Chapter Nine

Claire drove out of town, passing the unmarked road to turn down Spence Alley. She wished she’d asked the woman at the post office how many people lived on this road, but it was too late now. She counted five mailboxes, but only two seemed to be in regular use. She wanted to cut her headlights but there was no way she’d be able to follow the road’s bends without them. Eventually she reached a straight stretch with a house on either side. She drove past the houses to what seemed like a dead end and parked with the headlights shining on a stand of trees packed so closely together they almost formed a natural fence.

She got out and opened the trunk. She traded her Stetson for a knit cap, pulled on a thick dark coat, and checked to make sure her gun was loaded before slipping it into her holster.

“Hooze air,” someone grunted from far too close to her.

She turned slowly and saw someone standing on the grass at the edge of the road. The trees had kept the snow here from being too thick, but she could still see a weaving trail of footprints leading back toward one of the houses. She couldn’t make out any of his features, but thin hair stood out in a halo around his head. He looked hunched over, more like a tree stump than a human being.

“Said ‘who’s there,’” he repeated, and this time she was able to make out the words.

“Sheriff Curran, sir. I’m just parking here on official police business.”

He said, “Sheriff? Of here? Sheriff here is an old man.”

“We’ve had a few hectic days, sir. I’m just going to cross through the back of your property to hopefully catch them by surprise.”

The man grunted. His head swiveled around, then snapped back to her. “Is your business ‘bout them fellas moved in over yonder?”

“It may. Why?”

He turned without answering and shuffled back toward the house. “Buncha lousy noisy...” He grumbled, his voice fading quickly.

Claire watched him go, then shook her head and shut the trunk. She was halfway across the lawn when the old man came shuffling up alongside her.

“Hold your dang horses. Here.”

She thought he was handing her a branch, but quickly realized it was a shotgun. “Sir, I can’t take that.”

“Y’oughta have one of yer own. I saw you with that little one, ain’t gonna scare these boys with that.” He gestured with it. “G’wan. Take it.”

She finally relented. “Thank you. I’ll return it when I come back to the car.”

He was already walking back toward the house. “Bring it back empty, and you’ll be doin’ e’ry one of us a favor.”

Claire waited until he was inside before she continued on her way.

The trees were tightly packed. She occasionally paused so she could use her phone’s flashlight to get her bearings before she went on. Fortunately it was only a short trek between the two roads and it wasn’t long before she could see by the light coming from Wyman’s properties. She slowed her progress and sank down into a crouch, holding the borrowed rifle across her chest until she reached the tree line. She put her shoulder against a tree and eyed the layout.

Six houses, two on one side of the street with three on the other, and a larger house at the end of the road. She assumed that was the main house. Generators hummed loudly behind at least two houses where she could see lights, but she assumed they were all outfitted for power. Two cars and a white van were parked at the head of the road in an area which seemed to have been designated as the motor pool. Even at a distance she could tell one of the cars matched Jodie’s description.

Voices rose from one of the houses. Claire risked moving closer, checking to make sure no one was outside before she trotted to take cover behind the nearest house. The shadows concealed her as she moved to the next house, one with light coming from the windows, but the voices were coming from farther away.

The voices were coming from the main house, and she was only separated from it by a wide empty stretch of snowy grass. Someone shouted, and he was far enough away that she risked stepping out into the open. She took long, loping strides and stopped herself just before impacting the side of the house, holding her breath, waiting to find out she’d been discovered. But the next raised voice she heard came from the other side of the house.

“It doesn’t matter if she didn’t see you! Do you think she’ll chalk this up to an isolated incident? She’s going to know exactly who did this.”

“Den, you okayed kidnapping the wife. When that fell apart, we assumed you’d want to send the message another way.”

“So you set her car on fire!” Dennis snapped. “Do you have any idea the sort of spotlight you’ve turned on us? My plan wasn’t to kidnap the wife, you imbecile. We were going to drive her around and talk sense into her. I was going to convince her to convince this idiot sheriff to back off. Just a conversation! And if she was a little intimidated, then...” He sighed, but it sounded like a growl. “You... you morons got drunk and threw a Molotov cocktail into a police car.”

“It wasn’t technically a Molotov cocktail. It--”

“Do you really want to correct me right now, you piece of shit?”

Silence.

“So... s-so what, uh, what do you want to do now?”

“You assholes have backed me into a corner here. I could have talked us out of this. I could have worked things out the way I’ve worked it out a dozen times in other cities. Every cop has their price, but not if you antagonize them. Not if you make it personal. Now there’s no amount of money that will make this bitch back off.”

