Widowmaker (Mike Bowditch #7)(49)

Meltwater had formed around my boots. I tried to shake some of it off before I crossed the carpet to an armchair.

“I didn’t know where you’d gone,” I said. “All the bartender told me was that you’d gotten a phone call and run off.”

She let her head loll in my direction. “Steve—he’s a cop I know—he called me when he found Adam’s truck. It’s funny, you know? I rushed all the way out there, but when I got there, all I could do was wait. Wait to give a statement. ‘Yeah, Officer, that’s my truck.’ Wait for the dogs to search the area. Wait for the CSI people to show up. Now I get to wait to hear if the blood they found matches my son’s.”

I had no idea if the police had Adam’s DNA on file; it isn’t always the case with prisoners, despite what many people think. The investigators would only be able to cross-reference the blood type in Adam’s medical records. A true DNA test would likely take weeks, unless Clegg pushed to expedite. I had no idea where Adam Langstrom ranked on his to-do list.

“You weren’t honest with me, Amber,” I said. “You never told me you’d bought Adam a truck. Don’t you think that was information I could have used to look for him?”

“I guess.” She picked at a full ashtray on the table beside her until she found a roach with something left in it. She pinched the stub to her mouth and flicked the lighter.

“No more pot,” I said.

“You’re such a f*cking Boy Scout, aren’t you? Colby graduate. Game warden. The perfect son.”

Hardly, I thought.

She sighed and lit a cigarette instead. “Or maybe you’re just a tight-assed prick.”

“Tell me about the truck.”

“I knew he’d need a vehicle when he got out,” she said, “so I paid cash for it over in Farmington. I drained my checking account to buy it. After he disappeared, I didn’t want the cops to know he was driving it. I didn’t want them to put out an APB—or wherever you call it—on the license plate. I was hoping you would find him or he would turn himself in and not have to go back to prison.”

“I thought you’d want to hear what Josh Davidson told me,” I said.

“What’s the point?” she said. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“It might matter.” I massaged my kneecaps. “Josh told me he loaned Adam some money the night he disappeared.”

She leaned her head back and exhaled a cloud at the ceiling tiles. “So?”

“What did he need the money for?”

“I don’t know.”

“Think hard.”

“I’m tired of thinking.” Her eyes had a sheen that looked more like oil than water. “That’s all I’ve been doing since I got home—thinking how Adam’s life was cursed on account of me. It wasn’t his fault I fell for Jack, or that A.J. could never look at him without picturing what I’d done. I was kind of relieved when A.J. finally ran off with that whore from New Hampshire. It seemed like a good omen. Then Adam got into ASA, and for a while it seemed like his luck—our luck—might have been turning around. He was winning ski races. Getting OK grades. Why’d he have to meet that cunt Alexa Davidson?”

Smoke had begun to slither toward me across the room. “I know you’re grieving, but—”

“Adam was raped in prison,” she said, lapsing back into monotone. “He told me about it one day when I went to visit. Just broke down into tears and called me ‘Mommy’ and whispered what they’d done to him. One of them bit off part of his ear! He’d been trying to act so tough before, like he could take care of himself. I’d been trying to tell myself not to worry, and then all my worries came true. He begged me not to say anything to the guards, said it would be even worse if I did. I remember coming out of the prison, and it was seventy degrees and bright sunshine, and I realized it was the worst day of my life. Until today.”

Suddenly, she let out a curse as the cigarette burned her finger. Reflexively, she dropped the butt to the carpet, where it continued to smolder. She watched it, unmoving, uncaring, until the ember died.

“I would have done anything for my son,” she said. “And I mean anything. I would’ve let every HIV-positive scumbag in that prison gangbang me if it meant they left Adam alone. I would have traded places with him in a second.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. “It must have been hard for you.”

“Not as hard as when he got out,” she said. “I thought it was going to be a second chance for him—for us. But Adam had already given up. ‘You know what the worst thing is, Mom?’ he said. ‘The worse thing is they’ll never stop punishing me. Any other crime—I could’ve run over a kid or stabbed someone in a bar—and eventually they’d say, “All right, you’ve paid your debt to society, go live your life.” But they’re never going to let me pay my debt,’ he said. ‘Every time I ask a girl out now, she’s going to Google my name. “Once a sex offender, always a sex offender.” And all I did was have sex with my girlfriend.’”

Amber reached for her lighter again and her pack of Capri cigarettes.

“Did you end up going out to Don Foss’s place?” she asked, seemingly out of nowhere.