TACEY MADE UP for his lack of electrical expertise by using his farmyard mechanic skills. His grandpa was a master of repair and the cantankerous old man had passed a few of his practical teachings—as well as a few tricks—down to his grandson. Stacey would make good use of both in setting up his plan.
As he strung the rusty old cable through the trees, his mind wandered back 15 or so years. His father had insisted that he spend a few weeks each summer working on granddad’s farm. He recalled his first experience driving a tractor, at age 12. “A man who knows how to work with his hands can do anything he wants,” was one of the conservative old farmer’s favorite axioms. Stacey had wanted to go swimming, play football and fish with his friends, not shovel cow manure and hoe weeds. But the experience had proven life-changing—those were summers he’d never forget.
Stacey tied the cable to the back of an ancient John Deere tractor and cranked the starter. Its long stroke motor sputtered, coughed, then fired and puffed, exhaling smoke from the throat of its rattling stack. A little engine work went a long ways.
His grandpa had put him on the old tractor his first day on the farm. He reflected on the scene. His assignment had been to disk the alfalfa field. He soon found the task to be enjoyable, with the throbbing, throaty rumble of the engine under him. Grandpa’s German shepherd loved to chase the seagulls away. Grandpa knew if he could teach his grandson to enjoy work his life would be successful.
Stacey broke out in a smile as he remembered how his attention had been captured by the flight of birds fleeing from the dog. The next thing he knew he was nose down in a concrete irrigation ditch. His grandpa had warned him to watch where he was going. Shaken but unhurt, he’d looked up to see his granddad sprinting toward him. He’d turned off the tractor and was approaching the old man, head down, prepared for a scolding—a reprimand that never came.
Stacey returned to the present. The motor wound down, the erratic pop of the old magneto struggling to give its kick. Stacey offered a silent prayer that it would start when he needed it most.
Once again his mind drifted back to the field, and his dear grandpa. “Are you okay, Bup?...I was afraid you might be hurt.” Stacey could still feel the old man’s strong arms wrapped around his shoulders, punctuating the hug with a squeeze. “Don’t worry about her,” he’d muttered, gesturing toward the tractor. “She’s been in worse spots than that before.”
The relief had washed over him—so strongly that he could feel it even now. He’d been expecting a kick in the pants, not a firm arm to steady his quivering muscles. That boy of 12, a few dusty tears streaking down his face as he walked back to the farmhouse for lunch, had promised himself that he’d never lose sight of where he was going again. And he’d tried to keep that promise.
Stacey finished the calibrations he’d made on the old tractor’s engine and, his mind tripping ahead to his next task, brushed the dirt from his hands and knees. He knew that he needed to catch Bingham off guard. If everything went as planned, the cable pulling the metal pots would distract Bingham long enough to take him without anyone getting killed.
After stopping at her place to pack her things, Don and Cecily started up the freeway. The Jeep’s rag top flapped in the wind, making it impossible to carry on a conversation without shouting. Don wanted to share with her all the things he was feeling, but didn’t want to yell.
At the same time, Cecily didn’t quite know how to comfort Don in his loss. She interpreted his quiet mood as sullenness. She didn’t feel she could just rattle on like she usually did. Occasionally she’d glance over at him and wonder what he was thinking. At times he’d look back at her and smile. His face seemed soft—warmer than usual, more at peace. She wished she could touch him, to caress the sad lines in his cheeks and forehead, and kiss his face to make the pain go away. She imagined a future with him, the two of them together, two or three children all seated around the kitchen table, laughing and talking about their day at school. She pictured helping Christina put the final touches on her prom dress, and imagined how beautiful she’d look walking down the front stairs of their home.
“Look out!” She swerved to the right onto the shoulder of the freeway to miss a deer bouncing across in front of her. Leaving the motor idling, she breathed a sigh of relief.
Don leaned his head back and looked over at Cecily. “That was close. You all right?”
“Yeah. Just day-dreamin’ a bit,” she stammered.
“What about?”
“How glad I am that Christina’s not hurt and thinkin’ how pretty she’ll look at her first prom.”
Don reached over and stroked her hair, sending a wave of prickly sensations up and down her arms and back. She smiled in return. He ran a finger down the side of her forehead to her ear. Her skin was soft and smooth. He reached under her hair and caressed her neck. The sun was shining and the vehicle had gotten warm. Seeing the flush of goose bumps on her arms, he thought to ask if she was cold— until she leaned gently into his hand. Then he knew what they were from.
