought about this for a few seconds before giving the man an answer. “Let me just play this out with you.”

“Ain't a game. Two bodies to prove that.”

Taggart's own body tensed up, fighting back a growing rage. “I'll follow your lead. Won't do anything you tell me not to.”

Lester took off his hat and rubbed at his head. “Just tell me why in the hell you want to keep on with this?”

“Because it's the right thing to do. It's still my job to bring in a guilty man.”

“And you think you're in the right condition to do that? To help me?”

Taggart swayed a bit on his feet. “Yeah, I do.”

Lester sized him up, considering.

“Just let me do one right thing today. Got enough regrets already.”

Lester gave the man a sad look. “A little late to be self-aware now, son. I gave you a second chance already, and you didn't take it.” Lester returned his hat to its proper place. “I'm sorry for your situation, but I'm sorrier for folks that I have known a helluva long time who are gonna be burying loved ones in the next few days.”

Taggart's face reddened, but Lester continued. “I don't trust your judgment. You're impaired. God knows how much booze you got in your belly. You're a danger not only to me and my deputy but to yourself. I'll take it from here.” Lester pointed behind him. “You head in that direction for a mile or so. Try not to drink any more until you get out of these woods. And try to think about your family if you don't care about yourself. Drinking is a selfish man's game.”

With that said, Lester turned and walked away. He didn't look back at Taggart. Not once.

T
he fire had nearly gone out. A few coals still glowed, but it would only be a few minutes before they burned through and turned to ash.

The house was quiet except for the constant ticking of a six-foot-tall grandfather clock that stood guard in the corner of the living room—a little after ten
A.M.
Sokowski gave the clock a quick glance before turning back to Danny.

“Up on your feet, boy. It's time to answer for what you've done.”

Sokowski noticed how Mrs. Bennett clung to the side of her husband—the poor old bitch looked scared enough to drop dead of a heart attack.

Mr. Bennett held his wife's hand tight and cleared his throat. “Just a minute, Deputy. Where's the sheriff?”

Sokowski turned his cold eyes on him. “Out looking for this
killer, I imagine.” Sokowski lifted his rifle off his shoulder and tapped the barrel into Danny's chest. “On your feet, I said.”

Mrs. Bennett let out a low moan as she watched Danny struggle to his feet.

“I didn't hurt Mindy,” Danny managed in a soft whisper.

“Shut the fuck up. I saw what you did.”

“Hold on there. Maybe it's best for Danny to wait until the sheriff gets here,” Mr. Bennett tried again.

Sokowski kept the barrel of the rifle pressed to the center of Danny's chest. “I didn't ask what you thought, Sherman. Danny here is a threat, and you're pushing my patience. This is police business. I don't tell you how to run
your
business, and I would suggest that you don't tell me how to run mine.”

Mr. Bennett stood his ground. “You've been drinking, Deputy. That much is clear. I think it best to wait for Lester.”

Sokowski's reactions were a bit sluggish. His body pivoted like he was moving in slow motion toward Mr. Bennett and glared at the old man with utter disgust. “You had a killer sitting on your couch. You're lucky we showed up before he did the same to you and your wife as he did to Mindy.”

Sokowski watched Mr. Bennett's face shift—a seed of doubt creeping in. Mr. Bennett took a slight step away from Danny, and Sokowski took note. “You're goddamn lucky.” Sokowski grabbed Danny by the shoulder and shoved him forward.

Danny looked over to the Bennetts, eyes pleading, and struggled to speak with each word causing a world of hurt. “They were in the trailer when I got there. They told me to stay there.”

Sokowski jerked Danny's thick, flabby arm to shut him up. “Save it, Danny. No one is gonna believe your lies.”

Mr. Bennett took a breath and stepped in front of the door. Shook his head. “Sorry, Deputy. Can't let you boys take him. Something doesn't feel right.”

“Goddamn it, old man, I ain't gonna tell you again.”

Carl finally spoke up behind him. “Maybe he's right, Mike. Maybe we should just wait here.”

“Christ. Why don't all of you just shut the fuck up? I'm handling the situation.” Sokowski took a moment to level a look at all of them. “I'm the one with the badge. Am I making myself clear?”

Not one of them said another word.

Sokowski moved to pull Danny forward again, but Danny stood firm, not budging his near three hundred pounds.

“Don't get smart on me, Danny, or I'll be happy to put another hurting on you.”

Danny looked Sokowski straight in the eye and took a breath. “This here is wrong. It was you and Carl.”

Again the room filled with uncomfortable silence. Just the steady ticking of the old grandfather clock. Danny's words hung out there like big stained sheets on a clothesline for all to see.

“You're wrong about that, retard. You're dumber than shit, you know that? I know what you are. You act all quiet and meek as a mouse, but you ain't fooling me none.”

