Nelson DeMille - Spencerville

After some polite chatter, Neil Johnson handed Keith the crossbow and said, "This here one is used, made out of fiberglass by a company called Pro Line. Pretty good."

Keith examined the weapon. Essentially, it consisted of a short bow mounted crossways on a riflelike stock also of fiberglass. A trigger arrangement released the drawn string and sent the arrow on its journey along a groove running the length of the top of the stock. "Looks easy."

"Yeah. It's too easy. No sport. You'll be as good as anyone else in a few days. A longbowman got to practice years to get good."

Keith had the feeling that Mr. Johnson was disdainful of the crossbow and of anyone who used it.

In fact, Neil Johnson informed him, "A feller told me once that crossbows was outlawed by the pope back in the days of knights, you know, because it was considered unfit and unfair for Christians to use it."

"You don't say? Did that include shooting rats?"

"Probably not. Anyway, it's real accurate. You got about a sixty-pound pull, and you cock it by putting the stock against your chest, and you draw the string back with both hands. Here, I'll show you." Neil took the crossbow and cocked the string back and hooked it on the trigger catch. He put an arrow in the groove and pointed it down the length of the room at a dusty deer head mounted on the far wall about thirty feet away. He aimed along the sights and pulled the trigger. The short arrow flew out of the crossbow and pierced the deer head right between the eyes, passed through, and stuck into the wooden wall mounting with a thud. "How's that?"

"Very good."

"Yeah. I couldn't do that with a longbow. Okay, so the arrow travels about two hundred feet a second, and if you're leadin' an animal, you got to remember you ain't firin' a rifle, and you got to lead him more. Somethin' else to remember — at forty yards, you're gonna get as much as a four-foot drop in the arrow, so you got to compensate for that." He picked up one of the arrows and said, "These here are fiberglass, with plastic vanes, and this here's a broad-tipped hunting head. They come eight to a box. How many you want?"

Keith looked at the plastic quiver on the counter and said, "Fill 'er up."

"Okay. That's twenty-four. You need anything else?"

"Can you mount a scope on this?"

"Scope? You ain't givin' them rats a chance, are you?"

"Nope."

"Let's see what I got here." Neil found a four-power bow scope and within ten minutes had mounted it on the crossbow. He handed it to Keith and said, "You want to adjust that aim?"

"Sure do."

"I'll set out a target. Step on back to the door. That's about twenty yards."

Keith took the crossbow, slung the quiver, and walked back to the door, while Neil Johnson set up a bull's-eye target against a bale of straw and stepped away. Keith cocked the bow against his chest, fitted the arrow, aimed through the telescopic sight, and pulled the trigger. The arrow hit low, and he adjusted the sight and fired again. On the third shot, he put the arrow through the inner circle. "Okay. How accurate is this at, say, forty yards?"

Neil replied, "About twice as accurate as a longbow, which is to say you ought to be able to put all your arrows inside a nine-inch circle at forty yards."

Keith nodded. "How about eighty yards?"

"Eighty yards? You ain't gonna even see a rat at eighty yards... well, maybe with that scope it's gonna look like twenty yards, but you're gettin' that four-foot drop at forty yards, and maybe a ten-foot drop at eighty yards. These things is made for forty-yard target shooting. You can send an arrow maybe seven hundred yards with that thing, but you ain't hittin' nothin', 'cept maybe Farmer Brown's cow, by accident."

"Yeah... can I hit, let's say, a wild dog, stationary, at eighty yards, no wind, with this scope?"

Neil rubbed his chin. "Well... you're gonna get a straight, true flight regardin' left and right, but you got to figure your drop. What's the point of this?"

"Dogs bothering my sheep back in Ohio. When I fire a rifle at one, the others scatter. I figure with a crossbow, I won't spook them."

"Why don't you just poison the damned things?"

"That's not real Christian."

Neil laughed and said, "Have it your way." He took a pencil and scratched some numbers on the wooden counter. "Let's see... crossbow, twenty-four arrows including the one I shot... you want that back?"

"No."

"Okay, quiver, carrying case, and scope... let's say six hundred dollars, and that includes the tax."

"Sounds fair." Keith counted out the money, which was almost all the cash he had, and he recalled Charlie Adair's thousand dollars, then thought about Adair and wondered when and how he'd see him again.

As Billy packed everything in the canvas carrying case, Keith inquired, "Do you get many folks from Ohio up this way?"

Neil counted the money and replied, "Get a lot in the summer, then during the hunting season. After that, you don't see many. Where you headed?"

"Presque Isle."

"Yeah? Ain't easy getting through them hills at night unless you know the way."

"We'll take it slow. I see you sell dog chow."

"Yup. Do a lot of my out-of-town business in ammo, dog chow, some fish bait, and like that. People's got their own rifles and all." Neil went on, then remembered the subject and asked, "You need some dog chow?"

"No, but a friend of mine comes up here with two, three dogs, and they eat like wolves. I think this is where he comes for his chow."

"Yeah, you run 'em, you got to feed 'em. Fact, a guy from Ohio was in here a few days back and bought enough chow to last a few months."

"That could have been my friend. He's up here."

"Coulda been."

The conversation seemed to be stalled, so Keith, against his better judgment, prompted, "I was thinking about maybe buying a place up here, but I'd like to talk to some Ohio guys who already got a place."

"Yeah, you can do that. Fact, that guy who near cleaned me out of dog chow, he's up at Grey Lake. Take a ride up there and look for his signpost. Name's Baxter. That your friend?"

"No."

Billy's eyes opened wide, Keith noticed, but Billy's mouth stayed shut.

Keith said to Neil, "Yeah, maybe I'll look him up on my way back, but I don't want to just pop in if he's got the missus with him."

"Didn't see no lady in his car."

Keith didn't reply.

Neil added, "But I didn't see no dogs neither, so he must've gone up to his place, then come back here." He said, "You can call ahead. He's in the book. Tell him I sent you. We do business now and then."

"Thanks. Maybe I'll call on the way back. Meantime, I got to make a call home. Mind if I use your phone?"

"No, go right ahead. Over there by the cash register."

Keith walked over to the cash register, found the phone, and dialed. Billy was making conversation with Neil, talking guns and hunting.

Terry answered, "Hello?"

"Terry, it's me."

"Keith! Where are you?"

"I'm here. Listen, your phone is tapped."

"My phone?"

"Yes, but not by the Spencerville P.D. By the federal government."

"What? Why?.."

"It doesn't matter. Call your lawyer in the morning and get the tap taken off. More important, I know he's up here, so we have to assume she's here, too." He added, to make her feel better, "I'm sure she's alive."

"Oh, thank God... what are you going to do?"

"I've spoken to the local police, and they're very cooperative. I just want to remind you and Larry again not to do anything that might jeopardize the situation. Don't say anything to your parents over the phone, either. Okay?"

"Yes."

"Terry, trust me."

"I do."

"I'll have her back tomorrow."

"Do you mean that?"

"Yes."

"And him? Will they arrest him?"

"I can't say. I suppose, if she swears out a complaint, they will."