This Present Darkness (42 page)

On top of all this, Marshall had to wonder how Kate was holding up through all of this, and how he would ever patch things up between them when this was finally over. She was talking about being a widow again, a newspaper widow, and had even made some very embarrassing suggestions about Bernice. Man, this thing just had to get over with; much more of it and he wouldn’t have much of a marriage to come home to.

And then of course there was Sandy, whom Marshall hadn’t seen in weeks. But when this was all over, when it was really finally over, things would be different.

For now, the investigation he and Bernice were doing was incredibly urgent, a top priority, something that grew more ominous with every new stone they turned.

WHEN THINGS AROUND
the office were in their usual quiet, post-Tuesday state, Marshall had Carmen search out a good-sized cardboard box and some file folders and he began to organize the piles of papers, records, documents, scattered notes, and other information he and Bernice had compiled in their investigation into an orderly file. As he went through it all, he also compiled a list of questions on a legal pad on his desk—questions he intended to use in his interview with the first of the real principals in this plot: Alf Brummel.

That afternoon, after Carmen had left for a dentist appointment, Marshall made a call to Alf Brummel’s office.

“Police Department,” said Sara’s voice.

“Hi, Sara, this is Marshall Hogan. Can I have a word with Alf?”

“He’s out of the office right now …” Sara let out a long sigh and then added in a very strange, very quiet tone of voice, “Marshall—Alf Brummel does not want to talk to you.”

Marshall had to think for a moment before he said, “Sara, are you caught in the middle?”

Sara sounded miffed. “Maybe I am, I don’t know, but Alf told me in no uncertain terms that I was not to put through any calls from you and that I was to let him know whatever your intentions were.”

“Huh …”

“Look, I don’t know where friendships end and professional ethics
begin, but I sure wish I knew what was going on around here.”

“What
is
going on around there?”

“What’ll you trade me for it?”

Marshall knew he was taking a chance. “I think I can find something of equal value if I look hard enough.”

Sara hesitated for just a moment. “From all appearances, you’ve become his worst enemy. Every once in a while I hear your name coming through that office door of his, and he never says it nicely.”

“Who’s he talking to when he says it?”

“Uh-uh. It’s your turn.”

“All right. Well, we talk about him too. We talk about him a lot, and if everything we’ve uncovered checks out, yeah, I just might be his worst enemy. Now who’s he talking to?”

“Some of them I’ve seen before, some of them I haven’t. He’s put several calls through to Juleen Langstrat, his whatever-she-is.”

“Anyone else?”

“Judge Baker was one, and several members of the city council …”

“Malone?”

“Yes.”

“Everett?”

“Yes.”

“Uh—Preston?”

“No.”

“Goldtree?”

“Yes, plus some other VIPs from out of town, and then Spence Nelson from the Windsor Police Department, the same department that supplied our extra manpower for the Festival. I mean, he’s been talking to a lot of people, far more than usual. Something’s up. What is it?”

Marshall had to be careful. “It might involve me and the
Clarion,
it might not.”

“I don’t know if I’ll accept that or not.”

“I don’t know if I can trust you or not. Whose side are you on?”

“That depends on who the bad guy is. I know Alf is shady. Are you?”

Marshall had to smile at her spunk. “I’ll have to let you be the judge of that. I do try to run an honest paper, and we have been carrying on a very intensive investigation of not only your boss, but just
about every other bigwig in this town—”

“He knows it. They all do.”

“Well, I’ve talked to just about all of them. Alf was next on my list.”

“I think he knew that too. He told me just this morning that he did not want to talk to you. But he’s sure talking up a storm with everybody else, and he just left here with a pile of papers under his arm, heading for another hush-hush meeting with someone.”

“Any idea of what they’re going to do about me?”

“Oh, you can be sure they
will
do something, and I get the feeling they’re loading for bear. Consider yourself warned.”

“And I’d advise you to be the sweet, ignorant angel who knows nothing and says nothing. Things could get messy.”

“If they do, Marshall, can I come to you for answers, or at least a ticket out of town?”

“We’ll be able to deal.”

“I’ll give you anything I can find if you’ll keep me safe.”

Marshall caught it in her voice: this gal was scared. “Hey now, remember, I didn’t ask you to get involved.”

“I didn’t ask to be involved. I just am. I know Alf Brummel. I’d better pick you for my friend.”

“I’ll keep you posted. Now hang up and act normal.”

She did.

ALF BRUMMEL WAS
in Juleen Langstrat’s office, and the two of them were looking over a very thick portfolio of information Brummel had brought.

“Hogan now has enough to fill a front page!” Brummel said quite unhappily. “You’ve berated me for being slow in taking care of Busche, but as far as I can see, you’ve given Hogan nothing but a clear freeway since the beginning.”

“Calm down, Alf,” Langstrat said soothingly. “Just calm down.”

“He’s going to be coming after me for an interview any day now, just like he’s gone after all the others. What do you suggest I say to him?”

Langstrat was a little shocked at his stupidity. “Don’t say anything, of course!”

