Four Live Rounds
“I just need to know what happened to her, and how it happened. It kills me not knowing where her body is. It’s stupid, I know. It shouldn’t matter, but it does. You know what I mean?”
Something in Kalyn’s eyes told him that she did.
“It was good to meet you, William Innis.”
“Will.”
He walked her out to the car.
When she was gone, he stood in the driveway in the dark, breathing in the cold chill of the autumn night.
Then he crawled under the truck to finish changing the oil.
FOURTEEN
Will knocked on the door.
His daughter yelled, “What?” and he walked in, saw her sprawled on her back on the bed, staring at him upside down, the cordless phone held to her chest. “What?” she whispered.
“I need to talk to you. Now.”
“About that woman?” she mouthed.
He nodded.
She brought the phone back to her ear, said, “Christie, I gotta go. Okay. Okay. You tell me what he says. Bye, sweetie.”
Will pulled the chair out from the desk and sat down.
“Who was that woman?” she asked.
“Her name’s Kalyn Sharp, and she’s an FBI agent.”
His daughter sat up quickly. “Are they taking you, Dad?”
“No, honey, no. She believes me.”
“It’s about Mom.”
“She thinks she knows who killed her.”
She took a sharp intake of breath. “Who?”
“This man . . . look, that’s not important. She thinks maybe I’ve seen him before, back when we lived in Ajo. She wants me to try to ID him. So we’re all going down to Phoenix first thing in the morning. We’ll ride with Ms. Sharp. Honey, it’s okay.”
His daughter turned over and wept into her pillow. Will climbed in bed with her. He pulled her into his lap, ran his fingers through her hair.
After awhile, she rolled over and wiped her eyes, her face red, tear-streaked.
“This FBI woman really believes you didn’t hurt Mom?”
“Yeah,” Will said. “She knows I didn’t.”
She sniffled, wiped her nose.
“I want to ask you something,” Will said, “and you can tell me the honest truth. I won’t be mad, no matter what you say.”
“What?”
“Did you . . . do you ever wonder if I had something to do with what happened to Mom?”
His daughter stared at the poster on the ceiling, at the two lava lamps glowing on her desk, at the piles of clothing scattered across the floor. She pried off the black curls that had stuck to the tears on her face and finally looked her father in the eye.
“It would be a lie if I said I never wondered.”
He nodded, shoved back the emotion those words had detonated inside of him. What hurt him more than anything was the fear he knew his daughter must have lived with, wondering if he was this monster, responsible for her mother’s death.
“That’s okay,” he said. “I understand.”
“I only mean that sometimes I wonder. Not that I think you did it. And I haven’t wondered in a long time.”
“Baby girl,” he said, “look in my eyes.” They’d sheeted over with tears. “I’m not sure if I ever said this to you, but I’m going to say it now. I did not kill your mother. My wife.”
“I know, Dad.”
“I loved her. And if I thought for a second there was anything I could do to get her back, I would.”
“I believe you.”
They embraced. As they pulled away, she said, “Is there a chance Mom’s still alive?”
“I don’t think so, sweetheart.”
“But anything’s possible, right?”
“It’s been five years. I don’t want you walking around with your hopes up, okay?”
The phone rang. She grabbed it, glanced at the caller ID. “I have to take this, Dad.”
Will chuckled at that. “I love you, Devlin,” he said.
“Dad,” she whispered, “you just said my old name.”
“I know. It’s okay now.” Will got up and walked out of the room, shut the door softly behind him as Devlin said, “Hey, Lisa, what up, girl?”
He walked through the old farmhouse, closing windows. There would be a heavy frost in the morning.
Just the possibility of closure, of returning to some semblance of his old life, thrilled him. He hadn’t seen his parents, his sister, or any of his friends since he and Devlin had fled Arizona, and the pain their disappearance must have caused was always with him. Every day, he’d check friends’ blogs, Facebook and MySpace pages, Google his and Devlin’s name to see if people still searched for them. If they were still mentioned. Still thought of. Still remembered and missed.
And he desperately missed his work, his real work—practicing law. He missed being in a courtroom, missed picking a jury during voir dire and the nerves of verdict day.
Though he knew it wouldn’t return Rachael to him, he still wanted all the vestiges of his old life back. Perhaps going down to Phoenix with Kalyn would be a step in that direction.
He sat at the kitchen table, sipping his cold green tea, couldn’t stop thinking, Tomorrow, you face the man who killed Rachael. He was nervous, but more than anything, just anxious to put it all behind him. Figured he and Devlin were due a little peace.
Jav
FIFTEEN
At 2:30 P.M., after a seven-hour drive down from the high country of southwest Colorado, Kalyn pulled her Buick Regal beside an overflowing Dumpster and turned off the engine. They all stepped out into the potent October heat, crossed the parking lot, and stopped at the cluster of mailboxes so Kalyn could collect her mail.
Four cinder-block buildings boxed in the dirt courtyard where Devlin stood, each containing eight apartments, four on top, four below.
A rusted swing set had collapsed nearby. One roller skate and a deflated soccer ball sat in a sandless sandbox. Between the constant drone of air conditioners and the roar of the nearby interstate, peace and quiet did not appear to thrive here.
They approached the north building and entered the stairwell.
A jet airliner thundered overhead on its descent toward Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport.
Their footfalls clanged up fourteen metal steps and they emerged onto the open second-floor walkway, where Kalyn stopped at the third door. Apparently, the brass lettering had fallen off or been stolen, because the number 22 was scrawled above the peephole in red Magic Marker.
She unlocked the dead bolt and led them in. Even from the foyer, Devlin could tell it wasn’t much of a home. Small living room. Smaller kitchen. White walls in desperate need of several coats of paint. Cramped hallway leading back to the single bedroom.