Spilled Blood (37 page)

Lenny parked in front of Kirk’s garage and got out. He had a few swallows of beer left, and as he drank, some of it leaked down his chin. He was still buzzed from the overnight hours. His head swam. He heard the noisy squawk of a crow in a tall oak tree, and he could see the bird, big and black, perched on a high branch. It yelled at him and wouldn’t quit, and the annoying
caw caw
made his headache worse.

‘Shut the fuck up, bird,’ Lenny shouted. The crow didn’t quit. It screeched louder, as if it were laughing at him. He found a rock on the ground, and he hoisted it at the tree, but his aim wasn’t even close. The crow aired its wings defiantly.

Caw caw.
It kept laughing.

Lenny spat on the ground. Damn bird.

He walked around to the tailgate of the pick-up and squeezed his hand under the dirty bumper near the left rear tire. Kirk kept the locker key in a hidden magnetic case, rather than on his key ring. Fiddling with his fingers, Lenny found it and pried it off the inside of the bumper. He squeezed the case open and found the key, and he undid the padlock on the metal door.

Lenny went inside, leaving the door open behind him. The musty garage was where Kirk kept everything he didn’t want the cops to find. He saw the file cabinets with Kirk’s records, his gun cases, and boxes of thumb drives and overstuffed folders spilling across his brother’s desk. Kirk would come here and play Tim McGraw on his iPod and copy porn for his customers and count his money.

Money. Lenny needed money.

He spotted the two-foot safe with the combination lock shoved against the rear wall. He squatted and spun the dial, entering the four numbers he’d memorized: 17-4-19-26. The door opened with a click as he wrenched the lever to the right. He spilled the heavy box forward, dumping the contents, and he whistled in delight. Stacks of cash, tied with rubber bands, littered the floor. Dozens of them. A fortune. He didn’t stop to count; there must have been thousands of dollars here, enough to last him a year or more on the run.

He also saw a lone USB flash drive, no bigger than a stick of gum. It was labeled in thick letters with black marker.
Daddy
.

Lenny knew what it was, but he didn’t care. Not now. He could deal with it later. He stuffed everything back into the safe and spun the combination lock. He lifted up the safe, grunting at its weight, and hauled it awkwardly in his arms to the truck, where he dumped the metal box on the floor in front of the passenger seat. He exhaled in relief.
You’re rich, Leno.
He could go anywhere he wanted now. Mexico maybe. He could buy himself a brown girl and live on the beach.

First things first. He had things to do. He needed guns.

Kirk stored his rifles in a locked cabinet, and he kept the key in the top drawer of the desk. Lenny found it and swung the doors wide, and he gasped in awe, studying the trove of weaponry. He smelled wood oil. Light bounced off the mirrored interior of the cabinet. He ran a finger down the black metal of the barrels. His hands got sweaty as he fondled the sleek mechanisms of the rifles. He’d only fired two guns in his life, a bolt-action Remington deer rifle and a Ruger semiautomatic that was like an eight-inch penis. Kirk had taken him hunting north of Thief River Falls last fall. Lenny hadn’t made a kill, but he’d loved the deadly power of the weapons in his grip. Guns didn’t ask if you were short or tall, strong or weak, brave or scared.

Lenny took the Remington into his arms, cradling the butt under his shoulder, aiming at the trees beyond the garage door. ‘Bang,’ he said, squeezing the trigger, hearing the empty click. In the desk drawer he found boxes of gold cartridges gleaming like tiny rockets. He took the Remington and the ammunition and loaded it all in the pick-up next to the driver’s seat.

Handguns. He wanted those, too. Kirk had lots, stored on the metal shelves. You could never have too many.
They’re like potato chips, Leno.
He found the Ruger he’d used when shooting targets with Kirk; he loaded the clip and shoved it in his belt. He didn’t know if he’d need more, but he found an empty packing box and dumped the rest of the guns and clips inside and carried the whole mess to the truck.

He had everything he wanted for now. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever come back here. It was time to go, but he stood in the mud, with the pick-up door open and the garage door open, and he couldn’t move. He was frozen. The loneliness of the world landed on his shoulders again, making him feel sick and small. He could put on cool shades, he could load the truck with guns, but that didn’t change who he was. He wasn’t Kirk.

