Chapter 9: Kennedy and the Sheriff

Kennedy's first clue that something was wrong was when she pressed down to lift up from the boat. Her shoulders and arms hurt. When she lifted the boat, beads of sweat popped out on her forehead and she fought not to drop the boat. Her back screamed in pain, her arms, shoulders... even her legs were in agony.

She gritted her teeth and straightened up, the boat on her shoulder. Mr. Waterman's scull was floating loose a few feet away; he was nowhere to be seen. Kennedy's eyes came to light on a shape she knew and loathed. Agent Larkin!

She put her boat back into the water and hopped up on the pier, the pain forgotten. Larkin had his arm around Deb's throat, her arm twisted behind her back.

"This time, Miss Kennedy, I will get some answers," he told her.

"Let her go or I'll break every bone in your body," Kennedy told him, her voice low and full of menace.

"Yeah, I imagine you could, couldn't you? How is that, little girl?"

Deb took a deep breath, preparatory to screaming, Kennedy thought.

The FBI agent twisted her arm and Deb grunted with pain. "I told you, girl, be quiet, be good and I won't hurt you. Otherwise I will," Larkin told Deb.

"Last chance," Kennedy told him, moving closer.

She heard gravel crunching, a lot of gravel, something heavy and fast. A police car shot around the corner, lights flashing, but the engine and sirens off. It slid to a hard stop, spitting gravel and dust.

A man in a tan police uniform was out of the car, resting his forearms on the hood, a large pistol in his hands, pointed at the FBI agent.

"Let the girl go, easy now!"

"I'm a Federal Bureau of Investigation Special Agent, officer. This is official business."

"Let the girl go!" the policeman's voice was granite hard, and obviously not interested in a discussion.

In the distance were sirens now, several sirens.

Larkin let Deb's arm drop and he pushed her roughly away.

"I told you, I'm a Special Agent of the FBI, I have my ID..." he started to reach into his coat pocket.

"Mister, the instant I can't see that hand, you'll eat a 9mm slug. And since I'll have already shot you once, why, I'll do it a couple more times, to make sure you don't sue me for excessive force. Lock your hands behind your head!"

Larkin glared at the policeman. "I promise you, we won't forget this!"

"What pumpkin patch did you hatch in?" the cop said. "You had one arm around the girl's throat, her arm twisted behind her and were dragging her towards the boathouse. If I shoot you, I'll pick up the last half dozen people in the county who voted against me in the last election."

"Look, I talked to the office, they gave me permission to talk to the young woman. I was showing her a judo hold."

"Yeah, then why did Lauren Tredegar make the call herself, eh?"

Two more police cars arrived, this time engines roaring, sirens wailing. Three more policemen spilled out of them, pistols ready.

"Sergeant, this man says he's an FBI agent. Likely that means he's got a gun and a badge. Give Jim your weapon and then pat him down. Don't get between me and him."

A few minutes later Mr. Larkin was handcuffed, still protesting loudly. Kennedy was holding Deb, who was shaken and scared.

The first policeman, who was evidently the police chief, came back. "Mr. Larkin..." he started to say.

"Special Agent Tom Larkin, FBI Special Agent," the prisoner said.

"Well, funny thing about that, Mr. Larkin. The SAC in New York says he wishes he'd never heard about you, because every time he does it's a new complaint. Usually, he says, that when an agent from another jurisdiction comes to his, they check in with the local office. You, evidently, don't do that. He says, so far as he knows, you work out of Washington, but Washington refuses to tell him why or on what."

There was a lot of back and forth for a few minutes; the police were doing unknowable things. Deputies were going around interviewing people, although Kennedy and Deb were strangely exempt.

Then they were together again, everyone at once, the Sheriff talking.

"When I apprised the New York FBI Special Agent in Charge of the facts, that is, with my own eyes I saw Larkin with his arm around a teenage girl's throat, her arm twisted behind her back and was attempting to drag her into a darkened building, well, I'm afraid he told me that officially all he can say is that Larkin was an FBI agent the last time someone complained, but he doesn't know if he is here on official business or for some other reason.

"Larkin has demanded that we talk to Washington, to confirm his status. That call is still pending.

"State law requires me to verify the ID of anyone claiming to be a Federal Bureau of Investigations Special Agent, stating the New York City SAC is my contact. As I said before, he failed to provide that verification. In any case, it is moot. Larkin is under arrest for the attempted rape of a young girl, older than twelve and younger than eighteen."

