Even Steven (44 page)

"She doesn't understand," Bobby went on quickly, hoping that the big man wouldn't be distracted by Susan's hysterics. "She's not feeling well, okay? She's confused. Here, the boy is yours."

Steven went nuts, squirming and kicking. It was all Bobby could do to hang on to him.

"But you'd better take him now. I don't know how long I can hold to him."

"Bobby, I'll kill you!" Susan shrieked. "You can't give up our baby!

can't!"

"Do it now, goddammit!" Bobby yelled. "Do it now and get out of here."

For a long moment, the intruder just looked confused, unsure what to do. Then, as if a veil had lifted, he nodded. In one quick motion, he let go of Susan and scooped Steven out of Bobby's arms.

Susan attacked. She charged at the intruder, screaming nonsensical words, her eyes filled with murder.

Samuel started around with the pistol, but Bobby tackled his wife, wrestling her to the ground and doing his best to pin her there.

"Go!" Bobby shouted. "I've got her! Just go!"

Samuel tried to hold his aim, but the squirming boy was giving him fits. "I heard you!" he shouted angrily, and at first Bobby thought he was talking to him. Then he realized that this man who'd broken into his house was embroiled in a shouting match with someone who wasn't even there.

"The boy's the most important!" the intruder ranted on. "You said so yourself. He's the most important, and I've got him and I'm gonna go back. That's all I need to do. I'm gonna take him back."

He shouted on like that the whole way down the stairs, and on out the front door, his voice ultimately drowned out by Steven's high-pitched squeals-or Justin's, or whoever the hell he was.

Bobby would never have guessed that his wife could be so strong. Hanging on through her struggles was like riding a bucking bronc in a rodeo. She squirmed and twisted and screamed, trying to break a hand or a leg free. She tried to bite him.

"Susan, stop! Goddammit, stop!"

"My baby! You let my baby go! You gave him away!"

"He's not our baby!"

"He's my baby! God sent him to me!"

"He was going to kill you, Susan! He was going to kill you and then take him anyway!"

"Let me go!"

"No! Not until you settle down."

"Let me go!" She got a wrist free, and it all went south from there. She pummeled him, pounding his face and his ears, the blows landing with stunning force. When she got a leg free, she jammed a knee into his crotch, and Bobby felt the fight drain out of him in a wave of agony. He let go and rolled himself into a protective ball.

Susan didn't hesitate an instant. She jumped to her feet and tore down the stairs, taking them two, three, four at a time.

She dashed through the foyer and the opened front door, shrieking to the night, "Steven! Bring him back, you bastard! Bring back my baby!"

RUSSELL COATES OPTED to ride in the lead cruiser, with none other than Captain Himler himself at the wheel, leading a procession of four vehicles through the downtown center of Clinton. Out here in the sticks, reception on his cellular phone was fragile at best, and he had to keep a finger pushed into his other ear to hear the latest report from Agent Wheatley on Tim Burrows's condition.

Himler waited until his passenger hung up to ask, "How's he doing?"

Russell shook his head. "They don't know yet. Apparently it's a pretty bad belly wound, and he's still in surgery. Beyond that, my guy didn't know much."

Himler shook his head. "Damned shame. And you think these folks we're after had something to do with it?"

"That's what my instincts tell me, yes. I think the Martins are up to their eyeballs in something they shouldn't be involved with, and I think they've probably kidnapped themselves a child. Beyond that, there's not much I can say for sure."

Neither of them spoke as they bounced over two sets of railroad tracks, then Himler broke the silence. "Mind if I ask a question?" "Word it that way and the answer is probably yes." Himler chuckled. "Still happy with your decision to wait?" Russell considered the question for a moment. "Haven't you ever

had a gut feeling that a case just hasn't evolved far enough yet? You know you're close, but if you pull the string too early, it'll just unravel?"

Himler nodded. "All the time. I wasn't criticizing. Just asking."

"Well, there'll be plenty of criticism to go around. With Agent Burrows getting himself shot, I can guarantee that every single decision I've made today will be second-guessed and overturned."

Himler turned his head in the darkness to face Russell. "Sounds like burnout to me, Coates."

Russell chuckled. "Maybe the first symptoms. Another couple years and I'll have my twenty in. From there, I think it might be time to move on. It'll be up here on the left in about a quarter mile." Russell wasn't in the mood for career counseling.

A few minutes later, the invasion of the Martin house was complete. In total, six police vehicles scattered through the front and side yards, their light bars shimmering. As officers moved to assigned locations throughout the property, the air crackled with the sharp staccato sounds of constant radio traffic.

"It's your scene, Agent Coates," Himler deferred as they approached the front door. "You may do the honors."

Russell nodded, then stepped up and rang the bell. Through the leaded glass that lined the doorjamb, they could hear the sound of Big Ben.

"Is that the doorbell?" Himler laughed. "Sounds like Buckingham Palace."

Ten seconds passed and Russell switched to the knocker. On a quiet night like this, people were likely to report the knocks as distant gunfire.

"Robert Martin!" Coates yelled. "This is the FBI. I have a warrant to take you into custody. Open the door!"

This time, he didn't even wait for a reply. If the suspects hadn't answered by now, to hell with them. He'd shown due diligence in front of a half dozen witnesses. Now he could break down the fucking door.

The two patrol officers stepped forward with a battering ram, and after one practice swing, they sent the decorative cherry-stained door exploding open in a hailstorm of wood fragments and broken glass. They heard a similar crash elsewhere in the house as more officers carried out the same operation downstairs, at the back door.

Two minutes later, the primary search was completed, and the house was declared empty.

"Looks like your people bolted," Himler said to Russell.

