'Close.'
'Can you show me?'
'Sure,' he replied coolly. He reached inside his jacket and removed his service revolver from his shoulder holster. 'There. Satisfied?'
This word crushed the conversation and filled Shaeffer with an empty fury. It did not surprise her that they were proceeding alone. In fact, she realized she preferred it. She allowed herself to envision Ferguson's face when she arrived at his grandmother's shack. He thought he'd scared me off. Thought he had me running, she told herself. Well, here I am. And I'm not some little twelve-year-old that can't fight back. She reached down and put her hand on her own pistol. She looked over at Cowart but saw the reporter's eyes staring ahead, oblivious to what had just been said.
In that moment, she thought that she would never, ever again get as close to the core of being a policeman as that moment and the next moments to come. The clarity of their pursuit seemed to have gone past such worldly considerations as rights and evidence, and entered into some completely different realm. She wondered if closeness to death always made people crazy, and then answered her own question: of course.
'Okay, she said after a moment's pause, adrenaline starting to pump and not completely trusting her own voice. 'What's the plan?'
The car lurched as it hit a bump.
'Jesus, she said, as she grabbed her seat. 'This guy really lives out in the sticks.'
'It's all swamp, right over there, Cowart answered. 'Poor farmland off the other direction.' He remembered that it had been Wilcox who'd pointed this out to him before. 'What is the plan?' he asked Tanny Brown.
The police lieutenant slowly steered the car to the side of the road and stopped. He rolled down his window and damp, humid air filled the interior. He gestured down, through the gray-black blend of light and dark. 'Ferguson's grandmother's shack is about a quarter mile that way, he said. 'We're going to walk the rest of the way. That way we won't wake anyone unnecessarily. Then it's simple. Detective Shaeffer, you go around the back. Keep your weapon ready. Watch the back door. Just make certain he doesn't hightail it out that way. If he does, just stop him. Got that? Stop him…'
'Are you saying…'
'I'm saying stop him. I'm damn certain the procedures are the same in Monroe County as they are up here in Escambia. The bastard's a suspect in a homicide. Several homicides, including the disappearance of a police officer. That's all the probable cause we'll need. He's also a convicted felon. At least he was once…' Brown glanced over at Cowart, who said nothing. 'So, you know what the guidelines are on use of deadly force. You figure out what to do.'
Shaeffer paled slightly, her skin turning wan like the air around them. But she nodded. 'Got it,' she replied, imposing a rigid firmness on her voice. 'You think he's armed? And maybe waiting for us?'
Brown shrugged. 'I think he's probably armed. But I don't think he'll necessarily be alert and waiting. We moved fast to get here, probably just as damn fast as he did. I don't think he'll be quite ready. Not yet. But remember one thing: this is his ground.'
She grunted in assent.
Tanny Brown took a deep breath. At first his voice had been cold, even. But he then dropped the menacing tones, substituting a weariness that seemed to indicate he thought things were heading to an end.
'You understand?' he asked. 'I just don't want him running out the back door and heading into that swamp. He gets in there, I don't know how the hell we'll find him. He grew up in there, and…'
'I'll stop him,' she said. She did not add the words this time, though they were in each of the three's heads.
'Good,' Brown continued. 'Cowart and I will go to the front. I don't have a warrant, so I'm kinda making things up as I go along. What I figure is, I'm going to knock, announce, and then I'm going to go in. Can't think of any other way to do it. The hell with some procedures.'
'What about me?' Cowart asked.
'You're not a police officer. So I have no control over what you do! You want to tag along? Ask your questions? Do whatever you want, that's fine. I just don't want some lawyer coming in later and saying I violated Ferguson's rights – again – because 7 took you with me. So you're on your own. Stand back. Come in. Do whatever. Got it?'
'Got it.'
'That fair? You understand?'
'It's fine.' Cowart nodded his head. Separate but the same. One man knocks on the door with a gun, the other with a question. Both seeking the same answers.
'Are you going to arrest him?' Shaeffer asked. 'On what charge?'
'Well, first I'm going to suggest he come in for questioning. See if he'll come along voluntarily. But he's coming in. If I have to, I'll re-arrest him for Joanie Shriver's death. What'd I say yesterday? Obstruction of justice and lying under oath. But he's coming with us, one way or the other. Once he's in custody, then we're going to sort out what's happened.'
'You're going to ask him…?'
'I'm going to be polite,' Brown said. A small, sad smile worked the corners of his mouth for a moment. 'With my gun drawn, cocked, finger on the trigger, and pointed right at the bastard's head.'
She nodded.
'He doesn't walk away,' Brown said quietly. 'He killed Bruce. He killed Joanie. I don't know how many others. But there are others. It stops here.'
The statement filled the air with quiet.
Cowart looked away from the two detectives. He thought, There comes a point where the proofs required in a court of law don't seem to make much difference. A few strands of light had surreptitiously passed through the branches of the trees, just enough to give shape to the road before them.
'What about you?' the police lieutenant asked Cowart suddenly. His voice cracked the silence. 'Have you got all this straight?'
'Straight enough.'
Brown put his hand on the door handle, jerked it hard, and thrust the car door open. 'Sure,' he said, unable to keep a small mockery from his voice. 'Then let's go.'
And he was out of the car, striding up the narrow black dirt roadway, his broad back hunched forward slightly, as if he was heading into the strong winds of a storm. For an instant, Cowart watched the policeman's sturdy progress, and he thought to himself, How could I have ever presumed to understand what is truly inside him?
Or Robert Earl Ferguson? In that moment, both men seemed equally mysterious. Then he shed the thought as rapidly as possible and quickly fell in pace with him. Shaeffer took up position on the other side, so the three marched in unison, their footsteps muffled by the morning fog that coiled like gray smoke snakes around their feet.
Cowart spotted the shack first, wedged back in a clearing where the road ended. The damp swamp mists had gathered around the front, giving it a spectral, eerie appearance. There was no light inside; his first glance saw no movement at all, though he expected they had arrived just on the near side of waking. The old woman probably rises to beat the cock's crow, he thought, and then complains to the old bird that it's not doing its job. Cowart slowed his pace along with the others, lurking on the edge of the shadows, inspecting the house.
'He's here,' Brown said quietly.
Cowart turned to him. 'How can you tell?'
The police lieutenant pointed toward the far side of the shack. Cowart followed the trail with his eyes and saw the rear end of the car protruding past the edge of the porch. He looked carefully and could