“I’m not going to be able to concentrate on the road at all if you keep doin’ that.” Don saw the coquettish smile that accompanied her words of warning. For a few seconds more he continued to run his hand down her shoulder and arm. Then, feigning embarrassment, he pulled away and gave the “forward, ho!” sign with his arm.
As she pulled back into traffic, Don leaned against the roll-bar and gazed over at her. His mind drifted as they accelerated along the concrete highway. She does have feelings, he mused. He began to think of how life would be with her at his side. Someone to come home to, someone who’d be there with open arms, someone he could love, cherish, hold—and who felt the same toward him. They could build a life together. She would probably want children. He wished he had more. She would go to bed with him and wake up with him. The look in her eyes was one Monica never was able—
Monica! Why did she have to intrude on his fantasy? She’d inevitably come back demanding alimony and child support payments so she could buy her drugs. He’d either lose Christina outright or be in a court battle that could rage on for years. How could he put Cecily through that?
Cecily stopped for fuel at the little town of Gooding. Don pumped the gas as she went in to pay. He felt pretty stupid letting her pay for things, but right now he had ten dollars to his name—and not many hours in at work. Cecily bounced back to the Jeep, full of life, her hair dancing with her steps. In the light of the orange sky, her blond mop was like a sea of golden strands. Don tried to push the thoughts from his mind. It couldn’t possibly work without her being hurt. Marriage is just out of the question.
“You hungry? My treat,” she offered. Climbing back into the Jeep they drove a few blocks to a local café.
A sleek Lear jet landed at the Spanish Fork airport. Melvin’s attorney stepped out, climbed into the white Tahoe, and ten minutes later was sitting in the chambers of an angry Judge Demick, whose clerk’s voice came over the speaker phone. “Mr. White is on his way.”
Demick gave the attorney a reproving glare. “This entire process is completely unacceptable,” he groused. “If I release him, I won’t ever be trusted to deliver justice in this town again. Every newspaper and television station in the state will use me as the butt of their jokes.”
“I have a million dollars in the form of a cashier’s check here in my briefcase. Make sure the bail isn’t more than that,” the attorney warned.Judge Demick’s clerk poked her head in the office. “Mr. White’s here.”
“Show him in, then come and take notes, please.”
White walked in, scowling at them disapprovingly. It was out of line for the two to have a private conference in the judge’s chamber without him present, and they knew it.
“Mr. White, you remember Briggs’s attorney?”
“Yes. What’s going on?”
“We’re here to set bail,” Demick said.
White’s sour expression turned to one of outrage. “You what?! I’ve got a forensics team that just finished digging up the remains of a young female in his backyard. And you want to set bail?...I want a new judge appointed to this case immediately. I’ll go over your head, right to the governor if I have to. I want a search warrant for his house—and I want it—!”
“Sit down and shut up, Mr. White! If I could tell you what the hell was going on I would. I can’t! I have a federal gag order right here.” Demick slapped a paper on the desk. “In the meantime, I suggest you park some of your best people outside the suspect’s home and make sure he doesn’t leave until our hearing on Monday. Then I’ll be happy to give you all the information you want.” Demick picked up the phone and handed it to White. “Bail’s set at one million dollars! See that he’s returned to his home at once.”
White snatched the receiver from the judge’s hand, “If he hurts someone else, the blood’ll be on your hands. I’m warning you—you’ll be finished as a judge!”
“One more word from you, Mr. White, and I’ll lock you up. So help me! You won’t see daylight for a month!”
Melvin’s attorney calmly opened his briefcase and took out the check. “I’ll need a receipt for that,” he said casually, handing it to the clerk, who stared down at the zeros, eyes wide, and shuffled from the room.
White on the phone struggled to keep his attitude in check. Barker picked up on the other end. “Demick set bail for a million dollars. It’s already been posted. Mr. Briggs needs to be returned to his home right away.”
Barker was astonished by the news. “I heard him say it was his daughter! Are you kidding me?”
“I wish I were, Lieutenant. I want you to coordinate five of my best deputies to keep an eye on him. I’ll call the sheriff.”
Barker hung up the phone, dismayed at what he’d just heard. He instructed Olsen to accompany him to lower lock-up, explaining they were going to let Melvin go. He closely observed the younger officer’s reaction.
“It doesn’t surprise me,” Olsen said indifferently. “He must have something real good on that judge.”
