The Last Death of Jack Harbin (23 page)

I let out a sigh. “You and Boone have any money problems?”

Her hands are on her hips now, her dark eyes hard as steel. “Not any more than anyone else.” Her chin comes up. “Boone loves football, and he loves this team. He would never do anything like that. And I resent you saying so. It's like you're blaming Boone for disappearing.”

“I'm just trying to figure out why those men beat up on Boone, and how it fits with what your daughter overheard Boone say to them.”

“You keep my daughter out of this.” She moves in my direction, pointing down the steps. “Matter of fact, I think I made a mistake calling you. I'd like you to leave now. Mr. Ryder, I'm assuming the highway patrol will keep up the search.”

Ryder is fingering the rim of his hat. “Of course we will, but like I said it'll be forty-eight hours before we take it too seriously.”

Linda makes a disgusted sound. “Just get out of my sight.”

“Linda, I'm sorry to have upset you. But everything ought to be considered when you're thinking about why Boone left.”

“I'll thank you to keep your considerations to yourself and not go spreading a rumor all over town,” she says.

“No one will hear it from me.” I clamp my hat on my head and slink down the steps.

When we reach his car, Ryder says, “Something tells me the lady protests too much. But now we've got bigger problems. I don't know what's going on in this little town, but you've got a couple men with guns threatening each other over on Third street.”

“On Third? What's the address?”

“Not sure exactly. The cross street is Persimmon.”

“Oh, for heaven's sake! That's Jack Harbin's place. He's the boy who got murdered.”

I pull up behind Ryder's car two blocks from the Harbin place. We can't park any closer because the street is cordoned off at the corner. An ambulance idles at the curb. The EMS team is standing on the sidewalk, arms crossed, looking up the street toward Jack Harbin's house. It takes about twenty minutes for an ambulance to get here from Bobtail, so this situation has been going on for a while. I remember the sirens I heard earlier as I was leaving Louis Cardoza's house.

Ryder and I duck under the tape. Two highway patrol cars are parked in front of the house along with the two Jarrett Creek squad cars. The patrolmen and cops are hunkered down behind their cars.

There's a black SUV parked on the lawn in front of Jack's house. A man is crouched behind it holding a nasty-looking weapon I don't recognize.

“What the hell?” Ryder and I duck low and make our way to the nearest highway patrol car, where one of the officers is sitting down smoking a cigarette. His shotgun lies across his legs.

“Elroy, what's happening?” Ryder says.

Startled, the patrolman tosses the cigarette onto the street, brings himself to a squat, and tips his hat. “Morning, Officer Ryder.” He points toward the house. “A neighbor called us about an hour ago and said some guy had gone up to the house several times pounding on the door and screaming to be let in.”

“I assume that's the guy behind the SUV?” Ryder says.

“Yes sir, that's what it looks like. The neighbor said the last time he went up there somebody inside opened the door and gunfire was exchanged.

“Anybody know who he is?”

“No, sir. We got here about twenty minutes ago and found the situation like this. He's been holding us off with his weapon and he and a man in the house have been yelling at each other back and forth.”

“Anybody get shot?” I ask.

“We don't know if anybody inside the house was injured or killed. But the guy outside seems to be all right.”

“Well why the hell isn't anybody challenging the guy behind the SUV?” Ryder says.

“We tried and he threatened us, too. Said he'd shoot anybody that comes near him.”

“Well, I'll be damned,” Ryder says.

The man positioned behind the SUV suddenly springs up and runs to the front door and starts pounding on it. I recognize him now from the police department flyer they sent me from Mississippi. It's Marcus, of Marcus Ministries. “Curtis, you let me in there,” he yells. “I have rights, and you know it. God has put you under my . . .”

The door is yanked open and a hand pokes out holding a gun. “You go to hell!” It's Curtis's voice and he pops off a couple of shots.

Marcus hollers and goes down, holding his leg. “You've shot me!” he screams.

“I'll shoot you again if you don't get out of here!” Curtis slams the door.

Ryder's face is red from having to crouch down. I imagine that belly of his is giving him as much trouble as my knee is. I pull myself up using the handle of the car and reach out to help Ryder up.

“Are you crazy? You're going to get shot.”

