City of the Lost (Casey Duncan #1)(17)

He makes a motion. I won’t call it a nod. But it’s assent of some sort, however grudging. Then he escorts me out, and as I leave, I realize I never even got his name. Not that it matters. I have what I want. So does he.





Two

The next morning, I get a call. Me, not Diana. We’re in, and they need to meet us to discuss the next steps. By “they,” I mean Valerie and the sheriff. I don’t realize that until we show up, in a local park at noon, and he’s there. He doesn’t say a word, just points at me and then at a trail path into the forest.

“Is it just me,” Diana whispers as he walks away, “or is he seriously creepy?”

He turns and fixes Diana with a look, and she gives a little squeak.

I tell her to go with Valerie, and I jog after the sheriff. Even when I catch up, he doesn’t acknowledge I’m there.

“Thank you,” I say, because I mean it. I really do. Only once we’re past the forest’s edge does he slow. His shoulders unknot just a little, and he says,

“You’re a goddamn train wreck, Detective Duncan.”

I stutter-step to a halt. “Excuse me?”

“That’s why I don’t want you in my town. Not because of what you did. I ask for a detective, and they give me one who’s hell-bent on her own destruction. I don’t need that shit. I really don’t.”

I should be outraged. This * presumes to know me after a background check and a twenty-minute chat?

Except I’m not outraged. I feel like I’ve found something here. Something I didn’t get in all those damned therapy sessions, pouring my guts on the floor for the professionals to pick through, like augurs. Ah, here’s your problem, Casey Duncan.

“Runaway train,” I say.

“What?”

“A train wreck implies I’ve already crashed. If I’m hell-bent on my own destruction, I’m still heading for that crash. Which is probably worse, because the crash is still coming.”

His eyes narrow as if I’m mocking him. I push my shades onto my head so he can see I’m not. He only snorts, his all-purpose reaction.

“Are you warning me off in case I try to renege on the deal? I won’t. I made it; I stick to it, and I genuinely thank you for anything you did to get Diana in.”

“Six months.”

He resumes walking. Before I can speak, he leaves the path and heads into the forest. It doesn’t seem to be a conscious change of direction. He just walks that way as if the path veered.

“She can only stay six months?” I say. “Okay, that’s—”

“You. They insist on it. If you don’t show up, they’ll kick her out.”

He stops short as the shade of the forest creeps over us, and he stares as if the trees have risen in our path.

An abrupt turn and he heads back to the path. “They’ll say it’s two years, but you get six months. That’s between us. I’ll work out an exit strategy.”

When I go silent, he says, “And this is one reason I don’t want you there. I’m offering you escape, and you don’t give a shit.”

“No, I—”

“You don’t think you deserve to escape. You killed a man, and you should pay the price.”

I tell myself there’s nobility in that, honour and justice. But in his voice, all I hear is disgust, like I’m a penitent flagellating herself.

“I’ll go,” I say. “You might not want me there, sheriff, but you won’t regret it. There’s one thing I’m good at, and that’s my job. I might be able to help with your problems.”

He shakes his head. “I’ve seen your record, detective. Fucking impressive. But that’s here. And where we’re going? It’s not here.”





Three

I have ninety-six hours to prepare for my disappearance. Diana has twenty-four. I expect my extra three days come courtesy of the sheriff. As a cop, he knows I shouldn’t walk away from my job.

I’m about to disappear. I’m not going to fake my death. I’m not even going to vanish in the night. The art of disappearing, it seems, is not to disappear at all. You just leave … after extensive and open preparation. Cancel all appointments. Pay your bills. Give notice at your job. Tell your friends and family. Make up a story. Lie about where you’re going, but make it clear they shouldn’t expect to hear from you for a few years. If possible, give those messages at the last moment, when it’s too late for them to argue.

The core concept is simple: give no one any cause to come after you. We’re even supposed to overpay our taxes, as painful at that might be.

There is some misdirection involved as well, because no matter how careful you are, a friend or family member might try to file a missing person’s report. So you leave hints about where you’ve gone. Calgary, Valerie recommended for us. Don’t say that outright, but run computer searches on apartment rentals and jobs in Calgary. Leave an “accidental” trail in case someone decides to hunt us down.

I tell my sister I’m going. It’s a brief conversation. We exchange duty calls at Christmas and birthdays and that’s it. She expresses no surprise that I’m moving with Diana again. It’s what she expects from her feckless little sister.

I set up my departure at work by talking to my partner about Kurt’s shooting and mention bad memories resurfacing from my own assault. I tell him about the attack on Diana and vent my frustration with the system. I’ll quit at the last moment, with an e-mail to my sergeant, cc’ing my union rep. I spend most of those four days at the station, getting my cases in order, so they’ll know, looking back, that I’d been preparing for this.