by Haylen Beck
Louise buried her face in Audra’s bosom, but Sean watched. Audra pulled him in tight, guided his face away with her hand.
Danny took a knife from the sheath hooked to his belt, the one he’d taken from the old man’s cabin wall. He held it before Whiteside’s eyes, sunlight glinting on the metal. Then he grabbed the sheriff’s left ear, readied the blade.
‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘or I’ll show you why they call me Knife Boy.’
‘Four o’clock,’ Whiteside said through his teeth. ‘Halfway between Las Vegas and here. At a closed-down shopping mall off I-40.’
Danny released Whiteside’s ear and said, ‘That’s what, two hours away?’
‘About that.’
Danny looked at his watch, went quiet for a moment, then said, ‘It’s two, maybe two and a half hours back to Silver Water. We should go. Hand this piece of shit over to Mitchell.’
‘No,’ Audra said.
Danny looked at her, confused. ‘What?’
‘The exchange is two hours northwest of here at four p.m.’
‘So he says.’
‘What time is it now?’ she asked.
Danny looked at his watch again. ‘One forty.’
‘I can handle Whiteside,’ Audra said. She looked at the battered and rusted truck parked beside the cabin, then back at Danny. ‘Just help me get him into the cruiser and I’ll take him back. There’ll be a cage between him and us. He can’t hurt us anymore. You take the pickup and go to the exchange. Find those men. Then you ask them the question you asked the others, those cops who took your little girl.’
Danny held her stare for a moment, then turned his eyes away. ‘I already know the answer.’
‘No, you don’t,’ Audra said. ‘Not for sure.’
He exhaled, a quivering sigh. ‘Maybe I don’t want to know. Maybe I’ve got used to the idea of never finding those men.’
‘I don’t think that’s true,’ Audra said. ‘You won’t have peace until you know.’
‘And if I ask them, and they don’t give me the right answer …’
He returned his gaze to hers and she realized he sought her permission, as if it could ever be hers to give.
‘Then you do what you have to do,’ she said.
58
DANNY WATCHED THE black SUV enter the empty parking lot through the grime on the pickup truck’s windshield. He checked his wristwatch: five minutes to four. He had arrived almost fifteen minutes before that. The old pickup had rattled and wheezed so much along the way that he’d feared it might not survive the journey. It didn’t matter now. If things went as he planned, he wouldn’t need the truck again.
The parking lot sprawled for hundreds of yards in all directions, its asphalt bleached pale gray by the sun. Half a mile from the interstate, it should have been jammed full of cars, shoppers coming and going with their money and their bags. Instead, the mall buildings huddled together like abandoned children. A property deal gone bad, no doubt a victim of the economic crash. Someone lost his shirt over this, Danny thought.
The SU V crawled across the parking lot toward his position. With its tinted windows, he couldn’t make out the occupants. Even with the dirt on the pickup’s glass, they would see him long before he saw them. He had arranged a pile of blankets on the passenger seat to give the impression someone might be huddled there. The assault rifle he had taken from the dead man’s floor lay within his reach.
Would he die today?
Danny thought he might. And he didn’t mind. So long as he did what needed doing. So long as he found out what he needed to know. So long as they paid.
The SUV stopped, facing the pickup, ten yards away. Danny waited and watched. So did the occupants of the SUV. He reached across to the passenger seat, pulled the rifle across his lap, the grip snug in his palm, his finger against the trigger guard. Going by his watch, a full minute passed before anything happened.
At last, the driver’s door of the SUV opened. More seconds passed before a large man with a shaved head and a black suit eased his bulk out of the car. Leaving the door open, he took slow steps toward the pickup. Danny counted them as he approached, judging the time it might take the other man to run back to the SUV if he fled. The big man stopped halfway between the vehicles, his open hands by his sides, his weight on both feet.
Danny wound down the driver’s window. The man tilted his head, squinting as he listened to the creak of the lowering glass. Another few seconds of silence. The man glanced back over his shoulder at the SUV, returned his gaze to the pickup.
