The bridge spanned the river at its widest point locally. Right now, three TV mobile vans were parked single file along the bridge.
Senator David Cummings, looking handsome as all hell in his L.L. Bean hunting clothes, stood on the bridge with a Remington shotgun cradled in his arms and looked pensively at the camera. Helen, who had insisted, stood next to him. She also wore fashionable hunting clothes.
David was saying, “That’s the nice thing about a community like ours, everybody pulls together.”
“So you’re joining in on the manhunt?”
“Absolutely,” David said. “The Fullers are important members of this community. And darned nice folks, I might add. So we’re determined to bring the killer to justice any way we need to.”
“Does that mean violence?”
“We hope not,” Helen interjected. “But if it does—”
“I can’t tell you how much we all loved little Amy in this community,” David said.
Looking good, Helen thought. Until he screwed up the girl’s name. Looking forceful. Looking determined. She always judged her brother’s performances. Like a critic.
Oh, yes, the voters were going to mourn him... and feel that only one person could ever replace him... and that person was...
“Miss Cummings, do you know how to shoot that pistol you’re carrying?”
“I certainly do.”
“You think you could actually shoot a man?”
She made a face. “You have to look at what he did. Took the life of a beautiful young girl whom this community really cared for. I guess if I kept that in my mind... I think I could shoot.”
Careful. Had to be careful. Had to remain the staid, handsome older woman.
Didn’t want to look like one of those harsh bull dykes the NRA was always pushing in front of the cameras.
The three reporters kept spewing out questions.
“And you, Senator? Could you shoot somebody if it came down to it?”
Senator David Cummings had learned how to shrug from watching Ronald Reagan shrug. Reagan was the past master of the shrug. No one had ever shrugged so eloquently.
Shucks, the shrug said, I’m just your average guy without any big, philosophical questions running around my head.
I just do what all decent folks would, I guess.
“If it came down to protecting my community,” David said, shrugging at just the right moment, “I guess I could kill a man if I had to.”
“This Richie McGuire’s been in a lot of trouble in the past, hasn’t he?”
“I’m afraid he has been,” David said. “Some people don’t think he ever got over the disappointment of seeing his football career go down the tubes.”
“His football career?”
“He was going to play for the Bears,” Davis said. “Then he wrapped his car around a tree and—”
“Was he drunk?”
“Well, that’s what he was charged with,” Helen said. “Operating a motor vehicle while intoxicated.”
One of the camera operators suddenly went Hollywood.
Got down in this crouch and started circling the Senator and his sister.
Shot steep angles up, then climbed on top of the bridge ledge and shot them steep angles down.
Dramatic.
Helen was worried about her right side.
Her right side had never been for shit.
How could her left side be so beautiful and her right side be so... unbeautiful?
“You have confidence in Chief Hadley?”
“Perfect confidence,” David said. “He’s an old and trusted friend.”
“He certainly is,” Helen said.
David looked up. One of the state patrol helicopters had suddenly materialized.
The cameraman who’d just gone Hollywood swung his lens up to the sky.
This was all dramatic as hell.
Now if somebody would only get killed.
Talk about your powerful opening shots.
You’re sitting at home eating dinner in front of the TV set and what do you see? You see some local bastard — somebody you actually saw at the supermarket and the DX station all the time — you see him get gunned down by the posse.
Man, talk about drama.
It was the kind of thing both the reporter and the camera operator would put on their respective sample video reels when they started looking for work again... better work... bigger cities. Murders were what could get you there. Sex, murder, tragedy, and the fall of the powerful. Every night before they went to bed, TV consultants got down on their knees and prayed to the dark god of ratings that they would soon be blessed with a story that would include all of these elements.
“Senator Cummings, you helped Amy McGuire — Richie’s sister — through law school, didn’t you?”
Helen spoke. “My brother has helped dozens of people through law school. Amy was just one of them.”
“Then you know Richie pretty well?”
Helen again: “In a small town like this one, everybody knows everybody.”
“You really think you could kill him if you had to, Senator?”
“I just hope he gives himself up,” David said. “Before that becomes necessary.” But as he was speaking, he was wondering if his cousin Steve Arnette had caught up with Richie yet.
Richie wouldn’t be alive very long after Steve found him. Steve hated Richie.
Helen glanced at her watch. “Well, we want to catch up with Chief Hadley now.”
“You’re in contact with him?”
Helen held up her walkie-talkie. “Constant contact.” She looked at David. “Now if you’ll excuse us—”
“Just a little bit more of both of you with your guns.”
“Like this?” David said, bringing the rifle up to his shoulder, aiming it.
“Perfect.”
David pretended to be squeezing off some shots.
“Now you, Miss Cummings.”
Helen didn’t hoke it up as much as David had. She just brought her shotgun up and held it at an angle to her face.
She didn’t point it at anybody.
“Fantastic.”
David and Helen thanked the reporters and camera crews — you always wanted to be nice to them because then they’d be nice to you.
They were just piling into their Range Rover when they heard the shots.
One, two, three of them, the echoes floating up the wide river between the lovely, fiery autumnal trees that lined the banks.
“God,” David said, “you think Steve may have got him already?”
“I sure as hell hope so,” Helen said, and gave the ignition key a savage twist.
Fifteen
1
Amy was sort of ashamed of herself.
She wasn’t much of a churchgoer — in fact, she rarely went more than two or three times a year — but now she was praying silently and fervently that Richie would be all right. That he wouldn’t be hurt... and that he wouldn’t hurt anybody. Fear had always made Richie do terrible things that he later regretted.
“You all right?” Sam said.
She was a little embarrassed to say what she’d been doing. Oddly enough, admitting that you prayed was a pretty intimate thing... In a weird way, it was easier to talk about sex than religion.
But that was stupid. She believed in God, so why not simply say it?
“I was praying,” she said.
He looked at her. “I do a little bit of that myself from time to time.”
“You do?”
“Sure. A lot of people, they get to be older, they don’t believe in it anymore. But I guess I still do.”
“I’m just so worried about him, Sam.”
He nodded. “We need to find him, no doubt about it. You know what I’ve been thinking?”