Known Dead_ A Novel - Donald Harstad [63]
‘‘That’s show biz,’’ she said. ‘‘You better hurry, I don’t want to have to carry you to your car.’’
I grinned in the near-darkness. We were just about at my car when we heard the sound of yelling, faint but unmistakable, from the direction of the Stritch farm. It sounded like both male and female voices.
‘‘What the hell,’’ said Hester.
We both turned and started toward the voices when we heard three loud cracks of rifle fire, then more yelling, louder. We started to run toward the perimeter line.
Fifteen
WE’D KILLED the electricity to the Stritch house and outbuildings, so there was no yard light. When there were interior lights in the Stritch house, they were courtesy of an emergency generator Herman, like many farmers, had installed. I couldn’t see any lights in the house now, though, as Hester and I jogged to the forward perimeter. Herman must have been saving gas. The front of the house was fairly well lit by the portable lights we had running off a Fire Department generator. The problem was, the light was all from one direction, and the shadows were consequently very pronounced. It was black as pitch directly behind it, but there was no way we could get light back there. Just to make things worse, the humidity was so intense there seemed to be a fog hanging in the lighted area near the house. It was hard to make out details, which could become very important if you were trying to make out the subtle color and shape differences between, say, a bunch of scrap and a sniper. Nothing was moving. All the cops were behind cover, and with all the light from our side, we were all in deep shadow. It was very quiet, except for the muted sound from the generator back with the fire apparatus.
I found Eddie Heinz just to the left of the lane, behind about four cords of kindling. Hester and I knelt down with him.
‘‘What’s happening?’’
‘‘Don’t know. There was a bunch of yelling, then I swear I heard a screen door slam. Right before three rounds were fired. It’s been quiet since.’’
I peered toward the house. There were no interior lights at all, and our portables weren’t capable of penetrating very far into the gloom of the house. Silence. Millions of frogs and crickets, who had all stopped making their favorite noises when the rounds were fired, started up again. There were enough of them that it made it difficult to pick up the softer noises.
We were there for about a minute when a trooper came from the tent area, saying that the negotiator had called the house but they wouldn’t tell him anything.
Great.
The trooper also said that the negotiator had established that Herman Stritch had somehow made it back to the house.
Obviously, that didn’t surprise me too much. It would have been fairly easy for him to break down some of the old vertical siding and slip out. It bothered me, though, because he’d managed to traverse the area to the house unseen. And, like I said, it also meant that in court they might be able to say that he wasn’t the one in the shed when the shots were fired at Lamar and Bud. Damn. It also meant that he was there to lead the family and friends in their activities.
Just then, Eddie said he had movement to our left, in the shadow cast by the barn. I strained to see, but couldn’t make anything out. Then a small, reedy voice said, ‘‘Mommy, I’m all wet.’’
With that, a thin, bedraggled young woman stood up, with a child in her arms.
‘‘Don’t shoot, please don’t shoot!’’
‘‘Don’t shoot,’’ yelled Hester.
‘‘Keep coming,’’ I said, in a fairly loud voice, but not shouting. ‘‘We won’t shoot. Just keep coming.’’
She did. I noticed she kept looking over her shoulder toward the house, but that she tended to keep in the shadow as much as possible. In a couple of seconds, she had come to the woven wire fence, and was being helped over by Eddie, Hester, and me. She seemed to be in her early twenties, wearing a sleeveless cotton plaid shirt, blue jeans, and tennis shoes.
The first thing she said to me was ‘‘Hello, Mr. Houseman.’’
Damned if I didn’t recognize