She stepped inside.
Virgil asked, “Are you still engaged?”
She asked Skinner and Holland, “You tell him about it?”
Skinner said, “We couldn’t let it go.”
She said to Virgil, “The engagement’s over. I thought about shooting him, and I would have, but I don’t have a gun.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Virgil said. “I’ll put his ass in jail.”
Fischer said, “Fuckin’ A,” and tears began rolling down her cheeks.
“You can’t count on him being inside for long,” Virgil told her. “When he makes bail, you gotta stay away from him. We’ll get a court order that says he has to stay away from you, too.”
“Be tough, in a town like this, with one store and one cafe,” Skinner said.
“So what? You can’t go around beating up women,” Holland said.
“What a dummy,” Skinner said.
Fischer put her fists on her hips. “You keep calling him that. He might not be as smart as you, but he’s thinking all the time. About money, unfortunately . . .”
Skinner jumped in. “And porn.”
Fischer continued. “Money. That’s what that day-trading thing was all about. And remember when he was going to start that Jimmy John’s? And when he was going to be a landscaper? All he thinks about is money. He’s smart. I bet he knows more about money than anybody in town. Who’s got it, who doesn’t; how they got it, why they didn’t.”
“Then why’s he driving a truck?” Virgil asked.
“Because that’s what he can do,” Fischer said. “His folks were pure white trash. Larry started from zero and worked like a dog, and now he owns his own house and truck.”
“I don’t like to hear you defending him,” Skinner said. “Not after he beat you up, the way he did. Show them your hip. Go on.”
“No, I’m not going to do that . . . I don’t know . . .”
Skinner said to Virgil, “She looks like she’s been in a car accident. I tried to get her to go to the hospital, but she won’t do it. Now she’s saying how smart he is and what a hard worker he is.”
Fischer said, “It’s a bad habit. I’ll break it.”
* * *
—
Virgil called the sheriff’s office to get a deputy to stand by while he was busting Van Den Berg. Zimmer told him that because of the shootings, he’d kept at least two deputies in the immediate area and he could have one at Skinner & Holland in a few minutes. Virgil reheated what was left of the chicken potpie while he waited for the deputy, and told Skinner, Holland, and Fischer that he was struggling with the problem of why nobody had heard the supersonic crack of the rifle bullet and the apparently nonrelated question of the timing of the shootings.
“There’s something important going on there,” Virgil told the other three. “I can’t figure out what it is.”
They hadn’t figured it out when the deputy arrived, a woman named Lucy Banning. She pushed through the curtain, saw Fischer, did a double take, and said, “Oh my God, Janet, it’s you? Did Larry do that?”
Fischer started to cry. “Yeah.”
The deputy looked at Virgil. “I’ll take the complaint.”
* * *
—
She did that, and when Fischer finished a short statement, with Banning taking notes, Banning tipped her head toward the door, and said to Virgil, “Let’s go get him.”
Outside, she said, “I want to do this. I’d appreciate backup, but I want to haul his ass in myself.”
“You know him?”
“We all went to high school together,” Banning said. “I could never figure out what Janet saw in him. He was a jerk then, he’s a jerk now.”
“But he’s not the dumbest guy in the world . . . at least, that’s what Janet thinks,” Virgil said.
“Oh, he’s not dumb. Did real good in math and accounting. I mean, I’ll tell you, Larry had a rough time growing up. Everybody knows it. It’s his folks who made him a jerk, but a jerk is still a jerk wherever it came from. And you don’t go around beating up your fiancée.”
“Ex-fiancée,” Virgil said.
“I hope. I’ve seen a lot of them go back.”
* * *
—
Nothing in Wheatfield was very far from anything else. Virgil followed Banning over to Van Den Berg’s house. Van Den Berg was in his side yard when they pulled up, washing his tractor unit. When he saw them coming, he said, “What do you want, Lucy?”
“Janet Fischer said you beat her up last night. That right?”
“We had a fight, but she was into it, too.”
“Not what she says,” Banning said. “Doesn’t look like she messed you up much.”
“Look. Let me talk to her, we’ll straighten it out,” Van Den Berg said.
“Too late for that. I’m going to have to take you in,” Banning said. She unhooked handcuffs from a belt case, and Virgil moved off to one side, where he’d have a clear run at Van Den Berg. The other man looked at him and then back at Banning. “You always wanted to do this, you bitch.” He threw the hose he was holding on the ground, and it snaked around, pumping water.
But he didn’t resist. Banning put on the cuffs and led him to the car. Virgil walked over to the house and turned off the faucet, and asked Banning, “You want me to follow you in?”
“Naw. He’ll be okay in the back of the car. You getting anywhere on the shootings?”
“Trying to figure out why nobody can hear the gunshots. They were from a .223, so . . . they had to be loud. And we’re wondering why they’re all exactly at four-fifteen.”
Banning scratched her ear, frowning, then shook her head, and said, “Beats me.”
They loaded Van Den Berg into the backseat of the patrol car, Banning said, “See ya,” and drove away. Virgil got in his truck and started back to Skinner & Holland. He was halfway there when the patrol car pulled up behind him, and the flashers came on.
Virgil pulled over, and Banning hopped out, and when Virgil rolled down his window she said, “Larry says he has something to tell you.”
“Okay.” Virgil followed her back to the patrol car, and Banning opened the back door, and Van Den Berg leaned out, and said, “I know why nobody heard the gunshots and why everybody got shot at four-fifteen. You let me go, and I’ll tell you.”