Redemption Road(83)

“Where was Detective Black at this time?”

“In the other room.”

“Could you see her?”

“Yes. Sometimes.”

“Can you be more specific?” She shook her head; kept shaking it. A full minute passed. “This is what you’re here for,” Hamilton said. “This is what we need.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she scrubbed it away. “Elizabeth was on the mattress.”

“Was she awake?”

“Yes.”

“Was she wired?”

The girl said nothing. Another tear fell.

“We need to understand the level of her incapacity, Channing. If she was able to act? Why she didn’t? You tell us she’s not the shooter.…”

The girl looked at the two-way glass, and Beckett, on the other side, felt the stare all the way down in his soul.

He’d made this happen.

He’d done it.

“She was wired to the mattress,” Channing said. “Facedown…”

*

Twenty minutes later Beckett hit the door, and Francis Dyer followed him out into the hall. People stopped and stared. They knew what was happening. Not specifics, but they knew. “What the hell have I done?” Beckett pushed into an empty office. Dyer followed. “Jesus Christ, Francis. Liz will never forgive me.”

“You saved her life. No charges. No prison. You did what cops are supposed to do. You got to the bottom of things.”

“I made her a victim.”

“Titus Monroe did that.”

“You think she’ll be a cop again? You think she’ll just get over it? People will see that testimony. Every cop in here will know what happened, that I broke the most important part of her.”

“You didn’t—”

“That’s bullshit, Francis. We all have our armor; we all need it.” Beckett dragged his hands through his hair. “She’ll never forgive me. Not for this. Not after I promised.”

“Why don’t you get out of here? Take the day. Take a drive.”

“Yeah. Sure. A drive.”

“I’ll need the affidavit, though.”

“What?”

“Billy Bell’s affidavit. The one you showed the girl.”

“Jesus, man. There is no affidavit.” Beckett laughed a ragged laugh and withdrew the same piece of folded paper from his pocket. “This is a blank page. I just pulled it off the printer.”





19

Crybaby called it a cabin, but that was not accurate. The driveway cut through private forest for over a mile, ending on a bluff above a mirrored lake that blurred into the feet of distant mountains. The cabin, made of stone and wood, was massive and so permanent looking it could have been carved from the earth itself.

Elizabeth climbed from the car and took it all in: the hundred-year oaks, the plunging views. “‘The cabin’s yours,’ he says. ‘Have a drink, relax.’”

That wasn’t going to happen.

She followed a walkway to the back of the house. Bushes were overgrown, but the grass had been cut often enough to hold the forest back. She found the key where he’d said it would be, beneath a flat rock on the other side of the empty pool. Unlocking the main door, Elizabeth disengaged the alarm and entered the house, passing through a vaulted foyer and into the main room, where a wall of glass framed views of the lake and mountains. The fireplace was large enough to sit in. She saw sheeted furniture, books, a table long enough to feed thirty people. Dust covered everything, with tracks where the caretaker had been through on previous occasions. She followed them into the kitchen, then upstairs, and outside onto an upper balcony that felt like the roof of the world.

“Damn, Crybaby.”

She’d forgotten the magnitude of his success, the raw power he used to wield both in and out of court. Back inside, she studied photographs that stretched back six decades or more: Crybaby with past presidents, celebrities, the woman who’d been his wife. The distraction bought five minutes peace, then she moved onto the porch that faced the drive. It was fifteen feet deep and forty long. A dozen rocking chairs were turned upside down to protect them from the wind. Righting one, she dragged it to the low, stone wall that fronted the drive. The old lawyer would follow the drive, so that was the place to wait.

But, waiting was hard.

She sat. She paced.

The soft, warm day ate her alive.

*

The first sign of his arrival came midafternoon: a sudden stillness in the forest, then the hum of tires. By the time the limousine appeared in the clearing, Elizabeth was off the porch and in the drive. Her hand was on his door before the vehicle came to a complete stop.

“What?” She read his features the instant she saw them. “What went wrong?”

The old man extended a hand. “Help me, if you would.” She helped him from the car. He looked tired in the wrinkled jacket and put more weight on the cane than usual. “Are you hungry? We stopped for a few things.…”

“I’m not hungry. Where’s Channing?”

“Take my arm.”

“Faircloth, please.”

“Take it. Walk with me.” He firmed as he moved, guiding her to the shade of the porch. “Would you?” He gestured at a second chair, and she turned it over for him. Dropping into the chair, he told her, “Sit, sit.” She ignored the chair beside him, choosing instead to settle on the stone wall so their knees nearly touched. “We used to have such parties here. People would come from all over, you know. Europe and Washington and Hollywood.”