We Begin at the End(91)

He wanted to take her hand, despite everything, he’d known her a lifetime. He steeled himself. “How did you find them?”

Emotion left her, she went on, callous facts laid bare. “The call. I knew it was Montana, I filed your receipts. The gas station. And then Hal said the name of the school on the phone with you. And the lake by the farm.”

“You listened in?” he said, stunned. The facts took his breath, he rubbed his eyes, the back of his neck, felt the heat in his cheeks. He stood, felt his knees weak and sat again. “Your hands are bloody, Leah. And for what? For your husband’s business.”

“For them,” she said, loud, and pointed at the house. “For my kids. For all the families we support in this town. It’s just a tape, a fucking tape, Walk. Duchess burned the club down. We all knew it, but you didn’t do anything about it.”

“That’s not—”

“It is, Walk. You know it is. You and Star and your fucking misguided loyalty to Vincent King. Star was his girl, you promised to watch out for her. I know that. You told me you’d do anything for your friends. Same as in high school. If you did your job, if you brought the girl in and—”

“Where’s Darke now?”

“I don’t know.”

He watched her.

“I don’t. I swear it.”

“Duchess. He’s still looking for her?”

“It’s about the money with him, it’s always about the money. He wouldn’t stop, with my help or without.”

He thought of Martha then, at home, running over her closing argument.

“He killed a man. That’s on you.”

She cried hard. “I can’t think of that.”

“Shit, Leah.”

“There’s people in our lives that we’d do anything for. You know that better than anyone.”



That night he walked the streets of the Cape till sun breached the night sky and the day found him. He stopped by the Radley house, Milton’s place, Main and Sunset. He stood by the King house and thought of it being knocked down. Even if Darke didn’t come through with the money then someone else would buy it for less. He thought of shooting hoops on the driveway, of hiding out in the old attic and looking at Rich King’s Playboys. There was a chance they had it right, that Milton had done what Martha said. Maybe Vincent was institutionalized, or maybe he just hated himself so much that he’d rather be put to death than go on living as a free man. There were still so many questions without answers. He knew there was a chance he’d colored it a shade it never was, but still, he felt it in his bones. Vincent King was innocent. And he wouldn’t leave it to chance. Not anymore. He’d come so far, he would get to the finish, even if it cost him his soul.





38


THAT MORNING WALK STOOD IN front of the mirror and shaved.

He watched the basin fill, his face emerged, pale, gaunt, sick. He did not dwell, just splashed his cheeks with icy water and took a long and heavy breath. And then he drove to Las Lomas, and took his seat, and ignored the looks and whispers.

Leah Tallow was led in.

She looked calm, makeup hid the night before, simple dress, heels. She met Walk’s eye as she passed, he did not smile.

Martha ran her background, how she’d worked admin at Cape Haven PD for fifteen years, sometimes dispatch. Part of the furniture, like Walk and Louanne. She spoke confidently, stuttered a couple times but Walk could see the jury liked her.

He’d called her early, told her everything, she’d agreed in a second. A truce of some kind, the repercussions could wait, but this could not. And then he’d called Martha, and told her. And in her voice he heard the doubts, and he knew with some certainty that he was jeopardizing everything they both held dear.

“The system … it’s a running joke. Let’s just say Walk likes things how they were, not how they should be.”

Martha smiled at Walk, who raised his eyebrows. Juror seven caught it and laughed.

“So I’ve been trying to overhaul it for years now, trying to get the file room sorted out. See they brought in new templates four years back, new forms and coding. And the way Walk does it … I mean, there is an order. Organized chaos.”

Deschamps stood, Rhodes moved it on, Martha apologized.

“So I’ve been at it three months now. I’m up to 1993, and that’s when I found it.”

Martha held up the paper. Deschamps objected, the judge called them over to the bench. Walk heard heat in Deschamps’s voice, red face as she turned, shook her head once and returned to her seat. Rhodes allowed it into evidence.

“Can you tell me what it is?” Martha said.

“It’s a break-in report from November 3rd 1993. Number One Sunset Road, the residence of Gracie King.”

“Vincent King’s home. The house he returned to after his release.”

“Yes.”

“Does it say what was stolen.”

“Yes. Chief Walker was thorough, like always. He went through it with Gracie King, Vincent’s mother. Turned out she forgot to lock the safe. They took two hundred dollars in cash, a gold brooch and some diamond earrings. And a handgun.”

“A handgun?”

“Yes. A Ruger Blackhawk.”

Murmurs, till Rhodes quietened them. Deschamps went back to the bar, argued some more with the judge. It got heated enough for Rhodes to call a fifteen-minute break.