Chapter 26

So it came about that just after midnight on Thursday morning – though we still thought of it as Wednesday night – we crept through a line of trees and brush that edged Sam Howell's property. Such things are common along fence lines in the south, where if you don't constantly mow or at least brush hog, it'll grow back up thick and rank. I've been teaching Cecelia all sorts of things during our marriage, including how to hide and move without being visible, and though she lacks the years and years of practice that I had playing cowboys and Indian with my cousins in the desert, she's become good enough that Howell likely would never be able to catch her.

We knew there were no dogs around the place, nor any lights hooked up to a motion sensor, both of which were gifts I hadn't expected. One, perhaps, but not both – to have expected both would have been dreaming.

We'd left our guns in the Blazer, which we'd parked a mile away, not wanting to get into a gunfight. We were wearing the duty belts that we seldom had occasion to use, with a Maglite and can of pepper spray each. We didn't want to use either, but just in case we'd come as armed as we dared – for a big Maglite can be an effective bludgeon in an emergency, and can block a knife or club.

At the edge of the trees I stopped, crouching behind some sort of bush – in the desert I'd have known what it was, but not in Alabama. For 15 minutes or so we waited, Cecelia as comfortable hunkered down as I was, for she's as limber as a cat. Nothing happened. Everything was dark, and there was no movement or sound. No traffic passed on the road. I might have seen a shooting star or two if I'd been looking up, but just then I was focused on human activity – if there was any at all, so much as Howell turning over in bed, I wanted to know about it. The moon was in its first quarter, giving us just enough light to see by – and in a green climate, about the only worry I had about sound was the fact that at one time Howell had graveled his driveway, and if one of us stepped in a patch it might be audible. Cecelia had on her Apache style moccasins, but all I own is boots and a par of running shoes, which were back in New Mexico. Anyway I can be quieter in boots that most people can in bare feet – I learned how long ago.

Finally I stood up slowly – the eye can pick out movement where it can see nothing else – and eased out of the trees into the open. It was grass here, mowed fairly recently, and moving carefully I didn't even make a swish as my feet moved. I knew Cecelia was with me, but I didn't hear a single sound.

I led the way toward a detached garage in back of the house, and on our side – the road was to our left. I hadn't been able to get onto the property when looking it over, for I didn't want to alert Howell, but by navigating the perimeter on others' land I'd been able to see during daylight that on our side of the garage there was a window, as well as one in the main garage door, and another in the regular door that opened in the back, though that back window looked too small to be much use.

When we got to the garage, against the wall where we were out of sight of the house, I motioned to Cecelia to keep watch, and pressed my face against the window. It was too dark – I couldn't see anything. I had a choice – I could either use my Maglite here, and risk having some of the light show through the window in the garage door, or I could go around to that window and risk Howell seeing me. I decided that being further from the house if he did see anything was better, so I pulled the Maglite carefully from its ring, pressed it against the glass to keep light from leaking out on our side, and pushed the button.

All I saw was a car, so I quickly swept the light from side to side before releasing the button. As I closed my eyes to restore my night vision, I mentally cataloged what I'd seen in those two seconds, or perhaps three. I couldn't tell what sort of car it was, though it seemed to be dark blue. By the garage door I'd seen nothing. By the back wall I'd seen several boxes – perhaps half a dozen – and on one I thought I'd seen a label.

I took a quick glance around. Cecelia was alert, her head swiveling as she scanned for sights or sounds that were out of place. I put the Maglite back against the window, pointed where the boxes had been, and pushed the button. It took just a little adjusting to get the label in view, but it wasn't a return address – it just told me that whoever had sent that box had sent it to Howell. I shut off the light. The boxes all looked the same, and the tape that sealed them looked like it followed the same pattern, though in truth there isn't an infinite number of ways to tape a box shut. For now at least I'd conclude that they all came from the same place. I also revised my count – there were five. That actually was only one off from half a dozen, but knowing there were five might be useful later ... or it might not. In most investigations 90% or more of what you learn turns out to have no bearing on the case, but you can't know that until you've learned and applied it.

I tapped Cecelia on the shoulder, pointed to her and indicated that she should keep watching, and then to myself and the back of the garage. She nodded and went back to scanning, while I crept without sound around the corner to the back door. I shone the light in there, but couldn't see anything useful. I knew from the way the boxes were stacked against the back wall that looking in the main window up front wouldn't get me anywhere, so I crept back to Cecelia.

This time I put my mouth against her ear and whispered. "I'm going to check the back porch – it's just screened in. If he catches me, filter away and bail me out later."

She nodded – we'd already decided that it was better for her to escape than for both of us to go to jail, if it came to that. She hadn't ceased her lookout while I whispered, so I ducked in order not to block her sight, slipped around her, and peered around the corner of the garage.

Everything was still. I could faintly hear a single cricket somewhere – it sounded like it was toward the road and on the other side of Howell's property, but you could be in the closet with a cricket and still not be able to locate it. They're natural ventriloquists. There was just a slight breeze, not enough to make sound or move the leaves on the trees, but I could faintly feel the moving air on my cheek.

The moonlight fell in such a way that the shadow of the garage stretched diagonally toward the house. I slipped around the corner into that shadow, and crouching to reduce my silhouette I crept toward the house, ready at any minute to turn and sprint for the trees. I knew that once there, I could stay hidden from one man, though the belt was only 10 yards wide or so – it was the length that I could use, for it ran a quarter of a mile or more from the road to where the trees ended at a plowed field. If there's one thing I can do well, even in brush, it's stay away from anyone who's not an expert tracker and sneaker.