‘For Christ’s sake, Terry! You got to wake the neighborhood?’ Zeb heard Ashland growling at the visitors. ‘What happened to your face?’
The police chief replied indistinctly.
‘He escaped? How?’ The grandfather, astonished.
More mumbled responses.
‘Well, he’s not here. Don’t stand there, jawing. Find him. Beats me how the heck he could get away from you.’
He slammed the door shut and returned, rubbing his hands in glee.
‘He’s gone. I’ve got to admit, I enjoyed that.’
‘What did he tell you about Namir? This dude, Leopard?’
Ashland put the coffee pot to boil. ‘Not much. That he turned up at night. With a few other men. Had this video. Told us his story. That he found my son dead. He sent several deputies to the wilderness. In the night. To bring back his body.’
For a few moments, his shoulders stooped. His age showed.
He poured the brew into three cups and handed them out.
‘What was he doing in the wilderness? Leopard.’
‘Camping.’
‘Why didn’t the chief believe Sara?’
‘Terry’s got a big ego. Thinks a lot of himself,’ Ashland grimaced. ‘Is easily impressed by fancy clothes and words. Stockholm syndrome, he said, when she wasn’t listening.’
Sara swore, looked apologetic when her grandfather looked sternly at her.
‘Where’s Leopard staying?’
‘The Downtown Hotel.’ He pointed toward Main Street. ‘That’s really a hotel.’
Why would Namir still be hanging around? Why wouldn’t he flee to the Canadian border?
Zeb closed his eyes when the coffee went down in him.
Strong, bitter, bringing every sense alive.
A bell tolled in the distance.
Another sip.
Bell.
Something about it.
He pored through his memory, trying to pin down the elusive thought.
Sara was talking to Ashland, her voice breaking.
Zeb not paying attention. Just hearing the occasional word.
‘Dad … Sunday Service ... back in time.’
Church.
What about it?
Namir has a thing about churches.
The chair clattered back when Zeb rose in a flash.
‘The church. What time is the service?’
Ashland gaped at him for a moment.
‘Eight,’ he said, recovering under Zeb’s intense gaze.
‘How many go to it?’
‘About fifty. But today’s special. The high school choir is singing. We’re expecting double.’
‘Of course.’ Sara cupped her hand to her mouth.
‘It’s Beirut again. He will kill them.’