“What do you want me to do?” Luna said.
Murdoch could hear the shift in her tone, tears sopped up, a flatness entering her voice. “We’d like to fly you out and have you talk to him. If he did kill other women, those families would want closure. You would never have to be alone with him. You’d be safe. I promise. You can stop at any time if you’re feeling uncomfortable. We can also arrange for you to talk to a psychologist, if that would help. Whatever you need.”
“Have you spoken to my mother?”
“No,” Agent Murdoch said. “Do you want to discuss it with her?”
“No. Don’t call her. Please.”
“You’re an adult. It’s up to you,” he said, relieved.
There was a long silence. Murdoch could hear Luna’s staccato breathing.
“How are you doing, Ms. Grey?”
“Okay,” she said.
“Okay, you’ll do it?” Murdoch asked.
She was going to finish the call, then vomit.
“I’ll do it,” she said.
* * *
—
Friday morning, Casey drove Luna to Albany International Airport.
“Does Griff know about your plans?” Casey asked.
“No,” Luna snapped. “And let’s keep it that way.”
“Got it.”
“I’m sorry,” Luna said. “I’m just—”
“Stressed out about visiting a murderer in prison?” Casey said. “Hey, we’ve all been there.”
When Casey returned home, Mason was on the phone with Griff. Mason had the expression of someone talking to a senile person. Griff had thought Luna was going to visit her mother in Ontario and had just called to say goodbye. Mason, who did not share Casey’s steely adherence to secrecy, told Griff everything that Luna had not.
* * *
—
Murdoch picked up Luna at the airport Friday evening. He forgot how young twenty-one could look. He pictured this young woman sitting just a few feet away from convicted murderer John Brown, predacious and salivating, the Big Bad Wolf. When Murdoch dropped Luna at the Marriott—one of those giant businessmen’s compounds—he felt uneasy, knowing that lesser wolves lay inside. Murdoch offered to buy Luna dinner. She politely declined.
“Order room service,” Murdoch said. “Anything you want. There are movies you can buy. You might think they’re too expensive. They’re not. That’s what movies cost in hotels. If you want to watch three movies, go right ahead. Okay?”
“Okay,” Luna said.
Murdoch confirmed that Luna had his cell number and reminded her to call at any time. When he got home, he worried and phoned her hotel room. She answered right away, assuaging his fears. He’d been imagining her at the bar, drunk and alone and talking to god knew who. The last thing he needed was the girl hungover when she saw Brown for the first time in eight years.
* * *
—
Murdoch had warned Luna about the long day ahead. It was a two-hour drive to Sterling, Colorado. The agent had considered getting a hotel closer to the prison but decided against it. He thought the girl would do better spending a night in a proper hotel, miles away from John Brown. And he could use the driving time to debrief her. Agent Murdoch had two daughters, both much younger than Luna, but that fact forced him to be on high alert for any precarious moments with John Brown. Luna seemed like a good kid. He didn’t like what she’d done for her brother, but he figured she’d paid for it already. Murdoch worried about the psychological ramifications. Sometimes when you talked to someone who was truly sick, some of that sickness could stick to you, like drifting ash after a fire. He needed to be sure she was ready.
The drive felt longer than two hours. The Denver mountains still had snow on their peaks, but they weren’t driving in an especially pretty part of the state. The landscape grew increasingly barren. Murdoch kept giving Luna their ETA. Just another hour. Thirty minutes out. Almost there. Luna saw the sign for Sterling Correctional Facility, a cement box wrapped with barbed wire. Murdoch flashed his badge at the security checkpoint and pulled his car into the visitor parking lot. Luna watched the agent lock his gun in a small safe located in the trunk of his car.
Murdoch had his hand on Luna’s shoulder as they walked down the stark hallway to the meeting room. Luna was suddenly thirsty. The fluorescent lights were so bright that Luna wished she could wear sunglasses. She hadn’t had a seizure in a few years, but the conditions were ripe for one. A man in an orange jumpsuit was chained to a metal table. It took her a moment to realize it was John. Back when they’d lived under the same roof, when she thought she knew him, Brown was trim and handsome, in a way. Like a secondary character in a Western. The man before her had maybe thirty more pounds of muscle and another twenty of soft gut, not to mention the monk’s pattern baldness.
John Brown grinned toothy and wide when Luna walked into the room. “Look at you, Taco, all grown up,” he said.
Luna thought she was in the wrong room at first. Why was this big man calling her Taco? Her brain had worked overtime to erase him from her memory, but Taco did ring a distant bell. Then she recalled a night when she was a little girl. Maybe seven or eight. John was tucking her into bed and he’d wrapped a quilt around her, said she reminded him of a taco. He called her that maybe once or twice. She felt like he was using the nickname now for show, trying to trick Luna into thinking they’d had their own secret language.
Brown maintained his Cheshire Cat grin, waiting for Luna to join in on the happy reunion. Murdoch was impressed with the young lady’s implacable demeanor. Agent Murdoch and Luna had talked about how she could best manage the situation. Don’t be afraid—we’re with you—but even if you are, try not to show it. If you’re not sure what to say, take a moment, think. There’s no rush. If you need a break, ask for a break. He also told her she didn’t have to appease Brown.