Linwood Barclay - Lone Wolf

I never broke his stare. I said, “So maybe all I can hope then is that Jeffrey grows up big and strong so that someday, he can get justice for his mother by taking care of you.”

And then Timmy spat at me. His spittle shot over the top of the gate fast as a bullet, landing on my right cheek just under my eye. I blinked, looked away, and used my sleeve to wipe it off.

I turned away, clenching my fists so tightly my nails left marks on my palms.

Lawrence, either to defuse the situation or get more information, or both, asked, “But what about Morton? What happened there?”

“You could tell,” Timmy said. “There were signs. He wasn’t with us. He wasn’t prepared to do what was necessary. He was talking about going back to the city, just for a visit, see his family, but it was pretty obvious to me that he was going to talk. He was going to tell the authorities. He was going to tell them about our revolution.”

A revolution. A bunch of nuts with a bomb and a van.

“So you decided to do something about it,” I said.

“The boys and I invited Morton to come along with us when we took the dogs for a late-night walk. I think he must have thought something was up, but he came along, and we talked about this and that, it didn’t really matter, because no matter what he told us then, we wouldn’t have believed it. He was going to leave. And he was probably going to take May and Jeffrey with him.” Timmy sighed. “No way I was going to allow that to happen.”

“Of course not,” Lawrence said.

“And so you took him into the woods,” I said, “and sicked the dogs on him.”

Timmy shrugged.

“What about the bear story?” I asked. “Where did that come from?”

“Well, once it was over, we started thinking, someone might come looking for him, or find him, which did happen the very next morning. And the first thing we thought of was the first thing everyone else thought of. That it had been a bear.”

“And you came up with that story about Morton seeing a bear, and going off after it.”

“We figured, if anyone came around asking questions, that was the story we’d stick with. And that’s what we told May and Jeffrey, too.”

I leaned up against the side of the pen, kicked at some old hay with my shoes. “Have you ever actually seen a bear around here, Timmy? Because you gave Orville and everyone a pretty good description of it.”

“Nope. There’s obviously some in these hills, but I’ve never laid eyes on one.” He smirked. “I guess that’s what you’d call ironic, huh? Considering.”

“So what’s your plan for us?” Lawrence asked. I wasn’t so sure I wanted the answer to that question. “You going to turn the dogs loose on us, blame it on a bear again?”

Timmy gave that some thought. “I don’t think so,” he said. “I think we’ll just shoot you.”

Charlene returned with ice cream. Three bowls of vanilla, two with chocolate syrup on top. She handed them out to Wendell, Dougie, and Timmy.

Dougie spooned into his, looked contemplative, and asked his mother, “Do we have any sprinkles?”

“I think so,” she said. “You want me to go get some?”

Timmy said, “Stop making your mother make so many trips. If you want sprinkles, go back and get them yourself.”

Dougie set his bowl just inside the back of the van, on the floor, and said, “I’m gonna get some.”

Timmy said, “You know what? I think I would like some chocolate sauce after all. Bring some back with you. The stuff in that little squeeze jar.” Dougie nodded and ran out of the barn.

I said, “What about Tiff Riley?”

“Huh?”

“The guy at the co-op,” I reminded him. “The one who was stabbed to death.”

Timmy’s eyes lit up. “What about him?”

“Did you kill him, too? You broke into the place to steal fertilizer and a barrel after hours, not expecting anyone to be there, and he got in the way. That about right, Timmy?”

“Wendell took care of that,” Timmy said. “It’s good to be giving the boys more responsibility. That’s what their mom wants. Although I have to tell you”-he leaned toward the gate conspiratorially-“I’m not so sure about Dougie. I want to give him a little more to do, but I don’t know that I’ll ever be convinced that he’s ready to handle the big stuff. But you can’t argue with his mother, you know what I mean?”

“You talking about me?” asked Wendell, leaning up against the far side of the van. I could hear him scraping the bowl with his spoon, trying to get the last of the syrup.

It must have occurred to me before this, at some subconscious level, but it wasn’t until this moment that it fully hit me.

This was an entire family of psychopaths.

Dougie had mowed down May’s previous boyfriend with a car. He and his brother and Timmy had set the dogs on her next boyfriend, Morton. Wendell had murdered Tiff Riley. They’d set a lawyer’s house on fire. Timmy had already indicated he was going to shoot me and Lawrence. They were preparing to set off a bomb in the middle of a small-town parade, an act that could kill any number of innocents. And all Charlene was worried about was that none of her men be hungry when they embarked on a killing spree. They were a family without a single conscience to share between themselves.

Except for May and, if it wasn’t too late, her son, Jeffrey.

Dougie reappeared with a small glass bottle, about the size of a salt shaker, filled with multicolored sprinkles. He grabbed his bowl and covered his ice cream liberally with the dessert garnish.

“Where’s my chocolate sauce?” Timmy asked.

Dougie winced. “Shit, sorry, I forgot.”

“Honest to fucking Christ, Dougie,” Timmy said.

“I can go back.”

“Never mind.”

“No, really, I can go back.”

“My ice cream’s almost totally melted anyway, so it’s not worth it,” Timmy said angrily. He shook his head in disgust.

“I’ll go get you some syrup,” Charlene said.

“I said it’s not worth it!” Timmy shouted. “If your stupid son could just remember one goddamn thing…”

“Don’t you talk about Dougie that way,” Charlene said. She had a tone, like she was giving her husband, the boy’s stepfather, a serious warning. “The reason he forgets things is because you pick on him and make him nervous.”

“Yeah, it’s all my fault.”

Dougie’s gaze moved between Timmy and his mother. He had a smudge of chocolate sauce, with sprinkles in it, on his chin.

Wendell said, “I think I’m gonna go get changed.” He left the barn, but was back only a few seconds later. “There’s a guy down by the gate,” he said worriedly.

“At this time of night?” Timmy said. “It’s got to be long after midnight, isn’t it?”

“Who is it?” Charlene asked.

“It looks like maybe he’s on crutches or something.”

Oh no.

“Crutches?” said Timmy, looking at me. “That must be Mr. Walker.”

“I’m sure he’s just getting some air,” I said. “He likes to walk at night.”

Timmy shook his head slowly. “A man on crutches doesn’t go out for a midnight stroll. My guess is he’s out looking for you.”

“I’m not lying,” I said. “He’s just looking at the stars, I’ll bet.”

Timmy gave Wendell a nod. “Get him.” Wendell grabbed his shotgun and slipped out the door.

“No!” I said. “Timmy, come on, leave him alone. He’s just an old guy.”

“If he’s looking for you, and can’t find you, then he goes back, starts making phone calls. That’s not good. Can’t have that.” Timmy suddenly looked very serious, as though something had just occurred to him.

“What?” I said. “What are you thinking?”