The deputy shot him first, and missed. Sheriff Rockwell managed to get him in the arm, and he screamed and crumpled.

Tolliver and I stood against the wall while the deputy rushed forward to cover the bleeding counselor, and Manfred fell to his knees, his hands clasped to his head; not to indicate surrender, but because his head was injured.

We started forward to help our friend, but the sheriff said sharply, “Stay back! Stay out of the scene!” and we did. She was calling for ambulances on her radio, and when the shovel was beyond Tom Almand’s reach, she handcuffed him despite his bleeding arm, and searched him very thoroughly. No weapons. She told Tom Almand about his rights, but he didn’t respond. His face was as blank as it had been at the church the other night. The small man had gone somewhere else, mentally.

“Do you still feel a body?” she asked when that was done. It took me a second to realize she was talking to me, I was so wrapped up in the tension of what had just happened, the fear that Tom Almand would charge someone again, the possibility of Manfred being critically injured. I didn’t worry about Tom’s arm wound at all. He might bleed out before the ambulance arrived, and that would be fine with me.

“Yes,” I said. “There’s a very fresh body. Can I show you where?”

“How close do you have to come to this man?”

“I have to go to the first stall.”

“Okay, go.”

I very carefully worked my way around the tableau of bleeding men and law enforcement to get to the opening to the stall. I stepped inside on the old straw and began kicking it aside. It kept falling back into its original position, so I began picking up handfuls and tossing them over the side of the stall. “Tolliver,” I said. He was at my side immediately, helping. The shovel or the spade would have come in handy, but I knew better than to suggest it. “Isn’t this a latch?” I asked.

Tolliver said, “I wish we had a flashlight,” and one landed on the floor beside us. Sheriff Rockwell had had one on her belt. Tolliver turned it on and aimed it at the boards at our feet.

“Trapdoor here,” Tolliver said, and the deputy cursed. I guessed he’d been one of the ones who’d searched the barn.

Tom laughed, and I looked out at the tense group of people in the barn. For about a dime, the deputy would have kicked him in the head. His body language spoke loud and clear. I could hear emergency vehicles approaching, and I wanted to open the trapdoor before they got here and there was even more confusion.

Tolliver found the latch quickly. It was very strong, I guess to hold out against battering from below.