Redemption Road(41)

Slipping a bolt, she opened a hinged plate and peered into the cell. For some reason she held her breath, and the silence seemed to radiate outward. No movement in the cell. No sound beyond a whisper.

It was Adrian, in the corner, on the floor. He had bare feet. No shirt. His face was tucked into knees.

“Adrian?”

The cell was dark, dim light fingering its way past Elizabeth’s head. She said his name again, and he looked up, blinking. “Who’s there?”

“It’s Liz.”

He pushed himself up. “Who’s there with you?”

“It’s just me.”

“I heard voices.”

“No.” Liz glanced down the hall. “No one else.” He shuffled closer. “Where’s your shirt? Your shoes?”

He made a vague gesture. “It’s hot in here.”

It looked it. Sweat glinted on his skin, beaded under his eyes. Parts of him seemed to be missing. The intellect. Much of his awareness. He tilted his head and sweat rolled on his face.

“Why are you here, Liz?”

“Are you okay, Adrian? Look at me.” She gave him time, and he took it. She noticed small twitches in the muscles of his shoulders, the single shudder that led to a cough. “Did something happen after they brought you in? I know it was rough, but were you mistreated? Threatened? You seem…” She trailed off because she didn’t want to finish the thought, that he seemed less.

“Darkness. Walls.” He offered a difficult smile. “I don’t do well in small spaces.”

“Claustrophobia?”

“Something like that.”

He tried to smile, but it turned into another round of coughing, another twenty seconds of the shakes. Her eyes moved down his chest, and across his stomach.

“Jesus, Adrian.”

He saw her looking at the scars and turned away. His back, though, was as bad as his chest. How many pale, white lines were there? Twenty-five? Forty?

“Adrian…”

“It’s nothing.”

“What did they do to you?”

He picked up the shirt and shrugged it on. “I said it’s nothing.”

She looked more closely at his face and saw for the first time how bones did not line up as she remembered. Shadows filled the hollow place beside his left eye. The nose was not quite the same. She threw a glance down the hall. She had minutes. No more. “Have they questioned you about the church?”

Adrian put his palms flat against the door and kept his head down. “I thought you were suspended.”

“How do you know about that?”

“Francis told me.”

“What else did he tell you?”

“To stay away from you. To keep my mouth shut and not drag you into my problems.” Adrian looked up, and for an instant the years faded. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t kill her.”

He was talking about the church, the new victim.

“Did you kill Julia Strange?”

It was the first time Elizabeth had ever questioned his innocence, and the moment stretched as muscles tightened in his jaw and old wounds pulled apart. “I did the time, didn’t I?”

His gaze, then, was clear and angry. Same Adrian. None of the weakness.

“You should have taken the stand,” she said. “You should have answered the question.”

“The question.”

“Yes.”

“Shall I answer it, now?”

The words were flat, but the stare was so intent a throb began at the base of Elizabeth’s skull. He knew what she wanted. Of course, he knew. She’d waited every day of his trial for the question to be answered. There would be an explanation, she’d thought. Everything would make sense.

But he never took the stand.

The question was never answered.

“It’s what it comes down to, isn’t it?” He watched her. “The scratches on my neck. The skin under her nails.”

“An innocent man would have explained it.”

“Things were complicated, then.”

“So, explain it now.”

“Will you help me if I do?”

There it was, she thought. The convict Beckett had warned her about. The user. The player.

“Why your skin was under Julia Strange’s nails?” He looked away, jawline clenched. “Tell me or I walk.”

“Is that a threat?”

“A requirement.”

Adrian sighed and shook his head. When he spoke, he knew how it would sound. “I was sleeping with her.”

A pause. A slow blink. “You were having an affair with Julia Strange?”

“Catherine and I were in a bad place.…”

“Catherine was pregnant.”

“I didn’t know she was pregnant. That came after.”

“Jesus…”

“I’m not trying to justify it, Liz. I just want you to understand. The marriage wasn’t working. I didn’t love Catherine, and she didn’t much love me, either. The baby was a last, desperate try, I think. I didn’t even know she was pregnant until she lost it.”

Elizabeth took a step away; came back. The pieces were ugly. She didn’t want them to fit. “Why didn’t you testify about the affair? The DNA evidence convicted you. If there was an explanation, you should have given it.”