Field of Danger

Daniel stopped pushing against the older man, but couldn’t seem to take his eyes off the blue tarp until Ray repeated the command with all the power of his Marine training. “Rivers, look at me!”

Daniel did, and Ray’s voice softened. “Your father took a shotgun blast to the chest at close range. Probably 12-gauge, from the look of it. It’s not something you really want to see, and I don’t care what you saw on the streets of Nashville. This is your father.”

Daniel felt like a block of ice, numb and distant. “I have to see him.”

Ray nodded. “We’ve cleared a spot so the coroner can get to him without messing up any evidence. There are footprints we still have to cast. I’ll take you.”

With Ray’s hand on his shoulder as comfort and guide, Daniel stepped toward the tarp slowly, hard clumps of the plowed ground popping into dust as he trod on them. Everyone around him fell totally silent. Only Ray and Daniel approached the body, Ray bending to pull back the tarp, uncovering Levon’s face.

Daniel dropped to his knees next to his father, his eyes burning. Levon’s face, gray and speckled with brownish-red drops, seemed oddly peaceful. It had been a long time since Daniel had seen that kind of calm, that kind of peacefulness on his father’s face—not since his mother had died five years ago. In that instant, Daniel felt a strange sense of comfort, and he knew, without a doubt, that his father was with God—and his mother.

“Tell her I still love her.” The words came out in a choked rasp, then Daniel gave in to his own racking grief.

April wrapped her hands around a cold glass of tangy iced tea, twisting the glass round and round on the table, still not able to drink. Her hands still shook too hard to pick up the glass. From her position at the large oak table in Aunt Suke’s kitchen, she could hear the fading voices at the front of the house, but couldn’t make out what was being said. It was just as well; she didn’t really want to know. The sturdy table and solid chair beneath her felt unmovable, even though April’s world still spun around her.

She barely noticed when the young officer who had come in response to Aunt Suke’s second 911 call left, the front door closing firmly behind him. Just moments before he had sat here at this table, holding April’s hand and reassuring her that the sheriff’s team would find the killer. He’d taken a preliminary statement from her, and while he’d tried to be kind and tactful, he had confirmed what April already knew in her heart.

Levon was dead. He had not just been wounded or knocked out. The close-range shot had taken the life of her friend. More than a friend, she thought, tears stinging her eyes. Levon had been like family to April since she’d moved to Caralinda almost a year ago, eager to be away from city life and her crazed former in-laws down in Nashville. Just last week, he had repaired a broken window at her house—one of many things he’d helped her with over the past year.

More than a friend. Almost a father. Certainly better than her own father had been.

April closed her eyes and tears leaked down her cheeks. What now, Lord? What’s next? He wants to kill me. What do I do?

A mix of denial and anger settled over Daniel. His mind swirled with questions and wild speculations, even as his body felt remote, distant from him. He leaned against the fender of his cruiser, arms crossed, watching as his fellow officers hovered just outside the crime scene while the Bell County Coroner examined the body of Levon Rivers. Since Daniel was the victim’s son, Ray had banned him from the site and the investigation, but Ray couldn’t force him to leave, even though he had insisted that Daniel go home and start doing whatever it is you do to bury your father.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, the thought “It’s not real. He’s not dead” hovered, trying to break through. He wanted to let it, to wake up from this nightmare occurring in the bright July sun. Wake up and see Levon standing there, laughing at them for their worry.

Instead the officers kept working. Scouring the ground for evidence—marking footprints, blood spatter, stray buckshot pellets. The blue tarp had been pulled away as the coroner worked, and now one of her assistants stood by with a black body bag. In his years as a cop, Daniel had seen a lot of body bags, but somehow the grief associated with them had never struck home. Not like this.

Lord, what am I going to do?

Behind him, the telltale crunch of tires on gravel warned him of another car’s arrival, and he turned slightly to see Deputy Jeff Gage get out of a cruiser and motion for Ray. Ray approached, one look at Daniel telling him to stay put. He and Gage met in the driveway several yards away from Daniel.

Gage, tall and lanky, moved with the grace of the long-distance runner he was. A gentle man who seemed barely tough enough to be a cop, Gage had a voice made for an unamplified stage. No matter how softly he spoke, his voice carried.

So Daniel had no trouble hearing Gage’s report to Ray about his visit to Suke Stockard’s.

“Talk to me,” Ray said.

Gage shook his head. “Not good. April is holed up at Aunt Suke’s but says she never saw the shooter’s face. His back was to her, then she ran. Can’t blame her for not looking back. The guy blew the back door off the cellar over there, put a couple of holes in the floor, looking for her and Aunt Suke. Claims he’ll kill them.”

Ray growled. “Probably to keep them quiet.”

