Afraid

hehehe—is that just old age?”

Streng didn’t take the bait. Instead he removed a disposable lighter from his pocket and flicked it on. Bernie focused on it like a cat watches a mouse. Streng let it burn for about ten seconds, then allowed the flame to die.

“Well, you’d know a thing or two about wetting yourself, wouldn’t you, Bernie? Pyromania and bed-wetting go hand in hand.”

Bernie continued to stare at the lighter.

“Was that what your childhood was like, Bernie? Setting fires? Pissing yourself? Killing little animals? I bet you did a lot of that. Let me guess—did Daddy make special visits to your bedroom at night, when Mommy was asleep?”

Bernie’s eyes got big, and his jaw began to quiver.

“Daddy, my daddy, Daddy burned me. All over. Mommy would help, would hold me down. Because I was bad. They knew, they knew I was bad, they tried to cleanse me with fire, burn the evil out. But they went away before they could save me. Mommy and Daddy loved me.”

Streng fought revulsion, stayed strong.

“Why are you after Warren? Is it money?”

“Money?” Bernie grinned. “Want to see me light my pee-pee on fire? I’ll do it for a dollar. A dollar a dollar a dollar. Everyone, all the kids, everyone at the orphanage, they save their money to watch me do it.” He locked eyes with Streng. “Got a dollar, Sheriff?”

“I’ve got a dollar, and I want to see that, Bernie. But first tell me how many are in your unit.”

“They love me, love me like Mommy and Daddy. I’m important, so important, to them. Their star pupil. They found me years ago, saved me from the institution. I—”

Bernie’s smile died, and then his eyes rolled up into his head. His head began to twitch, and Streng wondered if the man was still trying to frighten him. Truth told, Streng was frightened. This man, even tied up, exuded menace like radiators exuded heat. But the spasm went on for several seconds, and Bernie definitely didn’t seem in control. Some sort of seizure?

Then, abruptly, it stopped. When Bernie opened his eyes he was no longer grinning.

“Charge,” he said.

Streng had no idea what that meant, but Bernie stared straight ahead and didn’t say anything else.

“Charge what?” Streng asked.

“Charge.”

“I don’t understand.”

Bernie’s mouth began to move. But he wasn’t talking. He was chewing.

When the blood began to leak out, Streng realized Bernie was chewing his own tongue.

Someone knocked on Streng’s window, startling the hell out of him. He turned and saw Erwin standing there. Streng sought the handle and rolled down the window.

“Josh and Fran—that’s the woman from the diner—they saved the boy.”

“And Mrs. Teller?”

Erwin shook his head. Streng pursed his lips. While he’d been screwing around with the car, the old woman had died. Could he have done anything to prevent it? How many people had died so far on his shift?

Streng pushed the thoughts away. Guilt later. Right now he had things to take care of.

“Is he okay?” Streng asked.

“Josh wants to take the boy and Fran to the doctor. But I want to go to the junior high and find Jessie Lee. Olen wants to go, too, because of the lottery.”

Streng considered his next step. He needed to see a doctor, as well. The throb in his kidney hadn’t abated, and the sweat on his forehead spoke of a fever. The nearest hospital was in Shell Lake, a forty-minute drive from here. But that lottery business smelled funny, especially with everything else going on. Could it be connected somehow? Then there was the matter of what to do with Bernie.

“Help me put him in the Honey Wagon,” he told Erwin.

Erwin studied his shoes. Streng understood.

“This is a very bad man, son. One who tried to burn your face off. I would have messed him up, too, given the chance.”

Erwin nodded, but he didn’t seem in any hurry to touch Bernie again and made an extra effort not to look at him. Streng had a squeamish moment, removing his belt from Bernie’s legs, but the killer just sat there, silently chewing his tongue. He remained compliant as they walked him to Olen’s truck, allowing himself to be buckled into the back seat.

Streng called for Olen, who stopped spraying the burning house with sewage and set upon rolling up his hose. Josh, Fran, and young Duncan came around the side of the house, huddling close together. They were followed by a surprisingly fat dog, possibly a beagle. Streng approached Josh.

“Head to the ER in Shell Lake. Take the Roadmaster. And tell as many people as you can about what’s happening here. The staties should be here soon, but I wouldn’t mind if the whole army showed up.”

He handed Josh the keys.

“How about you, Sheriff? You need a doctor.”

“First I need to drop off this one.” He jerked his thumb at the cab. “I’m going to have Olen take me to Sal’s to get my Jeep and find my gun. Then our friend will go into the Safe Haven lockup.”

Safe Haven didn’t have an official police station, but Streng kept an office in the Water Department building, and it had a small cell, mostly used for the occasional drunk and disorderly.

“Could they still be at Sal’s?”

“Don’t see why they would be. They’ve got other fish to fry.”

Josh nodded, then extended a hand. “Be careful.”

“You, too.”

Streng shook it. The boy also held out his hand. Streng shook that, as well.

“Thanks for coming to get us, Sheriff,” Duncan said. There were tear streaks on his dirty face, but his eyes shone clear and blue.

“It’s my job, Duncan. You take care of Josh and your mother, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

Streng didn’t know Fran well—he’d eaten at the diner only once and the meatloaf had given him fierce indigestion, making a return visit unlikely. But he knew what had happened to her and her husband. The whole county knew. The fact that she was able to get on with her life spoke volumes.

Standing next to her, Streng sensed that inner strength, though he didn’t know how long it would last. Both Fran and her boy were black with soot, but she looked like she’d been shoveling coal in hell. As pressed for time as they all were, a quick debriefing still seemed necessary.

“Fran, this might not be an appropriate question considering all that’s just happened, but are you okay?”

“The man, the one who attacked Duncan, he dresses like a man who attacked me at the diner. His name is Taylor. He … killed Al and then tried to kill me. Over an hour ago.”

“You came from the diner?” Streng asked. “Is your car around here?”

“I didn’t drive here. I … swam. The river. That’s where Erwin found me. I had to get to my son.”

Streng raised an eyebrow. The river was over a mile away, and the diner was several miles farther.

“How did you know Duncan was in danger?”

“Taylor told me.” She narrowed her ice blue eyes. “He wanted to know where your brother Warren was.”

Streng flinched. More people hurt, because of Wiley. But why were these commandos going after Fran and her son?

The sheriff stared at Fran, then at Duncan, and he made the connection. A connection that Fran obviously wasn’t aware of. Suddenly some things made sense.

“And you’ve never seen either of these men before? You don’t know why they’re looking for Warren?”

Fran shook her head.

“Or why they went after you?”

“I only met your brother once, Sheriff. At my wedding. He crashed it, got drunk, and started a fight with my