“I’m going to take the rest of the afternoon off,” Barker added as they made their way down the stairs. “I want you to take charge in my absence. I won’t have my radio on. I need some rest.”
“No problem, Lieutenant,” Olsen responded smugly.
Grue slouched at his desk reading a book when the two men entered. “Are we ready to move him to county?” he asked.
“No, you and Olsen are taking him home,” Barker answered.
Grue stood in disbelief. “I don’t understand.”
“I don’t either. You two wait with him in the squad car until I “I don’t either. You two wait with him in the squad car until I hour watch until he’s arraigned on Monday.”
Melvin, pleased by what he’d just heard, was already on his feet, peering between the bars. “I told you I wouldn’t be in here long,” he gloated.
Barker walked over and leaned his face down close to Melvin’s. “You won’t be out long, either!” he threatened.
Melvin backed away from the bars. The moment Barker turned to walk away he called out defiantly, “I won’t be back at all!”
Pausing mid-step, Barker pivoted on his heels, drew his night stick, raised it up and slammed it against the bars directly in front of Melvin’s head.
“You may be right,” Barker whispered. “You may be right.”
Returning upstairs, he placed a call to the crime lab. “Is Saunders in?”
“Speaking.”
“This is Lieutenant Barker. Did you get a chance to examine the cup I sent down?”
“I did. Got lots of prints—but couldn’t find a match. Want me to send over the report?”
“Please, as soon as possible.”
“Fax number?”
Barker gave him the number. While waiting by the fax machine, an idea came to him. His cousin worked for the office of immigration in Nebraska. As soon as the information arrived, he’d make some special inquiries.
Waiting to be served their meals, Don and Cecily took their first chance to talk without the incessant flapping of the Jeep’s canvas top. “...She thinks my father helped her get out of the shed,” Don said.
“What do you think?”“I’m not sure. I don’t know how anyone could survive a blast like that without so much as a scratch.”
Cecily nodded. “Do you believe we live after we die?”
“I guess so. On my last visit, my father was saying things to me...that everyone thought were delusional. Now I believe him.”
“Like what?”
“He insisted I go back to be with Christina, saying she was in danger. He made me promise I wouldn’t fight anymore. I didn’t even know what I promised until a guy on the bus helped me translate the words from Spanish.”
“Is that why you didn’t hurt Melvin? Because of your promise?”
“No. I’d completely forgotten about it. But when Christina touched my arm, every angry feeling in my body was swept away. I can’t explain it. It was the most powerful yet peaceful feeling. I felt like a baby being held in my dad’s arms as I knelt there holding my daughter in mine.” Don breathed in deeply.
Cecily studied him. “The other day with Rex must have felt the same.”
“My father...” Don exhaled, “never once told me he loved me. I knew he did, but he never said it. I’ve never been hugged by a man before. Rex has something about him that touched my heart.”
“Do you know what it is?” Cecily asked.
“Not exactly.”
“It’s God’s love.”
Don looked down at his plate. Then he asked, “How do you get it?”
“It takes a lot of desire...study, prayer, work. You don’t always feel it like you did today. Sometimes the feeling’s weak, sometimes it’s strong. But it changes people’s hearts and minds, and helps them through life, gives them a reason to do good.”
Yes. Don couldn’t remember any time in his life that he’d felt comfort and peace–as he did right now. “I liked the way it felt.”
Barker called his cousin Clint. “Check the records from about the time the Vietnam War ended,” Barker instructed. “I’ll call you later tonight.” After he’d gathered his things, including his vest, and a few extra rounds of ammunition, Barker called his wife to tell her he’d be late again. He stayed on the phone longer than normal. He told her to kiss the children goodnight, and his “I love you” before he hung up came from the heart.
The forensics team was completing their investigation. The tent had been removed and the reporters had disappeared shortly after the coroner carried away the skeletal remains of Melvin’s daughter. Olsen and Grue waited in the car with Melvin.
“Did you see that?” Grue asked, craning to see through the gate to the far end of the busted out fence.
“See what?”
“Someone just ran across the backyard.”
“Probably a curious neighbor or a stray reporter,” Olsen suggested. Melvin remained quiet. He knew very well who it was.
The first deputy arrived to begin his shift. Olsen got out of the car. “How soon do you expect the others?”
“They’re on their way.”
“Good. I’ve got some things to do. I don’t want to be baby-sitting this creep all night.”
“Gee, thanks. You’ll leave it to us, then?”
“Just another boring night trying to stay awake,” Olsen needled.