Danny thought: Now.
He threw the door wide open, slipped out of the truck, hoisted the rifle up, and aimed it through the open window. The big man’s eyes widened and he made a panicked grab for the holster beneath his suit jacket.
‘Don’t,’ Danny called.
Maybe the man didn’t hear. Maybe he thought he could draw and aim fast enough. It didn’t matter either way, because the burst of rifle fire put him on his back, his pistol clattering across the asphalt.
Danny didn’t hesitate. He stepped around the open door and marched toward the SUV, ignoring the desperate gurgles and gasps of the man he had put down. As he neared the SUV, he heard a woman’s breathless voice.
‘Oh God,’ she said, ‘please God, no, no, no, oh God, no, oh God …’
He slowed as he neared the still-open driver’s door. Peering inside, he saw the woman, her body stretched over the cup holders and armrest, the pants pocket of her navy-blue business suit snagged on the gearstick, her hands on the steering wheel as she tried to drag herself across. Around forty, long red hair tied back to tame the curls. She blinked up at Danny.
‘Please don’t kill me,’ she said.
Danny looked into the rear of the car, saw no one else. ‘Where were you going to take them?’ he asked.
‘Las Vegas,’ the woman said. ‘There’s a party. A house in Summerlin.’
She told him the name, the owner of the house, the ringleader, and Danny pictured the face. An Internet billionaire, known for his philanthropy as well as his money.
‘Five years ago,’ Danny said. ‘Do you remember a little girl? Six years old. Black hair, dark eyes.’
The woman shook her head as she let go of the steering wheel. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘There’ve been so many.’
Danny pressed the rifle’s muzzle against the top of her head. She closed her eyes tight.
‘I don’t remember, I’m sorry, please don’t, please, please don’t …’
‘Take me there,’ he said.
She opened her eyes, steadied her breathing, and asked, ‘Will you let me live?’
‘We’ll see,’ Danny said.
59
AUDRA DROVE, THE wind through the shattered window blowing her sweat-soaked hair back, cooling her forehead. Sean and Louise huddled together in the passenger seat, both of them sound asleep. Whiteside in the rear, the metal cage between him and them. In the mirror, she saw him slumped against the door, his eyes hooded, his mouth slack. Bloody sputum trailed from his lips.
She had taken Whiteside’s phone and used its GPS to find her way back to Elder County. Two and a half hours she’d been driving, another twenty minutes to go. The wound on her shoulder burned and itched every time she moved, but she didn’t care. All she wanted in the world now was to crawl into a bed with her children and sleep with them in her arms.
Another few minutes and she saw the sign for Silver Water. Audra slowed the car, pulled in, and applied the hand brake. Up ahead, on the other side of the exit, was the spot where Whiteside had stopped her just three days ago.
‘Collins was right.’
His voice startled her. She looked up to the mirror, saw him staring back, his eyes glistening.
‘About what?’ she asked.
‘I should’ve killed you,’ he said.
‘But you didn’t. Even if you had, you would have wound up back here anyway. Even if you got all that money, it would’ve cursed you. You know tha
t, don’t you?’
He looked away from the mirror, then back again. ‘Will you do one thing for me?’ he asked.
‘What?’
Whiteside exhaled, a watery sigh. A tear rolled down his bloody cheek.
‘Kill me,’ he said. ‘Just put a bullet in my head and dump me out here.’
Now Audra looked away, turned her gaze to the rolling desert, the distant mountains, the ocean of blue above.
‘I know you want to,’ he said.
She looked back to the mirror, locked eyes with him. ‘Yeah, I want to. But I’m not going to. Don’t worry, you’ll get your due.’
Audra turned the key in the ignition, put the car into drive, and set off once more. She made the turn into the exit, climbed the winding road, remembering being in the back of this same vehicle, behind that same cage, no idea of what lay ahead of her. A deep sorrow took hold of her as she crested the rise and began the descent into the basin on the other side.
