Read Online The Night Bell by Inger Ash Wolfe - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Inger Ash Wolfe
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apologize. Feeling short-tempered today. You can get back to sweeping with the others.”
Darkness fell, but now no one wanted to leave. They strapped flashlights to their hockey stick shafts and kept searching, slowly, and the field turned into crosses of white beams sweeping over one another. At eleven, they were still less than half done, and they’d found three other fragments of bone. They were too scattered to make a pattern. If they were old, as Deacon had surmised the pelvic fragment had to be, animals could have carried these bones from all over. Their source wasn’t necessarily nearby. There could be bone all over the region, a rain of bone fallen on nearby fields. Calcium for corn.
With the moon high, their shadows took on a silvery glint, the beams of their lights sweeping through layers ofdark. Many of the houses around the perimeter were lit up, and those tenants with outdoor chairs or stepladders or sturdy tables were standing on them and looking out over the slow-moving silhouettes in their giant, common backyard. At times during the sweep, Hazel looked up to see the door at the end of the clubhouse patio open and Givens standing there, picked out in shadow, his arms crossed over his chest. Things were not going to get easier for that gentleman. She had called in the situation to Greene and word was going out: to Gilchrist and Fort Leonard, to the Queesik Bay Police Department. More from Mayfair. In the morning, they’d have seventy to a hundred bodies in this field.
At midnight, she decided to call it. “Come in,” she said into her walkie-talkie. “Buddy up and come in.” The beams turned and what seemed like two-dozen faerie lights began to bounce back toward the clubhouse.
“Hazel?” came Costamides’s voice from among the approaching beams. “I don’t have Mel with me. My radio’s dead and we got separated. Can you get him?”
“Mel?” Hazel called into her handset. “Sergeant Renald? We’re turning in, come back.”
“Maybe his batteries are dead too,” Gerry offered.
“And his flashlight?” Costamides emerged into the light. Hazel spoke into her radio again. “Clear this channel of unnecessary chatter, please. Everyone quiet. Renald? Come in, Sergeant Renald.” She heard an electronic gurgle and ashort blurt of sound that was like a human voice, but maybe from another part of the dial – a commercial or a CB interruption – and she called out to the officers streaming past her, “Have you seen him?” They trod by apologizing, and she asked a couple of them to look for Renald inside the clubhouse. She spoke his name again: “Mel? Can you hear me? How can you be out of range?”
Then a voice she’d never heard before said, “How can you stand so still within my sights?”
“What? Mel?”
“No.” She heard the gurgle again. “I have your face in my crosshairs, Detective. Your bewildered face blown up ten times in the lens. Why are you still standing there?” She heard the report of a gun and the ground leaped up in front of her. She lay on her stomach, frozen.
“Shots fired!” someone shouted. “Shots fired!”
“Shut up!” Hazel cried into her handset. “Who is this?”
“Well, I have his radio, sweetheart,” said the voice.
“Where’s Renald?”
“He’s resting after a long day. You should go home and get your beauty sleep. Take your playmates with you.” Another chunk of wet dirt exploded beside her head. “Any more questions?”
Her sweepers were surging back into the field at the sound of gunfire, and Hazel called them off. “Don’t return fire! Go back!” She crawled on her elbows and knees through the stubble. Up close, the dirt smelled like sulphur, likehell was cooling off below the tangled, rotting stalks. From her elbows and knees she shouted: “Rendezvous on Concession 6 outside the clubhouse gates! All personnel off the grounds!” She heard the crack of the gun again and involuntarily jumped up and ran crouching the final
Darkness fell, but now no one wanted to leave. They strapped flashlights to their hockey stick shafts and kept searching, slowly, and the field turned into crosses of white beams sweeping over one another. At eleven, they were still less than half done, and they’d found three other fragments of bone. They were too scattered to make a pattern. If they were old, as Deacon had surmised the pelvic fragment had to be, animals could have carried these bones from all over. Their source wasn’t necessarily nearby. There could be bone all over the region, a rain of bone fallen on nearby fields. Calcium for corn.
With the moon high, their shadows took on a silvery glint, the beams of their lights sweeping through layers ofdark. Many of the houses around the perimeter were lit up, and those tenants with outdoor chairs or stepladders or sturdy tables were standing on them and looking out over the slow-moving silhouettes in their giant, common backyard. At times during the sweep, Hazel looked up to see the door at the end of the clubhouse patio open and Givens standing there, picked out in shadow, his arms crossed over his chest. Things were not going to get easier for that gentleman. She had called in the situation to Greene and word was going out: to Gilchrist and Fort Leonard, to the Queesik Bay Police Department. More from Mayfair. In the morning, they’d have seventy to a hundred bodies in this field.
At midnight, she decided to call it. “Come in,” she said into her walkie-talkie. “Buddy up and come in.” The beams turned and what seemed like two-dozen faerie lights began to bounce back toward the clubhouse.
“Hazel?” came Costamides’s voice from among the approaching beams. “I don’t have Mel with me. My radio’s dead and we got separated. Can you get him?”
“Mel?” Hazel called into her handset. “Sergeant Renald? We’re turning in, come back.”
“Maybe his batteries are dead too,” Gerry offered.
“And his flashlight?” Costamides emerged into the light. Hazel spoke into her radio again. “Clear this channel of unnecessary chatter, please. Everyone quiet. Renald? Come in, Sergeant Renald.” She heard an electronic gurgle and ashort blurt of sound that was like a human voice, but maybe from another part of the dial – a commercial or a CB interruption – and she called out to the officers streaming past her, “Have you seen him?” They trod by apologizing, and she asked a couple of them to look for Renald inside the clubhouse. She spoke his name again: “Mel? Can you hear me? How can you be out of range?”
Then a voice she’d never heard before said, “How can you stand so still within my sights?”
“What? Mel?”
“No.” She heard the gurgle again. “I have your face in my crosshairs, Detective. Your bewildered face blown up ten times in the lens. Why are you still standing there?” She heard the report of a gun and the ground leaped up in front of her. She lay on her stomach, frozen.
“Shots fired!” someone shouted. “Shots fired!”
“Shut up!” Hazel cried into her handset. “Who is this?”
“Well, I have his radio, sweetheart,” said the voice.
“Where’s Renald?”
“He’s resting after a long day. You should go home and get your beauty sleep. Take your playmates with you.” Another chunk of wet dirt exploded beside her head. “Any more questions?”
Her sweepers were surging back into the field at the sound of gunfire, and Hazel called them off. “Don’t return fire! Go back!” She crawled on her elbows and knees through the stubble. Up close, the dirt smelled like sulphur, likehell was cooling off below the tangled, rotting stalks. From her elbows and knees she shouted: “Rendezvous on Concession 6 outside the clubhouse gates! All personnel off the grounds!” She heard the crack of the gun again and involuntarily jumped up and ran crouching the final
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