Brummel paced the room, exasperated. “I don’t have to, Juleen! By this point, nothing I say or don’t say will make any difference anyway. He already has everything he needs: he knows about the property sales, he has very good leads on all the sheriff sales of the tax delinquent homes, he knows all about the Corporation and the Society, he has good information on the college embezzlements … he even has more than enough evidence to accuse me of false arrest!”

Langstrat smiled with pleasure. “Your spy has done very well.”

“She brought me a lot of this material today. He’s getting it all organized in a file now. He’s about to make his move, I’d say.”

Langstrat gathered all the material neatly, placed it back in its portfolio, and leaned back in her chair. “I love it.”

Brummel only looked at her in amazement and shook his head. “You could lose at this game someday, you know. We could
all
lose!”

“I love a challenge,” she exulted. “I love taking on a strong opponent. The stronger the opponent, the more exhilarating the victory! Most of all, I love winning.” She smiled at him, truly pleased. “Alf, I’ve had my doubts about you, but I think you’ve come through bountifully. I think you should be there to see Mr. Hogan step into the snare.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Oh, you will. You will.”

THERE WAS A
short lull, and it got strangely quiet around the town of Ashton. People weren’t in touch. Nothing much was said.

During the day Marshall and Bernice organized their materials and stuck close to the office. Marshall took Kate out to dinner one night. Bernice sat at home and tried to read a novel.

Alf Brummel kept regular hours, but he didn’t have much to say to Sara or anyone else about anything. Langstrat fell ill, or so the word was from her office, and her classes were canceled for a few days.

Hank and Mary thought that maybe their phone was out of order, the thing had been so silent. The Colemans visited relatives out of town. The Forsythes took the chance to do some inventory at the lumberyard. The rest of the Remnant all went about their normal business.

There was an odd stillness everywhere. The skies were hazy, the sun a blurred ball of light, the air warm and sticky. It was quiet.

But no one could relax.

High on a hill above the town, in the top of a graying, long-dead snag of an old tree, like an enormous black vulture, Rafar, the Prince of Babylon, sat. Other demons attended him, waiting to hear his next command, but Rafar was silent. Hour upon hour, a tense scowl on his face, he sat and gazed down at the town with his slowly shifting yellow eyes.

On another hill, directly across the town from Rafar’s big dead tree, Tal and his warriors concealed themselves in the woods. They also were looking out over the town, and they could feel the lull, the silence, the ominous deadness of the air.

Guilo stood at his captain’s side, and he knew this feeling. It had always been the same throughout the centuries.

“It could be any time now. Are we ready?” he asked Tal.

“No,” Tal said flatly, looking intensely over the town. “Not all the Remnant are gathered. Those who have gathered are not praying, not enough. We haven’t the numbers or the strength.”

“And the black cloud of spirits over the Strongman grows a hundredfold each day.”

Tal looked up into the sky over Ashton. “They will fill the sky from horizon to horizon.”

From their hiding place they could look across the valley, over several miles, and see their hideous opponent sitting in the big dead tree.

“His strength has not waned,” said Guilo.

“He is more than ready to do battle,” said Tal, “and he can pick his own time, his own place, and the best of his warriors. He could attack on a hundred different fronts at once.”

Guilo only shook his head. “You know we can’t defend that many.”

Just then a messenger rushed toward them, on the wing.

“Captain,” he said, alighting next to Tal, “I’ve brought word from the Strongman’s Lair. There is a stirring there. The demons are growing restless.”

“It’s beginning,” said Tal, and this word was passed back through the ranks. “Guilo!”

Guilo stepped up. “Captain!”

Tal took Guilo aside. “I have a plan. I want you to take a small contingent with you and set up watch over that valley—”

Guilo was not one to argue with the captain, but “A
small
contingent? To watch the
Strongman?
”

The two of them continued in conference, Tal mapping out his instructions, Guilo shaking his head dubiously. At length Guilo came back to the group, picked out his warriors, and said, “Let’s be off!”

With a rush of wings the two dozen weaved and zigzagged through the forest until they were far enough away to take to the open sky.

Tal summoned a strong warrior. “Replace Signa in guarding the church, and tell him to come to me.”

Then he summoned another messenger. “Tell Krioni and Triskal to rouse Hank and get him praying, and all the Remnant.”

In a short moment Signa arrived.

“Come with me,” said Tal. “Let’s talk.”

It had been a quiet afternoon for Hank and Mary. Mary spent most of it in the little garden behind the house, while Hank worked to repair a corner of the backyard fence that kids had broken a hole through. As Mary hunted for weeds among her vegetables, she noticed Hank’s hammering getting more and more sporadic until finally it stopped altogether. She looked his way and saw him sitting there, the hammer still in his hand, praying.

He seemed very disturbed, so she asked, “Are you all right?”

Hank opened his eyes, and without looking up he shook his head. “I don’t feel good at all.”

She went over to him. “What is it?”

Hank knew where the feeling came from. “The Lord, I guess. I just feel something’s really wrong. Something terrible is about to happen. I’m going to call the Forsythes.”

Just then the phone in the house rang. Hank went in and answered it. It was Andy Forsythe.

“Sorry to bother you, Pastor, but I was just wondering if you feel a real burden of prayer right now. I know I sure do.”