John Verdon - Let the Devil Sleep

Even though it was too dark to make out his face, Gurney turned toward Kyle on the bench. “I still don’t get why you…”

“Why I bothered to look into that? I don’t know. I guess I… I mean, I looked into a lot of stuff like that… like crimes… murders… stuff like that.”

Gurney was stunned into silence. Ten years ago his son had been playing detective. And how long before that? Or after that? And why the hell hadn’t he known about it? How had it escaped his attention?

Jesus Fucking Christ, was I that unapproachable? That lost in my career, my thoughts, my personal priorities?

He felt tears coming, didn’t know what to do.

He coughed, cleared his throat. “What do they make at Sindelfingen?”

“Their top-of-the-line stuff. Which would explain it as a common factor, I guess. I mean, if the Shepherd was targeting only the most expensive Mercedes models, then that’s the plant they all would have been made in.”

“Still, it’s an interesting point. And you took the time to discover it.”

“So you want to come up to the house?” said Kyle after a pause. “Feels like it might rain.”

“In a minute. You go ahead.”

“You want me to leave the flashlight with you?” Kyle switched it on, shining it up the slope toward the asparagus patch.

“No need. I know the obstructions between here and there pretty well.”

“Okay.” Kyle stood up slowly, testing the evenness of the ground in front of the bench. There was a small splash at the edge of the pond.

“The hell was that?”

“Frog.”

“You sure? Are there any snakes?”

“Hardly any. All small, all harmless.”

Kyle seemed to think about this for a while. “Okay,” he said. “See you up at the house.”

Gurney watched him, or rather the beam of his flashlight, moving gradually up the pasture path. Then he leaned back on the bench and closed his eyes, inhaling the damp air, emotionally drained.

His eyes opened suddenly at the sound of a small branch breaking somewhere in the woods behind the barn. Perhaps ten seconds later, he heard the sound again. He got up from the bench and listened, straining his eyes into the depthless black masses and ill-defined spaces that represented the area around him.

Hearing nothing more for the next minute or two, stepping tentatively, he walked carefully from the bench to the barn, which was about a hundred yards away. Once he reached the near corner of the big wooden structure, he walked slowly around it on the grassy verge that bordered it, stopping every so often to listen. Each time he stopped, he considered withdrawing the Beretta from its holster. But each time the thought was followed by a sense of overreaction.

The silence of the night now seemed absolute. The condensation in the grass was beginning to penetrate the seams of his shoes and seep into his socks. He wondered what he’d expected to discover, why he’d even bothered to circle the barn. He glanced up the slope toward the house. The amber light in the windows looked inviting.

Taking a shortcut through the field, he stumbled over a groundhog burrow and fell, which brought back for a few seconds the electric pain between his elbow and wrist. When he entered the house, he realized from Madeleine’s expression that he must look disheveled.

“I tripped,” he explained, smoothing out his shirt. “Where is everyone?”

She seemed surprised. “You didn’t see Kim outside?”

“Outside? Where?”

“She stepped out a few minutes ago. I thought maybe she wanted a private word with you.”

“She’s out there in the dark by herself?”

“Well, she’s not in here.”

“Where’s Kyle?”

“He went upstairs for something.”

Her tone sounded odd to him. “Upstairs?”

“Yes.”

“He’s staying overnight?”

“Apparently. I offered him the yellow bedroom.”

“And Kim’s taking the other one?”

It was a silly question. Of course she was taking the other one. But before Madeleine could answer, he heard the side door opening and shutting, followed by the soft rustling sound of a jacket being hung up. A moment later Kim entered the kitchen.

“Did you get lost out there?” asked Gurney.

“No. I was just looking around.”

“In the dark?”

“Looking to see if I could see any stars. Breathing the country air.” She sounded uneasy.

“Not a good night for stars.”

“No, not very good. Actually, it was kind of spooky out there.” She hesitated. “Look… I want to apologize for the way I spoke to you before.”

“No need. In fact, I want to apologize for upsetting you. I understand how important this thing is to you.”

“Still, I shouldn’t have said what I said the way I said it.” She gave her head an embarrassed little shake. “My timing is really lousy.”

He didn’t understand what the “timing” reference meant, but he didn’t question it, lest it prolong the exchange of apologies, which he found awkward. “I’m going to have some coffee. How about you?”

“Sure.” She seemed relieved. “Good idea.”

“Why don’t you both have a seat at the table,” said Madeleine firmly. “I’ll put on enough for all of us.”

They took their seats. Madeleine plugged in the coffeemaker. Two seconds later the kitchen lights went out.

“The hell happened?” said Gurney.

Neither Madeleine nor Kim answered.

“Maybe that thing tripped a circuit breaker?” he suggested.

He started to get up, but Madeleine stopped him. “The circuit breaker’s fine.”

“Then what could…?” A low, flickering light came from the hall that led to the stairway.

The flickering light grew stronger. Then he heard Kyle’s voice, singing, and a moment later the young man came in through the arched doorway, carrying a cake covered with lit candles, his voice growing louder with each word.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday, dear Daa-aad, happy birthday to you.”

“My God…” muttered Gurney, blinking. “Is today… really…?”

“Happy birthday,” said Madeleine softly.

“Happy birthday!” cried Kim with nervous enthusiasm, adding, “Now you know why I feel like such a total idiot for behaving the way I did, tonight of all nights.”

“Jesus,” said Gurney, shaking his head. “Bit of a surprise.”

With a broad grin, Kyle laid the blazing cake gingerly in the middle of the table. “I used to get pissed when he’d forget my birthday. But then I realized he couldn’t even remember his own, so it wasn’t so bad.”

Kim laughed.

“Make a wish and blow them out,” said Kyle.

“Okay,” said Gurney. Then, silently, he made his wish: God help me say the right thing . He paused, took the deepest breath he could, and blew out about two-thirds of the candles. He took a second breath and finished the job.

“You did it!” said Kyle. He went out to the hall, to the main switch for the kitchen lights, and flipped it back on.

“I thought I was supposed to get them all with one blow,” said Gurney.

“Not when there are that many. Nobody could blow out forty-nine candles with one breath. The rule says you get a second try for any number over twenty-five.”

Gurney looked at Kyle and at the smoldering candles with bewilderment and, once again, felt the threat of an oncoming tear. “Thank you.”

The coffee machine began making sputtering sounds. Madeleine went over to tend to it.

“You know,” said Kim, “you don’t look anywhere near forty-nine. If I had to guess, I would have said thirty-nine.”

“That would make me thirteen when Kyle was born,” said Gurney, “and eleven when I married his mother.”