Orchid Blues (Holly Barker 2)

"Did they actually look for these people?"

"Yes, but not very hard. After all, they had no hard evidence against the woman who had been a teller, and she had resigned from her job and had given two weeks' notice, so there was no question of her running from the law. These people left the state the same way thousands of others move, except they didn't leave a forwarding address. The only mail they received after their departure was junk mail, so they had apparently closed out all their accounts-phone, electric, etcetera-and paid whatever was due. No bill collector or lawyer turned up looking for them. The trooper was unable to find out what means of transportation they had used to leave town. One day they were there, the next they were gone."

"What sort of area did they live in?"

"A county of small towns and farms. The group owned a sizable farm, but they sold it. They left it in perfect order for the new owner, complete with a tractor and other essential equipment, so apparently they didn't plan to take up farming again in another location."

"It's just a total blank, isn't it?" she said.

"Seems that way, and it's a little late in the game to start tracking these people. If they left no trace then, there would certainly be no trace now."

"I suppose you're right."

They were both silent for a moment.

"How are you doing?" he asked quietly, and in such a way that she knew it wasn't simply a polite question.

"I'm just sitting here letting my mind wander, and all I seem to be able to think about is Jackson. Have you ever lost anybody?"

"My parents, but not in the same way. They had long and productive lives and, when they finally became ill, died quickly."

"Have you ever lost a friend by violence?"

"I've known cops who were killed in the line of duty. I've never personally known an innocent bystander like Jackson who died in a crime."

"You know, it's said that when people have limbs amputated, the nerve endings in the stump make them think they can still feel the leg or arm."

"I've heard that."

"That's how it feels, as if some important part of me had suddenly been amputated, but I can still feel it. It's still real."

"It won't always be that way."

"I'm afraid to hope for that. I might feel better not losing that part of me completely."

"After my father died-he followed my mother by a couple of years-I would find myself dialing his number, expecting to talk to him. It took a couple of weeks to get past that. I'd want his advice, and I'd just pick up the phone, then feel like an idiot"

"I'm not the first to feel this way, I know," she said, "but it's the first time for me, and I don't like it."

"I wish there were something I could say to make it better."

"Thanks. I guess I'll just have to find a way to deal with it. It's okay

when I'm working-I told you how I can switch it off. But when I got home tonight…" Her voice trailed off.

"Have you had dinner yet?" he asked.

"Yes, I just ate something, but thanks for asking." She was sorry she had eaten; she would have enjoyed his company. "Jackson would have liked you," she said.

"I liked him, for the brief time we knew each other."

There was an awkward silence.

"Listen," he said, "I've got a nervous feeling about this little town you found. When you go out there tomorrow, let your office know about it and arrange a check-in schedule."

"I really don't think it's dangerous," she said.

"Don't take a chance. If these are the people who robbed the bank, they don't take chances, and they don't mind killing. It would make me feel better if you kept in touch with your office."