Deputy Patch

Lisa focused on the mesmerising bright-yellow lines on the road as the car took bend after bend down the hills toward the nearest town. Below the mist, she was brought back to reality by an oncoming vehicle beeping its horn. She quickly checked her speed. She'd never before driven this fast. Brad was dead. A monster wolf was on the loose. But, she was safe, and that was all that mattered. Not for her benefit directly, but for the unborn child in her womb. The baby was six months along and she had only just started to show.

Brad was dead.

The briefest of smiles crossed her lips, then vanished as quickly as it had arrived. She'd sometimes thought that it would be easier for her and her baby if Brad wasn't around, one way or another. Once, she had thought of him dead.

What if I was the one who wished this on him? She clamped her lower lip between her teeth, worrying that her thoughts might have cursed him. A death wish was an evil thing—the Devil's curse, her Nan had called it. "Mark my words, the dark lord always finds his price," she'd said. What price would I pay? Lisa placed her hand over her belly.

The preacher would know. She had known him since she was a child, growing up with his Sunday School lessons. He could help, explain what had happened, release her from any mistakes of the spirit. But, they had been to church only once since their wedding. Brad preferred—insisted on—lazy Sundays. How rude would it be to arrive at the preacher's house unannounced, out of hours and all? What if this whole thing was an act of divine retribution for the slovenly and inexcusably Godless life they'd fallen into?

A big white sign floated by. Welcome to Buttonwood, Population 1555. Lisa pulled her car up at the next crossroad: Turn left to the preacher man or right to the sheriff?

#

The town of Buttonwood was named for the stately old trees that lined both sides of Main Street, many with meandering branches braced from the street by antique iron scaffolds. The clouds of lush, maple-shaped leaves made for a majestic shady sight through the warmer seasons, but the autumnal leaf-fall each year carpeted the ground in brown so lush and complete that unless raked daily it was almost impossible to make where the road stopped and the sidewalk started. Such was the case when Lisa clipped the curb at the sheriff's station parking lot. The lot was empty, except for a beat-up, black and white prowler parked near the staff entrance. Lisa pulled up at an angle over two parking spaces.

Out of habit, she pulled the rearview mirror down to inspect her makeup, which was as disheveled as she was, mascara trails like little charcoal rivers down each cheek. Her fresh perm added to the image of a sad clown. She wiped her cheeks with her handkerchief and heard Brad's voice telling her to hide those freckles "in case we run into someone." She replied by ripping the mirror off its hinge. Fuck you, Brad, you're dead.

Lisa hitched up her denim skirt as she rushed to the public entrance. Her low heels clapped over the concrete and echoed up the steps under bright fluorescent tubes. A frosted-glass door and big horizontal-blinded windows showed through to the counter inside. No one was about. She pulled on the door, but it didn't open. She banged on the windows. "Hey! Open up!"

Cursing under her breath, Lisa moved along a windowless, red brick wall to an orange-painted, steel door stenciled with the words STAFF ONLY. "Hey, open up!" She pulled off a shoe and banged with the heel.

On the third round of banging the door opened. What little light leaked around the edges framed an officer, a big man with a bunch of papers under his arm. He had lost an eye, given that his right one was covered by an eyepatch.

Lisa took a deep breath. "You should have the front desk open," she chided. "My husband's just been killed and I've had to run around like a crazy woman just to get attention!"

"I'm sorry, Ma'am. It was locked for safety and I can't hear anyone with the copy machine working." For such an imposing figure, he sounded almost meek.

"For whose safety?" Lisa noticed a loud chuck-a, chuck-a emanating from behind the gentle-spoken man.

"Ah—"

"My point exactly. Aren't you going to ask me inside? My husband has just been killed by a fucking wolf."

He stepped out of the doorway onto the pavement so she could enter, and she huffed past him. "Please, Ma'am, come on in." She was already inside as he spoke. With a sigh, he followed and closed the door.

The corridor inside was empty, as was the processing area that connected to the main office where Lisa's nose was assaulted by a chemical scent. "Oh my God, what's that smell?" Covering her nose and mouth with a hand, she followed him to one of the desks (the messiest) in the open plan.

"Oh, that's the solvent in the ditto. The sheriff insists we get every cent of value out of the old duplicator machine he paid a fortune for twenty years ago. I've been trying to convince him to buy one of those new photocopiers. Until we get one, I gotta do it the old-fashioned way." He indicated the walls, where almost every square inch was covered with layers of print ephemera, including many duplicated papers with the telltale purple type.

The machine stopped, dropping them into a sudden quiet. "Ditto's done."

Lisa stared blankly at him.

He then pointed to a chair next to a big electric typewriter and multiple piles of paperwork. "Please, Ma'am, take a seat. I'm Deputy Patchouli, but everyone calls me Patch." He tapped his covered eye.

"Can you get the sheriff?"

"Huh? Why, no, Ma'am. Sherlock Tully's gone fishing for the weekend with the preacher.

"Now, what can I do to help? You say that your husband has been attacked?"