The sheriff turned to Deb. "Miss, I'm sorry, I really am, but we're going to need to ask you some questions in a formal interview." He met Lauren's eyes.

"Miss Tredegar, I'd like to get in touch with the parents of these young women. I can't legally interview either of them until they are here."

"Deb is my niece, Sheriff Roberts. I can stand in for her family; I have a power of attorney from them. I'm afraid her father is rather old school and so are her uncles. It would be better to let this blow over for a few days, and then I'll tell them."

"Ma'am, this isn't going to blow over in a few days. I saw him, Miss Tredegar. You are going to have to call them."

"But he's an FBI agent, I heard what you said a few minutes ago."

"I don't care if he's Santa Claus," the sheriff said. "I saw him myself. Child rape and even attempted child rape is a serious class one felony, and I can guarantee you the county prosecutor will demand that he be held without bail, 'cause that's the state law. Judge Oleskowitz is a bit of a hardnose, particularly with three granddaughters and two grown daughters."

"But he's an FBI agent..." Lauren repeated.

"Still doesn't excuse it, ma'am." He turned to Kennedy. "Miss Kennedy?"

"Yes, sir."

"I talked to your tutor yesterday, he said I could ask you about what happened the first time, but like Miss Saunders I can't ask about what happened here unless your parents are present. Still, I need as much as possible to hold the man. Off the record, then, Miss Kennedy, this Agent Larkin tried to get you to go off with him once before? Alone?"

"Yes, sir. It wasn't really possible, not at the Renaissance Faire. My tutor showed up and the Grand Marshal of the Faire, he's a sergeant in the Pennsylvania State Police, did as well. The Grand Marshal's constables made Mr. Larkin leave."

The policeman turned to Lauren. "It's called 'pattern of behavior, ' Lauren. I would be remiss in my duties to let someone with that kind of pattern of behavior loose. So would the county prosecutor and Judge Oleskowitz. All of us have to stand for election, you understand?" He nodded at Kennedy, "With her testimony, if we check some of the other complaints against him and find similar stories, that man is looking at ten to twenty years in prison."

"For twisting my arm?" Even Deb seemed surprised.

"No, for what was next. For some things, we don't need a road map."

"He wanted to ask Kennedy questions. He told me that if I was quiet, he wouldn't hurt me. But then he told Kennedy that if she didn't answer his questions, he'd hurt me."

"Miss, there will be time enough for all of the questions we have, shortly. First we have to assemble all the parties. Tomorrow, I expect. Or maybe the day after, if his lawyer has to come from Washington. I'll keep you posted, Lauren."

"Thank you, Sheriff. I'm sorry about all this..." Lauren told him.

He shook his head. "Lauren, you did the right thing. Your niece did the right thing. Young Miss Kennedy did the right thing... everyone did the right thing except this Larkin person. I was told in advance about the possibility of a problem. You called me when you saw a stranger sneaking through the camp. I was having coffee down at the restaurant, so I was close to hand. We changed our patrol schedules to make sure there were always a couple of cars close. Piece of cake!"

The police left with their chief leading the parade of cars, Larkin handcuffed in the back of one of the cars.

Lauren shooed people away, trying to get things back on schedule. Kennedy turned, prepared to get her boat out of the water. Both of the sculls were gone.

She blinked, wondering just how Mr. Waterman had put away two thirty foot sculls without anyone seeing him. And he must have seen Agent Larkin as they got close to the dock.

"I should finish my lesson," Kennedy said to Lauren. She saw the woman look at her strangely.

"Wait a second," she turned to Deb. "He grabbed you; I understand that. Did he touch you, bother you, try to molest you?"

"Well, yeah, he touched me. But not intimately. Please, don't tell my father about this. He'd just go..."

"Yes, I know what he'd do." She looked around. "Deb, I'm going to ask a favor of you. I don't want you to lie, do you understand? But unless they ask you something specific about Kennedy, don't say anything about her at all. Not a bit. I'll get the lawyer here and he'll talk to you, but he'll tell you the same thing. Keep your answers short and direct to the question. Volunteer nothing. Leave Kennedy out of this if you can. If you must, say the very least that you can."

"Why?"

Lauren shook her head. "Please, Deb, if you ask questions and I answer them, then you may be asked questions that you know the answers to. This is about the People, dear. Better if you don't have to lie."

"And ignorance is better?"