“Looks like.”

“Does he know who she is?”

Gage nodded. “He called her by name.”

“You left them alone?”

Gage shook his head. “New guy in a car out front. Another at the back. Knew it would be the secondary crime scene. Should be enough to keep the guy away, at least until dark.”

Ray nodded. “Good. Get over to April’s house and make sure it’s secure. We’re about done here. When we are, I’ll get her to the station for a complete statement and we’ll take a look at that basement. Then we’ll decide what to do to keep her safe.”

The sheriff tapped Gage on the shoulder, and the lanky deputy started toward the crime scene. Ray hesitated, then came to Daniel. His face was stern, but his voice held the gentleness of a coach talking to an injured player. Ray Taylor was young for a sheriff, still in his thirties, but he was a widower as well as a former Marine officer, and wise beyond his years. “Rivers, go home. Call your family.”

Daniel shook his head. “I can’t. I need to be—”

“No. You can’t be a part of this, Rivers. You know that.”

“Ray—”

The sheriff’s voice dropped in tone again as he interrupted. “Daniel, listen to me. You cannot be here. You need to call your family, take care of arrangements. Let us do our jobs. This is a time for you to be his son, not a cop. You stick to the details, all the things that have to be done. They’ll get you through it.”

Daniel started to protest again, but the expression on Ray’s face told him that his widowed boss spoke from personal experience and wouldn’t budge on this point. Finally he nodded and rubbed a hand over a face swollen by grief. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“The calls. Make one to Beck’s Funeral Home. They’ll walk you through it.”

Daniel pushed away from the car and reached for the driver’s door. “But you’ll keep me updated, right?”

“Like we would any family. I promise.”

Daniel got in the car and backed it out of the driveway, aware that Ray kept his eyes on him until the car was out of sight. He knew Ray didn’t quite trust him to just give up and go home to sit with the phone.

Ray knew him well.

A hundred yards from the field path, the corn ran right up to the road, with only a few feet separating the stalks from the pavement. Daniel pulled off into the dirt there, out of sight, and cut the engine of the cruiser. Gripping the wheel with both hands, he squeezed as hard as he could, straining every muscle in his arms and body, desperate to drive the numbness away, to find the anger again.

His father. Levon. Dad. A low growl grew from deep in his gut, expanding into a rage-filled roar that filled the car, which rocked as he shook the wheel furiously. Daniel’s eyes burned and his throat turned raw as the wrath slowly passed, leaving him feeling empty again, as if part of his soul had been ripped away.

Daniel breathed deeply as dozens of images flashed through his mind, in rapid succession. His father on his tractor, in the backyard garden, stretched out in his recliner with the television remote slipping from his hands as he fell asleep. Levon in church, his face beaming whenever Daniel sang a solo from the choir loft.

Levon Rivers, born in North Carolina to a Native American mother and white father, had one of the most expressive faces Daniel had ever seen, and all his emotions shone through. Anguish over his wife’s death, joy over a good baseball game, melancholy over memories, serenity over the comfort he took in his faith. The thought of his father cold, still and silent seemed so wrong.

Levon always spoke his mind. So did Daniel, which had led to legendary fights between father and son. The disappointment over Daniel’s decision to become a cop instead of a farmer had echoed between them, fueling arguments for years. Although Levon had finally grown proud of his son’s work, their relationship had felt the strain. Daniel knew he and his father hadn’t been as close as they could have been—as close as Levon had wanted them to be.

Levon adored his family, took pride in his town, cherished his friends. His annual weekend-long barbecue emphasized all of that. Levon loved having people over, and at the last barbecue, he had seemed intent on introducing April Presley to everyone in Caralinda.

April. She’d been here almost a year, but had kept mostly to herself. They’d talked, usually at Levon’s, but he didn’t really know her. Gage had said she’d witnessed the shooting, then been chased and threatened by the gunman, but he hadn’t said if she was hurt.

And physical injury aside, Daniel knew April had to be traumatized. Levon had been a good friend to her and no one should have to watch a friend die like that. Daniel knew that firsthand. Jeff Gage’s youth could work against an interrogation if April had a traumatic memory block of some kind. He had only been a cop for a few years. Without experience, Gage could push her in the wrong direction, make her so frightened of her memories that she’d blank them out permanently.

“But I could help.” Daniel had been with a number of witnesses to horrible crimes who could barely remember their own names at first. In Iraq. On the streets of Nashville. He should talk to her. Calm her down. Show her how to deal with her fear and pain. Make her feel safe again.

Daniel shook his head. No. Ray would have his hide if he talked to the primary witness.

But April was more than just a witness. And he couldn’t stand the thought of abandoning her when he might be able to help her through her pain.