“Anything went wrong down there, I’d lose my badge. Hell, even if it went right, I probably would.”
Blankenship’s voice suggested he wasn’t too concerned with that.
“It’s a tough spot for police,” Mark said. “She knows that. Ridley does too.”
“Damn that man,” Blankenship said suddenly, a near shout. “He killed her. He killed her but I can’t prove it, Novak. I have known this for ten years. I cannot prove it. I have no crime scene, I have no witnesses, and I have no forensics that he can’t explain away by claiming he found her body and dragged it through a cave. I have nothing.”
Mark had a flash memory of his last meeting with the lead investigator in Lauren’s case. I have nothing, Mr. Novak. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth. We’ll get there, though. We’ll get there.
“I don’t want to go back in that cave,” Mark said. “I surely don’t want to go down there with Ridley Barnes.”
“Nobody’s asking you to. It’s a foolish idea, and nobody in his right mind would ask you to.”
“No, he wouldn’t. And let’s keep it that way. Because when I come back up from Trapdoor, Sheriff, we’ll both need you to have your legal distance preserved.”
“No. Absolutely not. I’ll handle Ridley.”
“All due respect,” Mark said, “but he’s not going to open the door to you, Sheriff. Not in any way that counts, at least. Don’t forget the essential difference in our approach here: You’ve been working on Ridley Barnes. As far as I’ve been concerned, Ridley Barnes has been working on me. Until today.”
“Until today. Now you care?”
Mark nodded. “I do. And you’re starting to trust me a little. The balance is shifting on Ridley. What scares me, though? What scares me is that he may already know that.”
Part five
A little different in the Light
50
It was time to see Ridley again face-to-face.
Mark had returned to Garrison determined not to make the same mistake he’d made on his first visit, when he’d had the blissful sense of going through the motions. He’d rushed into contact with Ridley then. He didn’t intend to repeat the mistake.
The time had come, though.
He was driving along the icy country roads when Jeff called.
“Please tell me you’re on a plane,” Jeff said without preamble.
“Not yet.”
“Mark...”
When Jeff London used the short version of Markus, it was the equivalent of anyone else using the full version and the middle name.
“I’ve got nothing for them yet,” Mark said. “But I will. You tell them that, and—”
“I can’t just tell them things! This is it. This is the end of the road. You’ve got to sit at the table this time. No pick-and-roll left to be run. You’ve got to understand that.”
“If I leave here, Ridley Barnes is not going to answer for anything, and—”
“Ridley Barnes is not your case!”
Mark turned onto the winding road to Ridley’s, grateful for the security of the all-wheel drive beneath him. “I was nearly one of his victims. If it’s not my case, whose is it?”
“That’s not the point, and you know it. There are victims and there are vigilantes. I thought we’d reached an understanding as to which side of that fence you were staying on.”
Mark watched the lonesome fields pass by and didn’t speak. They’d reached an understanding on this, yes. An understanding that was based on a lie: I will leave Lauren’s case to the authorities and I will not seek the death penalty.
It had been an easy lie to tell then, when it saved him the only thing he had left that he cared about — his job. Somewhere along the line, somewhere during his time in this backwater Indiana town, he’d begun to tire of the lie. No matter what it gained him. No matter what it cost.
“I think I’m drifting a little too Old Testament for our line of work,” Mark said.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Eye for an eye.”
“Don’t start again, Markus. Damn it, do not start that again. Leave her case to the people who have the right distance.”
“We’ll talk about it. We’ll also talk about this case. We never would have taken it. Sarah Martin’s death wouldn’t have qualified, because there was no capital-punishment element. No conviction, even.”
“I’m well aware of that, and if you think you deserve yet another apology, then—”
“I don’t,” Mark said. “She does.”
“What?”
“What if Diane Martin had been alive, Jeff?”
“She isn’t.”
“She might have been. What if I’d walked into her town and sat across from her and promised her the answers she deserved would finally be given to her. And then I walked away.”
Jeff’s sigh had some horsepower behind it. “I’m going to say this once, and you need to listen to it and comprehend it: I’ve been busting my ass for weeks trying to convince the board that you are still a trustworthy employee, that when you are given direct instructions, you follow them. Your instructions here are simple: Come home. First flight you can get on. Or drive all night, I don’t care, but you better be back in town tomorrow. You’re going to have to talk with the board at this point. I can’t promise how that will go with you in the room, but I can promise how it will go if you’re not in the room — you’re done. And I won’t vote against it. If you can’t do something as simple as get on a plane when you’re told to, Markus?” There was a long pause, and when Jeff finally spoke again, his voice was sorrowful. “Then even I can’t trust you anymore.”
It was a statement that demanded a response, but Mark couldn’t even grant it his full attention. He was closing on Ridley’s house now, and two troubling things were already apparent: Ridley’s truck was gone, and his front door was standing open.
“Jeff,” he said. “I’ve got to go. I’m sorry. Really, I am. But I’ve got to go.”
He disconnected before he heard another word. He pulled into the driveway and parked in the place where Ridley’s truck belonged and stared at that open door. Maybe it didn’t mean a thing. The wind had been coming in gusts all day; it was certainly capable of pushing open a shut door, and maybe Ridley hadn’t locked it when he left.
Mark doubted that, though.
He got out of the car and called Ridley’s name but heard no answer. He wished he had a weapon.
He walked up the steps and called Ridley’s name again and received nothing but silence, and then he pushed the door wide open and looked inside at the shadowed room. Everything seemed in place, no trace of disturbance, but the shadows teased his mind and suggested possibilities. He found the light switch and flicked it on and breathed a little easier when the shadows vanished and tangible objects took their places.
“Ridley!” The name left his mouth with more aggression than he’d intended. For some reason, the empty place and open door had summoned adrenaline. You weren’t supposed to be scared of empty spaces. Ridley’s house had other ideas.
He walked to the stairs and stopped himself from calling Ridley’s name again. There would be no answer. He had proven that now. He found another light switch and illuminated the hall at the top of the stairs and then went on up. There was a single bathroom, clean and tidy but missing a mirror. The medicine-cabinet frame where it belonged was empty, the contents beyond the door exposed. Past the bathroom was a bedroom, and beyond that another room that was filled with bookshelves. There was a strange shadow to the left, something out of place. Mark hit more lights and saw that there was a false wall that had been turned into a door.