We Begin at the End(104)

Walk thought of Vincent on the other end. He wondered how ground down he was, if there was any of the kid left in there. “You banked on the boy not remembering.”

“I saw him, gone like that, out of this world. I don’t think he knows. So I told him I did it. That’s enough, just that doubt. Let someone else take it away. Fuck, he deserved that. I tried to bring her back. I pumped her chest with everything I got.”

Walk thought of Star, the broken ribs. And he thought of Darke and Madeline and the cruel hand of fate.

“You lied for me. You stood in court, wearing your badge, and you lied. You still know yourself, Walk?”

“No.”

“You can’t save someone that doesn’t want to be saved.”

Quiet a long time.

“How’s things with Martha?”

Walk just about managed a smile. “That’s why you wanted her.”

“A million tragedies began that night, Walk. Most of them I can’t fix.”

Walk thought of Robin Radley. “I used to want to go back and do it all again. But now I’m just tired. So fucking tired. Maybe you did a good thing.”

“I owe a debt to the Radleys. He might not remember. He’s small. I could die giving him his life back. There’s a chance it’ll all stay black.”

“You near gave your life for a chance.”

“I couldn’t let him be me.”





45


WALK DROVE DOWN LAST ROADS, each mile behind one he would not travel again. He had spent a life afraid of change. He had killed. Nothing outward was different, he knew it would not be. The bay came at him in such glory, he kept his eyes on broken lines.

Twenty miles from home he found the place, a storage facility, West Gale, tired, red lockups, no office, just a number to call if you needed service.

Walk pulled up, headed over and took the keys from his pocket. He checked the number on the tag and found one of the smaller units. He unlocked it and stepped into dark, found the switch, light flickered, strips cast dull yellow.

On one side he found a couple of plastic storage containers. He worked slow, saw everything from an old, happier life. Wedding album, Darke looked young, tall but not so imposing, his wife was beautiful. And there were photos of Madeline, brown hair and light eyes, wide smile in every shot. She looked like her mother. A christening gown, an old wedding dress, the kind of things passed down generations.

Walk would keep hold of it, pay the rental, let the people at the hospital know where it was in case miracles did happen.

He was about to turn, to kill the lights and lock up when he saw a pile of boxes and garbage bags in the far corner. He checked them, old files, nothing of note, and then he saw a stack of junk mail. And he saw the name and address. Dee Lane.

He trained his mind back a year before it came to him. Darke’s offer to store her things while she found someplace else to live. Before they made that deal she’d carry with her.

He tossed the mail back onto the pile then cursed when the whole thing toppled. As he bent down it came to view. Out of place.

A single videotape.

He drove back toward the Cape, breached the town limit, saw a new sign, hard metal and towering scaffold, light fell on the promise of new homes, new stores. The motion had passed silently, Walk distracted, just another change in a changing world.

The station was dark. He left the lights off, sat in his office and loaded the tape, then frowned when he saw The Eight, Darke’s club. And then he noted the date in the top corner, and his pulse began to quicken as he realized what he was watching.

It covered a day, he rolled it forward till he saw her, Star, working the bar. He watched her like the ghost she was, the way she smiled and flirted as the tips rained down. He skipped a little, stopped at a scuffle, bodies everywhere. Star fell back, clutched her eye and appeared to curse. She was stumbling, moving like the liquor had finally taken effect.

Walk couldn’t see who the guy was, back to the camera.

But then the man walked out.

He recognized the limp, the pain it took to try and correct it.

Brandon Rock.

He searched again, rolled it forward till he saw her, clear as day. Small, blonde hair, face tortured with hate as she worked. He watched Duchess start the fire that would burn for a year.

When he was done he stood. He took off his badge and placed it on the desk, then took the tape from the machine and stepped out into the night air. He walked a little up Main, snapped the tape from the case and pulled out the reel, then he dropped it into the trash.

*

The King house was empty.

Duchess stood out front, an old Taurus parked up at the curb. She’d taken the keys from a lady playing the slots in a bar in Camarillo. She’d leave it there, keys inside, too tired to feel sorry now.

She’d circled it and knocked on the door. There was doubt that lingered, that she could go through with it, despite the journey she had been on to get close to this moment.

As she’d driven down Main she had stared at streets like she expected something to have changed in the year she’d been away, nothing major, just something that told her Cape Haven was not the same without her and her small family. Instead she saw the town at rest, nothing different, not even a yard left overgrown. Just gloss, like her mother’s blood had been painted over so thoroughly, like she had never been.

She went round to the back again, found a rock and broke a window, crashing waves stole the sound.