Page 40 of Breaking Silence

Rankin isn’t tall and doesn’t have a lot of bulk. But he’s got the rangy look of a street fighter, all wire and sinew, with the reflex speed of a rattlesnake. Part of an intricate-looking tattoo runs up the side of his neck like a serpent tail. Despite his diminutive size, I find myself wanting to avoid any kind of tussle.

I hear Skid coming up the steps behind me. “I understand you were involved in a confrontation in town a couple of days ago,” I begin.

“Who says?”

“A little bird,” Skid puts in.

“Don’t remember no confrontation.”

Looking at Rankin, I understand what Skid was saying about his eyes. They’re vacant. Though he’s looking at me, I get the strange sense that he’s not really seeing me. There’s a blank countenance to his stare, like there’s not a whole lot going on as far as thought processes. He’s thinking, but I get the uneasy impression they’re not the kind of thoughts a normal person has.

“I’m a peaceful fuckin’ guy,” he adds, looking pleased by his audacity.

Badass or not, he’s seriously starting to annoy me. “You harassed an Amish woman outside the Butterhorn Bakery.”

Skid eases past us and makes a show of peering through the open door at the interior of the house.

“Don’t recall no Amish woman.” Rankin glances over his shoulder, keeping an eye on Skid.

“I have an eyewitness who says you argued with her and verbally abused her.” When he says nothing, I add, “In case you missed that segment of Law and Order, sport, lying to the cops is against the law.”

“Okay. Fine.” He raises both hands as if in surrender. But his attention is still divided between me and Skid, and I realize he doesn’t want Skid looking in the house. “I might’ve talked to an Amish woman. Last time I checked, that wasn’t against the law. Or did I miss that segment, too?”

“You did more than talk to her. You harassed her. Grabbed the reins of her buggy without her permission.”

“She pressing charges or something?”

“Or something,” Skid echoes.

I frown at him because he’s not helping, then turn my attention back to Rankin. “You had an argument with her, and now she’s dead. You have a history of stalking women. You were arrested for sexual assault. That puts you on my hit list. If I were you, I’d think real hard about cooperating.”

His eyes widen and he takes a quick step back. “You gotta be shitting me. You think…” He backs up another step. “I didn’t do nothing to that chick, man!”

Skid stops looking through the open door and comes up beside me, his eyes on Rankin. “You got a meth pipe on your coffee table, dude.”

“What? You’re full of shit. That ain’t no pipe.” Rankin crosses to the door, yanks the knob, and slams it shut. “You ain’t got no business looking in my fuckin’ house, man.”

“It was in plain sight,” Skid says amiably.

I glance at Skid. “I wonder what else he has in there?”

“Where there’s a pipe, there’s usually meth.”

“That sounds like reasonable cause,” I say conversationally.

“This is a bunch of crap.” Rankin breaks in, his voice incredulous. “I ain’t got no pipe in there! I ain’t done that shit in months. You guys are full of shit.”

“Tell us about the Slabaugh woman, and maybe we’ll let the pipe go,” I say.

“Ain’t no damn pipe!”

“Calm down.” Sobering, looking a little badass himself, Skid steps toward him. “You’re an inch away from getting your ass carted down to the station. You got that?”

“Okay! I’m cool!” Rankin glances over his shoulder, toward the woods. For an instant, I think he’s going to bolt. All he’d have to do is vault the rail. Twenty yards and he’d be in the trees.

I sidle right, positioning myself between him and the porch rail. “Tell me what happened between you and Rachael Slabaugh.”

“Nothin’! I swear to God, I was just messing with her. You know, flirting.”