“Lay the card down. Don’t come any closer.”
“It’s going to blow away.”
“Then put it inside somewhere.”
DeMarco lowered his hand. “Will you give me your word? Because I know you’re an honest man, Thomas. I know you’re a man of honor.”
Huston blew out a puff of breath. “I’m not the man I used to be.”
“We are who we are,” DeMarco answered. “And I believe in you. Deal?”
A few seconds passed. Then, “Leave the card inside.”
DeMarco placed the card and three twenties at the top of the stairs. At the last moment, he decided to lay his cell phone atop them.
The instant he got back to his car, he used his police radio to call the telephone company and instruct them to track the movements of his phone at all times. Then he began to question his own judgment. Had he made the right decision? Was he letting his identification with Huston influence him?
Of course he was. It’s what a friend would do.
He grabbed the police radio again and notified the Ohio State Highway Patrol that a potential suicide was at the top of the Perry Point lighthouse. “Bring a psychologist and rescue equipment,” he said. “No lights or sirens. I’ll meet you at the lighthouse.”
He climbed out of the car and made his way back to the security fence. Up and over again, as quietly as possible. He crept low to the open lighthouse door. Sneaked to the top of the stairs, wincing with every creak. At the top he found his cell phone, nothing else. He knew that the rocks too would be empty of everything but spindrift. In Eden, who needed money or Sergeant Ryan DeMarco’s number?
He called off the trace on his phone, canceled the rescue unit, waded back through the darkness to his car, his flashlight beam swinging like a sickle.
Fifty-Three
Before the morning debriefing, DeMarco met with his supervisor in Bowen’s office. The BOLOs on Inman, Bonnie, and Huston had already been updated. Huston, if spotted, was to be approached with caution and if possible picked up and held in protective custody. Bonnie was to be considered a possible hostage of Inman, a possible accomplice. Inman was to be apprehended by any means necessary.
Bowen said, “I’m going to be honest with you, Ryan. This part about you just leaving Huston at the rail and going back to your car, I’m more than a little uncomfortable with that.”
“That’s because you weren’t there,” DeMarco said. “Another step toward him and he would have jumped. Would you be more comfortable with that?”
“You shouldn’t have been there on your own in the first place.”
“I was following a lead. Like I said, you can’t know because you weren’t there.”
“So why didn’t you just back away from him for a minute, out of sight, and use your cell phone?”
“Did you read the report?”
“It’s six pages long. I skimmed.”
“Then skim it again. And this time read the fucking thing.”
“You going to get testy with me?”
“It’s eight o’clock in the fucking morning, I didn’t sleep all fucking night, and the fucking report is right there on your fucking desk. Judgment call. Quit busting my fucking balls, why don’t ya?”
“You think because you used to be my supervisor you can talk to me like that?”
“Yeah I do. So drink your fucking cappuccino mocha latte grande and leave me the fuck alone for a while. I’ve got a debriefing to conduct.” With that, DeMarco turned and strode out of Bowen’s office.
Four seconds later, he stepped onto the threshold again. “By the way, I apologize for swearing.”
Bowen licked the foam off his lips. “Apology accepted.”
? ? ?
After the debriefing, DeMarco stood at his office window for a while and stared at the abandoned cardinal nest. So maybe you saved his life, he told himself. Think of it that way.
Yeah and maybe you didn’t.