“Did you search the area for Trask?” Silver asked.
“No sign of anyone. Footprints near a drainpipe that led out of the park about a mile away.”
“Kerry?” Silver asked.
“He's not here anymore,” she said dully. “Why should he be? He got what he wanted. The entire sensory experience. He saw her die and he was probably close enough to smell her burning flesh. He'd like that.”
“But how did it happen that fast?” Ledbruk asked. “We couldn't do anything.”
“Maybe your lab will be able to tell you.” She had to get out of here. “I can't.” She turned and started back toward the road.
Silver caught up with her. “Are you okay?”
“Of course I'm not okay.” She jammed her hands in her jacket pockets. “Do you mean am I going to keel over or anything? No. I've seen more gory cadavers than that over the years.”
“This is different.”
“You bet it is,” she said jerkily. “She's dead because I let him kill her.”
“Bullshit.”
“I should have thought it through. I must have shied away from thinking about the threat to me or I would have realized she was his target before it was too late.”
“You can analyze. You can agonize. You can tear yourself apart. But the fact still remains that Trask is to blame, not you.” He opened the car door for her. “You did your best. We tried to stop him and we didn't succeed.”
“Tell that to Joyce Fairchild.” She got into the car and looked straight ahead. She had to keep her muscles locked. She had to keep him from seeing that she was starting to shake. She had told the truth. She had seen more-horrible sights, but this one had struck her to the core. “Could we go home, please? I'm very tired.”
He studied her for a moment and then muttered a curse beneath his breath. “For someone who's not about to keel over, you look like you're pretty close.” He pulled away from the curb. “We'll be home in thirty minutes.”
You look like you could use a nice cup of tea, Ms. Murphy,” George said as he met them on the steps. “Or maybe a good stiff bourbon.”
“No, thank you.”
George glanced at Silver. “I haven't been able to contact anyone at Tyler Park since I warned them. That isn't a good sign.”
“A lousy sign,” Kerry said as she climbed the steps. “Yellow tapes, agents all over the place, and EMT trucks, and no one who could help.”
“She's dead?”
“Burned to a crisp. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll go to my room.” She passed George and went inside the house. The staircase seemed to stretch on forever. Just get up the stairs and into her room. She'd curl up under that lush comforter and the shaking would stop. Then, after a little while, she'd be able to face what had happened to Joyce Fairchild.
She's not good,” George murmured as he watched Kerry slowly climb the steps. “And I'd judge her to be a tough cookie. It must have been one hell of a night.”
“Yes, and she's had an emotional overload for the past week,” Silver said. “Today was the icing on the cake.”
“No trace of Trask at the scene?”
“Footprints near a drainage pipe.” He hesitated and then made a decision. “I'm going to see how she's doing.”
“Don't you think you'd better let her have a little time to herself?”
“No.” George might be right, but Silver didn't want to wait. That silent drive home had bugged the hell out of him. He hated feeling this helpless. “Where's her dog?”
“In the kitchen. Where else? You think you need protection? You chose the wrong animal.”
“I need a buffer.” He headed for the kitchen. “And Sam has got to fill the bill.”
It's Silver. May I come in?”
She huddled deeper under the comforter. “Why?”
“I brought Sam.” He opened the door. “I thought you could use a little canine therapy.”
“It's not the—” She broke off as Sam hurled himself across the room, landed in the middle of the bed, and began licking her face. “Stop it, Sam. I'm not in the mood.” But she automatically started stroking his head. She glanced warily at Silver over the dog's head. “I don't need therapy, Silver.”
“You need comfort, and it comes close to the same thing.” He sat down in the chair beside the bed. “I figured it couldn't hurt. I knew you wouldn't accept it from me.”
“You want to comfort me?” She smiled without mirth. “Will wonders never cease.”
“This kind of situation frustrates me. I'd rather go in and fix what's wrong. It's what I do, dammit. It's what I'm good at. But I made you a promise.” He made a face. “So I brought you Sam.”
“Sam would rather be in the kitchen and follow the food chain.”
“Too bad. He has a duty to you.” He reached over and tucked the comforter tighter around her. “Everyone has to do their job. Are you cold? You look like an Eskimo.”
“I'm a little chilly.”
“Shock.” He got up and headed for the bathroom. “I'll get you some instant coffee. There's a hot-water dispenser in the bathroom.”
“I don't need—” She was talking to the air. She could hear the water running and a moment later he returned with a steaming cup. “Why are you doing this?”
“I told you.” He handed her the cup. “My prime job is to fix what's broken, and this is the only way you'll let me do it.”
She took the cup and cradled it in her hands. The heat felt good on her cold palms. “Fix what's broken . . . Is that really what you try to do?”
“It's what I prefer to do.” He sat down in the chair again. “I can't deny I've done my share of spoiling. I'm not perfect and sometimes I get off on other tracks, but putting things back together gives me the most satisfaction.”
“By interfering.”
He shrugged. “I can't deny it. But when I decided to take charge of my talent, I had a choice to make. I could either use it destructively or constructively, and either way I couldn't pussyfoot around. It's not my way. So what you see is what you get.” He leaned back and gazed at her. “Right now you're pretty messed up, but I think you can work it out for yourself. I just wanted to tell you that I'm here if you need me.”
She nodded slowly. “Thank you. That's very kind of you.”
He grinned as he rose to his feet. “And you're shocked as hell. You've been thinking of me as the bogeyman. Well, I'm a selfish son of a bitch and I'm not always pure as the driven snow.” He headed for the door. “But I have my moments.”
Evidently he did. These last few moments had completely surprised her. “And you came up here to try to make me feel better?”
“Yes.” He opened the door. “But I also have a hunch you're at a crossroad. I wanted to give you all the information you need to decide which path to take.”
The door closed after him before she could reply.
He was wrong. She was upset and shocked, but she wasn't torn by indecision. She just needed a little time to recover her balance after the death of that poor woman. Why had he thought she was? She rejected immediately the answer that occurred to her. He hadn't broken his promise.
How could she be sure? Of course, she couldn't be sure, but she was beginning to know Silver.
Putting things back together gives me the most satisfaction.
Those words had rung true. An important missing piece of the puzzle that was Brad Silver.
And she believed he was trying to keep his promise.
So if he seemed to have insight into her thought processes, it was because he probably knew her better than anyone on earth.
And he thought she was at a crossroad.
Sam whined and rolled over on his back for a belly rub.
She absently stroked him as she lay back down on the pillows. Having Sam here was a comfort. Another thing that Silver had guessed. That didn't mean he was right about her inner turmoil. Perhaps he was nudging her toward this mythical crossroad.