He shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said. His voice was hoarse.
His phone rang. He slapped his pocket, stricken. She waved one hand. "Go ahead," she said. He checked the number. Flipped the phone open.
"Van Alstyne"-he coughed-"Van Alstyne here." She watched him as he listened. Who said getting everything out into the open was a good idea? She didn't feel better, or healthier, or more honest. She just felt dirty. And empty.
"Aw, shit," he said. He closed his eyes for a moment. "Where?" He nodded. "I'll be right there." He listened again. "Yeah. That's fine." He glanced at her. "No, I'll tell her."
Fear stirred in her gut.
"Yeah," Russ said again. " 'Bye." He snapped the phone shut. Looked at her. "That was Lyle. Some kids were in the Cossayuharie Muster Field. They found Amado's body."
VIII
She followed in her own car. He could see her headlights behind him, bright against the tree-shrouded twilight of the mountain road. While he had been in St. Alban's, getting his intestines handed to him on a steaming platter, the sun had set. That seemed appropriate. On the stereo, Bill Deasy sang Is it my curse, to always make the good things worse? He had bought the CD as a present for himself last Christmas, because the songs made him think of Clare.
When had he started listening to music again?
He didn't know. He didn't know much of anything, it seemed. How the hell had he wound up gutting the only two women he'd ever loved? He ought to go home and tell his mom he hated her. Make it a perfect trifecta.
From the high ground of the Muster Field, headlights, roof lights, portable lamps, and road flares blazed against the pale violet sky, as visible as the solstice fires or mountaintop beacons of ancient Scotland. He hoped the modern-day descendents of those Scots would ignore the call, or else his people would be dealing with an unholy mess of spectators and speculation.
He parked his truck at the end of a line of vehicles crowding Route 137's nonexistent shoulder. He spotted at least two SUVs with FIRE AND RESCUE tags. Lyle must have called for help in dealing with the traffic. They would need it. There were already more cars around than official personnel could account for.
He stepped out as Clare pulled in ahead of him. He waited until she emerged from her Subaru. She had reattached her collar. She didn't look at him. "Find whoever's handing out those flares and put one in front of your car," he said. She nodded. Walked past him, up the shadowy road. He reached for her as she went by, then dropped his hand. What the hell was he going to say to her, here and now? He shook his head.
As soon as he stepped onto the field, he heard Lyle bellowing his name. Russ couldn't see anything in the glare of light bars and headlights, but he headed for the sound. Past the rescue vehicle and the squad cars, the rear of the field spread in darkness, the black bulk of the two-hundred-year-old trees picked out against the star-glimmering sky. Heat lightning flickered over the western mountains. A pair of Maglites barely dented the gloom.
"Over here!" Russ followed Lyle's voice, to find the deputy chief struggling to set up one of the halogen site lamps while Kevin Flynn trained two flashlights on the contrary apparatus.
"Kevin, what are you doing here? You're not on tonight." Russ reached for the lamppost and held it aloft so Lyle could unfold the base. "Where's Noble?"
"Lyle called me," Kevin said. He sounded subdued, for a kid whose usual response to a major crime was "Whoopee!"
"I sent Noble back to talk with the kids who found Esfuentes." Lyle grunted as he wrestled the sectional flaps into position.
"Instead of setting up the lights?" Russ crouched down and seized the battery pack. "You're not working to your strengths, here, Lyle."
"I don't want him near the body." Lyle pressed one hand over Russ's and, with the other, jammed the plug into the battery. The darkness exploded into white light, and all three men shielded their eyes.
"He's here?" Instinctively, Russ looked down to see if he was fouling evidence.
Lyle gestured with his thumb. "By the stone wall." He waved at Kevin. "Go get the next light." The junior officer nodded and trotted back toward the squad car.
Russ watched him go. A group of what looked to be civilians were rubbernecking near the road. He didn't like it. "So. Not taken into the forest like the other two."
"No. This is different from the others."
"I'm not going to second-guess you," Russ said, "but I've never had any problems with Noble mucking up the scene." He dropped his voice. "Kevin's working on overtime right now."
Lyle looked him in the eye. "It's bad. Kevin can handle that. Noble can't."
Russ's mouth dried up. "Bad?"
Lyle nodded.
"Shit." He took a step toward where Lyle had indicated, then stopped. "Let's get the rest of the lights up. I don't want to screw things up by stomping around in the dark."
A gust of cool wind rustled through the trees. "I hope to hell tonight's not the night we finally get rain," Lyle said. "We could use another officer. Tim and Duane both lit out after the Fourth."
"Call in Hadley Knox. She needs the O.T."
"Okay."
"Can you and Kevin manage the next lamp? I want to talk to whoever found him."
Lyle tilted his head. Next to the ambulance, five or six people had gathered around Noble's broad-shouldered form. "It was a carload of kids. Two couples. They'd had a few, and somebody got the bright idea to come up to the Muster Field and hunt for another body. Watched too many damn horror movies, if you ask me." He glanced behind him, into the gloom. "They found what they came looking for."
"Not unless they got laid first." Russ strode off toward the group. He saw a flash of black and white. Clare, talking to one of the young men. Another breeze lifted her hair, and he thought, It's loose? and then he remembered pulling the pins out of her twist. The feel of her hair sliding through his fingers. A jolt of desire hit him, heavy and low, about as welcome as a kick in the head under the circumstances. He shook it off. Kept walking.
Clare lifted her head, as if she had sensed him coming, and said something to the boy at her side. Anyone who didn't know her would see a calm, caring, collected priest. He saw the taut line of her jaw and the strained expression in her eyes. There was another adult there as well, a fleshy soccer-dad type with his arm around a girl. At least one of the kids had had sense enough to call a parent.
"Officer Entwhistle," he said.