South Of Hell

Joe’s hand went instinctively to the.45 automatic clipped at her belt. She felt someone at her side and looked down to see Amy. She was staring at Brandt.

“Dr. Sher,” Joe said. “Please keep Amy back here.”

“What is it?”

“Just keep her back here.”

Brandt had come further into the barn, his eyes shifting between Louis and Shockey and settling finally on Joe as she approached.

“What the fuck are you doing in my barn?” he said.

A jangling sound drew Joe’s eyes to the door. A woman had come in, the blonde who was with Brandt the day they had taken Amy out of the farmhouse. Margi Ames. She was standing there, mouth agape, cradling a six- pack of beer to her leather jacket.

Brandt saw the hole. His eyes shot to the shovel in Shockey’s hand. “What the fuck is going on here?” he demanded.

Shockey took a step toward Brandt, the shovel held like a weapon across his chest. He was breathing hard from the digging, his face red. His eyes were riveted on Brandt, and Joe realized this was the first time Shockey had seen the man since Jean disappeared.

“I asked what you’re doing here!” Brandt repeated.

“Looking for Jean,” Shockey said.

Brandt stared at him for a second, then laughed. “The bitch ain’t here.”

Joe was ready to jump in, but Louis was there, stepping in front of Shockey before he could move. Shockey’s eyes blazed as he stared down Brandt.

But Brandt… he was looking somewhere else suddenly.

Joe turned to see Amy standing behind her.

“What’s she doing here?” Brandt said, pointing at Amy.

“She’s no concern of yours,” Louis said.

“She’s my daughter!” Brandt said. He started toward Amy, but before he could take two steps, Louis had his arm twisted behind him in a lock. Brandt squirmed and grunted.

“You take one more step, and I’ll break your arm,” Louis hissed in Brandt’s ear.

Joe could feel Amy retreating, but she didn’t want to take her eyes off Brandt. She sensed Dr. Sher move forward and pull Amy back into the shadows.

“Let me go,” Brandt said to Louis. “I ain’t gonna hurt the girl.”

Slowly, Louis loosened his grip. Brandt bucked loose and backpedaled, rubbing his arm. “You got no right to keep me away from her,” he said.

Joe pulled the court papers out of her jacket and held them out. “I’m her temporary guardian,” she said.

Brandt snatched it from her hand, scanned it quickly, and looked up at Joe. “This don’t mean shit. I’ll get a lawyer.”

“You do that,” Joe said. Her eyes settled behind Brandt to the blond woman in the leather jacket. “You’re going to need one when we bust you for parole violation.”

Brandt laughed. “For what?”

Joe pointed to the beer the blond woman held. “That.”

Brandt spun, saw the beer, and hesitated only a second. He reared back and smacked the woman in the right temple.

“You stupid bitch!”

The blonde yelped and crashed back into the barn door. Shockey was a blur, shovel swinging as he advanced on Brandt.

Joe was quick, but Louis was quicker. But Shockey got the flat blade of the shovel planted in Brandt’s stomach before Louis could grab it and yank it away.

Brandt gasped and spun away, doubling over and holding his gut. Louis backed Shockey up against the wood door, pinning him.

“Jake! Enough!” Louis said.

“I’m going to kill him!” Shockey yelled. “I’m going to kill the fucker!”

“Enough!”

Shockey was bigger than Louis, and Joe thought for a moment that she was going to have to help Louis keep him back. But Shockey stopped struggling. He stared at Brandt with cold hatred in his eyes.

Brandt was still doubled over, coughing and holding on to the wall. The blond woman was lying in the hay, whimpering and massaging her head.

And Amy?

Joe glanced back. She was standing quiet and rigid, Dr. Sher’s arm around her shoulder, staring not at Brandt but at Shockey.

Suddenly, Shockey pushed Louis’s arm away. He staggered forward, grabbed the shovel from the ground, and walked slowly back to the hole.

He began to dig, his face red and dripping with sweat. He stabbed at the ground in furious thrusts.

“Jake,” Joe said.

The shovels of dirt kept flying.

“Jake, slow down,” Joe said. “You’ll destroy-”

A clunk, like metal hitting wood. Shockey stopped and slowly turned the shovel head. A cascade of dirt — and a skull tumbled out.

Joe heard a gasp behind her but couldn’t take her eyes off the skull. She didn’t turn but said softly, “Dr. Sher, take Amy out to the car.”

Dr. Sher, shielding Amy to her side, moved quickly around Joe and toward the door. No one watched them go. Everyone was staring at the ocher-colored skull lying in the dark dirt.

A sharp clang. Shockey had dropped the shovel. His face had gone white.

“Jesus Christ…”

Joe looked up. It was Brandt who had spoken. His face was as white as Shockey’s.

Suddenly, he bolted for the door. Before Joe could say or do anything, Louis ran after him.

It was quiet. Except for a whimpering sound. Joe looked for the blond woman, but she was gone. Joe turned toward Shockey.

He was kneeling over the skull, crying.

Chapter Nineteen

Louis had been in Michigan State Police substations a few times before. Once in 1984, giving a statement on an incident that involved two dead teenagers, a dead suspect, and a dead chief of police. The bullet that had killed the chief had come from Louis’s service revolver.

The most recent time had been just last year, about an hour south of here, in Adrian. Detained and stripped of his Glock, he had again made a series of statements regarding the murder of three women and a dead man he had left floating in an icy lake.

So it didn’t surprise him when the same state investigator, Detective Warren Bloom, had shown up here in Howell, the county seat. Bloom probably had heard Louis’s name mentioned when the news of the bones in the barn hit the station. Bloom had been the one busting his chops last time, so Louis was certain he had made it a special point to drive the seventy miles up from Adrian.

Louis was standing at the observation window of an interview room. Inside were Bloom, Owen Brandt, and the Livingston County sheriff, Travis Horne. Horne was close to seventy and had the look of an old dog — slow- moving and in search of a soft place to lie down.

When they called Horne to the Brandt farm, he had come with a local doctor he introduced as the coroner. Horne seemed to know Brandt from before. Once in the barn, Horne stepped forward, looked into the grave, and quickly suggested that they call the state police.