More silence. Claire inched further along the house, nearly to the corner to the backyard. There was too much light in the space to risk peeking, but she’d heard three distinct voices. With Lile and Packard in custody, that left one person unaccounted for. She couldn’t make a move until she knew where he was, or where the women were. She didn’t want some wild card who could turn this into a hostage situation.

“Look,” said the one she’d decided to call Dopey for no real reason, “we all read about her. We all saw the news shit about the bank robbery and that fucking song. You think we could’ve bought her off? You really think there’s a price this Lance bitch would take to look the other way? She’s fucking John Wayne. Jane Wayne.”

The other man, who she dubbed Bashful because he hadn’t spoken much, said, “Tom Joad.”

“The fuck?” Dennis grunted.

“It’s... from a book...”

Dopey said, “My point is that maybe this is a good thing. All right? If you aren’t gonna talk her into playing nice, maybe scaring her is the right way to go.”

Dennis laughed low and quiet, almost a rumble. “All that stuff you mentioned. The song and the bank robbery. That might prove she can’t be bought, but it definitely proves she’s not the type to be scared away. All you’ve done, you stupid son of a bitch, is rattle the beehive.”

The snow started to pick up, increasing from barely noticeable to a thick swirl. It occurred to Claire that, while it was very fortunate for her purposes, it was odd for the men to be having this conversation outside given the weather. The only plausible reason was that they didn’t want someone in the house to overhear.

“I thought you said taking out the other sheriff was the wrong move.”

“With Rucker, yeah! We had him right where we wanted him. He was old. He was used to coasting. He was perfect. Given enough pressure, he would have taken the money just to keep the peace. I just had to break him a little more.”

Claire closed her eyes and rested her head against the wall. Callum Rucker would never have broken. When these bastards pushed him to that point, he’d chosen to take himself off the board. He made it her fight because he knew she was better equipped. His death was tragic, but now it was also heartbreakingly unnecessary. If he had moved a little faster, or been less secretive, he would have been off their radar entirely.

“Goddamn it, Ruck,” she mouthed, the words existing as puffs of white smoke only she could see before they evaporated.

“--just her,” Dopey was saying. “We’re talking about her wife, too. And probably her friends in the department who would come after us just on principle.”

Bashful said, “Are we prepared to do that? I mean... I mean, I know it’s a small town...”

“He might have a point there, Den. We have two people in with them already...”

“Are you counting Teddy?” Dennis interrupted. “Because from what you yourself told me, he’s going to have a hard time feeding himself. Forget about staging a coup.”

Dopey said, “Okay, fine, but Georgie is reliable. He’s in the actual building. He’d know about their numbers, their schedule, maybe even the layout of the building. He could give us some intel.”

“If the cops ever let us talk to him alone.”

Bashful said, “They’ll have to eventually, if we aren’t allowed to leave the room.”

Dennis was silent. “You mean one of us get arrested on purpose.”

Bashful said, “You said it yourself, she’s pissed. It won’t take much to make her pounce. One of us runs a stop sign, she’ll find a reason to drag us in and throw us in a cell. She’s going to want to make a point. I say... maybe we let her, you know? Give her a third prisoner, when all she’ll really be doing is making a Trojan Horse.”

“Is that from another fucking book?” Dopey grumbled.

“Shut up, Ryan.”

Claire was disappointed to hear the man’s real name. Dopey fit him so well.

The temperature seemed to have dropped drastically since she left the car. She flexed the fingers of one hand, then the other. The men were still talking, discussing the logistics of the Trojan Horse plan. Claire retreated back along the side of the house to the shining square of a window. She stood still and listened for any sounds coming from within before she risked stretching up to peek inside.

She looked directly into the face of a woman who was staring back at her.

They both froze. The woman was standing at a sink, her wet hands resting on the counter. The expression on her face indicated her mind had been wandering when Claire suddenly appeared in her line of sight. Her eyebrows were up, eyes wide enough to show whites all around the dark irises, and her mouth hung open in a thankfully silent O. Claire pressed a finger to her lips, hoping and praying the woman wouldn’t scream out of instinct.

The woman looked toward the back door.

No, come on, don’t.

She looked back and Claire and waved her away with both hands. When Claire didn’t move, the woman mouthed, “Go!” in a way that changed her whole face. It was a plea: save yourself, run.