“Curtis isn't going to shoot anybody else.”

“You sure?”

“I know a little something about this situation.”

Ryder grabs the car handle like I did and hauls himself up. He nods toward the man on the porch who is writhing around on his back, moaning. We can see the blood on his pants now. “What are we going to do about him?”

“Let me take care of it. Curtis!” I holler. “This is Samuel Craddock. I'm going to get this man off the porch. I don't want you to shoot me.”

Silence from the house.

I start to walk around the front of the patrol car, but Ryder grabs me. “I don't advise you to do anything until he acknowledges you.”

I glance at the house and back at Ryder. “He's shot the only person he's after,” I say.

“If you say so.” Ryder joins me and we walk toward the porch.

One more time I yell, “Curtis, we're approaching your victim now. Just give us a minute.”

Marcus is moaning. He's about forty and as big as Walter Dunn, with an oddly smooth face and collar-length hair. There's a spreading stain of blood along his left thigh, but it doesn't look too serious. If a major artery had been hit, blood would be gushing out. I stare down at him. “Your name Marcus?”

“It might be. I need an ambulance. I'm hurt bad. And you need to arrest the man who shot me.”

“Can you walk if you're supported?”

“I surely don't think so.”

I look at Ryder. “You think we can drag this man between us?”

“I suppose we don't have any choice. Those young ones aren't likely to put themselves in harm's way.”

We each grab an arm and start dragging. Marcus yelps. “You're going to make it worse.”

“Well then stand up,” Ryder says. “You're not hurt that bad.”

We manage to get Marcus to his feet and support him on each side. My knee protests all the way to the patrol car, where Marcus slumps to the ground.

Ryder says, “One of you boys get that ambulance over here.”

“I need to know your full name,” I say to the victim.

“Who are you?”

“Chief Samuel Craddock.” It slips out without me thinking about it.

“I don't know why it's any of your business.”

“All right, we'll do it your way.” I reach down and feel his back pockets and drag out his wallet.

“Give that back!”

I fish out his driver's license, which confirms that he's Marcus Longley of Waco, Texas.

Suddenly James Harley charges over to me from where he's been hiding. “What the hell do you think you're doing here?” he says.

Ryder sizes up James Harley and says, “He's with me. You the police chief?”

“I sure am.”

“So you'd be Rodell Skinner?”

James Harley flushes. “No, Chief Skinner is on medical leave. I'm acting chief while he's gone.”

“I didn't get your name.”

“James Harley Krueger.” He sets his hand on his gun, as if to assure himself that he's got some power.

“Well, Chief Krueger, I'm Officer Ryder of the Texas Highway Patrol, and I'm the senior man here. Can you tell me who all is inside the house?”

James Harley darts a look at me. He could easily chew right through a two-inch nail. “It's Curtis Harbin, and we believe he has his family with him.”

I'm struck by his use of the word “we.” Maybe he thinks he's become royalty, but more likely he's worried that there may be some unknown blame to be apportioned and he wants to get a jump on sharing it.

“And what makes you believe that?” Ryder says.

“We talked to Becky Geisenslaw next door, and she said she heard a car get in late last night and she heard female voices. She looked outside and saw Curtis and a woman and some young children she didn't recognize.”

“Has anybody tried to talk to Curtis?”

“We figured first things first. We had to worry about the man outside the house here.”

“You mean the man who just got shot?”

“Yeah. They were both shooting. For all I know everybody inside is dead.”

Ryder turns to me. You said you know something about these people?”

“The victim is Marcus Longley of the True Marcus Ministries,” I say.

“True Marcus Ministries, huh? Never heard of it.”

“It's one of those cults that descended on Waco in honor of that Branch Davidian FBI fiasco back in the nineties.”

Ryder snorts. “And you know about this how?”

“It's complicated. I'll tell you about it over a beer sometime.”

“I can't wait.” He turns to James Harley. “Now that the ambulance is gone, maybe it's a good idea to try to talk to whoever is inside the house.”

“Wait.” I put up my hand. “James Harley, could you send somebody over to see if Taylor's still in town and bring her over here?”

“I know she's still in town,” James Harley says. “Her mamma got sick and Taylor had to take her to the doctor on Friday. And the doctor told Taylor she ought not be left alone for a couple of days.”

