“Could it be that someone in his militia wanted to pick up where Ethan left off? At one point he had a lot of followers. Someone could be using his gun.”
“The FBI and Ray think otherwise. They believe Ethan Green is behind all this.”
“What’s your next move?”
“Since I already drove all the way out here, I’m going to walk over and have another word with Tyler Locke. He may have remembered something else about the car he saw. At the very least, I want to get his thoughts on Ethan Green. Maybe John Dalton had some sort of disagreement with him in the past. John’s niece witnessed an argument. She couldn’t identify Green from a series of photographs, but she’s awfully young to be relied on as a witness.”
* * *
There was a handwritten note taped to the front door. Tyler was out in the garage. She cupped her eyes with her hands and looked inside the house. Tyler had tidied the place up since she’d last visited. There was a faint smell of cleaning products, and smoke. Through the back windows she could see a mound of rubbish smoldering in the backyard. It glowed like the lit end of a cigarette.
The double doors to the garage were shut, so Macy went around to the side entrance. She ran her eyes along the back fence of the property and peered into the half-dug fallout shelter. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. At the side door she paused and gazed out across the yard and saw no one. She knocked on the half-open door and stepped inside the garage. Fragmented light filtered through the small windows along the back wall. She tried the light switch, but it wasn’t working. Tyler’s Suburban was parked inside, facing toward the garage doors. His bald head was leaning against the window on the driver’s side. He looked like he was asleep. She took a cautious step forward.
“Tyler Locke, it’s Detective Macy Greeley.”
Tyler didn’t move. She waited.
“I’d like to have a word with you about the car you saw the other night.”
Macy removed her gun from its holster and stayed well back as she rounded the vehicle on the driver’s side. Thick orange electrical cables stretched from a hole cut through the masonry to the car’s side window. Tyler’s mouth and nose were covered with wide strips of silver duct tape. His bare head was unnaturally pale.
She ran for the door. Outside, the backyard was bigger than she remembered, the sun hotter. The force of the blast lifted her into the air like a kite before sending her stumbling down the steep sides of the freshly dug hole. She spit up dirt and dust as she struggled to her hands and knees. The Suburban’s back bumper had skewered the hard-packed soil just a few feet from her head. It was bent like a frozen smile. She pointed her gun up at the sky, scanning the limited horizon for any sign of a threat, but she was shaking too much to hold the gun steady. She shoved it into its holster and crawled up the earthen slope.
The ringing in her ears was so strong she was thrown off balance. She staggered to her feet and held on to her right arm. A sharp pain ran down its length. All the back windows of the house were shattered, and scattered debris burned on the dead grass and in the trees. The garage was in flames; two of its walls were blown clean away. Tyler’s car was half buried in a deep crater that had been punched into the center of the concrete floor.
Two figures moved through the smoke. Jessie Dalton was the first to emerge. She ran toward Macy.
“Where’s Tyler? Is he okay?”
Macy swallowed. Her hearing was starting to come back. She caught some of what Jessie said, and guessed the rest. She tried to piece together the last few minutes. She craned her neck so she could see over Jessie’s shoulder. Dylan was pacing back and forth a few feet away from what was left of the garage. His mouth was wide as if from screaming. Macy’s voice sounded muted in her head. She had to yell to be heard.
“Tell Dylan to get back.”
“You should sit down.”
More shouting. The group of officers who had been assigned to Lindsay Moore’s home arrived. Ryan was still in his protective overalls. A couple of patrolmen attempted to move Dylan away from the garage, but he started swinging at them. One tried to grab him and he twisted away. He turned to the garage and called Tyler’s name. Macy could hear him clearly now.
Jessie started to walk away. “I need to go talk to Dylan.”
Everything was starting to spin. Macy dropped to her knees in the dry grass. “That’s not a good idea. Stay here.”
“He’ll listen to me. It will be okay.”
Macy fought against being physically sick. “Look at him, Jessie. He doesn’t even know where he is right now. Let them do their job.”
“They don’t know him like I do.”
Macy closed her eyes. “Talk to the guy in the white overalls. He’ll understand.”
Dylan paced back and forth in front of the fire, turning away whenever Jessie tried to speak to him. She waited, hands tucked deep in her pockets. She tried again. She reached for his lower arm, but he threw her off. He stared at what was left of Tyler’s car. His face was twisted in pain. He put his hand to his mouth and dipped his head. Jessie started talking and this time he listened. Their heads were bent toward each other as if in prayer. Jessie led him to the front of the house, where he sat in the shade of the porch with his eyes shut tight. Inches apart, Jessie stayed by his side. She seemed to be saying the same thing over and over. Macy was nearby, being tended to by Ryan. As far as she could tell, the two friends never once touched.
