Redemption Road(113)

“Adrian didn’t kill her.”

“I completely agree.”

Elizabeth grew still because his certainty didn’t fit. Cops doubted Adrian to the point of hatred. Since Julia Strange, that’s what they did. She narrowed her eyes, looking for the trick. “What’s changed?”

“The second body.”

“What about it?”

Randolph waited a beat, then stepped left to reveal a photograph on the board. “I’m sorry about this. I’d tell Adrian the same thing if I could.”

“Oh, my God.” Elizabeth stepped closer to the photograph, knowing the smile, the eyes, all of it. “How could this be?”

“We don’t know yet.”

She touched the photo, remembering the woman as she’d been: beautiful and quiet and somewhat sad.

Catherine Wall.

Adrian’s wife.

*

Elizabeth didn’t wait for Francis Dyer to come looking. She found him in his office, on the phone. Beckett was there, too. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

Dyer met her eyes, still on the phone. “No, she’s here now. I’ll handle it. Thanks for the heads-up.” He settled the phone on its receiver. “Apparently, you made quite an entrance.” He gestured at Beckett, who closed the door. “That was the FBI agent in command. He wants to know what a suspended detective is doing poking around in what is now the heart of a multijurisdictional operation.”

“When were you going to tell me?”

“I’m asking the questions,” Dyer said.

“When?”

“Liz, listen—”

She swung to Beckett, hands fisted on her hips. “Don’t tell me about task force protocol, Charlie. I know the protocols. I don’t care about that.” She turned back to Dyer, her voice tight. “When did you plan to tell me that Adrian Wall is in the clear?”

“He’s not.”

“His wife is a victim. She died after his incarceration.”

“Adrian beat a prison guard to death with his bare hands.” Dyer leaned back and touched his fingertips together. “He may as well have killed a cop.”

Elizabeth turned away, reeling from the injustice of it all. Adrian went to prison for something he didn’t do. Now, he was wanted for killing a guard he should never have known. “He’s lost thirteen years, and now his wife.”

“I can’t change the fact he killed William Preston. Officer Olivet has given a sworn statement. We’ll have DNA soon.” Dyer opened a drawer and removed her service weapon and shield, placing them on the desk. “Take them.”

“What?”

“Take them back, and tell me where to find Adrian Wall.”

Elizabeth considered the badge and understood the offer. She could be a cop again, and word would descend from on high: Liz is in the fold; Liz is one of us. But, readmission came with a price, and the price was Adrian Wall. “What if I told you Channing Shore was missing?”

“I’d tell you she’s a grown woman, free on bond. She can go anywhere she wants. Take the badge.”

“What if I told you she was in trouble?”

“Do you have some proof of this? Something concrete?” Elizabeth opened her mouth, but knew it was pointless. A smear of blood. A lost phone. “Take the shield. Tell me where to find Adrian Wall.”

His palm was on the badge and the gun, his fingers spread. He didn’t care about Channing. He wanted Adrian. That’s all he wanted.

She pointed at Beckett. “What about you?”

“I think she’s an unhappy young woman, and she’ll turn up when she’s ready. This is more important.”

“So it’s all about Adrian?”

“Officer Preston had a wife and kids. I have a wife and kids.”

Elizabeth stared from one man to the other. There was no give or doubt. “If I give him to you, I want help with Channing.”

“What kind of help?” Dyer asked.

“Resources. Manpower. I want her name on the wires. I want her found, and I want it a priority. Local, state, and federal.”

“Do you know where to find Adrian?”

“I do.”

“And you’ll tell me where he is?”

“If you help me find Channing.”

Dyer slid the badge across the desk. “Take it.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“I’ll help you find her.”

“All right.” Elizabeth picked up the badge; clipped it on her belt. She lifted the weapon, checked the loads.

“That’s the easy part.” Dyer pushed pen and paper across the desk.

Elizabeth looked once at Beckett, then wrote down an address and room number.

“Don’t hurt him,” she said.

Then slid the paper back across the desk.





30

Channing felt as if she were dying, and that was all about the heat. It filled the silo, pressed her into the dirt. After so many hours, she didn’t have any tears left, or sweat. She had the dark and the heat and a single question.

When was he coming back?

That was the only thing that mattered. Not why it would happen or where she was, but when?

When would he come?