Mrs. Bennett looked over to Carl, who stared down at the floor and couldn't keep her scrutiny. Her eyes went back to Sokowski and to the scratches on his face and cauliflower ear.

“What the hell you staring at, woman?” Sokowski snapped. His hand went up and pulled his stringy hair over the disfigured ear.

Mr. Bennett spoke up beside her. “Look here, Deputy. We've known Danny for a long time and can't see him doing something like this.”

Sokowski felt all the judging eyes on him. He knew what they were thinking. “Yeah, but sometimes you don't always know people as well as you think.” He noticed Mr. Bennett's eyes go to the telephone that hung on the wall between the living room and the kitchen.

“I think we need to call Lester,” Mr. Bennett said, trying for steely resolve, but it fell far short of that.

“I don't think you folks are listening. I'm not here asking for your opinions.”

“Whatever Danny may have done, he's in no condition to do more harm. You can see that, can't you?” Mr. Bennett asked.

Face flushing with anger, Sokowski didn't give him an answer. He had had enough. He walked over to the telephone and ripped it straight off the wall. He tossed it to the floor, where it made a dull, weak clang as the ringers knocked against each other inside the housing.

“There. You got me good and pissed off. You happy now?” Sokowski looked over at Mr. Bennett. “Christ. You got a liquor cabinet? Could use a drink of whiskey right about now.” Mr. Bennett didn't say anything. “Well. Do you? A little drink, and then we'll be on our way.”

Mr. Bennett shot a glance toward his wife before turning and shuffling into the kitchen for a minute.

Sokowski kept his position in front of Danny but looked to Mrs. Bennett, who had turned about as white as a bag of flour. He tried again. Kept his voice level and calm-sounding. Even forced a smile. “Ma'am, you got nothing to be scared of. Danny here did what I said he did. He's got the brain of a six-year-old. Probably didn't mean to do what he did. Confused, is all.”

Mrs. Bennett nodded, then looked past Sokowski, and her face
went even whiter. She tried to speak, but nothing came out of her mouth. Sokowski glanced back toward the kitchen, and his shit-eating smile faded right away.

Mr. Bennett strode back into the living room holding a rifle. He held it firmly, with the confidence of a man who was used to carrying a gun and not afraid to use it.

“All right, you listen up, Deputy. This here is my home, and no one marches in here telling me this or that. Danny is staying put. I'm only gonna tell you once to get the hell out.” He lifted his rifle and held it on Sokowski.

Sokowski didn't move. His eyes squinted into narrow slits as he sized up Mr. Bennett—the old man didn't appear to be fucking around.

“Well, shit. Didn't see this coming from you, Sherman. You've been watching too many Clint Eastwood movies.” He chuckled, but Mr. Bennett kept the rifle pointed right at him. “I guess I ain't getting that drink of whiskey, am I?”

Mr. Bennett tightened his grip on his rifle. “Nope. Not my whiskey, you aren't.”

Sokowski nodded and looked back to Carl. “All right, then.” Sokowski made for the front door in slow, easy steps. Then he stopped, and his shoulders dropped a little. “Shit.” He spun back around and turned his gun on Mr. Bennett. Whether he was drunk or not, his reflexes were smooth and fast. He squeezed the trigger and fired a shot. Mr. Bennett's hand jerked as he flew back into the grandfather clock, shattering the glass panel into a hundred jagged bits, his own rifle discharging and sending a bullet up and into the ceiling. A hole the size of a fist was left in his chest from the bullet that tore through him, and blood and tattered pieces of flesh splattered into the fireplace, spitting and sizzling on the embers. The old
man's heart stopped pumping before he even slumped onto the floor like an empty set of clothing.

Mrs. Bennett stared down at her husband for a moment as her brain tried to register what she was seeing. She watched as the blood poured from the gaping wound in his chest, and her mouth fell open, exposing her dentures and pink tongue. She let out a small breath, and her tongue began to undulate like a waking snake. Then she began to scream. Loud and shrill.

The piercing sound went right through Sokowski.

He had crossed the line, and there was no turning back—not now. He swung his rifle in Mrs. Bennett's direction and hissed at her, “Shut up, you old bitch.” He started to squeeze the trigger when a shot rang out from behind him. Sokowski lurched forward as a bullet chewed through his side, but he still managed to pull the trigger. His aim was deflected, the slug going up and to the left, right through Mrs. Bennett's shoulder—she flew back and dropped onto the sofa in a heap.

The room filled with the smell of gunpowder, and the shots still rang in Danny's head. He looked to Carl, who stood by the doorway holding his rifle—a wisp of smoke dancing out of the tip of the barrel. Carl kept the gun directed at Sokowski's back as the deputy went down on both knees, gripping at a wound that spouted blood from his side.