The Accomplice(83)

“Ms. Grey, Agent Murdoch here. Thank you for returning my call.”

“Is John dead?” Luna asked.

Luna couldn’t fathom another reason for the call.

“No, miss. Is this a good time? Are you able to speak freely?”

“I guess so,” she said. “I’m getting scared.”

“Nothing to be scared about, okay?” the agent said. “I’m going to ask you a favor. And you can say yes or no.”

“Okay,” Luna said.

“As you know, John Brown has been incarcerated at Sterling Correctional Facility for more than eight years now. I interviewed him a few weeks ago, and he suggested that he may have information about other murders.”

“Murders he committed?” Luna said.

She searched her room for something to throw up in. The wastebasket was one of those dumb mesh ones.

“Possibly,” said Murdoch. “We want to know, one way or the other.”

“I don’t understand,” Luna said.

“He won’t tell us where the bodies are,” Murdoch said.

“What bodies?”

“This is where you come in. Mr. Brown has asked to see you. He said that if you came to visit him, he would tell you where he buried his other victims.”

“There were more?” Luna said, her voice breaking, hot tears falling, something primal pulling her away from her body so she wouldn’t be stuck in it. She was watching a version of herself on the phone with the FBI agent.

“Could be a ploy. But we need to know.”

“What do you want me to do?” Luna said.

Murdoch could hear the shift in her tone, tears sopped up, a flatness entering her voice. “We’d like to fly you out and have you talk to him. If he did kill other women, those families would want closure. You would never have to be alone with him. You’d be safe. I promise. You can stop at any time if you’re feeling uncomfortable. We can also arrange for you to talk to a psychologist, if that would help. Whatever you need.”

“Have you spoken to my mother?”

“No,” Agent Murdoch said. “Do you want to discuss it with her?”

“No. Don’t call her. Please.”

“You’re an adult. It’s up to you,” he said, relieved.

There was a long silence. Murdoch could hear Luna’s staccato breathing.

“How are you doing, Ms. Grey?”

“Okay,” she said.

“Okay, you’ll do it?” Murdoch asked.

She was going to finish the call, then vomit.

“I’ll do it,” she said.



* * *



—

Friday morning, Casey drove Luna to Albany International Airport.

“Does Griff know about your plans?” Casey asked.

“No,” Luna snapped. “And let’s keep it that way.”

“Got it.”

“I’m sorry,” Luna said. “I’m just—”

“Stressed out about visiting a murderer in prison?” Casey said. “Hey, we’ve all been there.”

When Casey returned home, Mason was on the phone with Griff. Mason had the expression of someone talking to a senile person. Griff had thought Luna was going to visit her mother in Ontario and had just called to say goodbye. Mason, who did not share Casey’s steely adherence to secrecy, told Griff everything that Luna had not.



* * *



—

Murdoch picked up Luna at the airport Friday evening. He forgot how young twenty-one could look. He pictured this young woman sitting just a few feet away from convicted murderer John Brown, predacious and salivating, the Big Bad Wolf. When Murdoch dropped Luna at the Marriott—one of those giant businessmen’s compounds—he felt uneasy, knowing that lesser wolves lay inside. Murdoch offered to buy Luna dinner. She politely declined.

“Order room service,” Murdoch said. “Anything you want. There are movies you can buy. You might think they’re too expensive. They’re not. That’s what movies cost in hotels. If you want to watch three movies, go right ahead. Okay?”

“Okay,” Luna said.

Murdoch confirmed that Luna had his cell number and reminded her to call at any time. When he got home, he worried and phoned her hotel room. She answered right away, assuaging his fears. He’d been imagining her at the bar, drunk and alone and talking to god knew who. The last thing he needed was the girl hungover when she saw Brown for the first time in eight years.



* * *



—

Murdoch had warned Luna about the long day ahead. It was a two-hour drive to Sterling, Colorado. The agent had considered getting a hotel closer to the prison but decided against it. He thought the girl would do better spending a night in a proper hotel, miles away from John Brown. And he could use the driving time to debrief her. Agent Murdoch had two daughters, both much younger than Luna, but that fact forced him to be on high alert for any precarious moments with John Brown. Luna seemed like a good kid. He didn’t like what she’d done for her brother, but he figured she’d paid for it already. Murdoch worried about the psychological ramifications. Sometimes when you talked to someone who was truly sick, some of that sickness could stick to you, like drifting ash after a fire. He needed to be sure she was ready.