CHAPTER 14

 

Deputy Kevin Kearns was going stir-crazy. He’d been sitting in the dingy roadside motel for the better part of two days with nothing but the daily game shows, soap operas, and MTV for company. If he never saw another Terence Trent D’Arby or Cyndi Lauper video, or heard U2’s “With or Without You” again, it would be too soon. Meals he ordered from the truck stop across the highway. If he never had another piece of chicken-fried steak again, it would also be too soon.

Sergeant Evers phoned last night but had nothing to report. He told Kevin in his relaxed drawl to sit tight. He promised to call sometime today.

Kearns was doing push-ups alternating with sit-ups. He’d done hundreds of these each day, partly out of boredom, partly out of necessity. The exercise briefly took his mind off his troubles. He didn’t know when he was going to get a chance to visit a gym or run again.

He got up from the worn carpet and wiped the sweat from his brow with a motel towel. He went to the window and parted the curtains.

The world outside was pristine white, the sky a haze of snow-filled gray. Occasionally trucks and automobiles braved the road, but Kearns could tell by their greatly reduced speed that it was slick outside. An illuminated clock/thermometer/billboard at the truck stop showed the temperature as five degrees Fahrenheit.

Kearns left the window and sat on the bed. He hadn’t slept much during the two nights he’d been at the motel. Visions of the incident at the schoolyard played again and again in his head, and would jar him to wakefulness each time he drifted to sleep.

What happened at the station also nagged at him. He knew he shouldn’t have hit the FBI man, but saw red when the agent implied he was responsible for the loss of Tiffany Meade. How could he have been responsible for what happened? He did all he could. He’d been lucky to escape with his life.

He knew the public’s perception of the horrific incident was clouded with anger, grief, and a need to lay blame. A child was dead, and doing his best to prevent it hadn’t been enough. A brave schoolteacher was also dead. Like him, she’d done her best to prevent the tragedy and it cost her life.

What Sergeant Evers told him at the hospital was true. People would try to make sense of what happened, though maybe there was none to be made. And part of that process for many people would be finding someone to blame. Folks were struggling to understand why he survived and Tiffany Meade did not. He’d be easy to point the finger at; he was a cop. When the sheep get attacked by a wolf, they blame the sheepdog. Even Kearns, with less than a year on the job, knew that.

Kevin Kearns had been raised by his mother as an only child. It wasn’t until he was thirteen he learned she’d never married his father, and didn’t even know his whereabouts. He took the news indifferently. It was hard to miss what he’d never known.

Kevin’s mother died of lung cancer when he was in the army. He took it hard, grieved, and returned to finish his tour in the infantry. He was thankful she wasn’t alive now to experience the events currently occurring in his life.

Sheriff Coates could be counted on to disassociate himself from Kearns, and according to Detective Parish had already begun doing just that. And the FBI could now be counted as an enemy, though hardly friendly before.

He didn’t know what to do next. The TV newscasts reported the “dragnet,” as it was being called, had netted no suspects and few leads. The child-killing, almost three days cold, continued to dominate the news. There was a lot of speculation, and many different theories, about the identity and motive of the killer. Kearns’ name was mentioned occasionally, followed by hints of police cover-up. It was unsettling, and he would have switched off the television, except that it was his only contact with the outside world.

He got off the bed and headed for a shower. He was undressing when the phone rang. He leaped over the bed and picked up the phone by the end of the first ring.

“Hello.”

“Kevin, it’s Dick Evers. How you doing?”

“I’m getting a little edgy, Sarge. Otherwise I’m OK.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone.

“We’ve got to take you to the station. I’ve delayed it as long as I could. The investigation’s going nowhere and you’ve got to be re-interviewed.” After a too-long pause, Evers went on, “There’s something else. They’re going to charge you with assault and battery on that special agent you clouted.”

“I figured as much,” Kearns said. “That way they can roast me in the press. The FBI’s got to have a reason to explain why they haven’t made any progress on this thing yet. I’m going to be the reason.”

“You knew it was coming,” Evers said. “The Full Blown Idiots are under a lot of pressure, and they’re experienced witch-hunters. By attacking you they divert attention away from the fact they’ve got zilch on the killer.”

“Am I going to be suspended or fired?”

“I don’t know, Kevin. Maybe both. You’ve got to prepare yourself for the worst. I’ll be with you as long as I can, and so will Detective Parish. But don’t kid yourself; it’s going to get rough. I want you to get a handle on your temper this time around; do you read me?”

“Loud and clear. I promise not to deck any more federal bureaucrats.”

“That’s exactly what they want you to do. They’ll bait you; don’t let them. Your freedom could be riding on this.”

“Don’t worry,” said Kearns, dejectedly. “I’ll keep it together.”

“Rod will be out to get you in an hour. It’ll take that long to reach you, the way the roads are. He’ll drop you by your place to change into something nice; a suit if you’ve got one. Use the time to rehearse what you’re going to say; go over different scenarios in your head. It’ll help prepare you.”

“Do you really think it’ll be that bad?”