James Harley's wife is a nurse, and works for the town's only doctor, so she'd know.

“Good, then see if somebody can find her.”

“But why do we need Taylor?” James Harley says.

“She's Curtis's sister-in-law. If Curtis has his wife in there, he might be persuaded to talk to Taylor.”

“Well that may not be necessary.” James Harley puffs out his chest. “I'll try and talk him out of there. Just give me a minute and I'll assign somebody to go get Taylor.” He swaggers away.

Ryder smirks at me. “This little town hasn't seen this much excitement in a long time.”

Suddenly I notice that the crowd has increased considerably, everyone dressed in their Sunday clothes. Driving home from church, they've stopped to get in on the action. Loretta is waving at me, so I step over to tell her what's going on.

“You want me to go around back and see if I can talk to them?” she says.

Loretta is not a brave person, so I'm taken aback by this sudden boldness. “Absolutely not! You stay away from there. That man is dangerous.”

“Oh, don't be silly. Curtis is a coward, always has been. That's why he likes those guns.”

“That may be, but a cowardly person is more likely to shoot somebody on a whim than a person with self-confidence is. Anyway, James Harley is going to see if he can't get Curtis to come out.”

“We all know how well that's going to work.” She looks toward the house and folds her arms in a stubborn pose. “By the way, have they found Boone yet?”

Her question wrenches me back to the problem of Boone Eldridge's whereabouts. “No, he's still missing.”

“Maybe he was in a car wreck.”

“Highway patrol would know about that and somebody would have notified Linda.”

“Not if he wasn't on the main road. He might have been somewhere where nobody would notice if his car was off in a ditch.”

“We'll have to check that out.” James Harley is about to make his move, so I leave Loretta and go back to Ryder. He's lent James Harley a bulletproof vest. James Harley has a bullhorn in one hand and his firearm in the other. I want to tell him not to be too free with the use of the gun, but don't know how to say it without humiliating him.

Ryder apparently isn't worried about hurting James Harley's feelings. “Chief Krueger, you know how to use that gun?”

James Harley looks at the gun, a big Colt .45, as if he hadn't thought of that before. “Yes, sir, I've taken the gun safety course just like everybody else.”

“Then you know not to be too quick to pull the trigger.”

“I know that son of a bitch better not fire first,” James Harley says.

His eyes and mouth tensed up with determination, James Harley walks over to the end of the sidewalk leading up to the Harbin house. When he puts the bullhorn up to his mouth, the onlookers get quiet. He pushes the button and the bullhorn gives a squawk. “Curtis, if you're in there, you need to let me know everybody is all right.”

I'm surprised and impressed that James Harley has said the right thing, and that he spoke in a strong, confident voice. I had expected him to say something like, “Come out with your hands up,” or some sort of TV talk. Maybe there is promise in him.

Silence. The house might as well be deserted for all the action James Harley's words elicit.

“Anybody in the house. I need to know people are all right. Just flick one of the shades open and closed, so I least know you're hearing me.”

For several seconds there is no reply, but then there's a sharp cry from inside.

“At least somebody's in there,” Ryder says. “And they're alive.”

Ryder and I walk over to stand next to James Harley, who hands me the bullhorn and takes out a handkerchief to wipe his brow.

“Ask him if he'll send the women out,” Ryder says.

“No,” I say. “He's paranoid about his wife and girls. He won't take that well.”

I hear a car door slam and someone running. I turn to see Taylor trotting toward us. “I can't believe this! That goddamn Curtis! Is Sarah in there?”

“Seems like she might be,” I say. “I'm thinking you could let her know you're here, and maybe she can persuade Curtis to come out.”

“He won't hurt them, will he?” She's trembling.

“There's no guarantees,” Ryder says firmly. “But we'll do everything we can to defuse the situation.”

He shows her how to use the bullhorn. “Just speak kindly, but firmly. Tell him you're concerned about your sister and just want a sign that she and the children are all right.”

Taylor says just what Ryder told her to, and then adds, “Curtis, I know you love your family and don't want them to come to harm.”

The door cracks open and then widens. A woman's voice, high and scared says, “Taylor, Curtis is hurt. We need help.”