Widowmaker (Mike Bowditch #7)(42)

The diesel engine of his truck chugged along, the only sound in the clearing.

“That’s quite a speech,” I said.

“I hope you are not mocking me, Warden.”

“I’ve just never heard anyone talk that way about a sex offender before.” I brushed snow off the bridge of my nose. “In my experience, even defense attorneys take hot showers after shaking their hands. And here you are, giving them jobs and welcoming them into your home. I’m curious to know why.”

“Are you a religious man, Warden?”

“It depends on how scared I am.”

“I am not a religious man,” Foss said proudly. “But sometimes I find it useful to quote the Bible to those who profess to believe in it: ‘Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law.’ I don’t believe in Jesus Christ, but I do believe in second chances.”

“That makes two of us,” I said. “I mean the part about believing in second chances. I’m here to stop Adam from throwing his away.”

“How well do you know Langstrom?”

I thought back to the photograph I had seen of him taken at his trial: the familiar face filled with the familiar anger. “Well enough.”

“Then you should give him the courtesy of assuming he knows his own mind and is responsible for his own actions.” He lifted the barrel of his shotgun. “Who is that with you?”

I swung around and saw Mink standing behind me in the snow. I had to hand it to the little guy. He was as stealthy as his namesake weasel.

“Get back in the truck, Mink,” I said.

“I’m just getting some air.”

I turned back to Foss. “He’s just someone I’m giving a ride to. I picked him up hitchhiking.”

“I know who Mink is.” In the headlights shining behind him, his steaming breath made a wreath around his head. “I’m sure you understand that my men and myself are the subject of frequent threats.”

“That’s because they’re a bunch of creeps,” muttered Mink.

Foss seemed to ignore him. “This place is a sanctuary for men in need. I have given them my word that they will be safe here as long as they abide by my rules.”

I gestured to the gate. “Your sign says that you have cameras monitoring this entrance twenty-four hours a day.”

“That’s correct.”

“So you know when Adam left here on a Thursday night two weeks ago?”

For the first time, the big man seemed to falter in his confidence. “I do, but I am not going to tell you.”

“He was last seen driving a pickup truck, but no vehicles are registered in his name. You wouldn’t know whose that was?”

“As I have explained, I was Langstrom’s employer, not his keeper. My men are free to come and go as they please so long as they abide by the orders of their probation and the agreement they signed with me.”

“May I see that agreement?’

“You may not.” Foss removed his fedora and whacked it against his thigh to remove the snow from the brim. “Please express my sympathies to Langstrom’s mother. Tell her that I will welcome her son back if he chooses to return, but it is unlikely the state will give him that option now.”

“Is that piece of trash Dudson still hiding in there?” Mink shouted.

Foss let out another of his thunderous laughs. I had the sense that he didn’t take my passenger seriously. Nor did he extend his exagerratedly formal courtesy to him.

Mink surged forward. “You’ve got a funny sense of right and wrong, buddy!”

“Good night, Warden,” Foss said, returning to his truck.

I couldn’t really be mad at Mink for his outburst. Foss was obviously well practiced at resisting inquiries about his operation and about the ex-cons he sheltered. As I had feared, I had come all this way only to run into a steel gate.





16

The farmhouse at the base of the hill was still dark. The HOME FOR SALE sign in the snowbound yard had taken on added poignancy now that I understood the circumstances. No wonder the poor owner can’t unload his house, I thought. Living down the road from a bunch of sex offenders was not unlike living beside a toxic-waste dump.

Mink and I had almost reached Moose Alley again when we saw headlights headed in our direction. The road here was narrow, especially given the snowbanks, with no place to pull aside to let another driver pass.

I stopped.

The driver of the oncoming vehicle stopped. He turned on his high beams.

With our headlights focused on each other, neither of us could see the other one.

Mink pressed his chest to the dash. “What’s this mook’s problem?”

For me to back up would have meant negotiating a hundred yards of turns—in reverse—into the woods. The driver of the other vehicle had only to scoot back fifty feet to the highway. But he didn’t budge.

I drummed my fingers on the wheel. The height of the headlamps told me we were facing a truck, but I had no clue what kind. All I knew was that the driver was a jerk. The way the day had gone already, I shouldn’t have been surprised to find myself engaged in a meaningless Mexican standoff.

“Honk your horn,” said Mink.

“I’m not going to honk my horn.” I unfastened my seat belt and made ready to get out to confront the unseen person behind the wheel. “Don’t pull any shit this time, or you’ll be walking home.”