Over his shoulder, he heard the crow, still taunting him from
its perch in the tree.
Caw caw caw
, making his head throb. The bird knew his secrets and his fears. The bird wasn’t afraid of him.

Lenny yanked the Ruger from his belt.

‘Shut up!’ he screamed again, but the crow only screeched louder.

He aimed at the tree and squeezed the trigger, and the gun went off with a bang, making him lose his balance. The shot went off into the sky, nowhere near the bird, which spread its wings again as if to say,
can’t hit me, can’t hit me
. He fired again, blasting away bits of bark. And again. And again.

The crow, bored with the game, flew away, laughing as it disappeared beyond the treetops.

‘
What the hell are you shooting at, kid?
’

Lenny spun around at the voice behind him. He saw a man in his sixties standing near the pick-up with his hands on his hips. The old man wore a Twins baseball cap, a Vikings sweatshirt, and camouflage pants. His boots were half-laced. He had a bushy salt-and-pepper mustache. His eyes were angry.

‘Are you crazy?’ the man went on. ‘Put that gun down.’

Lenny had his arm extended, the barrel of the gun pointed upward at the tree, even though the crow was long gone. Their eyes met, his and the old man’s. They were the only two people for miles around. Lenny didn’t even know where the man had come from, but his car must have been parked out of sight behind the other row of storage units.

The old man glanced into the truck, and watching his face twitch, Lenny knew he’d seen the guns. Casually, the man shifted his eyes the other way, into the storage unit, where the gun locker with Kirk’s rifles was open. His expression morphed from anger to worry. His voice got lower and softer.

‘So what exactly are you doing here, son?’

Lenny swung the pistol and pointed it at the man’s chest. ‘None of your fucking business, old man. Who the hell are you?’

The man raised his hands defensively. ‘Nobody, son. You just
look like you could use some help. How about you put away the gun, and the two of us talk for a little while?’

Lenny marched on him menacingly, jabbing at him with the Ruger. The old man was six inches taller than Lenny. Everyone was taller than Lenny. ‘Get the hell out of here.’

The old man stood his ground. They were six feet apart. ‘I have to be honest, you’re making me nervous with that gun. I’d feel better if you put it down.’

‘Just get out of here! Go!’ Lenny’s voice quavered.

‘Whatever you’re doing, I think you’re in over your head, son. Put that gun down, and let’s talk about it.’

‘If you don’t get out of here, I’ll shoot,’ Lenny swore. ‘I will.’

The man reached out his hand. ‘How about you let me take that gun from you? You don’t want anyone to get hurt.’

Lenny’s arm shook. ‘Don’t make me kill you.’

The man took a cautious step toward Lenny. His mouth crinkled into a warm smile. ‘When you’re a teenager, things can seem pretty overwhelming. I’ve been there. Then you get old, and you realize most stuff that you thought was important when you were a kid isn’t important at all.’

‘
Stop.
’

‘Let’s talk about this, okay? You and me.’

He took another step. His hand was inches from the gun.

Lenny’s finger jerked. He didn’t even want to fire, but he fired. The explosion rang in his ears, and the recoil shuddered through his arm. He watched the old man stutter backwards, his hand over his chest, blood seeping through his knuckles, trickling down his skin and over his purple sweatshirt. The man’s eyes were wide with disbelief. His face contorted in pain. He stumbled and sank to his knees. His breathing was ragged.

Lenny ran. He went wild with panic. He leaped into the pick-up and drove, spinning the wheel so wildly that the truck nearly upended as he shot onto the highway. The passenger door flapped
and finally shut itself. He twisted his torso to look over his shoulder, and he could see the old man on the ground. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. There was no going back now.

You just killed a man, Leno.

‘Did my son kill Kirk Watson?’ Glenn Magnus asked, his voice low. ‘Tell me the truth, Chris.’

‘He says he didn’t.’

‘I know what he says. I know what the police told me. I want to know what you think.’

Chris glanced at the porch, where Hannah sat with Olivia. Johan was hidden inside. They were out of earshot, but he saw Olivia watching him, and her eyes reached out to him for help. It was a feeling he’d missed, the way she used to turn to him when she was a child. He’d never thought he would experience it again. His daughter needed him. She’d grown up, but she still needed him.

He’d interviewed Olivia and Johan separately throughout the night. Their stories matched. He didn’t think they were lying.

