Carnal Innocence

tuxedo at a hoedown. “Coffee would be nice, if you don’t mind.”
    Caroline brought the pot to the table, setting it on an iron trivet in the shape of a rooster. Odd, she thought as she dished up bacon and eggs, until that moment she hadn’t imagined herself racing through that room, snatching a gun from the counter, screaming as fists beat against the door.
    She looked over now. Only the screen remained. Either Burke or Tucker had taken the broken door away, but there were still a few splinters of wood on the floor.
    “You want a statement about what happened yesterday.” Caroline busied herself adding cream to her coffee. “I’ve already given one to Burke.”
    “Yes, I read it.”
    Tucker noticed her hands were steady, but her gaze shifted back to the door several times. He lifted a hand to her shoulder for a gentle rub. “I don’t know much about the law,” he began, “but isn’t what happened here yesterday a local problem?”
    “Ordinarily. If you’d indulge me, Caroline, I’d very much appreciate your going over everything that happened.” He switched on his recorder. “For my records.”
    It wasn’t very difficult. Not when it all seemed so dreamlike and distant. She played it back, as if it were a tape in her head. He let her run it through without interruption, making only a few cursory notes on his pad.
    “It’s odd, don’t you think, that Hatinger didn’t use either of the guns he carried?” His tone was conversational as he poured a second cup of coffee. “They were both loaded, and from my information he was considered an excellent shot. When you describe your flight, from the rear porch, through this room, and out the front, it would appear that he could have fired at you at any time. But he didn’t even draw a weapon.”
    “He had the knife,” she said, and didn’t notice the catch in her voice. Tucker did.
    “I don’t see the point in this, Burns. He’d snapped obviously. Maybe he didn’t even remember he had the guns.”
    “Maybe.” He added a miserly dab of cream to his coffee. “Would you say, Caroline, that he was aware you had a gun?” He lifted the cup, sipped, then went on without waiting for her answer. “You say you grabbed it on the run while he was still outside.”
    “Yes, I’d been target practicing. I always unloaded it when I’d finished. Sometimes I stuck the bullets in my pockets. I remember thinking it was a bad habit, and I should break it.” She set down her fork, clattering it against her plate. The scent of eggs and bacon grease were nauseating. “I guess I’m lucky I didn’t.”
    “You were lucky you had the presence of mind to load the gun at all.”
    She gave Burns a wan smile. “You could say I’m used to performing under pressure.”
    He merely nodded. “If we recreate those last moments outside, when you turned and fired, can you hazard an opinion as to whether he realized you were armed? Did he make any move to reach for one of the guns he carried?”
    “It happened very quickly.”
    It hadn’t seemed so. It had seemed as though she’d been running through syrup. It didn’t take any effort to rerun the scene, that slow-motion film of nightmares and dark fantasies. The wall of heat that made you fight for every gasping breath. The terrifying feeling that the grass had gone boggy and was sucking you down. The silver glint of the knife under the merciless sun. And that grin, that wide, hungry grin.
    “I …” She pressed her lips together and bore down on the last, nasty remnants of fear. “I tried to shoot, but nothing happened. He just kept coming, holding the knife and smiling at me. Just smiling. I think I was crying or screaming or praying, I don’t know, but he kept coming, and kept smiling. I had the gun out in front of me, and he was saying that I was the lamb ofGod, a sacrifice. That it was going to be like Edda Lou. That it had to be like Edda Lou.”
    “You’re sure of that.” Burns held his cup two inches above the saucer. “You’re sure he said it had to be like Edda Lou?”
    “Yes.” She gave in to a shudder, then pushed her uneaten breakfast aside. “I’m not likely to forget anything he said.”
    “Wait a minute.” Tucker put a hand on Caroline’s arm, his fingers taut as wire. He’d been doing more than listening, he’d been watching. Burns looked like a man who’d just drawn to an inside straight. “You’re not here getting a statement about the shooting of some escaped lunatic.