T hey turned off the highway south of town onto a narrow paved drive that wound through a grove of alders. Sunset was near and they plunged into deep shadows. On a curve still out of sight of Gary Johnson’s house, Ned Hodder, who led the way, braked to a slow stop. He got out and waited for the others to join him.
When they all stood together, he said, “It’s a couple hundred yards around this curve. A one-story ranch. Attached garage on the north. There’s maybe fifty yards of clear ground between the trees and the house on all sides, except for the backyard. That sits on a little cliff that drops straight down into the lake.”
“Let’s come at it from the north,” Cork suggested. “We can use the garage to hide our approach. Check it for Stokely’s truck, too.”
“We need someone to cover the house while we’re doing that,” Hodder said. He looked at Dina who had her Glock already out. “You okay with that?”
“If I’m covering from any kind of distance, I’d rather use my rifle.”
She opened the tailgate of the Pathfinder, spent half a minute, and returned with a Ruger. 44 and the walkie-talkies from the resort. She gave one unit to Cork and kept the other for herself.
“You any good?” Hodder said, indicating the carbine.
“She’s good,” Cork told him. “Believe me.”
Ned went back to his vehicle and lifted a shotgun from the trunk. Cork recognized a Mossberg twelve-gauge, a popular law enforcement firearm. Hodder shook his head. “I can’t remember the last time I had to pull this thing out for anything but cleaning.”
“If you’re not going to use your Glock, Dina, you mind if I do?” Cork said.
She gave it over, along with an extra clip.
“Get yourself in a good position,” Hodder instructed Dina-needlessly, Cork knew. “Jewell, you stay close to her, okay?”
“Use that Motorola,” Dina said. “Let us know what’s going on.”
“Will do,” Cork replied.
Hodder headed into the alders, Cork right behind him. They walked carefully, conscious of the quiet and everything they did that broke it. They took five minutes to work their way to a place north of the house, where the garage would block any view of their approach. Cork let Dina know they were in position and ready to move.
They could see the whole of the backyard clearly, a neat square of lawn with only a few random autumn leaves lying unraked on the grass. Trees edged the yard to the north and south, but to the east it opened toward the lake, which in the waning light was a stretch of calm water the blue-black color of a new bruise. Above the lake hung a few wisps of pink cloud, scars on the pale blue body of the sky.
“Check the garage first, see if Stokely’s truck is there?” Cork said.
Hodder nodded. Together they slipped from the trees and dashed across the yard. Cork’s leg was a howl of pain, but it held up and he reached the garage only a moment behind Hodder. He leaned against the side and put his weight on his good leg. The constable crept to the front of the garage and peered through the windows that ran in a row across the broad door. He turned back and gave Cork a thumbs-up. Stokely’s truck was there.
“What now?” Hodder said.
“Let’s see if we can pinpoint their location inside.”
They eased along the wall to the back of the house and around the corner. They ducked under several windows where the curtains were drawn, then came to one that was clear. Cork could see kitchen cabinets and the glow of a light deeper in the house.
“Ever been inside before?” he whispered to Hodder.
“Couple of times. Kitchen opens onto the dining area. Living room’s just beyond that.”
Cork hesitated, then risked a peek through the window. The kitchen was dark as was the dining area beyond. In a dim lake of light in the living room, Johnson sat in an easy chair facing the television. The TV set was on, but the screen was an empty blue.
“Johnson,” Cork said, “but no Stokely. The curtains on the other dining room wall are open. Maybe I can get a better look from there.”
Cork made his way to the far side of the house. The angle through that window was better and he saw most of the living room. He also saw Calvin Stokely.
“Well?” Hodder said when Cork returned.
“Stokely’s with him.”
“Armed?”
“Dead. He’s lying on the living room floor in a pool of blood.”
Hodder squinted. “Jesus.”
“Johnson’s armed. Just sitting there staring at a blank television screen holding a handgun. Your jurisdiction. How do we play it?”
Hodder looked at Cork and at the kitchen window, his uncertainty clear in his face.
“Keep an eye on him,” he finally said. “I’ll try the back door. If he moves, you’ve got to let me know.”
“Will do.”
Hodder took his time with the screen door, which opened without a sound. He turned the knob on the inside door and inched his way into the kitchen. Cork watched him move to a place where he could observe Johnson for himself. Hodder signaled Cork inside and raised his Mossberg to the ready. Cork slipped through the kitchen door, the Glock in the grip of his right hand. The air in the house carried the thick, sweet smell of blood.
Johnson didn’t move, didn’t seem at all aware of their presence. Still as a stump, he stared at the blue television screen.
Hodder barked, “Police! Drop the weapon, Gary!”
Like a man in a dream, Johnson slowly turned his head. His face was slack, his eyes distant.
“Drop the gun, Gary,” Hodder ordered.
Johnson’s eyes took a slow stroll from Hodder to the pistol in his own hand. He looked at it without interest.
“Do it now, Gary! Drop it!”
Johnson’s fingers gradually opened and the pistol clattered to the hardwood floor. Hodder moved forward and kicked the weapon well out of Johnson’s reach. He looked down at Stokely, at the blood gone nearly black around him.
Hodder said, “Keep him covered while I cuff him.”
Johnson stood up and lifted his empty hands. “You don’t need to do that, Ned. I won’t give you any trouble.”
“Just turn around, Gary. Put your hands behind your back.”
Hodder slipped the cuffs on, pulled a card from his wallet, and went through Johnson’s Miranda rights. Cork radioed Dina and Jewell. A minute later, they came in the back door. When they saw the body and blood, they stopped. A small yet audible breath escaped from Jewell, but she didn’t turn away.
“What happened, Gary?” Hodder said.
“What it looks like. I killed him. If he sat up right now, I’d kill him again.”
Cork checked the rest of the house but found no sign of Charlie. When he came back, Ned was questioning Johnson.
“You say you shot Stokely last night?”
“That’s right,” Johnson replied.
“You were still holding the gun when we found you.”
“Thinking of using it on myself. I was afraid if I put it down, I wouldn’t be able to pick it up again.” His face was haggard, his eyes deep-set. He looked like a man who’d been through not just a battle but a long, hard war. “Terrible things have happened, Ned, more terrible than you can imagine.”
“Try me,” Hodder said.
“They killed children. They kidnapped them and raped them and killed them.”
“We know. We found graves at Stokely’s cabin. How is it that you know?”
Johnson thought a long time before answering, but not, Cork surmised, because he didn’t know the answer. It was a difficult thing to talk about.
“The girl in the lake,” he finally responded. “I got to thinking about her. When I put it together with what