The same switchbacks, the same clusters of houses, the same desperate poverty as just a few days ago, but all different now. She knew that nothing would be the same again, not for her, not for her children.
Whiteside sniffed and whimpered in the rear of the car as she approached the bridge across what was left of the river, crossed it, and entered Silver Water. He banged his head on the glass once, twice, three times, leaving a smear of blood there.
Audra eased the cruiser along Main Street to the far end, where state police cars stood outside the sheriff’s station and the town hall. Press trucks parked along the street, reporters milling around, bored expressions on their faces. She stopped the car in the middle of the street and shut off the engine. Then she put her hand on the center of the wheel, pressed down on the horn, held it there until the cops and the reporters raised their heads. She opened the driver’s door, let it swing out as far as its hinges would allow.
One of the state cops saw Audra, said, ‘Jesus Christ, it’s her.’
She hauled herself out, fighting her own exhaustion. The same cop saw the Glock in her hand, drew his own pistol.
‘Drop the weapon!’
The other cops came running, all of them drawing guns. A dozen of them, maybe more. A chorus of shouts, get down on the ground, drop the weapon. Audra raised her hands above her head, kept the Glock in her right, her finger away from the trigger. But she wasn’t ready to give it up. Not yet.
The reporters scrambled, cameras pointing. The cops moved in, tightening the circle. The chorus got louder. On the ground. Drop the weapon. They would have shot her dead, if not for the cameras, Audra was sure. She should have been terrified, but an oily calm had settled on her as soon as she’d stopped the car. Even a dozen pistols aimed at her, ready to take her head off, couldn’t shake the cool peace at the center of her.
Another voice rose over the others, and Audra recognized it: Special Agent Mitchell.
‘Hold your fire! Don’t shoot! Do not shoot!’
She pushed her way between the cops, breathless, her eyes wide.
‘Audra, give me the weapon.’
‘Not yet,’ Audra said as she stepped back to the rear door, her hands still raised. With her left she reached for the handle, pulled the door open. Whiteside spilled out, shoulder first, not quite hitting the ground. Audra grabbed his collar, hauled him the rest of the way. He cried out in pain as he tumbled onto the asphalt.
Mitchell shook her head. ‘Jesus, Audra, what did you do?’
‘This man took my children,’ Audra said, raising her left hand once more. She walked to the front of the car, slow steady steps.
The cops lined their sights on her, some shouting again.
‘Hold your fire,’ Mitchell called.
Audra rounded the front of the cruiser to the passenger side and opened the door. Sean had stirred, but Louise still dozed.
Mitchell moved to the side of the car, stared inside. ‘Oh my God,’ she said. She spun around, shouted at the cops. ‘Lower your weapons. Lower them right now.’
One at a time, slowly, the cops did as they were told. Mitchell turned back to Audra, extended her hand.
‘Give me the gun,’ she said. ‘Please.’
Audra didn’t hesitate. She lowered her hands and passed the pistol over. Mitchell popped the magazine, emptied the chamber.
Audra hunkered down by the open passenger door. She reached in, stroked Sean’s hair, touched Louise’s cheek. Louise’s eyes flickered open.
‘Mommy,’ she said. ‘Are we home?’
‘Not yet, honey,’ Audra said. ‘But soon. Come on.’
She reached in, took Louise in her arms, and lifted her out. Sean followed. With Louise’s arms around her neck, legs around her waist, Sean’s hand in hers, Audra walked through the cops and the reporters. She ignored the wide eyes and open mouths, the shouted questions.
Down the street, the guesthouse door stood open, Mrs Gerber waiting there, her hands over her mouth, tears in her eyes.
Mitchell came running behind. ‘Audra, where are you going?’
Audra looked back over her shoulder without slowing her step.
‘To put my children to bed,’ she said.
60
WHEN THEY REACHED the hospital in Scottsdale, the nurses had tried to separate them, put them in different rooms. Audra had refused, clung tight to Sean and Louise. It was Mitchell who stepped in, insisted that the hospital provide a private room for the three of them. The best they could do was a side ward with two beds.
