He breathed in a bit of chilly air and then spit it out. It was as though his lungs didn’t like the crispness of it, the purity. He coughed. He was getting the hack like Fred.
For a few seconds Quarry did the unimaginable, at least for him. He actually thought about stopping. The letter was already gone, but he didn’t have to follow it up. He could fly up to the mine tomorrow, get Wohl and Willa, and leave them somewhere safe, where they would be found. He could just stay here with Tippi.
He got back in his truck and drove hard to Atlee. He hustled to his library, locked the door, ignored the Beam, and took a drink of Old Grand Dad. He sat at his desk, stared at the empty fireplace, felt the swollen skin on his forearm. He abruptly lashed out and swept everything off his desk; it all crashed down on the floor.
“What the hell am I doing!” he cried out. He stood there, bent over, breathing fast; his nerves had no elasticity left. He rushed out, plunged down the stairs, pulling the set of keys from his pocket. He hit the basement, ran down the passageway, unlocked the door, and went in the room. He flicked on the light and stared at the walls. His walls. His life. His road map to justice. He stared at all the old names, places, events, the intersecting lines of string that represented years of sweat, of tenacity, of an overpowering drive to figure it all out.
His breathing grew regular and his nerves reclaimed their rigidity. He lit a cigarette, released the smoke out slowly. His gaze settled on a photo of Tippi over at the far end of the walls, the place where it had all began.
The walls had won out. He was in this until the end. He clicked off the light, banishing the walls to darkness, but they had already fulfilled their purpose. He locked the door and headed upstairs.
Gabriel had finished reading to Tippi and gone to bed. Quarry checked on him as he passed by his bedroom. He opened the door a crack and listened to the soft breaths of the boy, saw the rise and fall of the blanket covering him.
A good boy. Probably grow into a fine man. And lead a life that would take him far away from this place. Good thing. He didn’t belong here. Gabriel didn’t belong here to the same degree that Sam Quarry did.
Everyone had to choose his road. Gabriel still had his decision to make. Quarry had already picked his route. There was no exit off his highway. He was heading a million miles an hour straight down it.
As he walked upstairs to bed he checked his watch. Carlos would be dropping the letter off in a couple more hours. Figure a day or two to reach its destination, three tops. He’d allowed for that in his instructions.
Then it would happen. Then he could have his say. And they would listen. He was sure of that. He would make it clear. And then the decision would be up to them. He had a pretty good idea of what that decision would be. But people were strange. Sometimes you could just never figure them out. As he reached his bedroom at the top of the house, he realized that he was a testament to not being able to figure folks out.
He didn’t turn on the light. He just chucked his boots and socks, undid his belt, unzipped his pants and let them drop to the floor. He moved over to the couch and started to pick up his bottle of liquid painkiller. Then he glanced over at the bed.
What the hell? He lay down on it, put aside the bottle, and started to dream of better days.
Yet that’s just what it would remain for him. Only a dream.
CHAPTER 65
MICHELLE AND SEAN watched as Frank Maxwell laid the cluster of flowers on his wife’s fresh grave, bowed his head, and mumbled a few words. Then he just stood there, looking off, at what neither of them knew.
Sean whispered to her, “Do you think he’s going to be okay?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even know if I’m going to be okay.”
“How’re your leg and arm?”
“Fine. And that’s not the part of me I’m talking about.”
“I know,” he said quietly.
She turned to him. “Do you have these kinds of family problems?”
“Every family has issues. Why?”
“Just wondering.”
They fell silent as Frank walked toward them.
Michelle put a hand on his arm. “You okay?”
He shrugged but then nodded. As they walked back to Michelle’s SUV he said, “I probably shouldn’t have left Sally to go and investigate. I probably should have stayed with her.”
“If you had, we might not have caught Rothwell and Reagan,” Sean pointed out.
When they got back to the house, Michelle made some coffee while Sean prepared sandwiches for lunch. They both looked up when the voice on the small countertop TV in the kitchen came on.
A moment later they were both looking at Willa’s image on the screen. The news story was not enlightening. It said all the usual things. FBI still investigating. The First Couple anxious. The country wondering where the little girl was. They knew all that. But the mere sight of the little girl seemed to mesmerize them both, lifting them to a more heightened sense of urgency.