We Begin at the End(74)

He walked up Main, head down, ignored greetings, stopping only when Alice Owen blocked his path, the dog in her arms.

“Could you watch her for a moment, Walk. I just have to run in—”

“I have to be somewhere.”

“Literally, one minute.” She thrust the dog at him, the fucking snappy bastard of a dog, then headed into Brandt’s Deli. He watched her inside, small talk with the girl behind the counter, no doubt ordering some kind of soy bean monstrosity from the new machine while she deliberated over the twenty-dollar cheeses.

He looked down at the dog and watched the teeth bare, and then back to Alice, who’d run into Bree Evans and was talking animatedly.

And then he looked at his badge, and he thought of his days, his fucking, soulless perfect days.

He set the dog down, unclipped the leash and dropped it into the trash can beside.

The mutt looked up at him, confusion in its bulbous eyes. And then, tentatively, it took in the wild around, channeled its inner animal and began to trot its way down Main.

Walk left, cut through a vacant lot, massaged his hands and straightened his back. This was his act now, his side to the world. Pill rolling, slowed down, hard to concentrate on anything at all.

He stood outside the small house and stared. He hadn’t seen the men work, didn’t even know the old place had been remodeled. It had come to him an hour after Martha headed home, when he was reading interviews for the hundredth time.

Dee Lane.

She’d met Darke in the bank, First Union, where she’d worked as a teller as long as Walk could remember. He called Leah when he realized they didn’t have an up-to-date address for her, felt his heart sink a little when Leah told him Dee still lived at the house on Fortuna Avenue, the same house Darke owned and served notice on.

But it was tired no longer; new windows, new porch. The wood stained fresh and the paint shone, the yard, new grass and flowers planted. There was a gate, a fence, pride in place of despair.

She met him at the door, before he could knock, small smile as she stood aside and he went into the house.

Inside was mostly the same, instead of the cardboard boxes he saw a life unpacked, the photos and the furniture all in their place again. She went to make coffee. He asked if he could use the bathroom then headed up the stairs. He saw the elder girl’s room, Yale pennant, long time off but Walk heard both kids were smart enough. And then the younger’s, painted pink, new throw on the bed. Not obscene money but there was a new television and computer. He used to know both kids’ names but found them just beyond his grasp.

Back down and Dee led him out to the yard, where they sat at a small table.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said.

“I’m just glad Darke let you have your old place back. I thought it’d be pulled down by now, make way for the millions and all that.”

She sipped her coffee and watched the water like it was brand new, not just newly unveiled.

“It’s a view.”

“Sure is. I almost don’t believe it, when I wake up. Early now, maybe five. I like to watch the sunset, you seen it over the water, Walk?”

“Sure.”

She lit a cigarette and breathed it like it was all that kept her from screaming out. He knew what she’d done, she knew it, yet there were still lines to run, practice for the most tiresome of plays.

“So, you were with Darke that night. Star. That night when she was shot dead.”

Dee flinched at that, like it was not necessary. “We’ve been through this.”

“We have.”

“You look tired, Walk.”

He steadied his hand, buried it beneath the table, pulled on his sunglasses as clouds moved in.

“He was here, that night. What were you doing? Remind me.”

“Fucking.” She spoke without emotion.

A while back and he might’ve blushed. Instead he smiled a sad smile, but he got it. There was no hatred there.

“I worked my whole …” She held the smoke deep. “I paid my taxes, raised my children, didn’t murder my cheating husband. I never took anything from anyone.”

He sipped his coffee, too hot to taste.

“You know how much money I make in a year, Walk?”

“Not enough.”

“He doesn’t pay child support. Is that fair? He hides it all so he doesn’t have to pay for the girls he brought into the world.” She looked down. “The Radley kids. Are they—”

“Their mother is dead.”

“Jesus, Walk.” She dragged a hand through her hair. Thin wrists, veins standing proud. “You gonna make this harder than it needs to be. You got the man already, right?”

“You didn’t think to ask where Darke really was that night.”

She tipped her head back, mouth a little open as she blew the smoke away.

“Did you at least get security?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” She met his eye with tears in hers.

“I could call you in, make you testify. You know what the penalty is for perjury?” Maybe he could prove Darke had lied, but it didn’t mean shit, not really, not without so much more.

She closed her eyes. “There’s no family. Just me and the girls. No one else at all.”

He would not tear a mother from her children. The toll was too great. He knew that from talking to Hal and watching Duchess and Robin.