After checking to make sure the men were still talking, Claire pulled aside her jacket. The kitchen light glinted off her badge. The woman’s eyes widened again. She mouthed: “Claire Lance?”

Claire nodded. This woman was obviously why they were having the conversation outside. They didn’t want her to overhear the plan. The only question was if she was a prisoner or somehow willingly part of the group. But then why would she be trying to send Claire away? She was dressed in a wool sweater, the sleeves pushed up past the elbows, and she seemed to be wearing makeup. She didn’t look like a prisoner. But she had no idea what a prisoner in this context might look like.

She pointed at the woman and gestured toward the front of the house. The woman shook her head in violent refusal. Claire made a “come with me” motion but the woman’s head continued rocking side to side. She backed away from the sink.

Dennis was saying, “--volunteer? Because I’m not going to get locked up. Are you, Ryan? How about you, Tim? I don’t see either of you being great spies.”

The woman had left the sink but was coming back when Claire looked again. She had gotten a bottle of ketchup from the fridge and smeared some on two fingers. She picked up one of the clean plates and wrote on it. Claire couldn’t help smiling; she kind of loved this lady. She finished writing and held up the plate.

I’M OK. GO!!!

Claire desperately didn’t want to leave this woman behind, but she didn’t see an alternative short of abducting her. She nodded and the woman’s shoulders slumped with relief. She plunged the plate into the water, obliterating the message with a sweep of her hand. Claire retreated back into the shadows, this time moving toward the front of the house. The voices from the backyard were quieter but still clear enough to understand given the night’s silence.

“Jesse will volunteer if we tell him he can make a cop look like an idiot,” she heard Ryan say.

She was at the front corner of the house when she heard a door close. She froze and pressed tight against the side of the house as a man - Jesse, she presumed - walked out of the nearest house. She recognized him from Rucker’s photos; he was the man with a prison tattoo on his neck. He balanced a covered tray on one hand while he locked the door behind him with the other. He grabbed the knob and gave it a violent shake before he turned toward the main house.

Claire held her breath. There was nothing at all between them, no cover beyond the shadows and his own lack of attention. He looked up at the tumbling snow, stuck out his tongue like a child, then looked down to watch his step so he wouldn’t slip on the ice. Claire tracked him with her eyes, keeping the shotgun still despite every muscle telling her to bring it up into position. But movement would catch his eye, and at the moment she was essentially invisible.

He swayed on his feet and hummed under his breath, then moved out of her view. She heard a door open and close. She waited a beat to make sure he’d gone inside before poking her head around the corner to make sure. When she saw the porch was empty, she darted across the open space to the house he’d left. It was one of the houses hooked up to a generator, which was humming noisily on the north side of the house. She tried the knob knowing it was pointless, then went around to the other side.

She’d seen a lot of houses like this since coming to the island. They were built out of necessity and rarely up to any sort of code. It was most likely only a couple of rooms with thin walls. The windows were all secured and weatherproofed, which would have impressed her if it didn’t get in the way of her rescue attempt.

The back door was even worse. She didn’t know if it was locked or if it was so warped in the frame that opening it was impossible, but either way she couldn’t get it to budge.

She had just stepped away from the door when she heard a quiet knock on the other side. She stopped, came closer, and returned the knock: two taps, pause, two taps.

She was answered almost immediately: Tap-tap-tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap-tap-tap.

SOS.

Claire only knew the basics of Morse code, nowhere near enough to have a conversation. She doubted whoever was on the other side of the door knew more than what had already been sent. She stepped close enough to the back door that she could feel the cold emanating from it against her cheek.

“Can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Claire Curran. I’m the sheriff. I’m going to get you out of there, but I need to know how many of you there are.”

There was a pause. “Only four now.” Her voice was accented, but they were speaking too quietly for her to narrow it down. “One of us is in the other house. With the men.”

“Five total?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to do everything I can to get you out of here. I need you to hold tight, okay?”

Silence. Then, “Please, hurry.”

“What’s your name?”

“Tereza.”

Claire said, “I’ll be back, Tereza, you have my word.” She knocked twice on the door and stepped back until she could see the other house. Five hostages and four angry men with guns who had just decided she was too much trouble to keep alive. It killed her to leave, just the thought made her want to storm the main house and take her chances, but that would result in a bloodbath for both sides. The snow had started falling faster, and the temperature had taken another dip. Even if everything went perfectly and she arrested all four men, there was a chance she’d be stuck here with them. She didn’t like those odds.

She knew what she was up against. She had names and she knew how their home base was situated. It would have to do for now.

