“Where’s that exactly?”
“About ten, fifteen miles east of Frackville, back toward you in Denville, I’m afraid—you got to go a bit off the interstate.”
“Is your father with her there?”
“Nah, he’s dead,” said Macht, no emotion in any direction. “She’s been staying there while she looks for work.”
Mrs. Macht emitted a sigh that sounded like a honk. Her husband glanced at her, and she left the room.
“You looking for her ex, for John?” said Macht.
“Yes.”
“He’s trouble. I always knew it. Dena was doing okay before she met him. She was going to junior college and had a job, everything.”
Cap nodded, pictured Nell.
“You said ex—they’re not together romantically as far as you know?”
“Yeah, she got rid of him,” said Macht proudly. “She knew he was bad news.”
“Do you have a number where we could reach her? We’d like to ask her if she has heard from McKie at all in the past month.”
“She just changed her cell phone. She couldn’t get reception up there with AT&T.”
Cap thought for a quick second, remembered Charlie Bright’s mother making excuses for him.
“Is there a landline?” he said.
“Yeah…” Macht paused. Cap watched him struggle, eyes batting around, lips tightening over the teeth—all marks of a witness who was not a great liar, trying to decide whether or not to admit something.
“It’s been outta order for a while,” he added quickly.
“So what would be the best way to get in touch with her?”
“You could, uh, leave her a message on the cell, and when she gets it she’ll call you back.”
“We don’t really have too much time to wait for that, Mr. Macht,” said Cap. “You understand, we’re looking for the Brandt girls. Every minute we lose we get further away from finding them alive and safe. I’m sure you can appreciate that.”
“Yeah, ’course,” said Macht, pained. “I could drive you up there myself—I usually go see her every other Friday. I don’t want to take her by surprise.”
Cap’s jaw throbbed where Ralz had hit him, made him feel foggy, like he had to unpack things more than usual.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Can I ask you what you mean by that? You don’t want to take her by surprise?”
Macht took a few seconds to compose a response. Then Cap heard Vega’s voice.
“You know what he means by that?” Vega said.
Cap turned, saw that Vega was talking to Mrs. Macht, who had reappeared in the doorway, smoking a cigarette.
“Yeah, I know,” said Mrs. Macht.
“Ro, we talked,” Macht said to her.
“I know we talked about it, you damn old fool,” said Mrs. Macht, not at all affectionately.
“My wife, she doesn’t have a lot of patience for Dena,” said Macht.
“Just shut up, Mitch,” snapped Mrs. Macht. “Shut your mouth and quit telling lies.”
Macht looked like he was about to protest but then didn’t, sank back into the couch like a sandbag.
Mrs. Macht came into the room and addressed Cap and Vega, didn’t look at her husband.
“That girl didn’t need John McKie or anyone else to turn her into a deadbeat,” she said, spite drawing down the corners of her mouth. “She did that all by herself. Started sniffing glue and paint thinner when she was twelve years old. First abortion at fifteen, second at seventeen.”
Mrs. Macht tapped the side of her head forcefully. “Something missing up here. Always was.”
“Ro,” Macht said sadly.
“No, Mitch,” she said. “I tried to sit here and listen to you lie to these people to make yourself feel better. I ain’t doing it.”
She shook her head, laughed to herself.
“She faked my signature on a check; that’s when I called the cops. We work our whole lives and then we’re gonna lose our damn house ’cause she wants to smoke drugs? No way. No way, José.”
She looked at her husband over her shoulder, dismissive.
“He didn’t want me to do it either. If it was up to him, we’d be on welfare ’cause of her. ’Cause he’s a fool.”
Macht said nothing, stared at the globe of his stomach.
“Ma’am,” said Cap. “Do you think your daughter is still involved with John McKie or do you agree with Mr. Macht?”
“I don’t agree with Mr. Macht about anything,” she said. “So, yeah—I’m sure they’re still together, and I’m sure he’s with her right now at that cabin. And what Mr. Macht didn’t wanna tell you is there was a landline, but she’s never paid a bill in her life so there’s no electricity and no running water up there. They just smoke drugs by candlelight; it’s a real romantic scene. Only way you’re gonna find them is if you drive there yourselves.”
“We can do that,” said Cap.
“I gotta give you directions,” said Mrs. Macht. “Address won’t come up on Internet maps.”
She went to a small table where there was a phone and scratched out notes on a slip of paper.
“If you talk to her, if she isn’t passed out or what have you,” she said, handing Cap the note, “can you give her a message for me?”
“Of course.”
Mrs. Macht blew out a cloud of smoke, aimed above Cap’s head to be polite, and she looked a little shaky just then. Maybe the screws and bolts that locked up her daily rage were loosening, Cap thought.
Then she said, “Tell that dumb bitch she still owes me sixty-eight hundred dollars.”
—
They followed a series of splintered roads according to Mrs. Macht’s directions until they were officially lost. There was a house every quarter mile or so, each one more rustic than the last, smaller and smaller windows and doors, lawns shrinking and turning into woods, until they didn’t see any houses or cars for ten minutes. The landscape reminded Vega of a program she’d seen on TV once, something like “When the Humans Die”—vegetation growing wild, vines covering houses and cars, doing the quiet work of decomposition.
She watched her phone, which still retained a flicker of reception, but the message kept coming back that the Internet could not find her location. The tics of the circle in the upper left corner spun. Searching, searching.
Cap decided they better turn around, but then Vega saw something up ahead, a flash of white, headlights and tires jutting out from the trees. A truck.
Cap rolled into the gutter of the road and turned off the car. Vega got out, smelled the salty smoke of a fire somewhere close. She heard a dissonant birdsong, three mismatched notes on a loop. She examined the pickup, the paint faded to beige, dirt coating the tires and fender. Her eyes followed the scrap of a driveway back to a cabin the size of a gas station bathroom, surrounded by trees, and on the porch, a man kneeling, working at something.
Cap went first, stepping quietly around the truck.
“Excuse me,” he called, his voice amplified.
Vega nodded, approving his volume. Best not to surprise anyone out here.
Closer to the house now, she saw the man crouching, cleaning a stool with a spray bottle and a rag. There was also a folding chair and an old tube television.