20
With a patrol car following close behind, Dylan drove north toward Collier but pulled in at a truck stop a little south of town. It was getting late and the back lot was filling with eighteen-wheelers. Even with his windows closed and the music turned on he could hear the roar of engines. The ground shook as they crawled by. His mother, Sarah, was working behind the counter. He could see her move along the length of the bar, refilling glasses with a tall pitcher of water. When he was younger he’d come and visit her sometimes. She’d make him ice-cream sundaes and brag about him to whoever came in. He came to visit less often after his father moved out. She’d been having an affair with one of the cooks. His name was Parker and he was a pretty nice guy, but it hadn’t lasted long enough for Dylan to get used to him hanging around the house, the smell of fried food clinging to his clothes. Other men followed, but it was Tyler who’d stuck it out the longest. Even though he was gone most of the time, she still considered him to be the one. Dylan knew the feeling wasn’t mutual, but his mother didn’t want to hear anything he had to say on the subject. In her eyes, Tyler could do no wrong.
Dylan put his truck in park and cut the engine. He needed to be the one to tell her. If he left it any longer someone else would get to her first or she’d see it on the news. She acted tough, but he knew better. Sarah was worn thin. Her voice was ragged from smoking and her legs ached from a lifetime of working on her feet. She was sixteen when she’d dropped out of high school and gotten a job at the diner. She was eighteen when she’d gone into labor during the breakfast shift. She took two weeks off before heading back. There was no choice. They needed the second paycheck and the health insurance that came with it. She worked days and Dylan’s father got a job as a night security guard. There was really no way it was ever going to last. Sarah would not thank Dylan for the news he was about to deliver.
Dylan approached the officers who’d been sent to keep an eye on him and spoke to them through their open window.
“This may take awhile. Do you mind waiting out here?”
They told him to take his time.
The diner’s interior hadn’t changed much in the past twenty-six years. Only a four-alarm fire could lift the deep fug that had settled into the woodwork. Dylan removed his baseball cap out of habit, and stood in the entrance. It wasn’t a place to come for a quiet meal. Growing up he’d often dreamed of taking his mother away from all this, but that was never going to happen. She’d also settled into the woodwork. Work was how she defined herself. She knew everyone and everyone knew her. T
his was the first place she was ever welcomed with open arms.
Dylan felt calmer than he’d been in days. It was as if he’d been bled dry. There was nothing left of the nervous energy that had been plaguing him. The worst had happened. Tyler and John were dead. It had a strange effect on him. He felt more alive than he had in months. All that adrenaline that was constantly pouring out of him suddenly made sense. He understood perfectly what was required of him. He looked down the length of the diner. It was a full house. His mother was busy. He caught sight of the television screen in the next room. The news was on. He had to act fast.
Someone who looked like they’d had too much to drink brushed past him and he was knocked into the cigarette machine. Several pairs of eyes, including his mother’s, turned on him. Sarah nodded toward an empty stool and dropped a menu down on the counter in front of it.
“You’re not looking so hot. You better sit down before you fall down.”
Dylan eased onto the stool but didn’t open the menu. His mother came back by and lifted an eyebrow. “What brings you here?”
“Is there someplace we can talk? Maybe Traci’s office.”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s the dinner rush. Can it wait?”
“No, it can’t. We need to talk.”
“Give me a sec. I’ll see if I can take my break early.”
There was a commotion at the far end of the restaurant. Other diners rose from their seats and cheered as two men squared off against each other across a table crowded with empty plates. Dylan looked up at the sound of his name being called. His mother’s ex-boyfriend, Parker, slid two plates of food under the warming lamps. He waved to Dylan and smiled. That was another thing Sarah had a talent for. She collected ex-boyfriends. With the exception of Dylan’s father, she’d managed to remain friends with every man she’d ever slept with. Dylan looked down the length of the counter for his mother, but she’d gone to break up the fight. Head held high, with her ponytail bouncing up and down, she walked toward the table where the men were now close to exchanging blows. A busboy followed close behind. She’d learned the hard way how to handle situations like this. When Dylan was five, she was hit on the side of the head with a baseball bat. She had only partial hearing in her left ear and was missing two of her back teeth. Since then her diplomacy skills had sharpened. She could read a room better than most. Within seconds the argument was over and the two men were seated again. She cleared the table and made small talk. She left them laughing. With the fight over, the rest of the diners returned to their seats.
Dylan glanced over to the television again. The news cameras were focused on Tyler’s house. The burned-out garage was clearly visible. Sarah walked toward him, unaware. She even smiled. Dylan went over to meet her, but a waitress named Tempi stepped between them. She grabbed Sarah by the arm and jerked a thumb toward the television set.
“Sarah, it’s Tyler. Something’s happened. It’s on the news.”
Sarah met her son’s eyes and froze.
Dylan couldn’t speak. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was bone dry. They stared at each other. Sarah was soon surrounded. People were laying hands on her like she was a holy relic. He pushed his way through and held his mother in his arms. She was so birdlike. It had been so long since they’d hugged that he’d forgotten this about her. He remembered what Jessie had kept saying to him earlier. He repeated it word for word.
“I’m here for you. I love you. Don’t you ever forget that.”
She buried her head in his chest. She was shaking so much he had trouble containing her. He kissed the top of her head and stroked her hair. Everyone in the restaurant was watching them now. Not one person spoke. All that noise had distilled down to his mother’s quiet grief.