One now lay empty, Audra and her children huddled together in the other. They’d given Louise another dose of antibiotics, and now she lay with her head on Audra’s left breast, snoring softly. Sean rested on the other side, watching the television up on the wall.
Audra had grown tired of the news cycle. The same shaky footage of her circling the car, Whiteside falling from it, the children in the passenger seat. The reporters had exhausted their hyperbole, and the story had taken on the sense of winding down, that it was ready to be told in past tense.
The only new footage in the last hour or so had been Patrick helping his mother into a black town car outside a hotel, telling the reporters no comment as they crowded around.
When it was all settled, Audra would have a comment for them. When the press came scrounging for her story, she would tell them every rotten thing her husband and his mother had done. Let their rich and powerful friends see them for who they really were. She relished the idea, but it was for another time.
Audra reached for the remote control, was about to switch the TV off when the anchor’s tone changed. He studied a sheet of paper that someone had placed in front of him.
‘Leaving events in Silver Water for a few moments,’ he said, his words faltering as he read, ‘we have a breaking report of multiple deaths in a mass shooting at a luxury home in the Las Vegas suburb of Summerlin. The name of the homeowner has not yet been made public, but we’re told he is a very prominent, very wealthy public figure in the tech industry. Details are sketchy, but it appears one or more gunmen entered the secluded property sometime between six and seven p.m. and opened fire on the occupants. The number of casualties is unclear at the moment, as is the fate of the shooter, or shooters. What we do know is that all the victims were adults, and the lives of three young children were spared. More on this breaking story as we get it.’
The anchor moved on to a political rally in Washington DC, protestors marching along a city street, waving placards and chanting. Audra switched the television off.
‘Was that Danny?’ Sean asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Audra said.
‘I hope he …’
Sean couldn’t finish the thought, the idea too big for him.
‘Me too,’ Audra said.
She kissed Sean’s head, took in the smell of him, still pure despite the hot shower he’d had earlier.
Mitchell had accompanied Audra inside the guesthouse, let her put the kids down for a sleep while they talked out in the corridor. Whit
eside had been arrested on the spot; they’d been looking for him since Collins’ body had been found at his home that afternoon. Now he was somewhere in the same hospital, having his arm set and his other wounds tended to. Audra had made Mitchell swear not to let him take his own life. Make sure he stood trial for what he’d done. He would be placed on suicide watch, Mitchell had assured her.
The days ahead would be difficult; Mitchell had warned Audra of that, even though she didn’t have to. The questions would be unending, the authorities and the press lining up to squeeze every drop of information from her. But for now the world was quiet. She savored the peace while she could.
‘Will we still go to San Diego?’ Sean asked.
‘I don’t think so,’ Audra said.
‘Will we go back to New York?’
‘Do you want to? Your father’s there.’
Sean thought about it for a moment, then said, ‘No, I don’t want to go back there.’
‘Me neither,’ Audra said.
‘So where will we go?’
He turned his head to look up at her and she saw the man behind his eyes.
‘I don’t know,’ Audra said. ‘But we’ll figure it out. Together.’
Acknowledgments
Many and various people helped me beat this novel into shape and I owe them all my gratitude:
My agents Nat Sobel, Judith Weber, and all at Sobel Weber Associates who have worked so hard for me and given me such tremendous support, along with the ever-excellent Caspian Dennis at Abner Stein.
Nathan Roberson, Molly Stern, and all at Crown; Geoff Mulligan, Faye Brewster, Liz Foley, and all at Harvill Secker and Vintage Books: thank you for taking a chance on my novel.
Three individuals provided invaluable assistance in researching this book, and I owe each of them several beers: My old friend and excellent author Henry Chang, who helped me bring Danny Lee to life; John Doherty of Northern Arizona University who took me on a road trip around the state, the details of which are threaded through these pages; LAPD Detective Jim McSorley who kept me right on the legal stuff. Any errors, or liberties taken with reality, are entirely my doing.