Lauren sighed. "You already know some answers, and you know the weight the People place on keeping the knowledge safe. There is much more that you don't know in the same vein, so to speak."

Kennedy picked up on that and stuck out her tongue at Lauren.

Lauren laughed and said softly, "Promises, promises."

Kennedy shook her head, but she was laughing too.

"You two are so mysterious!" Deb said in frustration.

"Kennedy, I will leave it to you to explain it to Deb. Or not. But not for a few days."

Kennedy saw Mr. Waterman standing a few feet away. He was very good, she realized at coming and going without being seen.

"Kennedy, please, I have a terrible bump of curiosity!"

Kennedy took a step forward to her and took her hand. "If you ask me again, I will say a little. Not very much, because there isn't much to say. Listen to your aunt, Deb."

"Please, Kennedy. He had me by the throat. You owe me for that."

"No, I don't," Kennedy said roughly. "I owe him for that. And he better not be in a position where I can collect any time soon."

She looked at Deb for a long second, then waved at Mr. Waterman. "Do you know who he is? I mean, really, what he is?"

Deb paled. "I can't talk about it, Kennedy. I'm sorry. That's personal, private business."

"I saw him and my first instinct was to lop off his head with my sword."

"Your sword?" Deb shook her head confused. "You have a sword?"

"Not with me, which I really regret. If I ever come here again, I'm going to need to think of an excuse to keep her with me."

"Your sword is a her?"

Kennedy smiled. "Yes, for all that's she's a bastard sword."

Deb blinked suddenly and her mouth opened wide in shock. "Oh. A sword?"

Kennedy nodded. "I did bring a stake; they're easier to conceal in your luggage."

"A stake! You're..." her voice trailed away.

"Not real," Mr. Waterman said. "Close, but not yet. Not real. Real, and Waterman not come close in race. Young one, I teach you many good things. How to sit straighter, how to move feet, legs. Very sore, eh?"

"Very sore," Kennedy agreed.

"Wait," he said, and vanished into the boathouse.

Deb stared at Kennedy. "I never was sure about the stories, not until I met Mr. Waterman. Even then... it's hard to believe."

"In the three years since I saw a vampire turn to dust and blow away in the wind," Kennedy said bluntly, "I've tried a dozen explanations in my mind to explain what I saw. Mr. Glastonbury is not going to be happy with me about all this."

In fact, Kennedy was amazed he wasn't there already.

Mr. Waterman returned with a water glass and handed it and two white pills to Kennedy. Kennedy looked at the pills. "They look like aspirin," she said with a laugh.

"Aspirin good for muscles aches. Take."

Kennedy laughed harder and took them.

It was nearly lunchtime and Lauren had Deb and Kennedy sit in her office, just resting. "Don't talk, don't do anything. Relax, unwind. Meditation is extremely good at a time like this."

Kennedy smiled. About six months before she asked Mr. Glastonbury why, with all of his mystical teaching, he'd not tried to teach her how to meditate.

"Miss Kennedy, there are some tasks even Hercules would not undertake. Teaching someone your age even the merest hint of patience is one of those. True meditation? Not possible!"

So of course, she'd practiced trying to meditate ever since. She was pretty sure he was trying to be clever, to get her to learn how on her own.

So, she did just that. She folded her legs underneath her and let her heartbeat slow, turned inward and drifted.

It was very relaxing to do this she found, and there were times that even a few minutes meditating were as good as several hours of sleep.

Suddenly the world twisted and she was falling. Startled she put her hands out to stop the fall. She thumped painfully onto the floor, a graceless sprawl.

Deb was outraged. "He saw you and walked over and just pushed you over!" She turned to Mr. Glastonbury and shook her finger at him. "What kind of teacher are you?"

"A teacher with a responsibility to his student. You can sleep with one eye open. You meditate for however long you've decided to in advance, ignoring what's going on around you."

"And here," Kennedy said, picking herself painfully off the floor, "I thought you were just being clever when you said there was no point in teaching meditation to thirteen-year-olds."

"That, too. If you were sixteen I'd have explained it more like this."

He turned to Deb and looked at her for a moment, then turned back to Kennedy and studied her for a moment.

Not possible! Kennedy thought. He couldn't look at them and tell!

"Miss Kennedy, I left something of yours in Lauren Tredegar's office closet. It looks like an old cane, and will look like that so long as your hand isn't on the hilt. I'm going home now."