“Why do they think they need five of us?”
“White wants his every move covered.”
“But we could take care of that with just one.”
“Just make sure he stays here—and move in to arrest him if he does anything suspicious.”
Two more deputies came on the scene. Grue helped Melvin out of the car and removed his cuffs. “It would sure be nice if you tried something stupid tonight,” he whispered in Melvin’s ear. “It’d save the taxpayers a lot of money.”
“I will,” Melvin whispered back.
Grue pulled away, staggered by Melvin’s brazenness. “Get out of here,” he said, pushing him toward the door. Melvin certainly had a way about him, a crude though clever way of rubbing emotions raw and then throwing salt on the wound. He strolled to the door and climbed the steps. Then, with nothing to lose, turned to face down the officers. Despite his small stature, he seemed an imposing foe. His contemptuous sneer combined an element of panache. They didn’t pose much of a threat! It wouldn’t take much at all to elude them.
He walked in the house and quickly set out scouring the rooms. The kitchen and living room displayed their usual, sterile appearance. But in the back bedroom he came upon a sight that sent a shiver down his spine. His cat, the one remaining thing he loved, a noose strung tightly around its neck, hung dead, from a hook in the ceiling.
Melvin turned away. Then, donning a particle mask, he carefully began collecting pollen from two of the exotic plants on the shelf. The work was exacting, the harvesting slow; the stingy plants clung to their powerful resource as if it were the most precious on earth.
Once a minute pile of the pollen lay on a white sheet of paper, he painstakingly loaded a small amount in the end of three long straws, plugging each end with a piece of tissue. Then he taped the ends to hold the tissue in place.
Returning to his computer, he reviewed the information it had been collecting while he was gone. Then he made a call, choosing his words carefully. “As far as I can tell, he’s still at the previous location. This may be my last communication. I need to take care of the item of personal business we talked about earlier...My life’s been destroyed....Yes, I think I know where I can find her.”
The moment she stepped in the door, the thing that caught Cecily’s attention was the religious atmosphere of the home. Many of the paintings that hung on the walls and the books standing on the shelves led her to believe the family shared her faith.
“You didn’t tell me your father was a religious man.” “He wasn’t until a few years ago. Pauline’s been good for him.” Don introduced Cecily to his sister and stepmother. The women
embraced. Cecily could feel their warm and gentle spirits. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she sympathized. “Don’s told me what a good man he was.” Pauline seemed calm as she told them again how happy her husband had been in the hours leading up to his death.
Maria took their jackets and showed them where to put their things. “Pauline’s a very private person,” she explained. “I’ve heard her sobbing in her room every night. She’s suffered, but at the same time, is relieved that his suffering is over.”
Pauline entered the room. “We’re expecting a full house tonight,” she said to Cecily. “Don’s other siblings will be here for the service. I’ve organized the guest room for the two of you, if you don’t mind sharing the space. I’ve set up a cot if you need it.”
Cecily, blushing, looked over at Don, who returned her gaze. “I’ll be happy to use the cot,” he said. “Thanks, Pauline.”
“It won’t bother you to stay in that room?” she asked.
“No, I loved him,” Don replied. Cecily wondered what they meant. Then Don added, “Are you expecting everyone?”
“Everyone but Mother. She refused to come,” Maria chimed in.
Barker bounded along the dirt road in his brother’s four-wheel drive, making sure no one was following him. He’d pulled off the asphalt on his cross-country detour a few miles back. He parked the vehicle above the orchard. Walking in among the trees, he heard something moving in the high grass....“Sig, you old scoundrel! You gave me a scare. Where’s Stace?”
“Right here,” Stacey said, standing up amid a clump of sagebrush. “You would have been covered in paint—if I’d only had a gun.”
“It’s a good thing I trust you,” Barker laughed. Striding up to his friend, he reached around his shoulders with both hands and gave him a hug.
“Ouch! Careful with the ribs.”
Barker pulled away. “Dianne told me she’s never seen a bruise like yours. The pain must have been unbearable when the old doc snapped you back together.”
“It put me down.”
“That’s what she said. Told me she’d never forget seeing you and Sig lying together on that table, and Sig reaching up and giving you a big wet one across the mouth!”
Stacey grimaced. “I’m going to do two things when I get through with this mess. The first will be to teach him not to do that and the other is to find a girl who likes dogs.”
“I keep telling you we need to line you up with my wife’s sister.”
“I’ll take you up on that.”