In All Deep Places (14 page)

Life was busy but I felt content. Sure of things. In control.

But Norah and Kieran only made it to one home game. Four days before Thanksgiving, on a Monday night that showered most of Iowa with an unpleasant mixture of ice and freezing rain, Darrel Janvik got into a fight with another man at a bar in Carrow. Both were drunk. Both were angry. Both should have listened to the advice of friends and other patrons who told them to “just let it go.”

But Darrel had followed the other man, who had insulted him, out to the parking lot. He’d staggered over to his truck—the camper shell had long since been sold—and taken out his hunting rifle and waved it around, telling the man if he didn’t learn to shut up, he, Darrel, was going to give him “shutting-up lessons.” The man had reeled over toward Darrel, shouting curses and challenging him to go ahead and try it. Darrel had raised the barrel of the rifle, and the other man had reached down into his boot and pulled out a knife. When Darrel had laughed and cocked the rifle his opponent had lunged at him—and as he yelled, “bang!” the other man threw
himself at him and knocked him to the ground. As he fell, his at
tacker had plunged the blade into Darrel’s chest, slicing through skin and muscle and arteries. Darrel had landed with a thud on the icy parking lot, and the skin above his right eye had torn away in
a ragged gash. The man fell next to him, the rifle in Darrel’s hand
cracking him over the head.

“I can’t see,” Darrel had mumbled as he raised a shaking hand to the wound on his forehead. Someone ran into the bar to call for
an ambulance.

By the time it arrived to whisk Darrel Janvik away to the hos
pital, he had bled to death.

I
was asleep when a pair
of sheriff’s deputies drove quietly down Seventh Avenue
shortly after midnight on the night of the ice storm. So were my mom and Ethan. Only Dad, who was up getting a drink of water, saw the squad car stop at
Nell’s house. He watched from the kitchen window as the deputies got out of the car, walked up to the house, and knocked. Nell was still up; my dad said later that he could see the blue glow of her television screen. She
had only been home for half an hour from her shift at the paint factory.

My dad said he’d shaken his head in parental sympathy. Nell’s trouble-
making son was probably in jail, and the deputies were telling her
what it was he’d done this time. Dad sipped his water and wondered why she hadn’t just gotten a phone call, why the deputies
had driven over on a night like this one. He set his cup in the sink
and turned off the light, preparing to go back up to bed. But then he saw the lights in one of Nell’s upstairs windows come on. He
waited and watched for what seemed like a long time. Maybe five minutes later, the deputies came out of the house, and so did Nell,
bundled in a coat and hat. Behind her trailed Norah and Kieran,
their pajama pants visible underneath their heavy jackets. They all quickly got into the squad car, and the car drove off.

“What in the world…?” Dad whispered to the kitchen curtains.

He left the kitchen and started back up the stairs, wondering what Darrel had done that required his children to be roused from
their beds at midnight on a school night.

In the morning, while we ate our Wheaties, we all found out.

Royce Harkin, Halcyon’s chief of police and a personal friend, came by our house a few minutes after seven. The storm had passed, and a glistening infant sunrise was making the ice-covered tree limbs and electrical lines twinkle and shine like
strands of white Christmas lights.

My mom welcomed Royce into the kitchen, took his hat and
coat, and poured him a cup of coffee.

“What’s up, Royce?” my dad asked, moving the pages of the
Des Moines Register
so Harkin could sit down.

“Bad news, I’m afraid. There’s an arraignment at the county
courthouse at two o’clock this afternoon, and I wanted you to hear from me what it’s about rather than from your fax machine or the coffee gang, seein’ as you’re Nell’s neighbor and all.”

My dad said nothing, and Mom took a chair
as she waited to hear what horrible crime had been com
mitted. Darrel must have really done it this time.

Royce took a breath. “Look, Darrel Janvik was killed last night.”

No one said a word for several seconds.

“What?” Dad managed to say.

