James Burke - Feast Day of Fools

The 911 call came in to the department at 6:47 A.M. The caller said he was an emergency electrical worker who had been sent out to find a downed power line in the neighborhood and had been flagged down by a man claiming to be a minister. “Y’all better get out here. This guy isn’t making much sense,” the caller said.

“Neither are you. What’s the nature of your emergency?” Maydeen said.

“The guy says there’s a Chinese woman inside that almost drowned. The place looks torn to hell. There’re two pickup trucks in the yard with the wiring ripped out of the dashboards. Maybe a bunch of those Mexicans went crazy.”

“Which Mexicans?”

“The ones that come through here every night. Maybe now y’all can get off your asses and do something about it.”

“What’s your name?”

“Marvin.”

“What’s your last name, Marvin?”

“I didn’t give it.”

“Well, Marvin I-Didn’t-Give-It, you keep yourself and your smart-aleck mouth there till a deputy sheriff arrives. You also keep this line open. You copy that, Marvin?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Ma’am?”

“What?”

“I’m standing in the yard by the horse tank. There’s blood in the water and on the side of the tank. There’s something else, too. Hang on.”

“Are you still there?”

“There’s a car, maybe a Trans Am, driving up from the back of the property. It doesn’t have any paint. A guy is getting out.”

“What about him?”

“I don’t know. A guy in a suit and a hat. A guy in a dress shirt. I don’t know where he came from. There’s no road back there.”

“Have you seen him before?”

“I waved at him, but he’s just standing there. His engine is running.”

“Can you get the tag?”

“No, ma’am. He’s got his door open and he’s staring at me. He hasn’t shaved in a while. His shirt is yellow-looking, like there’s dried soap in it.”

Then the caller went silent.

“Are you there? Stay with me, Marvin,” Maydeen said.

“I don’t know what he wants. He’s just staring at me. His pants are stuck down inside the tops of his boots. Are y’all on your way yet?”

“Can you ask the driver who he is?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not sure why not. This isn’t a reg’lar sort of guy.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“The way he’s staring at me. He’s got a shoulder rig on.”

“He’s carrying a weapon?”

“Yes, ma’am, a big revolver in a shoulder rig. I can see it against his chest.”

“Go to your vehicle, Marvin.”

“I don’t think he wants me to do that.”

“Listen to me, Marvin. Take your cell phone from your ear and walk to your vehicle with it. But don’t break the connection. Are you listening?”

“He’s walking up to me, ma’am.”

“Drive away, Marvin.”

“No, ma’am. This is not the time to go anywhere. Jesus Christ, lady, get out here.” There was a pause, then: “I’m from the power company. I’m not sure what’s going on. The place is a wreck, isn’t it? I think a lady in there might be hurt real bad. Sir, you cain’t take the keys out of my truck. That’s a company vehicle. They don’t allow unauthorized personnel inside their vehicles. Sir, don’t throw my keys up there. I’m gonna be in a heck of a lot of trouble.”

The connection went dead.

Maydeen dispatched the paramedics and two deputies to the house, then called Hackberry at his home and told him of the 911 call. “The guy from the power company didn’t say who the minister was?” he asked.

“No clue.”

“And nothing else about the guy in the Trans Am?”

“Just what I told you.”

“Collins?”

“I’ve tried to call Marvin twice, but I go to voice mail.”

“Call the power company and ask them to call the radio in his truck.”

“Yes, sir.”

“There was blood in the horse tank?”

“That’s what the caller said.”

“I’m on my way. Get Pam out there.”

“She just walked in.”

“Put her on, please.”

“It’s Collins, isn’t it?” Maydeen said.

“That’s my guess.”

“You’ll probably beat the ambulance there. Wait till I get R.C. and Felix out there for backup.”

“Do what you’re told, Maydeen.”

“You’re too goddamn old and stubborn for your own good, Hack. You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

Pam picked up the extension. “What’s going on?” she said.

“We ROA at Anton Ling’s place. Maydeen will fill you in. Get ahold of Ethan Riser and tell him Jack Collins is probably in the neighborhood. Put out an APB on a Trans Am with no paint on it. Include Collins’s physical description.”

“Copy that,” she replied. “Hack?”

“What?”

“If you see Collins, forget the rules.”

“We never forget the rules.”

“Haven’t you figured it out? That’s exactly what Collins counts on.”

Maydeen was right. Because Hackberry was driving from his ranch, he arrived at Anton Ling’s property before the ambulance or the deputies from his department. The rain had stopped, and the great boundless baked emptiness of the land that was not unlike the floor of an ancient ocean seemed to have risen cool and green and washed from the storm, a blue and pink and turquoise rainbow arching over the hills, anchoring itself and its promise somewhere beyond the clouds.

Cody Daniels’s truck was parked in front of the house, the ignition wires ripped out. The lineman’s truck was parked close by, the driver’s door open, the keys gone from the ignition. There was no movement either inside or outside the house. Hackberry walked to the barn and the bunkhouse and the stucco cottage and looked inside. There was no one there, and the Trans Am was nowhere to be seen. He pulled his revolver from its holster and entered the house through the kitchen door, the pistol hanging heavily from his hand. The contents of the cupboards and the pantry had been raked on the floor. Through a side door, he could see into the room that served as a chapel. The statue of the Virgin Mary had been broken in half, and the tiered rack of votive candles had been flipped over and the candles and glass holders smashed and ground into the floor. The small altar had been flung into the folding chairs, the white altar cloth grimed with footprints.

The only sound he heard was the wind flapping the curtains on the windows. Through a doorway, he could see the dining and living rooms. The pictures had been stripped from the walls and the dining table turned over, as though someone had been looking for something taped under it, the fabric on the stuffed chairs sliced open.

“This is Sheriff Holland! Who’s in here?” he called.

“Sheriff?” a familiar voice said.

“That’s what I said.”

“It’s Cody Daniels.”

“Walk out here where I can see you, Reverend.”

“Did you bring the ambulance?”

“Do what I say, please.”

“Yes, sir, I’m coming,” Daniels said, walking into the dining room. “They beat up Miss Anton and almost drowned her. We got to get her to the hospital. Sometimes people get pneumonia when they almost drown.”

Hackberry still held his revolver, his eyes roving around the house’s interior, searching over Cody Daniels’s shoulder. “Where’s Collins?”

“Is that his name?”

“Will you answer the question?”

“You’re talking about the guy who killed all those Thai women, right? He didn’t give us his name. He just asked who did this to Miss Anton. I told him I didn’t have a clue.”

Hackberry holstered his revolver and went into the bedroom. Anton Ling lay on a mattress that had been pulled off the bedsprings. Her dresser drawers had been dumped and her clothes pulled from the hangers in the closet. There was blood on her pillow, her clothes were drenched, and her eyes had the lack of focus that accompanies brain concussion. He knelt beside her. “Who did this to you, Miss Anton?”