With one last look at the house where the five women were being held, Claire reluctantly retreated into the woods.

When she got back to the other clearing, one of the houses had a light shining on the porch. The hunched old man was sitting in what looked like a homemade chair.

“I didn’t hear you use that,” he said, nodding at the shotgun, “but if you did, you can just toss it back into the woods and leave it there.”

“It didn’t come to that.” She stepped onto the porch and held the weapon out to him. “Thank you for the loan.”

He made a noise that may have just been caused by the effort of leaning forward to take it from her. He stood and looked her over.

“You want to know more about them folks? Already told it to the other fella, but if he’s really gone, I guess you might oughta hear it, too.”

Claire said, “I would definitely appreciate that, sir, if you have the time.”

“Sir,” he snorted. He had already turned and was moving through the front door. “Guy.”

“Pardon?”

“Guy, Guy.” He twisted at the waist and thumped a hand against his chest. “My name. Call me Guy. None of that ‘sir’ stuff.”

Claire followed him inside. “Oh. I apologize.” Guy had always seemed like an odd name to her. She’d never known any women named Lady. “I’m Claire.”

Another noise from the man, as if this was inconsequential information. He walked past a seating area with an armchair and a loveseat, into a kitchenette. He turned on a hot plate and began rearranging items on the counter. The house was surprisingly cozy and warm given the isolated location. A door at the back of the room led into what looked like a small sleeping area. Standing inside, with a space heater humming a few feet away, she realized how absolutely frozen she was.

“Was nice and peaceful up here. Then they showed up. About a year ago. Generators running at all hours. Hum, hum, hum. You hear it?”

“I heard it when I was over there. Can’t really hear it now, though.”

“I can hear it. Believe me, I can. All us on this road can hear it. All hours of the night,” he repeated. “Joseph went over there to talk to ‘em about it. Came back with a shiner and a limp. Said the guy in charge warned him that the next one of us who went over there wouldn’t come back.” He looked at her. “What the hell are you doing? Sit down. We’re having a conversation.”

“Right.” She chose the loveseat over the chair. “So none of you have gone over there since?”

“We want peace and quiet, not a feud. Joey seemed pretty damn convinced they meant business. So we just put up with it. But we kept an eye on everything happening. And when Cal showed up, hell, we were more’n willing to talk his ear off and let him take the risk.” He stopped what he was doing and stared at a spot on the wall. “He, ah... he was...”

Claire said, “I know.”

“Huh.” He shook his head and went back to preparing a drink. “Well. At least we were right about them being a real threat. I guess that’s something. Good thing we didn’t press our luck or we might all have...” He sighed. “I’m sorry. About Cal.”

She was shuddering now, but trying not to show it. “I want to finish what he started. Anything you can tell me about these guys would be a great help.”

Guy poured a cup of coffee and brought it to her. She wrapped her hands around it, sighing at the warmth, and thanked him as he folded himself into the chair.

“Six guys. The weasel-face one seems to be in charge. Smile so big but it don’t show his teeth, little eyes, limp hair. Could be handsome but looks like he just crawled out of a sewer.”

“That would be Dennis Wyman.”

Guy sneered. “Dunno names. They showed up here, just took those houses just ‘cause they were empty. Like they was owed, or something.” He sniffed and looked out the window, watching the snow fall. “After what happened with Joey, we thought maybe peace. Ignore the fact they stole that whole street and try to be good neighbors. Drew’s wife Alice went over with a casserole. Figured six men living alone might like a homecooked meal. One of the jackasses took the pan from her and dumped it out right on the grass. Told her not to bother them anymore.” He huffed and shook his head. “I don’t care who you are, food’s food. And Alice makes a damn fine casserole. Not just mean for meanness sake, but wasteful.”

He shifted uncomfortably. Claire waited.

“Then the ladies started showing up. Not sure when the first group showed, but eventually we realized they was over there.”

“You ‘realized’?” Claire said.

He turned his hard gaze on her. “We kept tabs on ‘em. Bunch of bastards like that squat next door, wouldn’t you do the same?”

“Absolutely I would,” Claire confirmed.

“Drew saw a bunch of women get out of a truck. Said they was all dressed the same, all looked like whipped pups. They got marched into one of those houses over there. Every now and then, we see one of the ladies get in a truck with one of the guys and they...” He waved a trembling hand in an ‘away’ gesture. “We don’t see the women after they leave.”

Claire said, “Do you have any idea where they women come from?”