“There was a fight in the parking lot at The Eight Ball last night sometime before midnight. Darrel was drunk, and so was this other guy. Darrel got his hunting rifle out of his truck and was waving it
around in the parking lot, making threats. He and this other guy
got into a tussle. The guy had a knife. Several witnesses say Darrel was just waving it around. But the fact is, he had the gun and was making threats with it. The guy came at Darrel with the knife and stabbed him. He bled to death before help could get to him.”

“Oh, dear Jesus,” my mother whispered.

“The other guy’s not from around here, and he’s got a record. And he was already in violation of his parole just by being in Carrow last night. But I wouldn’t be surprised if he gets off with a self-defense plea. The lousiest public defender in the world could probably get him off.”

“Nell…” Mom said. “And the kids…”

“No one else was hurt?” My dad rose from his chair and wiped his mouth with a napkin. He had to get going. A murder was a rare occurrence in the county. The last one had been years earlier. As sad as the news was, it was front-page material. And today was press day.

“No, no one else was hurt. And there were half-a-dozen witnesses. They’re all listed on the police report.” The police chief took another gulp of his coffee and rose from his chair, too.

“Where’s Nell? And the kids?” Mom asked, the third one to rise from the table.

“The kids are in foster care at the moment. Nell’s in bad shape. She stayed the night at the hospital.”

Tears began to form in Mom’s eyes and slip down her cheeks.
“Royce,” she said, “can’t those kids stay with us until Nell…” but she did not finish.

The lines around Royce’s face softened when he saw her tears. “MaryAnn, you know that isn’t up to me,” he said gently. “The county will take good care of them.”

“But why can’t they stay with people they already know? Do they know what has happened to their dad?”

“Well, I guess…”

“I don’t see why they can’t stay with us! Couldn’t they stay with us, Jack?” she pleaded.

My dad wrapped a scarf around his neck, preparing to leave. “Hon, of course I wouldn’t mind if they did, but it’s not our decision to make. The folks at Social Services don’t know us.”

“Well, where are they? Do you know where they are, Royce?”

“I’m afraid I don’t,. I know they’re with a licensed foster family in Carrow, but I don’t know which one. I am sure
whoever the family is, they will take good care of those kids.”

Mom shook her head and rubbed her tears away.

“Has anyone called Nell’s sister in Minnesota?” she said angrily. “Has anyone tried to reach the kids’ mother in Mexico?”

My dad handed Royce his hat and coat. “MaryAnn…” he began.

“Well, has anyone?”

The chief shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Dad walked over to my mom and touched her shoulder.
“Let the county take care of this. They’ll do the right thing. And when Nell comes home, you can be the neighbor and
friend she’s going to need, okay?”

Her cheeks were wet again, but she nodded her head.

The three of us said nothing as my dad and the police chief stepped out into the icy morning air. Then Ethan broke the silence.

“Nell’s kids are both dead,” he said. “First Kenny and now Darrel. Her kids are both dead.”

I didn’t care about Darrel. Not one bit. But Norah and Kieran…

“How long will Norah and Kieran be gone?” I asked, knowing my mother couldn’t know.

“I’m not sure, Luke.”

“Do they know? About Darrel?”

She swallowed. “I don’t know.”

Several quiet seconds fell about us.

“Do you guys want to stay home from school today?” my mom
finally asked.

“No,” I said quickly, getting to my feet. I didn’t want to stay at home. I didn’t want to be here where there were no answers. I didn’t want to be stuck in my room looking out my window at that hellish house next door.

“I guess I don’t either,” Ethan said, getting to his feet.

Mom sighed. “Okay. Well, we’d better get going then. But… if you guys change your mind, just ask to come down to my
room, okay? We can leave if we change our minds, okay?”

I was aware of my mother’s eyes on me as I left the kitchen and headed upstairs to brush my teeth. I wanted her to look away
from me. I did not want to be watched.

Dad had scrambled to change his front page for the
Tuesday-morning print run. He’d called the printer and gotten a later print time, sending up a hastily assembled front-page galley
just before noon that included coverage of the stabbing death of
Darrel Janvik. When I arrived at the newspaper office after school later that afternoon, Dad had just returned from Carrow and the arraignment of Darrel’s killer.

