John Sandford: Bad blood

The dining table had been pushed against the wall, and a dead man lay on an old threadbare Persian carpet. He was faceup, with his hands by his sides; the rug and the room had been soaked in gasoline, a half-dozen votive candles sat around the dead man, on the rug. It looked like the candles had been cut down, for none was more than a half-inch thick.

"Goddamn," Schickel breathed. "Gotta get out of here, Virgil. It's a time bomb."

"Do you know that guy?" The gasoline odor was burned into his nose and the back of his throat.

Schickel said, "It's Junior Einstadt, the old man's son. He must have been down at Rouse's."

Virgil studied the scene for another few seconds, then said, "No way to move him. If we touch that rug, some of that flame could come down off a candle, it'd blow."

"Let's get out of here," Schickel said.

"Walk careful," Virgil said, and the two of them tiptoed away.

Outside again, Schickel called for a fire truck, and Virgil got the other cars backed away from the house. Then they sat and watched, one minute, three minutes, and Virgil said, "Maybe we could have gotten him out."

Schickel was on the radio and he said, "They can see the truck but he's half a mile ahead of them and he's down at 90. He's gonna make it to the highway."

"Not much traffic this time of the night. Morning. Whatever it is," Virgil said.

"But what there is, is mostly farmers in pickup trucks," Schickel said. "But where're they going to run to? We'll get him, it's just a matter of time."

And the house blew. First there was a brighter light, then immediately a whoosh, when the gas went all at once; they watched the fire climb through the house, and Virgil said, "One more place tonight, Gene. Let's see what's happening at the Floods'." JENKINS HAD RIDDEN along in the caravan with another cop, and Virgil got him and the other cop to follow as they went down the road to the Flood place.

As with the Einstadt house, there were lights: they drove up the driveway and found a pickup sitting next to the side door. They stopped, and Virgil said, "Run it," and Jenkins got out of his truck and pointed his M16 at the house.

Schickel was talking to the comm center about the truck's tags, and the name came back thirty seconds later.

"It's Emmett Einstadt's truck," Schickel said. "You lucked out. You got the old man after all."

Jenkins shouted, "We got movement."

The side door was opening, and a few seconds later, a young girl called, "Don't shoot me."

Virgil called, "Take it easy, everybody." And, "Is that you, Edna?"

"Is that you, Virgil Flowers?"

Virgil called back, "Yes. It's me. Are you okay?"

"I'm okay. My mom wants you to come in. Only you. If anybody else comes in… she's got a gun."

"What about your grandpa?" Virgil called.

"He's here, sitting in his chair. Rooney's here, too."

Virgil looked at Schickel, and shrugged. "Give me the radio," he said.

"You're really going in?"

"Yeah." He called back to Edna, "I'll be there in just a minute. I've got to get my men spaced around. I'll be right there."

He climbed back in the truck, with Schickel's radio, got a roll of duct tape out of his console, and taped the broadcast button down. "I'll leave the radio on, much as I can. You guys listen close; I don't know how much you hear. If you hear a shot, come in and get me."

He stepped away from his truck and Jenkins called, "You got your gun?"

That made him smile, and he called back, "Yeah, this time."

And he called to Edna, "I'm coming in, honey."

Virgil didn't know what to expect when he went in, but he went in behind the muzzle of his pistol. At the top of the entry stairs, he saw Edna looking at him from the doorway to the living room. She was dressed from head to foot in a dress that was either dark blue or dark gray, and fell in one line from her neck. She said, "There's nobody to shoot."

Virgil said, "Why don't you come around behind me?"

She shook her head and said, "No, we're all in here," and she stepped away into the living room. Virgil expected something weird, in keeping with the rest of the night. Instead of following, he edged backward across the kitchen to the mudroom, made sure there was nobody there, who'd be behind him.

Edna came to the doorway again and watched him as he crossed the kitchen-somebody had been frying chicken, but a while ago, without cleaning up, and he could smell the cold grease. He paused at the dining room door, then stepped through: it was empty, but another arch at the end of the dining room led into the living room. With a last glance at the girl in the doorway, he stepped into the dining room, and she said, to somebody he couldn't see, "He's coming. He's checking the dining room."

A woman's voice-Alma Flood's, Virgil thought-said, "Pull that other chair around for him." He moved forward slowly, got to the arch, did a quick peek into the living room, then moved into it, still behind the muzzle of his gun.

The room was lit by two lamps and a television that had been muted; it had been tuned to either a religious channel or a history channel, because the show involved a tour of Jerusalem.

Virgil was somewhat behind Alma Flood, who was sitting in her platform rocker, facing Wally Rooney and Emmett Einstadt, who sat in two recliners, which had been dragged around to face her. Both men were leaning back with their feet up. The two girls, Edna and Helen, sat to one side, on dining room chairs. And an empty chair sat next to them.

Flood was looking at Einstadt and Rooney, but when she heard Virgil's boots on the floor, she glanced at him and said, "Put the gun down, Virgil. Take a seat."

"I really don't have a lot of time for conversation-" Virgil began.

Einstadt snapped, "Sit down, goddamnit, she's got a shotgun pointed at me."

Alma was left-handed, Virgil noted, which explained why he hadn't seen the long gun. She had the butt braced against the back of the chair, under her arm, with her trigger hand by her side, her other hand on the forestock. Not a pump; the gun was a Remington semiauto twelve-gauge. The muzzle was about six feet from Einstadt's belly. That also explained why the men were sitting the way they were. With their feet up, higher than their hips, they couldn't move quickly. If Alma really wanted to shoot them, she could.

Virgil asked, "What's going on?"

"Sit down," Alma Flood said.

"I don't want to shoot you, Ms. Flood," Virgil said. "There's been enough shooting tonight."

"Maybe and maybe not," she said. "But I've got this trigger about half pulled, and if you move that gun toward me, I'll pull it the rest of the way. You'll be killing two Einstadts with one shot."

"Sit down, please, sit down," Rooney whined. Rooney was sweating hard, though the room was cool.

Virgil sat. He kept the gun in his hand, resting on his right leg, and put the radio down between his legs, with the microphone up, and hoped that Schickel and Jenkins and the others could hear it. "What happened here?" he asked.

"From what I hear, you know most of it," Alma said. "We're talking about that."

"We're having a trial," Helen said. "Because of Rooney, mostly, but then maybe for Grandfather, too."

"What'd Rooney do?"

The shotgun barrel swung to Rooney, the muzzle moving a short four or five inches, not nearly enough time for Virgil to do anything even if he'd been prepared. Alma said, "In the World of Spirit, nothing too serious. He took his women, just like the rules say he can. That being me, and then the girls. But as I understand it, under most laws, and maybe even normal Bible laws, we were raped."

"If you didn't consent, then it's rape. If he had sexual relations with the girls, it's rape whether or not they consented, because they're too young to give consent," Virgil said.