Russell pulled his notepad from an inside pocket and flipped through it till he got the right page. "Do me a favor, will you, Captain?"

Himler took a step closer.

"Put out an APB for this Explorer?"

"How far, do you think?"

Russell mused for a moment. "Well, certainly the D.C. metro area, and why don't you throw in West Virginia, Pennsylvania, Delaware, and Ohio just for grins."

"Those will take some time, you know."

"Fair enough. I'll be interested to see just how big a head start they've gotten." Even as Himler passed the assignment on to a junior officer, Russell held little hope that the all-points bulletin would bear any fruit tonight. It was hard enough spotting the color of a car at night; reading the license number could be a bitch. And that's if they didn't do something to disguise it.

So, I spooked them, Russell thought. Where would I run if I were them? He wondered if they'd even thought that far ahead. Was this part of the larger plan all along, or were they merely reacting to Russell's getting too close?

A patrol officer yelled from above, "Captain Himler, I think you might want to take a look at this."

Every eye in the house turned to face the gray-shirted cop on the bridge over the foyer.

"We got signs of a fight up here. And a bullet hole in the doorjamb."

Samuel hit the sack with his flashlight and it stopped squirming. "Quit making me do that!" he scolded. "Just be quiet and enjoy the ride. This is a game, okay? I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to hurt anybody, so just settle down." After a pause, he added, "You dummy," just to hear what it sounded like coming from him instead of toward him. He didn't like it.

"I'm sorry I called you that. Nobody should call anybody that." The sack said nothing. Just as well. It never talked anyway; it just screamed.

Why did they call the boy Steven? he wondered. If his real name was Justin, why would they go and call him Steven? It didn't make any sense. Just like a lot of things that didn't make any sense.

Like, why did Jacob have to die like that? Why couldn't he have won the fight and gone on to do all of this stuff with The Boss? Samuel hated this stuff. Every time he thought about The Boss, his heart would hammer so hard in his chest! He just didn't know that he was up to the task of doing business with the only man in the world that his big brother had been frightened of.

You should have killed them.

"Who? The people back at the house?"

Who else, you pussy?

"I didn't have to. I didn't want to. I already had the boy, why should have killed them? That man was actually helping me there at the end. It wouldn't have been nice to shoot him after that."

Did you touch anything?

Samuel gasped hard enough and loudly enough to trigger a cough. He had! He'd touched lots of stuff, hadn't he? Quickly, he raised his hands in front of his face, one at a time in the darkness of the cab, so as not to lose control, just to make sure he hadn't left any parts of himself behind.

Well, did you?

He hated that tone in Jacob's voice: that taunting, know-it-all tone. Maybe he didn't wish that Jacob had lived after all.

Well?

"You were there, Mr. Smarty! You were there! You already know I did!"

Remember the electric chair, Samuel? Remember how I told you about that?

Well, why didn't you say anything? You were there!" Jacob didn't bother to answer. More and more, he was getting like that- His daddy had been a lot like that, too, right after he died. He always talked to Samuel, ragging on him day and night about stuff, call-, him names, telling him terrible things in his sleep about Jacob. Things that Samuel didn't want to hear.

Jacob wasn't like his daddy said. He wasn't a bad boy. Mama had died of the cancer. They knew she was going to die, so it was just a matter of time anyway. The way she cried out in the middle of the night, and the way she didn't recognize them when they came in the room, that was all part of the cancer. That's what Jacob had told him, and Samuel knew that Jacob never lied. Jacob was the one person in the world who was always on his side; the one person in the world who would always stick up for him, no matter what else was going on. No matter who else was making fun of him.

It was okay for Jacob to call him names, but if anybody else even tried, then Katy bar the door, boy. Jacob would be all over them like . . . like stink on shit. That's right, like stink on shit. That's how Jacob liked to put it.

And those pills that he gave to Mama? They were just her medicine. Daddy got that part all wrong. He said that Jacob wanted her to die. Said that he was tired of her yelling out all the time, and tired of having to clean her bottom as if she were a baby. Who the hell did Daddy think he was, saying shit like that about Jacob? He was a good brother. The best brother a boy could ever have.

But Daddy never saw it that way. Hell, he didn't like any of his kids.

The sound of the switch slicing through the air startled Samuel, making him jump in his seat and look around the inside of the truck cab. He swore that he could almost feel the searing pain. Smell the chicken shit.

Why was he thinking about that day so much? He hadn't thought about that in so long. Why was it all coming back now? And with such clarity? It almost felt as if he were traveling with ghosts in the truck. Screams. He jumped again. Where did those come from? God, they were so loud. Where the hell did they come from? Were they even real?

Samuel tried to force himself to concentrate on the winding road that stretched out in front of his truck, but inside his head, he kept seeing that great column of smoke rising from way off in the backyard. Jesus, that was so long ago, but he could still see it with perfect clarity and detail.

The sun burned bright and hot, and Samuel's butt and back still ached from the switching. He couldn't move his arms or his legs without tearing a scab, but he still had work to do. The tractor needed an oil

change, and after that, the hay wasn't going to stack itself, you know. Out there at their farm, either you pulled your weight or you didn't, that's all there was to it. A few taps with a switch was no reason for a man to shirk his work.

At first, he'd thought he heard the sound of a cat caught somewhere it didn't belong. But the more he listened, the more he realized that no cat could ever raise a howl like that. It was a much bigger sound-much bigger animal. Human maybe? Jacob!

Samuel dropped what he was doing and tore out of the barn, out into the yard, only to see that it was empty. The screams got louder still, and from way off to the right-near where the chicken coops were-he saw a giant column of smoke rising into the air; black, greasy smoke, like you'd expect to see out of those old steam trains he'd seen on television.