"He's been killed." Lisa's head dropped heavily into her hands as her back heaved in time with a flood of sobs. She'd held it together as long as she could.

Patch's eye widened and he almost spat out the coffee that he'd recovered from the desk top. "Jeez. I thought you was joking when you said your husband had been killed by a wolf or some such. I'm sorry, Ma'am, It's just that there ain't no wolves in the whole of the state is all." He patted her back awkwardly in his best show of support.

Lisa raised her head, sniffed.

"I'm sorry. I suppose I'm just not used to real police work these days. I spend most of my time, aside from traffic duty, here in the office.

"Let's start fresh with your name."

"Lisa Whaler."

"Mrs. Whaler. Would you like to tell me what happened, exactly?"

Lisa jumped and turned at a sound at the window toward the back of the station, a dark area, lit only by the light from the inside.

"Damn 'coons in the bins. Don't worry about it, Mrs. Whaler. Can you tell me where this incident took place?"

"We were driving in the hills to a dinner date with the Andersons, who have a homestead out there at Appletree Hollow. Brad is trying to get a promotion ... I mean, was trying."

"Okay, and tell me about what happened."

Lisa shivered.

"I'm sorry, are you cold? Can I get you a blanket?"

"No, it's okay. You see, I had to save my baby, and there was nothing I could do."

Patch sat up in alarm, his manner suddenly urgent. "And where's your baby now?"

"Right here, Deputy." She touched her belly with one hand. "I'm six months along and only starting to show."

"That's wonderful, Mrs. Whaler." He looked as if he would say more, but instead continued the interview. "Now, I want you to take your time and please tell me exactly what happened."

"We hit an animal. But when we went back to check it, the thing—the animal—the wolf, wasn't dead." She felt it safer to twist the truth. "It attacked us. Brad tried to fight it off, and told me to run, to protect our baby."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Now, are you sure it was a wolf? I'm thinking it could have been a large dog. A huskie gone feral or some such?"

"No, it was a wolf."

"That's highly irregular, Mrs. Whaler. But, I guess, not beyond the realm of possibility. You know there are some strange goings-on in those back hills. Like the black panther they say is out around Appletree. Never seen it myself, but Farmer Mason down at Perkins bend, he said it killed some of his cattle and took out two of his best dogs. Swears it was the size of a heifer. I attended, and can tell you, these dogs of his were all mashed up. But, like the sheriff says, and quite rightly, it was likely a mad cow. Jeez, if you ever seen a cow swing its horns in anger, round and round in a figure eight—" Patch demonstrated the movement of the horns with his index fingers at his temples "anything caught gets whizzed up like a blender.".

"No, it was a wolf. Do you have a cigarette?"

"I'm sorry, I don't smoke, but there's a machine in the canteen. I can knock you out a pack if you like?"

Lisa nodded and requested menthol. She had stopped the habit when she found out that she was pregnant, but she needed something to focus on. Deputy Patch's quirkiness was irritating.

Patch returned with a fresh pack of Newports and rolled out a map on his cluttered desk. He positioned the scroll over the piles of papers on his desk so that the Black Mountains stood proud in relief. "Do you think you can pinpoint exactly where this all happened?"

Lisa nodded, unlit smoke hanging from her lips. "I think so. Do you have a light?"

Patch retrieved a lighter from the top drawer of the next desk over and flicked it.

She took a moment to get her bearings on the map, then pointed. "Around here."

"I'm going to call county control and we'll get officers Day and Sharman out to meet us at the scene." Patch picked up the phone and dialed zero for the switch. "Hi Val, look, we've got a 10-39 out on Meander Rd. Yeah, it looks like it was a wild dog." He looked over to the frown Lisa directed at him. "Ah. Correction, the victim claims a wolf. Yes, that's correct. Whiskey Omega Larry Foxtrot: Wolf." He covered the receiver's speaker in an attempt to muffle the laughter from it. "Yeah, yeah, just put a call out to Dave, will you? I'm heading out now with the deceased's wife. Also, call up the coroner's office and have someone there on standby. Righto, thanks Val." He hung up.

"I'm sorry, she shouldn't have reacted like that. I'm going to get you a hot drink and a blanket. The bathroom is down there if you need to freshen up. Here's the key." He fumbled at the keys on his belt. "Be sure to use the staff door. We don't dare go in the public one.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Mrs. Whaler. I wish we didn't have to drag you out that way, but that's a long road and I doubt we'll find the spot without you."

"There's no way I'm going back out there." All Lisa could think of was keeping safe.

"I'm sorry."

"You could take me to the hospital."

"I'm—"

"Yeah, I get it already, you're sorry." She was now sure that the church would have been the better choice even if the preacher was out fishing. "You have a gun, right?"

"Oh, you bet, Mrs. Whaler." Patch walked over to the gun case and pulled out a big, sleek Model 70 rifle. "We call her Big Kat, with a 'K', after Kathleen Murphy down at the post office. The sheriff bought it in case we needed to take out that panther I was telling you about."

Bạn đang đọc truyện trên: AzTruyen.Top