She told him about the discovery of another body on the altar, and of the graves beneath the church. It took some time. He struggled with it. So did she.
“They’re looking for you,” she said. “That’s why they went to the farm, to arrest you if they could.”
He used a thumb to massage one knuckle, then another, did the same with the other hand. “How old are the graves?”
“Nobody knows yet, but it’s the big question.”
“And the one on the altar?”
“Lauren Lester. I met her once. She was nice.”
“The name means nothing to me.” Adrian scrubbed both palms across his face. He felt numb and cold and disconnected. Two women murdered since his release. Nine more bodies found beneath the church. “This can’t be happening.”
“It is.”
“But why? Why now?”
Elizabeth waited for him to speak of conspiracy and the beer can, and how maybe this was part of some elaborate setup. To her relief, he said nothing. This was too big for that. There were too many bodies. “What about the guards?”
“Do you think I killed them?”
“I think you’re troubled.”
Adrian smiled because troubled seemed such a small word. “I didn’t kill them.”
“Should I take your word?”
She was small on the roadside, unflinching in the way any good cop should be. Adrian walked to the car and opened the trunk. Olivet was inside.
“Why did you bring him here?”
He dragged the guard out; dropped him on the tarmac. Elizabeth was alarmed, but Adrian was unswayed. He pulled the weapon from his waistband, sank into a crouch, and watched Olivet stare at the revolver as if to read the future. Adrian understood that, too, that fascination.
“I wanted to kill him,” Adrian said.
“But you didn’t.”
He saw her pistol from the corner of his eye and smiled because she’d come so far from the frightened girl she’d once been. The gun was unholstered, but low and steady. She was steady.
“Answer a question,” he said.
“If you give me the gun.”
“The men who died in the basement. Did they not deserve to die?”
“They did.”
“Do you feel regret?”
“No.”
“And if I told you this was no different?” He put the gun against Olivet’s chest and saw Elizabeth’s rise beside him.
“I can’t let you kill him.”
“Would you shoot me to save this man?”
“Let’s not find out.”
Adrian studied Olivet’s face, the fear and bruising and the sunken eyes. It wasn’t the daughter that saved him at the farm. It wasn’t blue lights or sirens. Adrian could have killed him and gotten away. Even now his finger felt the curve of the trigger. There was a reason though, and it still mattered.
“If I wanted him dead, he’d be dead already.”
Adrian lowered the hammer and placed the revolver on the ground. Elizabeth stooped to retrieve it, but he kept his attention on Olivet, leaning close until their faces were inches apart. “I want you to give the warden a message.”
“Yes.” Olivet tried to swallow, but choked. “Anything.”
“You tell the warden you’re alive because of Eli Lawrence, and that it won’t be like this the next time. Tell him if I see him, I’ll make it personal. I’ll make it like it was for me.” The guard nodded, but Adrian wasn’t finished. “Daughter or not, the same thing goes for you. Do you understand?”
“Yes. God, yes.”
Adrian stood and studied Liz’s posture, her face. Her fingers were still white on the pistol grip, but he could live with that. What mattered was that she was there at all, that she’d come back when she didn’t have to, and that she’d exercised restraint where no other cop would have. It was a small thing in a large world, but in the dim light before the old station Adrian felt less alone than he had in a long time, not at peace but not destroyed, either. He wanted Liz to understand that, to know she meant something to him and that it wasn’t something small. “You have questions,” he said. “I’m not sure I can tell you everything, but I’ll try.”
“That would be nice.”
“Will you come with me?”
“What?”
“You said it yourself. I have to leave this place.”
“Where would we go?”
“It’s a secret,” he told her, and Liz looked down the darkened road. Secrets were dangerous; both of them understood that. But he could tell that she was hurting, and that her life, too, was at a crossroads. “Please,” he said; and she looked at him with those clear and telling eyes. “I’m tired of being alone.”
*