46
THEY MARCHED ACROSS the street, Showalter leading, a uniformed patrolman by his side. He carried the warrant in his hand. Mitchell followed, Whiteside beside her, his brain feeling like it was about to burst out through his ears. His eyes felt gritty with fatigue, and he was conscious of the jitteriness of his movements.
‘Jesus, you look like shit,’ Showalter had said when Whiteside had arrived at the station twenty minutes before. He’d barely had time to change into his uniform and hadn’t shaved. A splash of cold water on his face did no good at all.
Whiteside had been tempted to say something, maybe slap the stupid cop, but he held it in check. He knew he wasn’t in his right mind and liable to make rash decisions. And he couldn’t afford mistakes right now.
It had taken hours to find the key to Collins’ motorcycle. He’d walked in circles, taking baby steps, shining his flashlight into the grit and the scrub, wary of finding a snake instead of the key. A rattler or a coral could make a bad situation a hell of a lot worse. It wasn’t until the sun came up above the mountains that he finally saw the glint of metal in a place he had checked at least a dozen times previously. He had giggled when he found it, and he had clamped his hand over his mouth, hearing the madness in his own laughter.
He had to hold it together. Just had to.
But he could feel himself coming undone. He knew it would only take someone to pull at the right thread and he would unravel.
Hold it together, he thought.
The money was surely gone now, there was no helping that. But he was still a free man, and he meant to keep it that way. He just had to take care of a few things. The first was the woman. Once Showalter served the warrant and got her back into custody, Whiteside simply needed to find a way to get her on her own. Then he would get a strip of bed sheet, a belt, maybe even the leg of her pants, and put it around her neck, string her up to something. People killed themselves in their cells all the time. She could do the same.
But they had to arrest her first.
Showalter knocked on the front door of the guesthouse. The pale shape of Mrs Gerber already waited on the other side of the glass, like a ghost haunting the hallway. She opened it a crack and peered out.
‘Ma’am,’ Showalter said, ‘I have a warrant here for the arrest of Audra Kinney. This warrant allows me to enter these premises and—’
‘She’s not here,’ Mrs Gerber said.
‘Excuse me?’
‘I came down for my breakfast this morning and found the back door open, and the gate out of the yard. I went out there and found my keys lying in the alley. Then I went back in and checked that lady’s room, and she was gone. Just left everything and went.’
Mitchell turned to look at Whiteside, a look of suppressed rage on her face.
Showalter waved the warrant at Mrs Gerber. ‘Ma’am, you understand me and my colleagues are going to come in and search the premises anyway, right?’
Mrs Gerber stood back and opened the door wide. ‘You go on and do whatever you need to.’
Showalter and the patrolman disappeared inside. Mitchell remained on the porch, hands on her hips, shaking her head. ‘You have any ideas as to where Mrs Kinney might have gone?’ she asked.
‘Well,’ Mrs Gerber said, ‘if you ask me, I’d say she’s most likely gone to look for her children. Seems no one else is much concerned about doing it, so I suppose she might as well.’
Mitchell bristled. ‘Mrs Gerber, is there something you want to tell me?’
‘No, nothing that comes to mind,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Except that I know crazy when I see it, and I know a lie when I hear it. And, Sheriff Whiteside, you’re not welcome on my property. Please step off my porch and onto the sidewalk.’
The door closed and Whiteside turned, walked down the steps and across the street. He heard Mitchell’s footsteps behind him, jogging to catch up.
‘Leave me alone,’ he said.
‘Sheriff, we need to—’
Whiteside spun around, pointed a finger at her face. ‘Either arrest me or leave me the fuck alone.’
He left Mitchell there and made for the station, and the parking lot on the other side. Cracking, cracking, cracking, everything coming apart. The whole damn world turning to splinters and dust. He shook his head as if trying to get rid of a bothersome fly.
‘Coming apart,’ he said aloud, before he could catch himself.
Halfway to the lot, his cell phone vibrated in his pocket, and he cried out. He grabbed for it, looked at the display: his own home number. He stopped walking. Cold sweat prickled on his forehead. He thumbed the green button.
‘Who is this?’
‘It’s me,’ Collins said.
Whiteside turned in a circle, looking for Mitchell. He couldn’t see her.
‘What are you doing at my house?’
‘I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go. I can’t go home. I can’t go to the station.’
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Just wait there, stay out of sight. I’ll be there soon.’
He ran to the cruiser, climbed in, started the engine. The tires squealed on the pavement as he pulled out of the lot.
Whiteside steered the cruiser through the gate into his yard. Beneath the carport he saw the shape of a vehicle covered by one of his old tarpaulins. Lee’s rental, he guessed. He pulled up to the bumper, walked around to the rear of his house. The screen door stood ajar. He edged up to it, put his foot on the single step, saw that the back door had been forced. It creaked as he pushed it aside and entered his kitchen.
‘Where are you?’ he called.
Collins stepped into the doorway from the hall. Her cheek was grazed and bruised, a trail of drying blood from a wound on her scalp that still glistened. He grabbed a towel from by the sink and tossed it to her. The scent of stale urine and sweat wafted from her.
‘Christ, you’re bleeding all over my house,’ he said.
She pressed the towel to the wound. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know what to do.’
‘What happened?’
Tears erupted from Collins’ eyes. ‘He made me drive to town. He tied me up in the backseat and went and got Audra Kinney. Then they made me take them out to the cabin.’
Whiteside felt a swelling behind his eyes, pressure in his jaw. If he hadn’t put a hand on the kitchen table, he might have fallen. ‘You took them there?’
‘I had no choice.’
‘You took them there?’ His voice ripped at his throat.
Collins dropped the towel on a chair and took a step back into the hall. He followed her, his fists balled at his sides.
‘Wait, listen. They were gone. We got there, and the trapdoor was open, and the children were gone. I don’t know where they went. I would have been killed if I hadn’t got away. But listen, I’ve been thinking it through. We have no alternative now. We have to turn ourselves in.’
‘Don’t,’ he said.
‘What choice do we have?’ she asked as she backed further along the hall, her voice keening.
He followed her. ‘Stop talking, Mary.’
‘There’s no other way,’ she said.
‘Shut your mouth,’ he said.
‘We’re done, whatever happens now, we’re going to be caught. At least if I hand myself in, I might get some—’
He felt her nose crunch beneath his fist, felt the pain of it coursing up his arm from his hand before he knew he’d thrown the punch.
Collins went down hard. The back of her head connected with the tiled floor. She blinked at the ceiling for a few moments. Then she coughed, spat blood into the air as it coursed from her nose over her lips and cheeks.
‘Fuck,’ Whiteside said. ‘Fuck me.’
He pressed his palms to his temples as if to keep his mind in place, as if it might crack and crumble if he didn’t hold on tight enough.
‘Jesus,’ he said, his voice high and whining.
Collins heaved herself onto her side, then onto her stomach. She tried to get her knees under her, tried to crawl away.
Whiteside knelt down, reached for her. She slapped at his arms, but he gathered her up, held her close.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Christ, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.’
She coughed again, spattering his sleeves with red. Her body jerked and twisted as she tried to pull away.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he said.
Her chin fit neatly into the crook of his elbow as he wrapped his right arm tight around her neck. His left arm curled around the top of her head. He squeezed.
‘So sorry,’ he said.
Her body bucked, her legs kicked, hands grabbing at his arms and shoulders, nails seeking his face.
‘I’m sorry.’
Then she became very still, and he kissed the top of her head as his tears rolled down from his cheeks to soak into her hair.