Like Ajax and Santiago, this man wore a black military-style outfit. And like Ajax and Santiago, he scared the crap out of Streng.
When he began to wake up, Streng Mirandized him, and then he and Erwin put the stranger into the back seat of the Roadmaster. Streng sat next to him. He pressed the thick-bladed combat knife up against the man’s throat, but he still kept an arm’s length away.
“Wake up. I have questions.”
The man peeked at Streng though peach-puffy eyes. He grinned. The missing teeth and swollen face made him look like a jack-o’-lantern.
“Hello, Sheriff Streng. I’d be happy, very happy, to answer any questions you have, as long, as long as you tell me where Warren is.”
Wiley again. What kind of horror had his brother brought upon this little town?
“What’s your name?”
“Bernie.”
“Full name.”
“Just Bernie is fine.”
“How many people in your unit?”
Bernie stuck his tongue through the gaps in his teeth and made sucking sounds. He seemed to be counting them. When he finished, he said, “Enough to get the job done.”
“What’s the job?”
“Find Warren. Finding Warren. Warren, Warren, Warren.”
“Why do you want to find him?” Streng thought he knew the answer but wanted confirmation.
A line of bloody saliva leaked out the corner of Bernie’s mouth.
“Did you take my lighters, Sheriff?”
“Answer my question. Why are you looking for Warren?”
Bernie clenched his jaw. Streng heard a cracking sound. Without flinching or taking his eyes away from Streng, Bernie produced a broken tooth between his grinning, distended lips. His tongue pushed it out, and it slid down his chin on a wave of gory spit.
“Why don’t you burn me?” Bernie asked. “Maybe that will make me talk.”
Centuries ago Streng served in Vietnam, during the war. He’d seen firsthand the types of things the Cong did to extract information. It had sickened him and remained a subject of nightmares for decades afterward.
When he mustered out and became a rookie cop in Milwaukee, criminal interrogations had been a bit … looser … than they were now. Streng witnessed his fellow officers beat a confession out of a killer using phone books. He’d also watched his squad take turns kicking a known child molester in the groin until he revealed the location of a child he’d abducted. Both times the suspects broke quickly. And both times Streng felt disgusted with himself afterward, even though he hadn’t participated in the beatings.
Bernie expected torture. Hell, he probably deserved torture. But the willful infliction of pain on a fellow human being just wasn’t in Streng’s constitution. He decided to try another approach.
“I saw your friends earlier. Ajax and Santiago. Did you all train together?”
Bernie stared malevolently.
“I bet you boys had a lot of training. You think they trained harder than you, or are just better at this stuff?”
Now Bernie shifted in his seat.
“That Santiago, I bet he’d never allow himself to be captured.” Streng moved closer to Bernie. “I bet he’d die first.”
Bernie took a deep breath, then exhaled hard through his broken nose. A clot blew out of his right nostril, and dark blood oozed out. Bernie extended his tongue and let the blood run over it.
“I smell piss.” Bernie licked his bloody lips and grinned. “Did Santiago make you wet yourself, Sheriff? Or— hehehe—is that just old age?”
Streng didn’t take the bait. Instead he removed a disposable lighter from his pocket and flicked it on. Bernie focused on it like a cat watches a mouse. Streng let it burn for about ten seconds, then allowed the flame to die.
“Well, you’d know a thing or two about wetting yourself, wouldn’t you, Bernie? Pyromania and bed-wetting go hand in hand.”
Bernie continued to stare at the lighter.
“Was that what your childhood was like, Bernie? Setting fires? Pissing yourself? Killing little animals? I bet you did a lot of that. Let me guess—did Daddy make special visits to your bedroom at night, when Mommy was asleep?”
Bernie’s eyes got big, and his jaw began to quiver.
“Daddy, my daddy, Daddy burned me. All over. Mommy would help, would hold me down. Because I was bad. They knew, they knew I was bad, they tried to cleanse me with fire, burn the evil out. But they went away before they could save me. Mommy and Daddy loved me.”
Streng fought revulsion, stayed strong.
“Why are you after Warren? Is it money?”
“Money?” Bernie grinned. “Want to see me light my pee-pee on fire? I’ll do it for a dollar. A dollar a dollar a dollar. Everyone, all the kids, everyone at the orphanage, they save their money to watch me do it.” He locked eyes with Streng. “Got a dollar, Sheriff?”
“I’ve got a dollar, and I want to see that, Bernie. But first tell me how many are in your unit.”
“They love me, love me like Mommy and Daddy. I’m important, so important, to them. Their star pupil. They found me years ago, saved me from the institution. I—”
Bernie’s smile died, and then his eyes rolled up into his head. His head began to twitch, and Streng wondered if the man was still trying to frighten him. Truth told, Streng was frightened. This man, even tied up, exuded menace like radiators exuded heat. But the spasm went on for several seconds, and Bernie definitely didn’t seem in control. Some sort of seizure?
Then, abruptly, it stopped. When Bernie opened his eyes he was no longer grinning.
“Charge,” he said.
Streng had no idea what that meant, but Bernie stared straight ahead and didn’t say anything else.
“Charge what?” Streng asked.
“Charge.”
“I don’t understand.”
Bernie’s mouth began to move. But he wasn’t talking. He was chewing.
When the blood began to leak out, Streng realized Bernie was chewing his own tongue.
Someone knocked on Streng’s window, startling the hell out of him. He turned and saw Erwin standing there. Streng sought the handle and rolled down the window.
“Josh and Fran—that’s the woman from the diner—they saved the boy.”
“And Mrs. Teller?”
Erwin shook his head. Streng pursed his lips. While he’d been screwing around with the car, the old woman had died. Could he have done anything to prevent it? How many people had died so far on his shift?
Streng pushed the thoughts away. Guilt later. Right now he had things to take care of.
“Is he okay?” Streng asked.
“Josh wants to take the boy and Fran to the doctor. But I want to go to the junior high and find Jessie Lee. Olen wants to go, too, because of the lottery.”
Streng considered his next step. He needed to see a doctor, as well. The throb in his kidney hadn’t abated, and the sweat on his forehead spoke of a fever. The nearest hospital was in Shell Lake, a forty-minute drive from here. But that lottery business smelled funny, especially with everything else going on. Could it be connected somehow? Then there was the matter of what to do with Bernie.
“Help me put him in the Honey Wagon,” he told Erwin.
Erwin studied his shoes. Streng understood.
“This is a very bad man, son. One who tried to burn your face off. I would have messed him up, too, given the chance.”
Erwin nodded, but he didn’t seem in any hurry to touch Bernie again and made an extra effort not to look at him. Streng had a squeamish moment, removing his belt from Bernie’s legs, but the killer just sat there, silently chewing his tongue. He remained compliant as they walked him to Olen’s truck, allowing himself to be buckled into the back seat.