‘Johan admits he went there to kill Kirk,’ Chris said, ‘but before he reached the house, he heard gunshots near the river. He went to check it out and came across Kirk’s body. He says he heard footsteps running in the opposite direction.’

‘What about the gun? It was the same gun that killed Ashlynn, wasn’t it?’

‘It looks that way.’

‘I’ve never doubted Johan in my life,’ the minister said, ‘but it’s hard to know what to think. There was blood on his clothes after Ashlynn was killed. There was blood on his clothes now.’

The two men stood eye to eye in the street. The minister looked shaken.

‘He was honest about what he wanted to do,’ Chris said. ‘He was
honest about trying to get a gun from Tanya. If he already had a gun, why would he bother calling her? I think if Johan killed Kirk, he’d simply say so. He’d be proud of it.’

‘That scares me, too. If he didn’t do it, it’s only because someone beat him to it.’

Chris thought of himself outside Kirk’s house. One by one, they had all come face to face with the devil. ‘Not necessarily.’

‘You said yourself he had murder in his heart.’

‘It’s one thing to think about it, Glenn, it’s another to do it. It’s a lot harder than people believe.’

‘The police want to talk to him.’

‘I know. Get a lawyer first. In the meantime, don’t let him say anything or answer any questions. Olivia says Johan wasn’t wearing gloves. If he didn’t swing the shovel, if he didn’t touch the gun, they won’t find prints. If he wasn’t there, they won’t find anything to prove he was.’

‘On the other hand, if he’s lying, they’ll know.’

‘Probably.’

Magnus stared at the sky. Chris wondered if he was debating with God. If anyone had reason to question his faith, it was Glenn Magnus, who had already lost a wife and a daughter. Now his son was at risk, too.

‘If he didn’t do it, someone else did,’ the minister said.

‘Olivia said someone searched Kirk’s house,’ Chris said.

‘Whoever killed him was looking for something.’

‘What do you think it was?’

‘I don’t know, but my bet is that the killer didn’t find it. If you find what you’re looking for, you stop. I think whoever it was saw Kirk leave and ransacked the house. When he didn’t find what he wanted, he went after Kirk and killed him. Then Johan showed up, and he had to bolt.’

‘If it’s worth killing over, someone else may be in danger.’

‘Johan’s already in danger,’ Chris said. ‘Keep an eye out for Lenny
Watson. With his brother dead, he’s out for blood. The feud’s not over.’

‘Lenny isn’t a monster like Kirk.’

‘No, but he’s desperate. You don’t know what he’ll do.’

Distantly, Chris heard music. He realized it was Hannah’s phone, ringing on the porch. He watched Hannah answer, and only seconds later, his ex-wife hurried toward them. He realized, watching the minister’s face, that they had something in common. They both loved Hannah.

‘Who was on the phone?’ Chris asked.

‘It’s a woman I’ve worked with at the Center,’ Hannah replied. ‘She’s an EMT in Barron. She responded to a 911 call, and she thought I’d want to know about it. There’s been a shooting.’

Chris found Michael Altman at the remote U-Stor facility outside Barron. The ambulance was gone, but the police presence surrounding Kirk’s storage garage remained. The county attorney looked older, as if his inexhaustible energy had been drained. He stared into space, oblivious to his surroundings. Chris tapped on the window of the county sedan, and Altman made a weary gesture at the other door. Chris climbed inside. The engine was running, and the interior of the car was warm. Altman had a bulky laptop computer, an old model, open on his dashboard. The screen saver had come on, sending rotating swirls of color across the monitor. There were several file folders bulging on the front seat and a plastic bag filled with computer thumb drives.

‘You have an excellent network of spies, Mr. Hawk,’ Altman told him.

‘Hannah does.’

‘Ah. Of course.’

‘How’s the victim?’ Chris asked.

‘He lost a lot of blood, but he was able to call for help, and he
was conscious when the EMTs arrived. The medical personnel think he’ll survive.’

‘Was it Lenny Watson who shot him?’

‘It looks that way, based on the description the victim provided. He’s armed and dangerous now. That stupid boy, all he’s going to do is get himself killed.’ Altman swiveled his head and stared at Chris. ‘I need to know where Johan Magnus is.’

‘He’s at Hannah’s house. His father is with him. He’s safe.’

‘I don’t appreciate your hiding that fact from me last night.’

‘I didn’t know it when I saw you.’