Chapter 20

20

August 2000

In the front yard of the Doyle house, a half dozen deputies still milled around, waiting for Sheriff Butler to tell them what to do next. After the quiet month they'd had, crime-wise, Butler shouldn't have been surprised that it would return to Blake County with a vengeance. He expected a breaking and entering or a meth bust or a drunken bar fight maybe, but not this. William and Lynne Doyle were good folks. No trouble at all. Sure, their teenage son got into a few dustups, but nothing too serious.

The only available witness was a twelve-year-old girl with a gunshot wound. The girl needed to get to the hospital, but Butler wanted to talk to her first. It looked like there was a guest spending the night with the family and he needed to figure out who it was.

"Christ," he muttered to himself. Two dead and two missing. He had to talk to the witness before they whisked her away in the ambulance.

Sheriff Butler strode toward the ambulance where two paramedics tended to the girl. Matthew Ellis stood on the perimeter, watching anxiously. "She's still shivering," Matthew said. "Can you get her another blanket?"

The female paramedic tucked another blanket around Josie. "You hanging in there, honey?" she asked. Josie nodded, jaw clenched as if trying to keep her teeth from chattering.

"Hi, Josie, I'm Sheriff Butler," he said, leaning into the ambulance. "Are Erin and Lowell taking good care of you?" he asked and lightly touched her shin. Josie jerked away as if burned. "Whoa, sorry about that," Butler said, pulling his hand away. "Are you in a lot of pain?" he asked.

"A little," she admitted.

"We gave her a little something to help with that," Lowell said and moved more deeply into the ambulance.

"I only have a few questions for you," Butler said, giving Josie a sympathetic smile. "And I'm sorry to be so blunt, but we want to get you to the hospital. Did you see who hurt your parents?"

Josie looked to her grandfather who nodded. "I never really saw," Josie said in a small voice. "We were outside. Becky and me. We heard the gun but didn't see who did it."

"What's Becky's last name?" Butler asked.

"Allen," Josie said. "Becky Allen."

"Her mother works at Shaffer's Grocery," Matthew filled in, and Butler turned to a deputy. "I need you to find the Allen parents and fill them in on what's going on. Just the basics," Butler cautioned. "Tell them there was an incident at the Doyle house and we're trying to locate Becky. No more than that, got it?" The deputy nodded and rushed off.

"Okay, you're doing a great job, Josie," Butler said. "Did you see who shot at you?"

Josie shook her head. "It was too dark. I just saw someone coming toward us. He had a gun. He chased us."

"So it was a he?" Butler asked.

"I think so," Josie said.

"Was he young or a grown man?" the sheriff asked.

A ripple of doubt crossed Josie's face. "I think it was a man, but I'm not sure," she said thickly, her eyes fluttering shut. "I couldn't see how old he was."

"Okay, Josie." Sheriff Butler sighed. He didn't get to her before whatever pain medication the paramedics gave her. "Did you see or hear anything else strange last night?"

"A truck. There was a truck," Josie said groggily.

"Last night? You saw a truck on your property?" Butler asked. This was something.

"No," Josie said. "On the road. I saw it on the road earlier. Twice. It was white."

The sheriff let out a breath. White trucks were a common sight in Blake County. Always had been. It wasn't exactly helpful.

Levi Robbins approached the sheriff. "State police are on their way. Said it might take some time to get the dogs here."

The sheriff nodded and returned his attention to Josie. "Anything else you came across recently that was unusual. Any strangers hanging around?"

Josie rubbed her head as if it hurt to think. "Not really. We saw Cutter right after supper."

"Cutter?" Levi asked in surprise.

"Brock Cutter. He's my brother's friend," Josie told them.

"Anyone else you see?" the sheriff asked. "Anyone at all?"

"My grandma and grandpa when we dropped off the pie at their house and then Becky and I went looking for Roscoe. We stopped at that house, the one with all the junk."

Sheriff Butler knew who Josie was talking about. June Henley and her son, Jackson Henley, lived about two miles away over on Oxeye Road. Word was that June Henley was very sick. Cancer.

Jackson ran a hodgepodge operation selling vehicle parts, scrap metal, and farm collectibles. Jackson was a Gulf War vet with PTSD and a drinking problem. He lost his license sometime back and took to driving an ATV around the back roads. Jackson was odd for sure but not known to be violent.

The sheriff jotted the name down in his notebook.

"One more question for now," Butler said. "Becky Allen. When did you last see her?"

Josie closed her eyes trying to remember. They heard the gunshots. Heard someone call her name. Who was it? Ethan? Her dad? No, that wasn't right. They grabbed hands and ran. More explosions rang out. Becky's hand was ripped from hers. But she kept running.

Josie's face was wet with tears. "I don't know," she cried, looking to her grandfather for help. "I'm so sorry."

"Hey, now," Lowell said. "I think that's enough for now." He laid a cool hand on Josie's forehead. "There will be plenty of time later for questions. We really need to get that arm looked at by a doctor. We don't want an infection to settle in. Is there someone who will be meet us at the hospital?"

