‘Dunno,’ he said. ‘Evaporated, I guess.’
‘I know what that is,’ Louise said, sounding pleased with herself. ‘It’s when the sun sucks up all the water, then it turns to rain someplace else.’
‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘I guess that’s what happened.’
A movement caught Sean’s eye, off in the distance, above the trees. A great bird circling over the pines. He shielded his eyes with his hand, peered at the wide wings that barely moved as it glided in a wide arc. It seemed so far away, yet it was so big. Its body and wings a deep dark brown, its head pure white, along with its delta-shaped tail.
He pointed. ‘You know what that is?’
‘What?’
‘It’s a bald eagle,’ he said. ‘I’m pretty sure it is.’
‘It’s big,’ she said.
‘Yeah. You know how lucky we are? They’re rare. Most people never ever see one out in the wild. Look, it’s going to land.’
They both watched as it glided to the top of one of the tallest pines, Sean guessed at least a mile away, maybe more. The eagle slowed itself, its wings drawn up, its feet extended. The pine swayed under the weight of it, side to side.
Above the tree, high in the air, the faintest ribbon of gray, no more than a wisp.
Sean shielded his eyes, squinted, tried to focus.
Was it? Yes. Yes, it was.
‘Smoke,’ Sean said, and a giddy laugh escaped him.
‘What?’
‘There’s smoke. Somebody made a fire. Somebody’s there.’
He tightened his grip on Louise’s hand, started down the slope to the dry lakebed, the ghostly finger of smoke fixed in his sight.
46
THEY MARCHED ACROSS the street, Showalter leading, a uniformed patrolman by his side. He carried the warrant in his hand. Mitchell followed, Whiteside beside her, his brain feeling like it was about to burst out through his ears. His eyes felt gritty with fatigue, and he was conscious of the jitteriness of his movements.
‘Jesus, you look like shit,’ Showalter had said when Whiteside had arrived at the station twenty minutes before. He’d barely had time to change into his uniform and hadn’t shaved. A splash of cold water on his face did no good at all.
Whiteside had been tempted to say something, maybe slap the stupid cop, but he held it in check. He knew he wasn’t in his right mind and liable to make rash decisions. And he couldn’t afford mistakes right now.
It had taken hours to find the key to Collins’ motorcycle. He’d walked in circles, taking baby steps, shining his flashlight into the grit and the scrub, wary of finding a snake instead of the key. A rattler or a coral could make a bad situation a hell of a lot worse. It wasn’t until the sun came up above the mountains that he finally saw the glint of metal in a place he had checked at least a dozen times previously. He had giggled when he found it, and he had clamped his hand over his mouth, hearing the madness in his own laughter.
He had to hold it together. Just had to.
But he could feel himself coming undone. He knew it would only take someone to pull at the right thread and he would unravel.
Hold it together, he thought.
The money was surely gone now, there was no helping that. But he was still a free man, and he meant to keep it that way. He just had to take care of a few things. The first was the woman. Once Showalter served the warrant and got her back into custody, Whiteside simply needed to find a way to get her on her own. Then he would get a strip of bed sheet, a belt, maybe even the leg of her pants, and put it around her neck, string her up to something. People killed themselves in their cells all the time. She could do the same.
But they had to arrest her first.
Showalter knocked on the front door of the guesthouse. The pale shape of Mrs Gerber already waited on the other side of the glass, like a ghost haunting the hallway. She opened it a crack and peered out.
‘Ma’am,’ Showalter said, ‘I have a warrant here for the arrest of Audra Kinney. This warrant allows me to enter these premises and—’
‘She’s not here,’ Mrs Gerber said.
‘Excuse me?’
‘I came down for my breakfast this morning and found the back door open, and the gate out of the yard. I went out there and found my keys lying in the alley. Then I went back in and checked that lady’s room, and she was gone. Just left everything and went.’
Mitchell turned to look at Whiteside, a look of suppressed rage on her face.
Showalter waved the warrant at Mrs Gerber. ‘Ma’am, you understand me and my colleagues are going to come in and search the premises anyway, right?’
Mrs Gerber stood back and opened the door wide. ‘You go on and do whatever you need to.’
Showalter and the patrolman disappeared inside. Mitchell remained on the porch, hands on her hips, shaking her head. ‘You have any ideas as to where Mrs Kinney might have gone?’ she asked.
‘Well,’ Mrs Gerber said, ‘if you ask me, I’d say she’s most likely gone to look for her children. Seems no one else is much concerned about doing it, so I suppose she might as well.’
Mitchell bristled. ‘Mrs Gerber, is there something you want to tell me?’
‘No, nothing that comes to mind,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Except that I know crazy when I see it, and I know a lie when I hear it. And, Sheriff Whiteside, you’re not welcome on my property. Please step off my porch and onto the sidewalk.’
The door closed and Whiteside turned, walked down the steps and across the street. He heard Mitchell’s footsteps behind him, jogging to catch up.
‘Leave me alone,’ he said.
‘Sheriff, we need to—’
Whiteside spun around, pointed a finger at her face. ‘Either arrest me or leave me the fuck alone.’
He left Mitchell there and made for the station, and the parking lot on the other side. Cracking, cracking, cracking, everything coming apart. The whole damn world turning to splinters and dust. He shook his head as if trying to get rid of a bothersome fly.
‘Coming apart,’ he said aloud, before he could catch himself.
Halfway to the lot, his cell phone vibrated in his pocket, and he cried out. He grabbed for it, looked at the display: his own home number. He stopped walking. Cold sweat prickled on his forehead. He thumbed the green button.
‘Who is this?’
‘It’s me,’ Collins said.
Whiteside turned in a circle, looking for Mitchell. He couldn’t see her.
‘What are you doing at my house?’
‘I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go. I can’t go home. I can’t go to the station.’
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Just wait there, stay out of sight. I’ll be there soon.’
He ran to the cruiser, climbed in, started the engine. The tires squealed on the pavement as he pulled out of the lot.
Whiteside steered the cruiser through the gate into his yard. Beneath the carport he saw the shape of a vehicle covered by one of his old tarpaulins. Lee’s rental, he guessed. He pulled up to the bumper, walked around to the rear of his house. The screen door stood ajar. He edged up to it, put his foot on the single step, saw that the back door had been forced. It creaked as he pushed it aside and entered his kitchen.
‘Where are you?’ he called.
Collins stepped into the doorway from the hall. Her cheek was grazed and bruised, a trail of drying blood from a wound on her scalp that still glistened. He grabbed a towel from by the sink and tossed it to her. The scent of stale urine and sweat wafted from her.
‘Christ, you’re bleeding all over my house,’ he said.
She pressed the towel to the wound. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know what to do.’
‘What happened?’
Tears erupted from Collins’ eyes. ‘He made me drive to town. He tied me up in the backseat and went and got Audra Kinney. Then they made me take them out to the cabin.’
Whiteside felt a swelling behind his eyes, pressure in his jaw. If he hadn’t put a hand on the kitchen table, he might have fallen. ‘You took them there?’
‘I had no choice.’
‘You took them there?’ His voice ripped at his throat.