My father seemed surprised to see me.

“I thought maybe you might want the afternoon off,” he said as I slipped into my dad’s office and sank into one of the chairs that faced his desk.

“No,” I said, but nothing else.

“So, you’ll be going to basketball practice at five, too?”

“If I don’t practice with the team I can’t play in Saturday’s game,” I said tonelessly.

“Luke,” Dad began, leaning forward on his desk, “I know how close you are to Norah and Kieran. I know this must be affecting you. It’s okay to take some time off to deal with it.”

I looked away. I really didn’t want to think about Norah and Kieran at that moment. Aside from them there simply was nothing to deal with. Nothing.

“I don’t need any time to deal with it,” I said. “Darrel was a lousy father. He was a scumbag. I hated him.”

Dad said nothing at first.

“He probably was a lousy father, Luke,” he said gently a moment later. “But he was the only father Norah and Kieran had. And the only parent, at the moment. I don’t know everything, son, but I do know that even lousy fathers are loved by their kids.”

I fidgeted in my chair.

“I’m okay, Dad,” I finally said. “I’ve got film to develop from the girls’ game.”

I stepped out of my dad’s office, again sensing parental eyes
following me, probing for assurance I was not in some kind of danger.

The following day, Wednesday, basketball practice was cancelled so team members who needed to travel with their families to Thanksgiving destinations could get an early start if they wanted. I didn’t usually work at the paper on Wednesday, so I rode my bike home from school to begin a four-day break from algebra, biology, and studies on Western civilization.

Ethan had gone to a friend’s house, and my mother had stayed behind at the school to get caught up on grades, so I was alone in the house at three-thirty when the phone rang. I answered it.

“Is this the Foxbourne residence?” a man’s voice said.

“Yes,” I said, preparing to tell the telemarketer I wasn’t interested in anything he had to sell.

“My name is Edward Lobos, and I am calling from the American Consulate in Tijuana, Mexico. Whom am I speaking with, please?”

I felt a rush of adrenaline sweep through me.

“Uh, this is Luke Foxbourne. You have a message for Norah Janvik?”

“Yes, I do. Is she there?”

“No—no, she isn’t. But I can take the message for her.”

“Well, I am calling in reference to an inquiry from one of our embassy employees regarding Miss Janvik’s mother, Belinda Hickler.”

“Yes?”

“It looks like Ms. Hickler is currently serving a five-year sentence for driving a getaway vehicle in a drug arrest where a Mexican policeman was shot and killed. The incident happened outside Rosarito in Baja California on April third of last year. The documents we received from Mexican law-enforcement officials show that she is presently incarcerated at a state prison in Ensenada.”

“Ensenada? Where’s that?” I said, rifling through a pile of mail by the phone and grabbing an empty envelope and a pencil.

“That’s in Baja, not too far from Tijuana and the U.S. border.”

“And is it true? I mean, did she do it? Is, um, is there an appeal?”

“No. No appeal. She pled guilty.”

“She did?”

“Yes. The court documents say she did not know a policeman had been killed, but she admitted to driving the vehicle.”

“So, is there an address? Do you have an address where she’s at?
Can she get mail?”

“I‘m sure she is allowed mail. I can give you an address. You
have something to write with?”

“Yes.” I was trying not to imagine how things could get any worse for Norah and Kieran. The man gave me the address, and
I wrote it down.

I rubbed my head, trying to think like a reporter. Trying to remember what my dad asked when he worked a news story about
a crime.

“Did she have a lawyer? Do you have his name?”

“She had a public defender. His name is Ernesto Trujillo. He has an office in Tijuana. You want that address, too?”

“Yes,” I said, and I scribbled down the second address.

“Okay, then. Does this take care of all of Miss Janvik’s concerns?”

I thought for a moment. Of course it didn’t. But I knew what the man meant. “Well, is there anything you guys can do
to… to get her out?”