"My wife. Oh, God, I have to call my wife," Matthew covered his eyes. Dry, silent sobs shook his shoulders.

"Why don't you go with Josie?" Sheriff Butler said. "I'll stop by later and we can talk more."

Matthew shook his head and ran a shaky hand across his gray whiskers. "I can't leave," he insisted. "Not until we find Ethan and the girl and not until they bring my daughter out."

Sheriff Butler flicked his eyes toward Josie. Her eyes were closed. "They'll be brought out once the scene is processed and the county medical examiner arrives."

Two deputies stepped from the barn, and along with them came the impatient bleats of the goats, eager to be fed and milked. "Barn's clear," one of the deputies called out.

"Do we know how many vehicles should be here?" Butler asked.

"Two," Matthew said. "Lynne's car and William's truck." Matthew looked around the yard. "Three, actually. Ethan has a truck. An old Datsun. It's not here."

Two teenagers missing along with a truck. Parents dead, sister shot. Butler pulled Levi aside, out of earshot, his mouth set in a grim line. "Put out a BOLO for Ethan Doyle's truck."

At the ambulance, Matthew kissed Josie's forehead. "Be good. Listen to the doctors," Matthew said, wiping his eyes, his voice raw. "Your grandma will be there soon."

"Hey," came a shout from the edge of the cornfield. "We found something!"

All eyes swung toward the cornfield. Matthew didn't know whether to be hopeful or terrified. He found he was both. Before anyone could move a breathless voice came from behind them. "What happened? What's going on?" Matthew stepped aside and a woman came into view.

"Ma'am, you can't be here," Sheriff Butler said.

"Is my daughter here? Becky Allen?" Margo reached for Butler's arm.

"You're Becky's mother?" Butler faltered. "Why don't you step over here and we'll talk?"

"Sheriff, we need you," a deputy called again. "We found something." Butler was torn. He needed to find out what was found in the field but couldn't abandon the missing girl's mother.

"Where is she? I heard something happened." Margo looked around, bewildered. Lost. "Where is she?"

Josie lifted herself onto her elbows, the blanket covering her slid to the ambulance floor. No one spoke.

Margo looked from face-to-face. A cold knot formed in her chest, spread through her limbs. "Please," she said weakly, "you have to tell me what happened."

She set her gaze on Josie. She took in Josie's bloody arm and clothing. "Oh, my God," she breathed. "What happened? Where's Becky?"

Sheriff Butler laid a hand on her elbow, but she shook it away. Josie stared up at her wide-eyed. "Where's Becky!" she shouted.

"I don't know, I don't know," Josie whimpered. The words came out in short gasps.

"Josie, where's your mother?" Margo asked. She looked around as if Lynne Doyle would suddenly materialize. "You tell me where she is. I want to talk to her right now."

"Come along now, ma'am," Butler said, reaching for her arm again.

"No," Margo said, clutching the side of the ambulance for support. "Josie, where is your mother?"

The rumble of tires on gravel caused everyone's eyes to shift. A black SUV with the words Blake County Medical Examiner stenciled in white across its side bounced down the lane.

"Oh, God," Margo's legs buckled beneath her and she nearly dropped to her knees before Sheriff Butler steadied her. "No, no, no, no," she said over and over again.

"We're not sure what happened here just yet," Sheriff Butler murmured and guided Margo away from the ambulance as the paramedics closed the doors.

"Try not to think about it, Josie," Lowell said soothingly. "They'll take care of her. Everything is going to be okay. Right now, we're going to start an IV and get some fluids in you. You're going to feel a little pinch, okay?" Josie closed her eyes as Lowell slid the needle into her arm. The whoop-whoop of the siren intermingled with Margo Allen's cries as they pulled from the lane.

It was a thirty-minute drive to the hospital in Algona and Josie knew these roads with her eyes closed. Knew every curve, turn, pothole, and dip of the road. But riding in the back of an ambulance was different than riding in her dad's truck or mom's van. She became disoriented and kept asking where they were going.

"The hospital," Lowell said. "The docs are going to check you out there."

"Will they bring my mom and dad there too?" Josie asked. If they got them to the hospital, then the doctors could fix them, she thought. That's what doctors did. Put people back together again. She tried to push away the bloody, broken images of her parents that kept flashing behind her eyes.

"Everyone is going to do all that they can to help your parents," he assured her.

"Will my grandma be there?" Josie locked on to Lowell's bright brown eyes for reassurance. "Do you think they found Ethan and Becky?"

"Shhh," he soothed. "Don't worry about those things right now. Your grandma is going to meet us at the hospital. I promise, Josie. You're safe now."

Josie floated away on his words and thought of the night sky filled with white gold orbs, thought of her and Becky leaping toward them trying to snatch them up.

Before she knew it they arrived at the hospital. The back doors of the ambulance opened and the gurney that she was lying upon was lifted. Above her, Josie briefly saw a shard of hard blue sky and heard Lowell say, "GSW to the left arm. Cuts and contusions to her feet and arms. Blood pressure and heart rate are below normal. Watch for possible shock."

