the dirt and gravel at the side of the road had been disturbed. More concerning, I saw a damp patch of blood where a body had been dragged across the earth. I guessed that John had made some effort at escape, only to be captured and forced back into the Dodge. Cain had John, yes, but he hadn't noticed the briefcase that was hung up in the bushes farther along the trail.
I trotted over and snatched the Samsonite case from the brush. I was in no doubt that it was the one I'd seen John clinging to at the beach house. Chance could have dumped a briefcase way out here in the desert, but not one glistening with sticky blood. I didn't spare the time to check its contents, noting only that it was heavy before I stuffed it under my arm and headed back to the SUV.
When I was back in the car, Rink set off again after Cain. He asked, 'You thinking what I'm thinking?'
'Money,' I said. I opened the case on my lap. Bundle upon bundle of bills filled the case. Rink gave a low whistle.
'Counterfeit?'
I checked.
'No. The real thing.'
'So that's what this is all about,' Rink said.
I shook my head. 'I don't think so, Rink. It was never about the money. Cain wants blood. That's all it's ever been about.'
'Bones,' Rink corrected.
'But I do think this is what it's all been about for John.'
'Goddamn greedy fool.'
I shook my head. 'Believe it or not, I don't think he did this out of greed. I think he sees it as a way to put things right.'
'Yeah,' Rink said with no conviction. I shrugged. I knew John better than that. I believed that he'd changed. The old John wouldn't have jeopardized his safety for the old woman; he wouldn't have risked lifting the cell phone from my pocket for fear that Cain saw him. To me, John had turned a corner in his life, where more than his next bet meant something to him.
Even what we'd just come across back there on the trail now made sense to me. He hadn't attempted to escape at all; he'd jumped from the Dodge so he could leave the cash for me to find. The money wasn't for him; it was for Louise, it was for Jenny, it was for his children. Stuffing the case beneath my seat, I put the money to the back of my mind. I could see to it later.
39
'how do you like the place?'
Oblivious to Cain, John slumped against the wooden supportbeam, smearing it with blood as he forced himself upright. His head lolled on his shoulders and he mumbled something incoherent.
'You could act a little more enthusiastic than that,' Cain said. 'I've gone to a lot of trouble to get the place just right for
John staggered. Cain clutched him under an arm, mindless of the way his fingers dug into flesh. 'Watch that first step; it can be a real bitch.'
Then, with a shove, he pressed John forward. Watched as his captive tumbled down the short flight of steps into darkness. Only semiconscious, John made little noise. He fell as if constructed from rags that made only soft contact with the steps. A grunt was all that marked his resting place.
'That'll teach you to pay attention,' Cain said. He wasn't happy that John had lost the case of money, but neither was he unnecessarily concerned. Either Joe Hunter would fetch the money for him, or he could backtrack and collect it when all this was over. Concern was unnecessary, but a little necessary cruelty would remind John Telfer what it meant to cross Tubal Cain. Taking one last glance behind him, Cain followed John into the darkness.
Fifteen feet down, the steps leveled out on a floor made of bedrock. Last time Cain had been here he had swept the desert sand away, but already he could feel windblown dust beneath his feet; it was the main downside to his hideaway that he had to continually maintain it by brushing and sweeping to keep the desert at bay.
He prodded John with a foot, moving him aside as he reached out in the dark and clutched for the padlock that held the metal door shut. Holding the lock in one hand, he traced the fingers of the other up the near wall, found a narrow niche he'd dug into the sandstone, and pulled out the concealed key. The key opened the lock with little resistance. Cain pushed and the door swung inward on well-maintained hinges.
The smell buffeted him.
He smiled.
Even in his semiunconscious state, John gagged at the stench.
'What the fu . . . ?' John groaned.
Cain didn't comment; he bent down and grabbed John's shirt, hauling him to his feet and pushing him into the room before him, urging him into the charnel stink. John gave some resistance, refusing to breathe, steeling his shoulders as he attempted to ward off the sickening stench of rotted meat.
'Get inside,' Cain said, almost a whisper.
'No,' John gasped.
'Yes.' Cain pushed him into the cloying darkness.
Cain entered the room with a breezy exuberance. He fairly skipped over to the nearest lamp, scratched around until he found the butane lighter beside it, then set flame to wick, casting writhing shadows around the room. That done, he emptied his pockets of the bones he'd garnered during his latest trip. They made quite a mound. Then, hands on hips, he surveyed the space before him.