“They just show up. Hard to say how many there are... they leave one at a time, pretty regular... but then three or four more show up. One of the fellas goes out in a truck, usually at night, and comes back with new ladies. I doubt there’s ever more than ten there.” He looked at Claire. “So what do you plan to do about all this?”

“Whatever I can,” Claire said. “I’ve stopped bad men before. I can do it again.”

Guy stared at her as if he was reading a resume on her face. “They’ll fight back.”

“They usually do.”

“If there’s anything you need to do where that,” he pointed at her badge, “gets in the way, come over here and let us know. I don’t want to incriminate nobody for nothing. But if hands gotta get dirty, it probably washes off better from ours than from police’s.”

Claire said, “I hope it won’t come to that, but thanks.” She finished the coffee and put the cup down on the table. “Thank you for the drink. And the gun. And for filling me in about your neighbors.”

“Don’t thank me. Just get to work. What did you say your name was again?”

“Curran. Claire Curran.”

He nodded and pushed up out of his chair. He extended a hand to her. The skin felt like sandpaper when she gripped it.

“Good luck, Sheriff Curran.”

She nodded and left the house, tucking her chin into the collar of her coat as she headed down the stairs. She had to brush a layer of snow off the windows of her car before she got in. When she turned the car around to leave, she saw Guy was still standing on the porch to watch her go. She lifted her hand, and he threw what might have been a salute before he went back inside. The porch light clicked off in his wake, and the house was thrown back into deep shadows.

On the drive back into town, she saw the snow was starting to accumulate on streets and buildings. From the mayor’s property she could see all the way down Spring Street to the harbor, and every storefront looked like it belonged on a Christmas card. She rolled down the window, entered the gate code Patricia had given her that afternoon, and rolled through. She let the car idle as the gate rolled shut behind her, then got out and made sure it was secured before she drove the rest of the way up to the front door.

The house was silent, dark except for one room at the back of the ground floor. She took off her jacket, hat, and boots and hung them up to dry next to the door. A silhouette blocked the light coming from the back room, and it took Claire a moment to recognize Mayor Hood-Colby out of context. She was in white silk pajamas, her hair down, and she was wearing a pair of thick glasses. She looked a foot shorter than usual, and Claire wondered if that was because she was barefoot or just because she wasn’t in her office at City Hall.

“How’d everything go?” she whispered.

Claire shrugged and shook her head. “Hard to tell. Maybe productive.”

“Here’s hoping.” She nodded at the stairs. “You and Jodie are in the first room at the top of the stairs. It used to be our son’s room, so don’t be surprised when you wake up and find a bunch of baseball stuff on the walls.”

“I’ll brace myself. But considering how we left things, Jodie might expect me to take the couch.”

Patricia said, “Jill told me there was a disagreement. Can I offer you some marital advice?”

“Sure.”

“Offer to take the couch if she needs the space. But never, ever assume it’s what she wants. Have the conversation.”

Claire nodded. “Thanks, Mayor.”

“Patricia. In my house, after midnight, in my pajamas, you can call me Patricia.”

“Okay. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Claire.”

Claire went upstairs, stepping on the balls of her feet to minimize the sound. The bedroom door was open a crack and she slipped inside. Jodie was lying on top of the covers with her hands folded on her stomach. She didn’t move when Claire closed the door behind her.

“I know you’re awake.”

Jodie said, “No, I’m not. I passed out hours ago and I’ve been sleeping like a baby.”

Claire finished undressing, draping her uniform over a chair before she lay down next to Jodie.

“Thank you for sending the text.”

Jodie rolled onto her side so they were facing each other. “We were both sort of wrong.” She touched Claire’s cheek and a line appeared between her eyebrows. “Claire, you’re freezing.”

“I--”

“Shh.” She scooted closer and wrapped her arms around Claire, squeezing her tightly. “I know who you are. You’re the woman who robbed a bank to keep me from becoming a bank robber. You do stupid things sometimes. But you’re always doing the right thing, without worrying about the consequences. But you know who I am, too. I’m the woman who is always going to be scared and worried that you’ll get hurt. We have to take that with everything else we love about each other. I can do that.”

“I can, too,” Claire said.

Jodie pulled the blanket tighter around them. “Let me warm you up.” She put her head down on Claire’s chest. “This is a really nice house.”

“It is.”

“You should run for mayor so we can have it.”

Claire smiled. “You want it, you run for mayor.”

“No, you.”

“No, you.”

“No,” Jodie murmured.

Claire stroked Jodie’s hair and drifted off.