* * *
Dylan sat alone and sweating in his living room. His dog was panting in the corner. It had been pacing the house since he arrived home. He’d taken him outside and doused him with water from the garden hose. The house now stank of wet dog and Sarah’s cigarettes. Most of the lights were off and the television was silent. There was a loaded rifle on the table in front of him. He checked his handgun again and set it down on his lap. The last time he’d looked in on his mother, she was sprawled across the bed clinging onto a wad of tissues. He closed and locked her window and left her sleeping in the airless room that always smelled like her favorite perfume. After they’d come home from the diner, they’d talked for the first time in what seemed years. Her popping one cigarette between her lips after another and him popping open beer cans. Sarah was full of regrets. She and Tyler had argued the last time they were together. She hadn’t been able to reel him back in the way she usually did. When she left his house she’d had a feeling she’d never see him again.
If I’d known it was going to be the last time I saw him, I would have tried harder. She had started to cry. I don’t even have a picture of the two of us together to remember him by. He didn’t really love me that way, she’d said, tucking her feet under her body as she sat back against the pillows, her eyes drooping with each word. I was never enough for him. Sometimes I’m sure he thought I was too old.
Dylan hadn’t known how to respond. His feelings about their relationship had always been ambivalent.
I think there was another woman back in Georgia. At least that’s the impression I got when I tried to visit him. Did you know about her? He must have told you.
We didn’t talk about stuff like that. It would have been awkward.
You’re just like your father that way. Never talking. Never asking for anything. That man could give me the silent treatment like it was nobody’s business.
Can we not talk about Dad? He’s got nothing to do with this.
She’d blinked a few times before focusing in on him again. I feel so groggy. I can barely keep my eyes open.
It’s the pills I gave you.
Her voice had slurred. Tyler was trying to make me understand what’s been going on with you. He loved you like a brother. Did you know that? It made me jealous. Still does. I just can’t believe he’s really gone.
Neither can I.
He said he was coming home for good soon.
Not that soon. One more deployment is what he told me. It was going to be at least another year.
She had yawned. I suppose we should go see his family tomorrow. His mom hates me.
Tyler didn’t care much for her so I wouldn’t let that worry you.
Dylan, you aren’t going anywhere, are you? You’re going to stick around for a while.
Dylan turned off the light. I might. I might not.
I need you here. I’m all alone now.
Dylan leaned his forehead against her door frame and closed his eyes. Sarah had a way of shaping the world to suit her own needs. She wasn’t an especially supportive mother. The day his father moved out she’d declared that Dylan was the man of the house and left him to his own devices. As far as he knew he was the only senior at his high school that paid rent. She didn’t seem to notice that he’d recently lost the two people that mattered most to him in the world. He tucked his mother into bed and stubbed out her last cigarette before telling her to get some sleep. When she asked him to stay he told her he’d be right next door. When she told him she loved him he closed the door.
There was a single patrol car parked out front. Through the bay window he could just make out the front hood reflecting light from a lone streetlamp. Fifty yards farther on, the tarmac gave way to gravel and Wilmington Creek gave way to the big sky country. He walked over to the back door and peered out in the yard. There was nothing to see. Darkness bled from every shadow. Beyond the back fence was the municipal graveyard. The tombstones on this end were the oldest and jutted from the soil at odd angles.
Headlights trailed across the north-facing wall of the living room and the big engine of a police cruiser rumbled a few seconds longer before going quiet. Dylan hid his guns under the sofa and went to answer the door before Aiden Marsh had a chance to ring the bell.
They sat at the kitchen under a chandelier fashioned from stained glass. Aiden had brought his own coffee and Dylan drank beer out of a pint glass he’d smuggled out of an airport pub in England. Aiden’s uniform was rumpled and covered with dust. There were sweat stains under his arms and at some point he’d spilt something down the front of his shirt. He apologized for his appearance, explaining that he’d spent the day searching Ethan Green’s property.
“You were closer to Tyler than anyone.”
“Him and John were like brothers to me.”
“How are you holding up?”
A shrug. “Would it be wrong to admit that this seems normal?”
“No, it wouldn’t be wrong to feel that way, but you do know where you are right now. This isn’t normal for Wilmington Creek.”
“I’m well aware of where I am. Right. Now.”
“That’s not what I’m hearing.”
Dylan sat back in his chair. “What are you hearing?”
“The officers I spoke to said you became aggressive when they tried to move you away from the garage.”
“I’ve not had to face shit like this since the day I was wounded. I am truly sorry for what I might have said or done.”
“They know you’re having difficulties.”
“That’s the problem with living here. Everyone seems to know. It makes me want to get away and make a fresh start.”
“I hear demons like to follow a man.”
“I hear that too.”
“There are people here who care about you. They want to see you through this.”
“Like my mom? She doesn’t seem to notice that I’m hurting too.”
Aiden glanced down the hallway and lowered his voice. “No, like Jessie. I hear she was the one who talked you down.”
Dylan took a sip of his beer. His left eye was twitching. He could feel the pulse jumping around inside the lower lid. He was sure Aiden could see it too. He blinked a few times, but it wouldn’t go away.
“Maybe I’ll just take Jessie with me? She could keep me in line.”
Burnt River Page 20