"This the girl from the farm out near Burden?" a woman wearing yellow scrubs asked.

"Yes," Lowell said, squeezing Josie's hand. "Her grandmother should be here any minute."

"Any other incoming from the scene?" the woman asked.

The air was cold and a sharp antiseptic smell bit at Josie's nose as they moved down the hallway.

Josie looked hopefully to Lowell; a small spark of hope fluttered in her chest.

"Not sure," he said shortly.

"I'm Dr. Lopez," the woman said, leaning over Josie. "I'm going to take care of you. Can you tell me what happened?"

"I got shot," Josie said. Again, she looked to Lowell. "Can you stay with me?" she asked him as she was wheeled into an examining room.

"'Fraid not, Josie," he said apologetically. "I have to get back to work, but I'll peek back in later to see how you're doing. Sound good?" Josie nodded and Lowell disappeared from the room.

The doctor and nurses took over then. "Looks like you've got some buckshot embedded in there. You're a lucky girl, though," Dr. Lopez said as she probed the wound gently with gloved fingers.

Josie didn't feel lucky.

"It just grazed you, thankfully. There doesn't appear to be any tendon or bone damage, but we'll take some X-rays and get you cleaned up," Dr. Lopez said.

Josie was wheeled to X-ray and then taken back to an examination room. Dr. Lopez bathed the wound in saline, all the while telling Josie precisely what she was doing. "We'll numb up your arm really well, and then I'll debride the wound, give you a few stitches, and you'll be as good as new." When Josie looked at her nervously, she smiled. "That just means I'll remove the remaining buckshot from your arm. Don't worry, you won't feel a thing."

She was right, except for the initial prick from the local anesthetic, Josie didn't feel anything, but still, she kept her head turned and eyes screwed shut so she wouldn't have to see what was happening. Dr. Lopez then examined the cuts on Josie's feet and the scratches across her arms. "These are just superficial. Nothing to worry about, but they'll be sore for a while. Keep them clean and we'll give you some antibacterial cream to put on them."

Josie dozed and when she opened her eyes, she was in a different room and her grandmother was sitting in a chair in the corner. Her long gray hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She wore what she called her around-the-house jeans and a short-sleeved collared shirt and was nervously kneading the strap of her big black leather purse that was perched on her lap.

"Grandma," Josie whispered.

"Josie," Caroline Ellis said, leaping to her feet. "How are you?" Her voice trembled.

Josie scanned her body. She felt no real discomfort. Her tongue was thick and heavy in her mouth and she wanted a drink of water. She tried to sit up but a jolt of pain went through her left arm.

"Mom, Dad?" Josie whimpered. Her grandmother stood over her, raw grief etched across her face.

"I'm sorry, honey," Caroline said. "I'm so, so sorry."

Josie moaned and tried to turn over on her side and curl up into a ball but moving hurt too much. Instead, she lay on her back and cried. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks and mucous filled her nose and throat. "Why?" she asked thickly.

"I don't know, honey. The police want to talk to you about what you remember. I know it's scary," Caroline added quickly, seeing the fear on Josie's face. "But they have some questions. Do you think you can do that?"

"But I already talked to someone," Josie protested.

"I imagine they'll want you to go over it several times, Josie," Caroline said, reaching for her hand.

Josie could go over things a million times, but it didn't change what she knew. She didn't see anything. Not really. Already the events of the night before were dissipating into a nebulous fog, but a few details remained clear: the sharp barks of a shotgun, the figure in the dark coming toward them, Becky falling behind.

"Ethan? Becky?" Josie asked. Her grandmother shook her head, and for a moment, Josie thought she meant that they, too, were dead. She inhaled sharply and the air snagged in her dry throat and she dissolved into a coughing fit.

Josie raised her hand to cover her mouth and felt the pull of the IV against the tender skin in the crook of her arm and quickly laid it back down.

Her grandmother sprang into action. She reached for a cup of water next to Josie's bed and placed the straw between her lips. Josie took a sip.

"They haven't found Ethan or Becky yet," Caroline explained. "Your grandpa thinks they might be hiding in the field like you did. They have searchers looking now."

The cool water soothed the fire in her throat. "Can I help?" Josie asked. "Can I go look for them too?"

"Not right now," she said apologetically. "Your job right now is to rest and answer any questions the police have for you. That's the most important thing you can do." Caroline scraped her teeth across her lower lip and let out a shaky breath. "Do you have any idea who might have done this?" she asked.

Once again, tears gathered in Josie's eyes. "I think," she began in a barely perceptible whisper, "at first, I thought it might have been Ethan."

Seeing the horror on her grandmother's face, Josie quickly backtracked. "But I know it wasn't him. He would never hurt us."

"No, of course he wouldn't," Caroline said, clutching her granddaughter's hand. "He's a good boy," she murmured as if trying to convince herself. "He's a good boy."