Ash Child by Peter Bowen

Author:Peter Bowen [Bowen, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4532-4682-5
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2012-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 23

SUSAN KLEIN WAS OUT in front of the Sheriff’s office holding a woman who had fallen to her knees and who was screaming and screaming one thin note without pausing for breath.

Another woman had her head on her husband’s shoulder.

The husband of the screaming woman was shaking his fist at the other couple.

Du Pré and Frazier watched from the cruiser, under the one lamp that burned on a pole near the street.

“Yer trash kid got mine killed!” said the man with the fist.

The other couple ignored him.

Benny came out of the office, with Father Van Den Heuvel in tow.

The woman on her knees was gasping now, and fairly quiet.

“OK,” said Du Pré.

They got out of the car and they walked near but not close to the parents of Willie and Beth.

Father Van Den Heuvel knelt by Susan and the choking, gasping mother who had lost her daughter.

Susan and the big priest got the woman up off the ground and they walked her to a bench that sat in front of the office and they set her down gently on it. Susan sat next to her.

“Yer worthless goddamn kid!” screamed the man with the fist.

“Ralph,” said Benny. “Shut up.”

Ralph burst into tears, great heaving sobs. He turned away from Benny and he put his hands to his face.

“Mr. and Mrs. Pullen,” said Benny, “I am so sorry.”

The man looked up and nodded and went back to holding his wife. Their quiet grief was more terrible than the screams of the others.

Mr. Pullen finally led his wife toward a pickup parked across the street. It had one open door. An Australian shepherd stood in the bed.

He helped his wife in and shut the door and he came back across the street.

“When kin we have Willie,” he said.

“I don’t know,” said Benny, “it’s a criminal investigation.”

Pullen nodded.

“Well,” he said, “you’ll let us know.”

“Yes, sure I will,” said Benny.

Pullen nodded at him and he walked across the street to the pickup.

Frazier went after him and asked a question.

Pullen thought for a moment and then he said something. He went to the open window of the pickup and spoke to his wife and he turned to Frazier and said something more.

Frazier nodded, and he turned and walked briskly back across the street.

“Sarkisians here are in a bad way,” whispered Benny to Du Pré. “They never liked Willie and they set themselves above the Pullens. Pullens are good folks, had a lot of bad luck.”

Du Pré nodded.

Another poor family that had lost its small ranch and was now working for wealthier neighbors.

“Sarkisian retired off the railroad,” whispered Benny. “They ain’t been around here too long.”

Du Pré nodded. Newcomers around Toussaint were those whose forebears had arrived in the twentieth century.

“God,” whispered Benny, “those poor kids.”

Sarkisian had gone to the bench where his wife was. He put out his hand and touched her shoulder and she took his hand in hers.

Father Van Den Heuvel stepped away.

Du Pré went to him.

“They be all right?” he said.

“They will never be all right,” said the big clumsy priest, “but I think the worst is over.

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